“Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.”
W.H. AUDEN
Funeral Blues
January 27th, 1990 – Saturday
“You belong
to the Night...”
Scott’s thoughts had been slowly dissolving
in a pool of Italian red wine. He was running through alleyway after alleyway,
short of breath, his heart pounding in his chest. There were very angular
corridors – turning right, turning left – never going back. Scott only saw
walls on both sides – and no door, neither opened nor closed – not even in the
distance.
The light around him seemed to come from the
ceiling, but sometimes also from the floor – which made him run faster, in fear
of feeling heat under his feet – and from the walls too, which radiated light
and almost turned transparent at times. Scott’s head was spinning. Then the
light went dim, and the alleyway felt like a tunnel for a moment.
“You
belong to the Night...”
Scott was getting tired of running so much –
yet he couldn’t stop. He had to go further. The young man had a hunch that the
path he was following wouldn’t lead him anywhere. It looked endless – and
dangerous – turning into a narrow passage as it ran in a bee line to the
horizon.
He was hungry. As he looked down, Scott could
see how thin and lanky he was. He could hear his hollow stomach protest and
groan angrily. That was a dreadful sensation. Scott looked up – trying not to
think that maybe he could count his ribs under such a harsh light. His skin
felt so terribly tight. The further he went, the more painful it was for him to
go... but he had to go further – escape in one way or another – find a way out
of this maze.
A strange, low and commanding voice kept
telling him the same things, over and over. It made his ears ring. Loudspeakers
screaming next to his temporal lobes would have hurt less.
“You
belong to the Night...”
Scott couldn’t make head or tail of it, but
those five words were digging so deep into his conscience that they would be
carved into his brains, very soon. As he kept on running, the young, skinny
stud tripped and almost fell on the floor. But he was still running. He turned
around, and his hands pushed against the wall. It was surprisingly sticky.
Scott’s hands were trapped for a moment, as if he had dipped them into
wallpaper paste or glue. The whole surface of the wall showed circular waves
around his wrists.
When Scott pulled his hands out of it, and
licked his fingers, he realized that they were covered in honey or maple syrup.
When he touched the wall again, it had turned into cake. Scott grabbed a big
chunk of it and started devouring.
“You
belong to the Night...”
The voices around Scott were more ominous
than ever, but he was stuffing his face full of cake: layer after layer of wall
turned into sponge cake, chocolate fudge cake, cheesecake, brownies and more...
Scott felt that he had to go on. He had to
run – run for his life. He had to get out of here. For some reason, he was
convinced that he was in great danger...
Maybe someone
else was in this maze, not looking for a way out but simply looking for
him: hunting him down. Maybe there was something
else, something even worse, like a mechanism just about to trap him for
good, or a ticking bomb somewhere. It was hard for him to tell, as he kept on
running and scraping large handfuls of pastries.
“You
belong to the Night...”
Scott was trying not to listen to the dark,
booming voices that seemed to tell him that there was no escape for him – no
way out. He certainly didn’t feel that he was going anywhere, as he forced more
handfuls of cake into his mouth, with both hands.
The alleyway before him was going straight
now – endless, growing narrow and reduced to a point of light in the distance.
Scott found it harder to run as he was eating faster and faster. The walls were
also getting closer and closer around him as he stepped forward. To his horror,
Scott found that this passage was truly reduced in width – then he looked down
again. He couldn’t see his feet. There was a large, round, bouncing belly
pushing the walls on both sides, and growing larger, rounder, heavy and soft as
Scott desperately tried to catch his breath...
He was no longer running, or walking. The
walls were no longer sticky, but greasy and slippery... Scott found that his
belly had already grown so big that he couldn’t reach them. He had to roll out
of that maze, while the light went out again. It would get dark again, soon.
The walls began to crumble, as if they had
just turned into crumble: Scott felt buttery chunks of hard crust rolling
around him, then a warm and gooey flow of molasses with soft, caramelized
apples threatening to drown him...
Everything turned into night – and silence.
