He awoke with a start, instantly aware that it was the day of Marie’s funeral. A glance out the window at the almost bare, trembling limbs of the trees indicated it was going to be a raw and blustery day, suitably dismal for the end of such an unhappy and tragic affair.
Dave arrived shortly after Miss Jones had removed his breakfast tray. He quickly, but thoroughly, checked his vital signs, changed his bandages and pronounced him fit for the ordeal ahead. By the time he was finished, Grace was waiting outside with the clothes he had asked her to bring from the house. Dave helped him to dress while Miss Jones went to get a wheelchair. There was little conversation between any of them. Words were unnecessary and even the normal pleasantries were, by tacit agreement, left unspoken. The atmosphere was subdued, but without tension.
With the nurse pushing, and his mother and Dave following behind, they proceeded along the bustling corridor to the elevator and descended to the lobby. As they emerged and moved toward the main entrance, he could see the long, black Cadillac limousine drawn up outside with the liveried chauffeur lounging against the front fender. The chauffeur flicked his cigarette away and moved with alacrity to open the rear door of the car as they came out, and then bent to help him get in But, he motioned him away and managed to lever himself through the opening and into a corner of the seat with a minimum of effort and discomfort. Dave folded the wheelchair and put it in the car’s trunk before going around the other side to open the door for Grace, who sat next to him, and Miss Jones who sat on the jump seat in front of her. Dave got in and sat on the other jump seat and pulled the door closed. The chauffeur got behind the wheel and the big car moved silently away from the entrance followed by the curious gazes of a few early visitors.
Their conversation remained muted and monosyllabic as they drove to the highway and down the ramp to join the early Monday morning traffic headed toward the city. The chauffeur stayed in the right hand lane, driving sedately and ignoring the annoyed glares of other drivers who were forced to go around them in their haste to reach the source of their daily bread. But, even then, it seemed like only a few minutes until they turned off at the Glen Park exit, drove past the deserted parking lot of ‘The Sanctuary’, and through the awakening streets of the village to the portico at the side entrance of the funeral parlor. Fortunately, the door was level with the driveway, and the nurse was able to wheel him into the dim, muffled interior without any difficulty.
He had been to very few funerals in his life, and none for anyone very close to him, having missed those for both of his maternal grandparents and his father (Bobby’s parents had died before he was born) But, it had always struck him as incongruous-and, in a way, cruelly ludicrous-that the architecture, landscaping and furnishings of most funeral homes were frequently more pretentious and sumptuous than anything the deceased had known or could ever have afforded while alive. Even though it was not true in Marie’s case, he doubted that she would have had any appreciation for the tasteful and obviously expensive surroundings in which she now reposed. But, he would not have blamed her, because he felt repelled by the hypocrisy and falseness that seemed personified by the unctuousness of the funeral director who now came forward to greet them.
His mother introduced him as “Mr. Dahl”, and he perfunctorily shook the cool, limp hand extended to him and impassively acknowledged the rehearsed earnestness of the innocuous phrases of condolence. He could hear the soft, sibilant murmuring of the gathered mourners and see through the arched doorway the half-opened rosewood casket banked with flowers at the far end of the room. Miss Jones hesitated, uncertain of whether he wanted her to push him forward or not, and Grace bent down next to him.
“Perhaps you’d rather wait out here until the priest arrives?” she suggested.
“No. Let’s go in. You push. Miss Jones and Dave can wait out here, if they prefer.”
“We’ll go in too, if it’s all the same to you,” Dave responded.
His mother replaced the nurse behind his chair and, after a momentary hesitation; as if to gather her strength; she wheeled him through the doorway. At their appearance, the murmurs ceased abruptly, and he knew that all eyes were turned in their direction. But he kept his own fixed unwaveringly on the casket and, when they reached the first row of chairs, he raised his hand slightly to signal Grace to stop. She sat down next to him. Someone nervously cleared their throat and, as if on cue, the murmuring gradually resumed.
