17
Drier, clearer, with more moderate winds, which will ease later on
IT’S DIFFERENT WHEN it’s one of your own, it would be. A blustery day. The sun dazzles when the clouds part, making us squint. Derek and his bearers have Lester on their shoulders. Derek looks the job in his finery, scrubs up well, always did. Coffin looks a treat, considering, handles glinting in the sunshine. From here you would never guess they are plastic rather than actual brass.
Organ music. I didn’t order that, it just comes with. A bit like a car alarm going off, you have to wait till it’s over. We follow on. I have never seen Ned in a suit. I loaned him one of mine, too big of course. His hair is wet-combed, centre parting. He looks like one of those homeless kids in the ads, Please help … His head twists left and right, taking it all in. Derek and his bearers step slow, steady on the red carpet. Lester glides aloft on the shoulders of working men. A decent send-off. He couldn’t complain.
He is laid on the catafalque. The bearers step back. A pause. The bearers bow to the coffin. They straighten up. Precise. Clockwork. They depart, eyes down, hands clasped. Short of a six-gun salute Lester could not have had it more dignified.
I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord.
The vicar is a small man with a big voice. He does most of ours. Derek reckons he could have gone on the stage had he not been called by God.
He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live, and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.
We do not sing a hymn. There’s only three of us, including Lester’s half-sister from Braintree, who we’ve never met. They suggested a CD. I said no. I don’t reckon it’s fair to Ned. We have a minute’s silence instead.
The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters.
Three voices mumble. Ned stares at the coffin.
The vicar steps forward, spreads his arms. I am seized by an image of Les singing What’s New p-ssycat?
Let us commend Lester John Palmer to the mercy of God, our Maker and Redeemer.
Ned sniffs, gasps. I am surprised. I place my hand on his shoulder. Leave your hand too long you have intruded, too short and it is offhand. A relative should feel secure, unhurried. Remember, Lee, you are not Dracula.
Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Same old. In the sure and certain hope, or uncertain hopeless sure-enough. We are miracle workers, Lee. Nobody cares if God is infinite or indefinite. Fetch me a magic wand.
I give Nate my arm as we file out. As we go I hear Lester, clear as day: The blind leading the blind. Love it.
*
I DO NOT have a problem being chef in this house. Ned always cleans his plate, which I take as a compliment. There are many decent cider recipes, not all of them pork. I am considering getting up earlier and having me another rabbit. Two in the pot will make enough casserole to freeze. If you’re an early riser, you don’t need a ferret. I have seen them evenings near the woods. Those very same bandoleros will likewise be around at dawn. Buenos noches, amigos.
It’s all about mindset. We don’t do innards at work – I was unprepared. I can prep a bunny if I’m in the right frame of mind. Second time around, third time lucky. A decent saving on meat. No probs. I shall merely step out at dawn with my weapon and my narrow eye. Hasta la vista, baby.
Sky is heavy, wind in the trees. I slam the door by way of letting Ned know I am not in. They say no two skies are ever the same. Same goes for a snowflake or a prang on the dual carriageway. A shame then to waste this sky. I pause at the mast. A smell of metal in the air.
I check the lane. People don’t walk this route these days. I keep an eye out nevertheless. Two people questioned, apparently, no one arrested. Can’t be too careful. Stalkers, chasers. I’m ready. If I had the .22 I’d give him a scare, nick him in the leg, the arm. That’s a warning for you, my friend.