Scott felt himself sliding, almost like a child in a toboggan, only like a big
ball of lard on the hot surface of a cooking pan... He shuddered in fear, then
he opened his eyes. There was a matching pair of green eyes sparkling in the
dark, more fascinating than beams of golden light, more predatory than the eyes
of a tiger... Scott wanted to scream or call for help – but, when he opened his
mouth, no words came out. Only a long, loud belch woke him up from his dream.
– “BUUUURRRRRP!...”
Scott was still in bed, lying in a poodle of
sweat. He was panting, and the last moments of his dream were so vivid
that he had to turn on the light, on his bedpost. He got up, ran to the
bathroom and relieved himself.
– “What a
strange dream... I have never felt anything like this before.”
Standing naked in the bathroom, the young
journalist looked at his reflection in the mirrors. The light drew strong
shadows on his body, but he felt reassured. No ribs in sight, no skinny arms or
thighs, and no hollow stomach – thank God...
– “It’s
that tiramisu, I’m sure. That was
heavy... So, what time is it?”
It was a bit before 8AM. Scott only took a
moment in the shower to wash those spooky feelings away. Then he put on his
jeans and T-shirt – casual clothes, to get to the hotel’s buffet, where he
treated himself with a magnificent breakfast.
■ ■ ■
Scott didn’t go back to sleep, but he had
left his clothes on the bedroom floor and he was in bed again. Last night had
been rough on him, and nothing would feel better than belly rubs at the
moment... Scott helped himself generously, under the covers. He had eaten no
less than eleven plates at the buffet, and he had drunk half a gallon of
chocolate milk, along with two or three pitchers of orange juice, apple juice
and pineapple juice. All in all, he was happy.
As a matter of fact, a contented smile was
slowly spreading from ear to ear, while he let his stomach growl softer than a
cat would purr.
Another soft noise distracted him, just then.
It was raining again. The weather was in accordance with the occasion – Scott
sighed heavily.
– “Perfect
for a funeral, but...” He let his thoughts wander again. “I wish I didn’t have
to go.”
Scott was certainly not fond of religious
ceremonies, but this had to be his least favorite. He had been notified that
his presence was mandatory – and he knew that he would get the chance to meet
the boy’s parents, senator Astern and his wife. That was important for him, so
he could start writing his article.
Still, he certainly wished that he didn’t
have to get out of bed.
He had nothing better to do, at the moment.
Scott was waiting for a phone call. His boss had sent a photographer to take a
few pictures. That would leave less room on the page for his columns, but it
was probably for the best. Scott had no idea at the moment.
He still was looking for an opening line when
the phone rang.
– “Hello?
Yes, it’s me... Oh, is that you, Wills? I mean, Will...”
William Wills had certainly not been blessed
with imaginative parents. Scott knew his colleague well – maybe a bit too well.
As a photographer, Will was good enough but as a gay fellow, he was the worst.
Scott had given up on acting like a bigger slut than him – although he had put
on quite a fight!
Anyway... It would be good to spend a few hours
with Will, after a whole week away from work. Then Scott remembered that he
would have to go back to his old office, and his old apartment, and his
routine, and his anonymous existence in a big city. He turned his back to the
phone and brought the covers back up to his chin.
He definitely wished that he didn’t have to
go...
■ ■ ■
Will would meet him at the train station for
lunch. In the meantime, Scott had to make a few preparations with the people in
Saint Augustine.
There were many long, black cars with
chauffeurs and large vans with TV crew and equipment getting ready for the
senator. That level of activity also meant increased security. Mr Wingrave had put
on a new suit, which must have been bought for the occasion: it was a
tight-fitting shirt, but at least no button seemed to be threatening to pop.
Scott commented on how good he looked.
– “Thanks...” The man
mumbled, unconvinced but still flattered. “They’ve been cheap on me, as always.
Look: “made in Taiwan”. Hah... Give it a month and the seams will burst again.”
Scott didn’t insist on the fact that the
shirt would certainly rip at the seams in a few weeks, but that the poor
quality of the Chinese fabric wasn’t to blame so much as the excellent quality
of the local, All-American cooking...
That thought brought a smile to his face
again, although he didn’t know why. Mr Wingrave was generally surly, yet Scott
felt like he would miss him now. That didn’t make sense. It was much more likely
that he would miss the doughnuts, brownies and cupcakes in this school.