He turned his head as Grace whispered something about the floral display-which was even more wasteful than usual, as far as Marie was concerned, since she had never had any use or appreciation for flowers-and saw past her to where Marie’s mother sat stolidly gazing at him from a sofa across the room, flanked by Julie Fay and Floyd. Her face was expressionless and for a moment he was not even sure that she saw him. Then, with her eyes and a barely perceptible nod of her head, she managed to convey not only her awareness of his presence, but also her absolution of his responsibility for the death of her daughter. He felt that there was something he should say to her, although he knew that anything he could say would sound only trite and meaningless. Her gesture seemed to relieve him of the necessity and he returned her nod, hoping it was as readily comprehensible in its meaning as hers had been.
Unwillingly but irresistibly, he shifted his gaze to Julie Fay and instantly recognized the almost palpable and unremitting hatred burning in her eyes. Grace had told him that Julie Fay was being “difficult” and he could see that it had been a characteristic understatement. In its way, though, her hate was easier to understand-and accept-than the mother’s forgiveness. He did not try to avoid her penetrating stare but gazed steadily back into her eyes, as if absorbing a deserved punishment, until she blinked and he turned away.
In a few minutes, the priest arrived and, without delay, plunged into a recitation of the prayers and litanies designated for the occasion. To his surprise, he heard himself automatically repeating the proper responses. It was quickly over and then, in ones and twos, the assemblage filed forward to kneel, or stand-as was their wont-by the side of the casket. The Tobins, the O’Briens and Dolores all knelt. The Adamsons stood, as did Ben Wozniak, while his wife knelt. Jim Sloan-he was mildly surprised by his presence-stood gazing down into the open casket for what seemed longer than most of the others. His sisters, Sheila and Claire and their respective husbands-whom he had seen for the first time since Christmas when they paid a brief, awkward visit to the hospital yesterday-all knelt. Paul and his again pregnant wife, had not been able to come for the funeral, but were represented by one of the more ostentatious bouquets. Mrs. Hardesty was baby-sitting with Cassandra and Dana. By mutual agreement, Elise was in school.
It seemed a pitiful small number and when Marie’s mother; attended by Julie Fay and Floyd; stepped forward, he realized that they were probably the only ones who truly mourned Marie. The others were all his friends or relatives and were there mainly on his account-even if it had been her death that had brought them together. As each of them turned away and passed his chair on their way out of the room, they paused to offer the mandatory-if futile-expressions of sympathy. He would have preferred to avoid it, if at all possible, but he could not ignore their well-intentioned gestures and so forced himself to respond in kind to the resolutely sincere handclasps of the men, and the quick self-conscious embraces of the women. Only Jim seemed to sense how he felt, and passed by with only a curt nod of his head.
Marie’s mother hesitated by his side for a fraction of a second but when Julie Fay hissed “murderin’ bastard”, she-with Floyd’s help-grasped her by the arms and quickly dragged her away. Grace’s eyes flashed with anger and she made a move as if to follow them. But, he shook his head and gripped her hand to restrain her, and waited until he heard the doors close softly behind him drowning out Julie Fay’s protests and epithets. For a few moments longer he sat unmoving, and then slowly propelled himself forward to Marie’s bier.
With Grace’s help he raised himself from the chair and looked down into the closed lifeless face of his dead wife. With a mild sense of shock, he saw that she now looked even younger-and prettier-than he had remembered her since regaining consciousness in the hospital. He had always been slightly outraged by references to a deceased person as looking “natural” or “peaceful”, but now found himself thinking the same thoughts about Marie. The anger, bitterness and disillusionment that had so often-and with increasing frequency-contorted her features during the last few years, was gone and her face now reflected something of the same innocence and guilelessness that had first attracted him to her.
He thought he knew now how-and why-he had failed her, and how-and why-it had changed her. He did not believe she had ever really loved him-not the way he was sure that Elise loved him. But, she had trusted him to love her or, at least, to care enough for her to understand, and tolerate, her lack of interest-if not, distaste-for sex. During their brief, platonic courtship, he had acceded to her wishes and had not tried to force himself on her-an act which, in any event, would have been as unnatural for him as it would have been disagreeable for her. But, as a result, he had inadvertently misled her to believe that-coupled with his unobtrusive but apparent, wealth-she would enjoy the protection and immunity from the more unpleasant aspects of life that she had struggled to bury in her past-most of which, in her mind, were seemingly associated with sex and child birth.
