A Fairy Tale of New York (11 page)

Christian after a shower and a swim taking a reclining seat. Swaddled in towels and sheets at the edge of the pool. Swimmers cruising back and forth. Flipping like fish at the turns. Boiling up the water. Guys stop to tap other guys on the knee and talk. Hey John how are you. Good to see you. How you doing. And everyone is doing fine. Just fine. And a voice sounds next to me.

"Excuse me, but are you busy."

"No."

"You don't mind if I talk to you. 0 don't worry, you can turn me off anytime. I'm a buyer for a department store. What's your name. I mean you don't mind me talking to you. Do you. You can turn me off anytime. I can tell you're very athletic. Do you mind if I ask your name. I don't mean any harm.''

"I think perhaps I'd rather just remain private if you don't mind."

"O I don't mind. But there's no harm in just knowing a person's name. Just a first name. I mean why don't you just tell me. You can turn me off anytime.''

"Could I possibly turn you off now."

"O sure. I don't mind. Some people think they're better than others. The way you speak for instance. And if they think that that's their affair. I mean you could tell me what you do.''

"I'm a mortician. I cut incisions, remold faces and pump embalming juice into people.''

"Well it was nice seeing you. And having this little talk. You sure never can tell where you're going to meet folk not in your own walk of life."

Gentleman rising and leaving. A figure reclining on the next steamer chair, head wrapped in towels, a little hole for the nose to breathe. A hand it seems I've seen before lifting the white folds of cotton slowly away. And hear a voice sooner than I see the face. A sound I've got to know quite well. For its fair minded generous understanding qualities. Upon which I call now with all my heart.

"You know Cornelius. You've got me beat. What the hell are you doing here."

''Mr Vine I can explain everything.''

Even why

The moon

Sometimes

Changes shape

The way

It does

12

All that week that followed. Of temperatures and breezes mild. Every single morning down my side street standing just before the steps up to another brownstone stood my fat cheeked institutional friend from the bus and ferry. Smiling up at my window as I took in my container of milk. And opening his coat. He uncovered a large red white and blue sign.

GOODNESS IS A BUTTERCUP

Tuesday I gave him a wave. In his grey cap and grey long scarf wrapped around his neck. And he stepped backwards up a brownstone entrance. With a broad grin, opening one side of his coat. Revealing a word and then with open mouthed laughter uncovering the other side. Just as the girl I watch undress came down apprehensively out of her house. To see me saluting this friendly chaps motto.

NEVER WHATSOEVER

My confrontation with Mr Vine that morning was bowel moving. After telling me rapid fire at the poolside to get a shave and my ass pronto back to the funeral parlor. And to stay there till every last mourner was gone. And be back nine o'clock sharp next morning. I stood there on the carpet in front of his desk. Trying to do everything right. Even tempted to say never whatsoever. But instead nervously saluted. And he said at ease Christian. I put legs astride and folded my hands behind my back. Be bewilderingly military if not naval. And in the preliminary silence I blurted out.

''For god's sake Mr Vine I know I deserve to be really.''

"Really what."

"Well I guess really yelled at."

"You think all I should do is yell at you.''

"Maybe I deserve worse. I've got no excuses for yesterday. I don't know why I took off from work."

''Well I do. You were screwing Mrs Sourpuss all night."

"Gee Mr Vine no I wasn't. That's an awful accusation. Especially as I was going back and forth on the Staten Island ferry till about midnight. Even had my mortician's manual with me. I was studying. I got a chill, felt lousy next morning."

"You felt lousy. You're going to feel lousier. Because I know where you were. Because that blond broad Mrs Sourpuss has been trying to check up on me. And that means I have to check up on her. And I can tell you this. I don't like it. Do you hear me. I don't like it."

"Ok Mr Vine, you've got me dead to rights. But I'll tell you something. I was thoroughly shocked. When she told me she was doing a thing like that. I really was shocked."

"What the hell is the matter with you Christian. Don't you know when you're well off. Is it really asking too much for you just to come to work.''

"No Mr Vine."

"Why do you have to make me get angry with you. I heard what you said, to that guy in the swimming pool. That's not the kind of talk befits someone working for me. God damn it I don't know why I do it. But I'm going to give you just one. And I mean one. Last chance. If you put a foot wrong. There won't be any more little chats like this.''

''Thank you Mr Vine. Thank you. Really thank you.''

"Don't thank me. Just get suite number one ready. I want every inch of it double checked out. The special floral arrangements. The glass enclosed displays. Lighting, rest room, everything. We've got the first reposing of a double casket New York has ever seen."

