--from THE LAND, by Antonio Torres (Brazil)

In the general store we all cross ourselves as though we were inside a sacred convent, a room containing the holy images from all the funerals that ever were. Each sign is redolent of palm oil, chewing tobacco, creosote and rum.

...Papa takes off his had, crosses himself and uncovers his dead son's head. "What's done is done.."

Then he asks me where the boards and tools are. He starts making the coffin.