The heat had finally broken. California had survived yet another blistering summer and weeks of Santa Ana winds, and in the cemetery, trees were beginning to turn color as fall approached.

A man, middle-aged and fit although with evidence of recent grief showing in his expression, walked through the cemetery gate, his gaze passing over older graves and faded headstones as is so often the case. They’re reminders of past grief, while his was more recent.

He closed the gate behind him and turned, then stopped in surprise. He knew where he was going, where he’d been going for the past month, but something new had been added since his last visit.

A statue of a young girl, perhaps a teenager, life sized and carved from what appeared to be white marble, now stood off to the right. It was some thirty yards away from the entrance and away from most traffic, but there was no way he would have failed to see it had it been there before. Wasn’t there a policy about putting up monuments this large? Intrigued, he walked over for a closer look.

It was beautiful, a work of art, so perhaps they had made an exception. The figure was facing into the cemetery, so Sam, as his friends called him, walked around where he could look directly at the statue’s face. As he did, a slight movement caught his attention.

A man, unseen until now, stood by the statue. He had been bent over, looking closely at a spot near the base. The movement Sam spotted had been when he stood up and touched the one blemish that marred the statue’s purity. The man’s fingers touched, almost stroked, the dark, almost black, streak on the face’s left cheekbone.

The two stood silently for a moment, contemplating the statue.

“That’s interesting. It’s beautiful, but...” said Sam.

The other glanced at him for a moment, then turned back to examining the statue. “Thanks.”

“You had it put here? The girl ... she was a relative?”

“No. I never met her, but I carved the statue. I wish I could have done more, but I was too late. I heard her, but as hard as I tried she couldn’t hear me.” The man’s voice was low, his sorrow apparent.

“I’m Sam Jones. I didn’t catch your name, mister...”

“I didn’t say, but you can call me T. Most people do.”

“That’s all?” asked Sam. “Just T?”

“Does it matter? Would it make a difference if my name was Talbot? Or Temple, or Tipton, or Toles, or Tunney?” Sam half-smiled, recognizing that T had used his initial and the vowels to suggest names.

For whatever reason, ‘T’ wanted anonymity. But a sculptor who didn’t want to reveal his name? Was he perhaps already famous, but unwilling to take credit for this work? The statue’s face wasn’t quite finished, Sam thought, but the rest was world-class! Sam had visited museums in Greece, in Rome, and the Louvre in Paris. This statue, despite the apparent flaw of not having been completed, wouldn’t appear out of place among the famous collections he’d seen.

“I suppose not,” Sam acknowledged. “An initial is easier to remember. And you said you carved it? But there’s no inscription! I find that confusing, considering the location. I guess I understand why you don’t want to reveal your name, but how are people supposed to know who it’s for?”

“I didn’t want a name, and I also deliberately left the face under-finished. The rest I smoothed out. It’s for Sally, the girl buried here, but in a way it’s for all of them. All the ones like her, the ones who were hurting and had nowhere to turn.”

“I ... can understand what you mean, I think. Symbolism, right? But why put it here? Is it some sort of religious thing? I’ve seen some in churches that are sort of similar. The women were always older, though.”

“Not religious, just my own human response. And the figure is young because Sally never got to grow up. I did that other monument too.” The man pointed to a lumpy black mass a few yards away.

“I don’t understand, Mister T. It looks like just a rock. A big one, but I can’t tell that you carved it at all.”

“I didn’t. All I did was pick it up and bring it here. It took me a while to find just the one I wanted.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t intend to sound critical but ... it’s kind of ugly. It’s just rough and black and it doesn’t shine at all. The one you carved is marble, isn’t it?”

“It is. The ugly one is basalt, a black volcanic rock from deep inside the Earth. Kind of a metaphor too, but different. That one was born in hell, and it’s as common as dirt. But the marble block I carved? I selected that piece too. It wasn’t easy to find one with the blemish where I wanted, but for what I intended it was perfect.”

“Admirable, Mister T--” but the other was no longer paying attention.

Sam cleared his throat. “What made you decide to do this?’

“A song. I heard it and I couldn’t get it out of my head. Pretty song, hasn’t been written yet and the woman who sang it probably hasn’t been born, but I remembered Sally when I heard it and came back to do this. I think that’s the only way I’ll be able to get that song out of my head. So many kids...!”

Sam edged fractionally away. Was this strange man crazy? Perhaps dangerous? Not homeless, too well dressed, and no smell of alcohol so not drunk...

T saw the movement and chuckled. “Oh, I’m sane, more or less. Sorry, I shouldn’t have let that slip, but sometimes I just need to tell someone. It’s how I cope with my pain. It helps if I share it, and you don’t rush out to tell people things you hear. I respect that about you.”

“True enough, I don’t tell secrets,” Sam agreed. “If I made a habit of blabbing, then people wouldn’t trust me. So I don’t. But how could you have known that? I’ve never met you before!”

“I know.”

Curiouser and curiouser. T seemed to not make sense, and yet...? “I know most of the folks who have family buried here.” Sam swept his arm around, indicating the cemetery. “There’s also a building at the far end that houses cremated remains. People like to know they’ll be with family after the end, or some do; I never thought much about it, but I reckon if it’s possible I’d like to be near my little girl when my time comes. You live around here, T?”

“My home is ... off to the east, a few miles from now, and I only come back here now and then for a visit. This is my first visit to the cemetery, and now that I’ve done what I intended I won’t be coming back. I’m not like you, Sam; you’ve been coming here since your daughter died. I’m sorry for your loss, and I can see how you might want to be nearby. But for me ... well, it’s different. Loss for you, regret from me.”

“Thanks for the sympathy,” said Sam. “Nothing to be done. Medicine still can only do so much. For some...” he shrugged.

“Yeah.”

“So ... I don’t like to pry, but how do you know so much about me and my daughter? And Sally? I remember when it happened, but I don’t think it made national news. Just another child, gone. So many!”

“It’s better if I don’t explain, Sam. Just let it go. I learned about you the same way I knew about this girl and her father. That’s where he’s buried, over there under the basalt.”

Sam looked again at the lumpy black mass. “I didn’t know statues or monuments like that were permitted.”

“They aren’t, but the directors made an exception for me after I explained. As for the statue and the rock from hell, the main reason they don’t allow large monuments is because upkeep is more expensive. It takes the caretakers longer to mow around them, including these two, so I donated money to offset the additional cost. The directors know there’ll be more, because I set up a trust fund that will pay into the upkeep fund every year.”