As he continued to gaze at the still, cold, marble-like features, he knew his failure lay in marrying her simply for the purpose of filling a void in his life, without loving or trying to understand her, or even intending to share that life with her. He had liked her before they were married-enjoyed her until she became pregnant-finding her company pleasant, if not stimulating, and her personality agreeable, if not scintillating. If he had stopped long enough to consider what she expected of marriage with him, he would have been more aware of her inhibitions and apprehension. Then, he would still have had the choice of trying to assuage them or, failing, of walking away. She possibly-even probably-would have been hurt, but not mortally as, eventually, she had been as a result of marrying him. Of course, Cassandra would not have been born-but then, she would not have had to carry the scar of her mother’s death with her for the rest of her life.
He was not sure if he truly believed in the existence of any form of life beyond death. He wanted to believe it, at least to believe in the heavenly hope of something better, but not the hellish despair of anything worse. Because, if life; in all its forms and with all its travails; ended completely in the utter, endless silence of the grave, then living was an obscene, pointless, asinine joke with an unfathomable punch line. There had to be something else for her-for everyone-somewhere else, where all the mistakes, misfortunes, fears and imperfections of earthly life were erased, and every creature started fresh all over again-equally healthy, confident, trusting and wise. He hoped that she was there now, and that she could forgive him,
He prayed for her soul and his forgiveness and sat down in the chair. Grace knelt briefly by the casket before wheeling him from the room. He felt, rather than saw, the curious gazes of the others-and the furious glare of Julie Fay-as they emerged, and proceeded to the side entrance through which he had entered. The cars were drawn up to transport them to the church, and there was a brief, awkward and potentially unpleasant moment when they got outside and the usual shuffle and confusion began to develop about who should ride with whom, and in what order of procession. Turning to Marie’s mother, he quickly resolved it.
“Mrs. Mayfield. I believe you, Julie Fay and Floyd should ride in the first car.”
It was a small and, to him, virtually meaningless gesture, indicating that he acknowledged them to be the principal mourners-which, in truth, they were. But it seemed to please the mother and, more importantly, effectively silenced Julie Fay who had appeared ready to vociferously protest any other arrangement. He and Grace, followed by Dave and Miss Jones, took their seats in the second car. The others headed for their own cars and, as the hearse and the two limousines drove out of the funeral home parking lot, formed a protocol-correct line behind them.
Grace had arranged for a low Mass, which meant no singing and only the briefest and simplest of eulogies. During the service, he glanced across the aisle to where-except for the few curious stragglers who seem to turn up at every funeral-Mrs. Mayfield, her daughter and son-in-law sat watching the ceremony with dry-eyed puzzlement, lip-curling disdain and open-mouthed awe, respectively. In contrast to Julie Fay’s seething bitterness, the mother seemed strangely unmoved-even uncaring-about the loss of her oldest child. He knew, of course, that she had seen very little of Marie in recent years and, except for an occasional, laconic letter or card, there had been virtually no contact between them. Grace had told him that she was “taking it very well”, but watching her now it occurred to him that she seemed like someone who had been given a free ticket to a play and had arrived at the theatre to find- to her surprise and consternation-that she was expected to play a leading role in the performance.
The service was mercifully brief and soon they filed back out to wait in the vestibule of the church while the casket was reloaded in the hearse. During the ride to the cemetery-in reply to a question from Grace-Dave indicated that he thought he could be released from the hospital in a couple of days. Grace then suggested that, if he would want her to, she could come to stay with him for a few weeks while he recuperated. He was pleased by the offer, and told her so. But, he knew that she maintained a very active social life and; from one or two hints that she had inadvertently dropped lately; even suspected that there was an incipient romance in the offing. So, when he replied that he was sure that Mrs. Hardesty would be willing to resume a daily schedule until he was back on his feet, she seemed more relieved than disappointed.
After about a twenty minute drive, they arrived at the cemetery and followed the hearse along the narrow, winding, tree-lined roads; past the infinitely varied granite symbols of good intentions and bad taste; to where the yawning grave had been prepared for Marie in the Tuesday family plot. They waited in the cars while the casket was removed from the hearse and placed in position over the opening in the ground. Through the car window, he studied the small, classically styled marble mausoleum which contained the remains of his paternal grandparents and his father. It was the first time he had seen it since he was a teenager and had accompanied Grace and Bobby; together with his brother and sisters; on their annual memorial day pilgrimage. There was one empty vault still remaining inside for Grace, and he thought he detected a faint shudder passing through her hand where it rested on his arm-as if she had just remembered it too.
