The Dead

“I’d like to apologize for my brother,” Gary answered. “He really did get out of line, if you ask me. He has some pretty strong views.”

“That’s what Father Ted said. Views your mother shares, apparently.”

“Yeah. But she never would’ve picked a fight like that. It was all Max’s fault.”

“Still, Father Ted said she made him feel sufficiently unwelcome…”

“I’m sure she did. But she kind of got drawn into it, if you see what I mean.” He paused. “What exactly’s on your mind, Father?”

“Well,” Father Chuck said, “Father Ted was really quite hurt by the exchange, and he wishes to know if your mother still wants him to speak tonight, and celebrate the mass tomorrow. He thought he should give her one more opportunity…”

“It’s hard to say what my mother wants now,” Gary answered. “She disappeared yesterday.”

Father Chuck was visibly dismayed. “Another one,” he said, shaking his head. “Your poor family. I’ll remember you in my prayers.”

“Thank you, Father,” Gary said, trying hard to sound as if he cared. “But in any case, Father Ted will do just fine. Mom said Dad would’ve wanted him. She’d made up her mind.”

Father Chuck smiled. “Good for her. I thought Father Ted was overreacting. I respect him very much, but he’s too sensitive. I didn’t think your mother would’ve hardened her heart. She always struck me as very tolerant. It’s so good to know people who rise above their opinions.”

Sure didn’t read Mom very well, Gary thought. “I always try to rise above mine,” he answered, not entirely comfortable with the fact. “When I have any, that is.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Father Chuck. He looked toward the chapel, and sighed heavily. “Well, I think I’ll go in now. Nice to meet you, Gary.”

They shook hands again. “Same here, Father,” Gary said. He watched the priest enter the chapel, then drifted over to the aquarium. Another of the angelfish had died.

It was floating at the top.

Chapter 7: Work Hazards

After the viewing, Max and Gary and Linda went for dinner with the relatives, to a place called Gallardo’s out on Rt. 87., past the canal. The food was good, Uncle Buddy and Dave were abominable, and everyone else was polite-with the exception of Max. Buddy and Dave ignored him.

At seven they returned home to freshen up, then went back to the funeral parlor. The chapel was already open, and there were several people inside. Gary introduced them to his relatives.

“Bob MacAleer and his wife Lou Ann,” he said.

Mr. MacAleer, he of cable TV and biblical scholarship fame, rose halfway from his chair and shook hands with everyone he could reach. Lou Ann smiled, a pretty woman on the plump side, rather too heavily made up.

“And that’s their son-” Gary snapped his fingers. “Jamie, right?”

Jamie, a porcine eighteen or nineteen by his look, turned briefly, working his hand through a shock of long black hair that was the diametric opposite of his father’s patent-leather look; he nodded lackadaisically, as if to say What do you care? and turned back around. Six feet away, Gary thought he could smell marijuana on him.

“Didn’t I see you on TV this afternoon?” Dave Holland asked Mr. MacAleer.

MacAleer smiled. “Just after Reanimator?”

“Yeah. You were talking about the Bible.”

“That was me, son.”

“I think the Bible’s crap,” Dave said.

The smile dropped from MacAleer’s face.

“And that’s Mr. Hersh and Mr. Williams over there,” Gary said hurriedly, pointing to two men across the aisle. They came over. “Mr. Hersh owns Hersh’s Department Store on Beichmann Avenue…”

“Hersh, huh?” Buddy asked. “Must be Jewish or something.” He laughed inexplicably.

“B’Nai Brith, circumcision, the works,” Hersh said, nodding. “I know some ex-Irgun members you’d probably love to meet…”

“Ir-what?” Buddy asked.

“And Mr. Williams here owns the Beichmann Theater,” Gary continued.

“He’s also President of the local Christian Businessman’s Roundtable,” Hersh said. “An Evangelical fanatic.”

Williams nudged him with an elbow. “Yeah, we fight all the time.”

“Sounds unpleasant,” said Aunt Lucy.

“We like to fight,” Williams said. “Arguing’s a lot of fun.”

“Not the way me and Buddy do it,” Lucy cackled.

The conversation wound down rapidly from there.

More people came in. Jack Guillietta, owner of a welding firm that had done business with Max Sr., fell into a long stretch of shop-talk with Buddy and Dennis, who had both been welders before they got into pre-fabs. Max and Gary got up and headed out to the lobby.

“What are we going to do if Buddy invites us out for a drink after the viewing?” Gary asked.

“I’m so tired of him I could puke,” Max answered.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Max gave him a hard look. “Yeah it does.”

“I see. You mean you’re going to leave me alone with him?”

“Uncle Dennis’ll be there. But if you want to beg off, say you’re worried about Mom, you want to sit up with the phone…”

“Won’t wash. Not with you and the women home too. How many people do you need to take a call?”

“Say you’re just not in the mood.”

“He won’t take no for an answer. Not from me.”

Max smiled wickedly. “Too bad you’re not more like me. I’ve been saying no and making it stick as long as I can remember.”

“Yeah, you’re a real bad ass.”

“You’re right.”

“I think you should come with us,” Gary said. “Please. Do it for your kid brother.”

“Ahhhh…”

Gary decided on another tack. “Well then. How about for Uncle Dennis?”

“What?”

“I was talking to him in the men’s room at Gallardo’s. He really likes you, you know.”

“Hmm.”

“Says he’d like to know you better.”

“Never shows it.”

“Not when Buddy’s around, no. He doesn’t like to say much of anything then. He’s afraid Buddy’ll make fun of him.”

“Then he’ll just keep his mouth shut at the bar.”

“Yeah, but he just wants to listen. Says he’s had some second thoughts about religion. Wants to see how you’d handle Buddy on the subject.”

“I’d cut that oaf up four ways from Sunday.”

“That’s what Dennis thinks. So he’s going to start a conversation…”

Max seemed to warm to the idea. “How come you didn’t mention all this right off the bat?”

“I wanted to see if you’d come just as a favor to me.”

“Doing favors has never been one of my strong points…But the prospect of intellectual slaughter…” Max