Scott looked around, and he stood proudly
among the gathering crowd. He was dressed in a designer black suit, with a
black tie, and he looked great. It was a perfect fit, and Scott had not put it
on in years. For some reason, his blue jeans were recently very tight around
his thighs and waist.
– “I knew
it, they put my stuff under too much heat at the hotel. These guys are no
dry cleaners... I will have to tell Tom about this.” Scott smiled wickedly. “Or
maybe I will spank him for it!”
The whole school was buzzing like a beehive.
Scott had passed security, and he was in the main building. Even as he was
climbing the stairs, he could hear Mr Porkenham giving instructions to
everyone. The old man was almost barking.
Scott saw Mr Thorne storm out of the office.
– “I
wouldn’t step inside, if I were you... Not at the moment, anyway.”
– “What’s
happening?”
– “What do
you think?” Mr Thorne shrugged wearily. “Mr Porkenham does not like to be
contradicted. There would be no reporter around, if it was only up to him. Now
he’s reducing the number of people at the ceremony to a minimum.”
– “But you
will attend the ceremony... right?”
–
“Honestly? I would avoid it if I could. But I’m supposed to be there. Oh
well... I wish I could weasel out of here and let Graham go in my place, but
nuh huh... He asked to be there and he’s being turned down.”
Scott knew enough about the school to
understand that Mr Thorne meant to mention Phil. As the door wasn’t fully
closed, he could recognize his voice too. Mr Porkenham was particularly loud,
talking to him.
– “This is
an important social event! Senator Astern expects to meet only important people from Saint Augustine Bells!”
– “Sir, if
I may...”
– “No, you
may not!” The old man interrupted him abruptly. “Once and for all, your recent
behavior has been most damaging to this school! You should
consider yourself lucky that we are not considering firing you and suing you!
As it is, Mr Swayn has convinced me that a simple but significant reduction in
salary would do...”
There was something interesting in Mr Porkenham’s speech. Scott was all ears. Mr Thorne coughed and invited the
young journalist to follow him into his own office.
– “Come,
come... We’re all under great stress today. Let’s have a drink to calm our
nerves.”
– “It’s
almost eleven. I don’t really feel like tea.”
Mr Thorne was still guiding him by his
shoulders. Scott’s suggestion made him laugh in a sharp “Hah!”
– “Tea?
Please.” He produced a bottle from inside his desk. “Who wants T, when I have
J&B...”
■ ■ ■
Scott was a bit tipsy when he got to the
train station to wait for Will. Mr Thorne had served him three double whiskies
neat, and no salty treats to munch on.
At least, Will’s train wasn’t late. The
young, flamboyant photographer had a way of springing out of the car like a
jack-in-the-box – maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that Scott had drunk his way
up to his current good mood.
– “Hey,
Will! How are you doing?”
–
“Scottie! Scottie, Scottie... Look at you. All black and no leather makes you a
dull boy.”
– “I know,
I know... Better get used to it, at least for today.”
– “I had
to suit up too. How do I look?”
Scott hated to admit it, but Will looked
good. He was only about 5’7, dark hair, deep set, dark eyes, Roman nose and
always an impish smile to his lips. He was light and sharp, faster than
lightning and always ready with a sassy comeback.
In many ways, Scott simply hated him. But he
could cope with him for another day. Will was done turning around. It was his
turn to compliment Scott on how fantastic he looked – which felt surprisingly
sincere.
– “I had
pictured you living in the sticks with a bunch of grubby farmers and lumberjacks or
whatever, you lucky dog! Now, what’s the name of this place again?”
–
“Biberton.”
– “Nice!
And plenty of fresh air. I was looking at all those fields, and forests, and
lakes, back in the train. Looks like this return to Nature agrees with you,
too... You look good enough to eat!”
–
“Speaking of... We should grab some lunch.”
– “Agreed.
We have a busy afternoon in front of us.”
Scott’s tongue was still thick from the
alcohol, so he welcomed the large plate of double bacon cheeseburgers with
fries and onion rings, at Dean’s Diner – also known as “Double D” in town. The
waitress confirmed that they had put an extra patty into his burgers, as he
had chosen Dean’s special.