The pallbearers completed the task of preparing the site for the final rites and they got out of the car to assemble around the casket. Because of the soft ground and the fact that it was set back about twenty feet from the road, he was glad to accept the support of Dave and his mother. It had turned even colder with dark, gray clouds scurrying rapidly across a pale, blue sky, spraying them with stinging intermittent drops of rain and sleet that seemed to penetrate their exposed flesh and clothes.
The priest; who had ridden to the cemetery in the hearse; positioned himself at the head of the gravesite and began intoning the final prayers. Once again he found himself joining in the responses dredged from the memories of his youth-”Give us this day, our daily bread” - “Holy Mary, Mother of God”-”as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be. Amen.”
Then it was over. The priest closed his book and the others started to drift silently away, pausing as they passed to shake his hand again or pat him gently on the arm. For a few moments, there was only the sound of the dry, windblown leaves being crushed beneath their feet-until Julie Fay’s temper finally got out of hand, and she lunged at him, screaming imprecations. She alone of those ringing the grave had cried, and she alone was probably the only one who had truly loved Marie, and would miss her. From the moment that he had first recognized the unforgiving hatred in her eyes, he had anticipated her attack. It had been narrowly averted at the funeral home, but she was not to be so easily deterred now.
Her mother and Floyd tried to restrain her, but she wrenched free and hurled herself at him, fingers clawing for his eyes. He managed to grab her wrists, but stumbled backwards and almost fell. Drawing her head back, she thrust it forward again to spit full in his face, half blinding him, and then aimed a vicious kick at his groin which he barely managed to avoid. By then, Floyd and Dave had each grabbed one of her arms, and pulled her away. But still, she fought them and continued to scream at him-eyes burning with an insane hatred, teeth bared in an animalistic snarl-neck muscles straining with a choking stream of obscenities.
Her mother stepped in front of her-a full head shorter and almost twice as wide-and; first with the palm and then with the back of her right hand; slapped her resoundingly on both cheeks. Julie Fay fell instantly silent, mouth gaping open in astonishment, eyes glazed with disbelief.
“Now you shut your filthy mouth, Julie Fay, and keep it shut!” her mother castigated her “You always did have a dirty, mean tongue on you, but I’m not a-goin’ to tol’rate you usin’ it to take out your spite on Mark here. You mighta’ fooled Marie Louise, but you don’ fool me. I knowed you always been jealous ‘cause she got herself a fine husbin’ and home an’ everythin’. Only she didn’t ‘preciate them, and didn’t take care of them the way you figgered you could. Well, I’m-a-tellin’ you that Floyd’s been a good husbin’ to you and he’s givin’ you a good home and two nice kids-’cept they’re goin’ to turn out just as mean and rotten as you unless you start ‘preciatin’ what you got and stop hankerin’ after what you’re never goin’ to get. Marie Louise is dead, and you’re carryin’ on like this is jes’ pure blasphemy in front of the reverend and all these other good people. And it won’t do you or Marie Louise one bit of good, anyhow! I don’t rightly understan’ how come she got herself killed, but I do know that Mark didn’t kill her-and so do you! Now, he’s got to make a new life for hisself and it ain’t goin’ to include you, or me-and that’s the way it should be. The only reason he ever had for knowin’ either of us was ‘cause he married Marie Louise. Now that she’s gone, there ain’t no reason for us-an’ ‘specially you-to bother him anymore. It’s time you started realizin’ when you’re well off and begin makin’ the best of it, Now, I want to hear you ‘pologize to these good folks for makin’ a spectacle out of yourself, and then we’ll say goodbye to your sister, an’ go home.”
