It was Mira’s job to polish the marbles, and she had always been bothered by it. She and her father would wait until it was almost dusk and the visitors had left, after which she would polish the tombstones, and her father would pick up flowers from the tombstone. She had made her father known that she hated polishing the tombstones, and he would just chuckle and say that she was too sensitive. But little would he ever understand that it made her angry to indulge the pearly white marble in its unceasing demands. Nevertheless, she would pretend to concentrate on the slab of marble in front of her, like it was the only thing in the world, just so that she wouldn’t have to look at him sneaking flowers inside his bag. Mira had accompanied her father to the graveyard since she was a little girl. She had never…