– “You’ve
truly grown an appetite in here!” Will commented.
– “You
said it, it’s all that fresh air...”
As they were almost done with their lunch,
Scott had enough time to share his first impressions with Will – about the
senator’s demands, and Mr Horn’s mission for him, but also about the case as
he understood it.
Will remained silent for a moment – which was
not like him at all.
–
“Hmmm... Interesting.”
– “That’s
it? I come up with all this and you, of all people, find nothing more to say
than Hmmm... interesting?”
– “Well...
Actually, yeah. What I find interesting is that you got to find something about
the whole event. It was a dead end job from the start.”
– “What do
you mean?”
– “You
were sent here just so that someone would be here... Mr Horn didn’t expect you
to actually work on this case.”
– “What
was I supposed to do?”
– “I don’t
know. But this is good... This is actually interesting. A murder case? I like
that...”
Scott had only told him about the technical
details: his hunch about Michael’s death being a murder, and the closed chamber
mystery he had been presented – nothing about the school, or the enormous size
of the boy’s belly, or the Quiet Diet
meant for the students in Saint Augustine Bells... which was still a bit of a
mystery for him.
– “I have
only been here for five days...”
– “...And
you have found all those shiny pebbles. That’s true. Now, there may be diamonds
in there, but I suspect that most of it is just glass. And you could get a
nasty cut on those shards.”
– “Don’t
give me that knowing look. I know that look.”
– “All
right. You got me. I think you’re right.” Will laughed. “There is something
strange about this town, I have to say.”
– “What do
you mean about the town? I’m talking about that school.”
– “Yeah,
so? I’m a photographer. I’m all for the big picture here. And this... what do
you call it again? Bibertown?”
–
“Biberton.”
–
“potae-to, potah-to... Let’s go with Biberton. Take a good look at it. This
place looks like they have been shooting episodes of the Twilight Zone all over town, thirty years ago...”
– “What, you mean Rod Serling and everything?”
– “Exactly.”
Will winked at him, always in a playful mood. “Maybe even worse: this town
looks like it belongs to an episode of the Twilight
Zone... Caught in a loop, or inside a time capsule.”
– “...or
in a maze?” Scott asked, a bit concerned.
He couldn’t quite understand why, but his
dream had just come back to his mind – quite vividly too... He truly didn’t
want to leave this place, he was almost begging not to go back to work – and
suddenly, he felt like he couldn’t leave town if he asked for it.
– “Sure, a
maze would do.” Will nodded. “And look at the people around here. Look at this
diner. It’s great, coffee’s great, food’s great – but seriously? It feels like
the whole population is a bunch of Barbie and Ken dolls...”
Scott was still lost in his own thoughts.
Will looked outside the diner, into the streets where the rain gave a nice, fuzzy quality to everyone and everything. It was a gray, cloudy
day with a certain electric charge in the air, as if a storm would come soon.
– “...Scratch
that. This town has its quota of teddy bears. Look at this one.”
Will was almost whistling. Scott looked up.
There were only a few people in the street, and he recognized the man
immediately: it was Phil, walking slowly and listlessly, wearing his usual pair
of jeans and an old coat of similar blue denim, almost drenched under the rain.
He was just wandering, looking down.
– “Hello,
honey goodness. Look at this poor cub. What is he doing out there with nothing
warm to wear? He should join us.”
– “You
want him to join? Watch me.”
Scott knocked at the window with his
knuckles. Phil snapped out of his hazy state. He noticed the two young men sitting at the table. Scott waved at him, so he smiled and waved back. Then
Scott told him with a few gestures to get inside and have a drink. Will
was fascinated.
– “No.
Fucking. Way...”
– “What do
you know? I still got it.”
– “You
have to teach me that trick.”
Will turned to get a better look at Phil as
he walked inside the diner, looking shy or anxious – as if the man at the
counter was going to frown and tell him that they didn’t want any drifter in
there. But the owner only said “Hi, Phil”. He didn’t seem to care.