Even though the others had stopped and turned; and a few had even retraced their steps as if to help him; she had spoken so softly that it was doubtful that anyone; besides Grace, who stood at his side, and Dave and Floyd, who had continued to hold onto Julie Fay’s arms, had heard her. At first, he had started to turn away, sickened by the ugliness and humiliation, but then, his attention had been caught by the startling connotation of what she was saying. He thought that she was surely mistaken-ridiculously mistaken-and nearly interrupted her harangue to tell her so. Almost from the first time he had ever met her, at the wedding reception, Julie Fay had seemed to exhibit only an open animosity and a virulent dislike for him. Now, the implication of her mother’s words; that she had been secretly harboring just the opposite feelings; sounded incredible and unbelievable. Then, as her mother finished,
Julie Fay slowly raised her eyes to his and, to his amazement, he thought he now recognized something like the look of a child whose desire for what it wanted most, had turned to hate when denied its possession. Despite the anger still smoldering beneath the surface and the feeling of her spittle drying on his face, he suddenly felt sorry for her.
Floyd-who had appeared to share his surprise at her mother’s words, and had stood gaping in puzzlement that slowly changed to understanding-tightened his grip on her arm and pulled her towards him.
“Do as your Ma says, Julie Fay, an’ let’s git outa here. You an’ me’s gotta few things to settle.”
She whirled on him, trying to pull free, but apparently something in his tone or in his face stopped her. She hesitated momentarily, and then turned defiantly to the still horrified, disapproving faces confronting her. Warily, she met his gaze again and the last glimmer of the blazing anger and hatred that had been so apparent in her eyes only a few minutes earlier, now flickered and died-extinguished by the tears that she fought to hold back. Tentatively, she extended her hand in a gesture of supplication.
“Oh, Mark.I.I’m sorry”-and suddenly she looked like Marie, cradled in his arms, straining with her dying breath to say the same thing, in almost the same way-”I.I didn’ mean all them.those things I said. I know you.I know it wasn’t your fault.”
He reached and took hold of her pleading, extended fingers. “Forget it, Julie. I know how you felt about Marie. Besides, you weren’t entirely wrong.”
She looked at him, grateful but puzzled by his reply, before docilely responding to Floyd’s tug on her arm and turning away to walk back and stand by the side of the grave again.
“Thank you, Mark,” Mrs. Mayfield said, looking up at him. “It’s real generous of you not to hold a grudge after the way she acted. She’s not all that bad, once’t you get to know her.”
He grinned down at her. “I’m sure you’re right. Perhaps, if we had both gotten to know each other better, this wouldn’t have happened. But, you were wrong about there not being any reason for you .for us to keep in touch with one another. There’s Cassandra. You’re her grandmother, and I would like her to get to know you better, and to see more of you, than she has in the past-and the rest of your family, including her Aunt Julie too, for that matter.”
“I’m real pleased, Mark,” she smiled in agreement. “She’s a good, sweet child and I would kinda’ like to see her growin’ up an’ all. Maybe you could let her visit with us once’t in awhile, so she could get to know all her other kinfolk.”
“We both will,” he promised her-but wondered what her reaction would be if she knew of his plans to re-marry as soon as it could be arranged.
She reached up with her soft, gloved hands to pull his head down and kiss him on the cheek. “Well now, that’s all settled, maybe you better be getting back to the hospital. I’ll come by to see you before I leave for home tomorrow.”
Grace stepped forward, and the two women silently embraced. Then, taking her arm, and followed by Dave and the nurse, they turned away to walk back to the waiting limousine. He had been aware, during his brief conversation with Marie’s mother, of the sound of car engines being started behind him, and now saw that the others; including his sisters and their husbands; had all discreetly departed. He sank back, gratefully, into the corner of the rear seat, realizing that the past few hours-and, particularly, the last few minutes had drained him both physically and emotionally.
The others resumed their places in the car and the chauffeur-whose face betrayed no sign of anything untoward having occurred-got back behind the wheel and started the motor. As they began moving slowly ahead, he could see the three of them-mother, sister and brother-in-law-standing with arms around each other, looking down at the flower-covered casket. The car rounded a curve in the road, and they were lost to view. For a few moments, Marie’s dead face swam mistily before his eyes, but then gradually dissolved and disappeared as the car emerged from the cemetery and rejoined the traffic and tumult of the world of the living.
He leaned his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes. Once more-and, for the last time-his mind struggled to assimilate the enormity of the fact that had changed his life.
Marie was dead.