The Ragged Edge of Night

by Olivia Hawker

When the first shovel strikes bronze, the crowd goes still. They back away; Anton jumps down into the pit and clears the last of the earth with his hands. The first bell shows itself through wet black soil, its proud height and strong curve, its domed crown gleaming. A great shout goes up from the townspeople. They cheer with one voice, and the echo of their gladness rebounds from the blue, blue hills. “A parade,” Emil shouts. “Let’s have a parade!” The villagers cheer again. The Kopps bring their two great flatbed trucks out into the field. The people of Unterboihingen lift together; they raise the bells up. Children pick armfuls of flowers and greenery from hedges and ditches, and skipping and singing, they strew petals over the earth; they cover the bells and the beds of the trucks in sweet, bright swags of green. “Albert,” Anton says, “run to every house. Knock on every door. Bring all the children here with their instruments. You heard Father Emil; we must have a parade!” When the bells are all but buried under wreaths of blossom, the band assembles. Anton heads toward his students, intending to lead the march—but Emil catches him by the arm. “Let them play without a conductor today. You’ve taught them well enough; they can manage.” He gestures to the nearest truck bed. “You belong up there, my friend—up where the whole town can see you.” Grinning, accepting the praise, Anton climbs up beside his bells. Flowers and new leaves cling to his wet shoes and to the cuffs of...