The blonde guy looked like a lost puppy. The
rain had flattened his hair, but when he ran his fingers through it so they
would stop dripping, he looked shaggy and a sandy, dirty shade of blonde –
which Scott found incredibly appealing. His well-worn jeans and his wet T-shirt
also stuck to his body, showing perfectly meaty pecs and a strong, lean
midsection.
Will was licking his lips as he also commented
about the bulge in his crotch – which Scott had already noticed for some time.
He had never taken a moment to think about it, and he couldn’t remember why. No thanks to Will, it
was all he could think about, right now.
– “There’s
a boy who could use an extra, extra large
codpiece...”
– “Oh, shut
up!”
Scott knew that Will wouldn’t even try to be
discrete.
– “Okay,
can we at least share this one? He is more than man enough for the two of us.”
Scott resented that comment. He never shared
his food, and he would definitely not share his toys. As Phil finally got to
their table, he made sure that he would sit by his side.
As Will was already making small talk,
inviting Phil to take his coat off, Scott looked into the bag he was carrying.
There was a nice, black suit tugged in with a white shirt and a tie – obviously
rental. Maybe Phil would get his money back, since he wouldn’t get to wear it
at the funeral, but it was probably paid for, with no refund policy.
Scott thought that it was a bit sad.
Scott thought that it was a bit sad.
– “So,
Phil... What are you doing in town?”
– “Phil
works at Saint Augustine Bells.” Scott cut into Will’s conversation, then he
turned to him. “I’m sorry that you didn’t get to attend the ceremony.”
– “That’s
fine... I guess it isn’t exactly my place.”
– “You
would really stand out in the crowd...” Will kept swooning.
– “Did you
get to talk to Michael’s parents?” Phil asked Scott.
– “Not
yet. Why?”
Phil looked thoughtful for a second.
–
“Michael’s mother... I have overheard that she will be staying in your hotel
for the week-end. You’re still at the Paddington Hotel, aren’t you?”
– “That’s
right.”
– “I could
be wrong about this, but she would be interested in meeting you and discuss a
few things, considering...”
– “Okay.
Then I should ask my boss to extend my staying in Biberton...” Scott looked
straight at Will, proudly too, since someone else was suggesting it.
– “Okay,
okay... I’ll have a word with Mr Horn.” Will gave up on it.
Scott felt considerably better. He took the
opportunity to ask for more.
– “What
would really help my case is a completely different kind of interview.”
– “Who do
you have in mind?”
– “The
victim’s classmates. I have their names somewhere in my notes... There they
are: Dan, Brad and Owen.”
– “Daniel Hilton, Bradford Dulles and Owen Dickson...
Interesting...”
Phil looked lost in his thoughts for a moment.
– “I think
we can do something about it.”
– “Really?
How so?”
– “Call
the hospital, and ask for an appointment at about 10 o’clock, as an outpatient.
Let’s say... for a routine check-up.”
– “Okay...
How does that help me?”
– “You
will find one or two of these boys in the waiting room. They have to go through
their regular examination on Monday morning... And the school board won’t say a
thing about it.”
– “I
see...”
Scott actually found that solution pretty
clever: no one would be breaking any rule, but he could meet those students by
pure coincidence and ask them about their departed friend. They may answer – or
not. It was worth taking a chance.
Will kept looking at Phil, then Scott,
feeling left out of their conversation.
– “When
you say “examination”... What do you mean?”
– “Phil’s
a doctor at the local hospital.”
– “A
doctor? No! Way!...”
Will had almost shouted those last two words
– and Scott could swear that little dollar signs had just come shining into his
eyes, as they would with a character in a cartoon by Tex Avery...
– “You
should see me in my lab coat, I guess...” Phil tried to smile.
– “No
dice. Take your T-shirt off, and put on your coat.” Will flirted shamelessly.
“Okay, a doctor... I would never guess...”
– “What
did you think I do for a living?”
– “Gym
teacher, maybe? Health instructor?”
Scott repressed a smile. Will meant much
dirtier lines of work, and his choice of words was pure code – only, taken for
what they were, as Phil was bound to hear them, they actually hit a nerve. The
blonde stud couldn’t help looking hurt.
– “Oh...
