I was offered a two bedroom apartment, electricity, water, gas and heating provided free for the rest of my life.He paid me well for my home, I banked the money and moved two blocks away into a brick monstrosity.
He was a clever man, this developer. He knew a widow in her fifties who would receive no pension, who had lived off her rental and dressmaking would be most concerned about those necessities of life.
Yet, I couldn’t help but be there the day my house was demolished and cried a little. Only a little, for my new apartment had modern conveniences, far different from what I had known.
I watched them knock down my house and the shop, watched them take away the fragments. Watched as they excavated the ground below.
I think I am the only one to have seen the bones.
The driver of the machine, the contractors, all the workers were too busy and unconcerned to study what spilled from a pile of rubble. But there, clear as day,were the bones of a human hand.
I stared at it as long as I could see it, before it was covered by another scoop of debris.
Then I walked away, not with haste or fear, only the feeling a mystery had been concluded.