Well, I used to teach at Saint Augustine... Gym, and basketball. And I’m still
active as a nurse there.”
– “Wow...
You’re active as a nurse?” Will jumped on that one. “Now tell me, what kind of
guy are you?”
That was blunt. Phil didn’t look comfortable
about Will’s questions, but Scott wouldn’t help him – not this time.
– “I don’t
know. I’m... nothing. I’m just a regular guy.”
– “I think
there’s more to you than meets the eye... and I’m a photographer. Okay, tell me
what kind of guys you like.”
– “Why
would you want to ask him that?” Scott jumped in.
– “You
know the old saying. “Tell me who you like, I’ll tell you who you are.” So? You
look quite healthy, active... athletic... Anything I wouldn’t know just by
looking at you?”
– “All
right...” Phil proved not to be afraid to stand against such open fire. He
flashed Will a smile that was enough to turn the air around them into steam. “I
like a man with a big appetite.”
Scott was done with his double cheeseburgers,
and he felt an urge to order a second large plate with fries and everything.
Will was speechless – which was no small victory.
– “Phil
loves to cook. He even bakes pies.”
– “I
see...” Will whispered, all the wires inside his brains already blown away.
Phil excused himself, pretending that he had
to go back to work at the hospital. Scott could tell that it wasn’t true: the
young doctor must have taken the day off to pay his respects to the dead boy
and his parents. Of course, now that his name was written off the list, he had
nothing left to do.
Scott was particularly disappointed with the
administrators’ attitude. He had kept that letter from Mr Swayn, and he would
use it against him if he ever got the chance...
– “Damn! He's yummy
to the last bite...” Will offered as a conclusion. “So, what is he like in bed?”
– “I don’t
know... yet!” Scott added, with a determined hunter’s look.
– “I
see...”
Will smirked. Scott wished that they didn’t
know each other so well.
– “What
did you expect? I’ve only been here less than a week.”
– “Fine,
fine. You keep playing with your bear traps. But when you’ve caught that meaty
specimen, you give me a call. I know what a man eater you are, but you can have too much of a good thing...”
■ ■ ■
Michael’s body had been transported to be
exposed at the funeral home. There was Mr Wingrave and three security agents
keeping uninvited press people away from the lobby.
The closed coffin looked surprisingly small.
Scott remembered that the boy was only 5’4”. The extraordinary size of his
belly made him look taller, perhaps. What was left after the autopsy didn’t
take so much room. Scott found it sad... Being dead was nothing particularly
funny, but the thought of being reduced to skin and bones made the whole matter
even worse.
One day, even he would have to fit his
football jock’s frame in such a way that he would no longer be able to toss and
turn...
Scott was no longer tipsy. He had been eating
quite well at lunch, and Phil’s comment on a guy’s appetite had made him go for
a big Sundae for dessert. Will found it perfectly natural, since the greedy
journalist was looking for a big scoop.
– “When
are they supposed to be here?” He asked Mr Wingrave.
– “I have
just got notice that their helicopter is approaching.”
Going to their son’s funeral in a private
helicopter... Who did senator Astern think he was? Liberace? Scott rolled his
eyes and, since that made him look up and there were only dark clouds in the
sky, he went for a short walk to clear his mind. He hated that someone’s death
should be turned into a show.
Scott worked as a journalist, but he got
disgusted with PR sometimes.
– “What do
you know? There’s the Police precinct.”
It was a relatively small building, with a
police car parked next to it. Scott had been thinking about paying a visit to
the local sheriff, but he had not found the time for it. Now would be as good
as any other occasion.
– “Hello?”
There was a young deputy sitting behind his
tall desk. When he stood up, Scott was shocked and amazed at his size. The boy
had to be barely 21 years old. He would probably stand an inch taller than
Scott, but he was even larger than Mr Wingrave around the waist. If Scott had
to take a guess, this deputy would have to weigh 400lbs!
– “Huh...
Hello, deputy...”
– “Andy,
Sir.” The chubby young man saluted politely. “What can I do for you?”
–
“Well...” Scott found it harder than expected to complete a sentence. “I was
wondering if Sheriff Maxwell was here.”
– “I’m
afraid not. Was it something very urgent?”
– “Not
really. I mean... Is it possible to meet him, if I take an appointment or
something?”
– “Why
would you want to take an appointment?” The young deputy chuckled, which made
his double chin giggle a bit. “You call this number... and he will tell you
when you can come by, or maybe he will join you.”
– “Okay...
Good. Thank you...”
–
“Pleasure, Sir.”
The obese deputy sat back in his chair. As
Scott left the precinct, he was positive that the young man was eating
doughnuts or something.
– “What
the... Are they running some sort of contest with the security at Saint
Augustine school, or what?”
Scott was stunned – so much that he didn’t
notice the crowd gathering around the funeral home. Senator Astern’s helicopter
landed in the park behind the place – tricking everyone who was still waiting
at the front.
It took
Scott a few minutes to get back inside. There were flashes going on every few
seconds. Annoying as it was, it allowed Scott to take a good look at Mr and
Ms. Astern. There was an old rabbi singing a eulogy in front of the coffin.
– “V'yamlikh qudsha b'rikh hu b'malkhuteh viqareh...”
(and may the Holy One, so
blessed He is, reign in His sovereign splendor...)
That part of the ceremony, at least, showed
some beauty and grandeur. Scott found it quite moving, while everything else
around him felt mean and shabby.
After the benediction, the coffin was taken to
be presented in Saint Augustine Bells, where the rest of the ceremony was
planned for the victim’s classmates.
■ ■ ■
– “Hello?
It’s me... Where are you?”
– “Where
do you think? I’m in my car. So, how is it going?”
– “As
expected. It’s a funeral, after all.”
– “And
it’s Saint Augustine. A well-oiled mechanism, no grain of sand between the
cogs... The whole machinery, complete with traps and everything.”
– “Not
exactly. This is why I’m calling you.”
– “What do
you mean?”
– “There
is this journalist in town. Scott Girder... Have you met him?”
– “I’ve
seen him, but I we haven’t really met yet.”
– “I see.
Well... I think you should.”
– “I
thought that he wouldn’t stay longer than a week.”
– “There
has been a change of plans... I’m not sure, but he may be the answer to our
problem here.”
– “Quite a
tall order. Are you sure of him?”
– “He’s
the only one who acts like a grain of sand in the school’s mechanism, as you
said. I’m sure about this, at least.”
– “All
right... I will meet him, then.”
– “I
wouldn’t be surprised if you enjoyed having him around. He’s your kind of
guy... you know.”
– “Is he,
really?”
– “You
tell me...”
– “All
right! Not a word about this to anyone?”
– “As
always.”
– “Good...
I have to go.”
The man hung up the phone in his car. He was
parked in front of the City Hall. As he got out, he pulled on his tight, XL shirt a bit and
stepped inside the mayor’s office.
■ ■ ■
There was a private chapel on campus – an old
and noble building whose walls were half-covered with ivy, going around its
tall stained-glass windows, with a few statues and candles and other
decorations inside.
Chubby cherubs were represented everywhere –
on top of the columns, in the form of statues and paintings – with their cheeks
puffed out, as if they were blowing in absent trumpets and trombones... Scott
was sitting on one of the last benches, as he was attending Michael’s service.
In the first row, senator Astern was holding
the pose he had maintained for the photographers. You could never be sure that
one of them would sneak back in and take the wrong kind of pic to be sold to
the highest bidder... Next to him, all dressed in black, was his bodyguard.
Next to the bodyguard was the senator’s wife – she was also wearing black.
Scott couldn’t tell how sad she was through her veil. Then that was probably
the real purpose of that piece of silk.
The picture of Michael on the coffin didn’t
quite look like the boy Scott had seen – not only at the morgue, but in the
school’s photo album. He looked thin, healthy, happily posing for the
photographer. It probably ran in the family.
Scott had not been able to introduce himself
to them. The bodyguards had pushed him away as they were entering the chapel.
He couldn’t care less about them, but it was still annoying...
Michael’s classmates were also here. So was
Mr Scupper, along with the board of administrators and a few teachers – one
dusty row of sinister lawn jockeys looking over the sitting students. The
priest was performing his usual singing & preaching number. Scott wasn’t
listening – neither was anyone else, from the looks of it.
– “Our
hearts go out to the family of a young man who perished... And my personal
prayers of sorrow go out as well, because I believe he died alone, when his
classmates and friends were only a few steps away.”
It was a most boring speech. Scott felt
tempted to doze off. He was focused on those boys in their tight, dark
uniforms.
One thing had startled him from the beginning
of the ceremony inside the church: they were all eating something. They had
been munching on bags of cookies or crisps outside, but to keep going right
now, during the sermon... Scott felt that it was a bit much.
And they weren’t
the least discrete about it!
As far as Scott could tell, from behind,
three or four boys had been put in charge of snacks for the whole group of
students. They were constantly giving candy bars, bagels, pop tarts, doughnuts
or other goodies from one row to the next...
– “If
that’s the way they pay their respect to Michael...” Scott thought.
But no professor or administrator, not even
the director seemed to notice.
The reverend kept rambling on, trying to look
convincing in front of cameras and photographers, in spite of his monotone
voice.
– “And now, as time heals all our wounds, we should
reflect on what this tragedy means to us as a church, as a community, and as a
family...”
“Oh, come on!” Scott whispered to himself, clenching
his fists.
– “The
loss of a young person is particularly tragic. A life unlived is the saddest of
passings... So please, let us pray for peace, for guidance, and for the power
to protect our children.”
It was already hard not to laugh at the
ridiculously, run-of-the-mill sermon, but the boys were munching on chocolate
candy bars and pistachio nuts. And when those were gone, they all opened large
bags of cookies, and started munching on them – loudly! Scott truly had to hold
himself...
– “No way!
Are they having sodas now?”
They were... A small group of boys was already
guzzling straight from bottles of coke or other soft drinks! Scott didn’t get
it: they were not just eating at their friend’s funeral – it looked like they
would never stop...
When one of them started uttering a low
belch, another boy let out a slightly louder one, then another belch would
erupt somewhere else – that was more than Scott could handle. He rushed out of
the chapel, trying not to laugh.
– “What
the hell is happening in this crazy school?”
Eventually, the coffin was carried outside by
four pallbearers, and put back into the black van. It was meant to be
transported back to New York, on Monday, where the burial would take place.
Senator Astern made a speech. Scott didn’t listen
to a word of it. The weather was clear, at least: no more rain, just as Scott
had not seen a tear in anyone’s eyes. The press was dismissed – and so were the
students.
– “Forget
what I said earlier. You have to stay here and write something about this
place...”
That was Will, who looked flushed in the face
after he had taken pictures of the audience. Scott could tell that he had been
tempted to burst into laughter, just like him.
– “I’ll
join you in a moment. Go talk to the director and his colleagues.”
– “What?
Those gloomy stooges?”
– “Go! I
have to try and catch a few students to question them...”
– “They
shouldn’t be too hard to catch. And they won’t run away from you! They can
hardly walk...”
Will was Right. Scott was able to join a few
boys, as they were going back to their dorms. For the first time, he could take
a good look at them. Every boy in the school looked round and chubby, with
large bellies heavily laden with food. The young journalist had already witnessed
how much they could eat, on the school’s special Quiet Diet – but also
unsupervised, inside the chapel...
He could understand how such overfed boys
would never feel jumpy again: no matter what they were addicted to, it was
highly unlikely that any of them would be able to jump, right now! Scott didn’t
expect them to be very talkative, but when he put the cat out of the bag –
mentioning Michael’s last moments, the size of his immensely bloated belly, and
their... relatively refreshing behavior during the ceremony – a few young boys
turned to him, and their answer startled the young journalist.
He had never seen such a scared, worried
look on anyone.
– “You
don’t understand. We have to
eat like this...”
– “Everyday...”
– “All the
time.”
– “And a
LOT more than this!”
– “Especially
now.”
Scott didn’t understand – but he was
impressed.
– “What’s
so special about it, now?”
– “If we
don’t stuff ourselves full, we’re going to die... like Mickey did.”
(To be continued...)
Next season :
« Ghost »
I loved! Please, keep writing..
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