"Really."

"Yes. A double deceased. A Mr and Mrs Jenkins. She's Esme on the floral display and her husband is Putsie. If you had been on the ball you would have seen the picture on the whole front page of the Daily News. Big elm tree fell on their house in Astoria.

"Gee whiz that's terrible."

"I got a tip off. Went straight out. Right by the Consolidated Edison Gas Plant. "Where Mr Jenkins worked. Just a lucky stroke of luck and being on the ball. Her daughter liked my idea. They were a devoted couple. Lived happily in the area thirty years. Tragic the way the tree they loved growing right outside their nice little house crushed them both in bed.''

"I can't think of nature doing anything more horrible Mr Vine. Must have squashed them something awful.''

"Right across the lumbar and thorax. Just a little bit of facial damage. We rebuilt the pleural cavity. You could have learned something Christian. But I don't know. That kind of calamity makes you wonder. Even what you cherish most can kill you. But the majority of homicides in this town are acts of genuine justice. Ninety nine percent of the time it's what people get for being rude. That's what causes the killings Christian. Discourtesy. And maybe I ought to tell you something. Just a few days after your wife's funeral. I happened to see you. Coming out of Saks Fifth Avenue. Helping a big fat colored woman out the door with her packages. And then you held it open. And one person after another came through. Not one of them gave you even a nod of thanks. And still you stood there. Too polite to let the door slam in anyone's face. I didn't want to impose otherwise I would have gone over and shook your hand.''

"I don't think I remember that Mr Vine. Are you sure it was me."

"It was you. My memory for faces alive or dead is just about infallible. And talking about faces. Those coffin pictures we took of you are really producing results. A funeral director from Rochester said he's never seen such classic dignity in both casket and deceased. We've had a fifty percent increase in orders since our ad was printed.''

"Well I'm really glad about that Mr Vine."

"I keep telling you Christian, you could have an honorable future with me here. "

Vine's twitch of neck and shoulders. His stiff sparkling clean shirtcuffs. Pearl stick pin in his black silk tie sprinkled with the purple little arrows of the Game Club. He's just had a haircut. Puts his arms out on the desk. Folds his hands and crosses his manicured fingers one over the other. Leans forward. His voice solemn and soft.

"Christian I come in here in the morning like this. To the silence and peace. The music and reverie. To the people and their sorrow. Surrounds you. Like having your own death comfort you every day you live. Mourners' hearts opening up to their grief. As that body lies there. Its life gone. Chewed out of it sometimes by a greedy wife. My pleasure is to bring back to the ravaged face some of its childish innocence, some of its dreams, some of its promise. Erase the crevices of worry. The aging around the eyes. I see them sometimes as little children. And I've wept more than once. Sadness is a private garden. With high stone walls. And I would never leave it.''

"I understand Mr Vine.''

"I don't think you do Christian. I just wish you did. And that one day you would whole heartedly embrace this vocation.''

''Guess you 'd like me to work out back in the studio.''

"Well I wouldn't mind a shot at it. If I could be left completely alone. To do my own deceased."

"I 'll give you that chance.''

"Ok Mr Vine."

"By the way Christian I didn't know you were a member of the Game Club."

"I got an athletic membership for boxing. When I was at prep school."

"You can box."

"Yes sir."

"Well I wouldn't mind sparring with you sometime Christian. I used to do a bit in the navy."

"Anytime sir."

"Provided, and I don't want to be a spoilsport, that it's not on my time I'm paying for. You're a guy of many talents Christian. All I'm asking of you. And it's little enough. Is just stay on the ball. Can you do that.''

' ' Yes sir. I can. I know I can.''

"Good."

On Wednesday the double deceased slammed to eternity by the big elm tree were buried. Fritz with his black hair parted down the middle giving me orders like he was afraid one day I might get his job. Shook when he coughed, his lungs rumbling. A real advertisement for a funeral. Didn't give any comfort to the bereaved as he stood hacking and heaving over a fender of a limozine. And before we shipped out to Astoria I came creeping to steal some of Miss Musk's paper hankies out of her office. She caught me red handed. Standing right behind my elbow in her brown dress. Her peach skin turned red as a red tomato. Her eyebrows recently plucked to give her face an Egyptian motif. A string of imitation pearls around her neck. In my fist a wad of tissues and in her's a pencil upon which she pulled. Made my front tail fatten. But her voice thinned it down again.

"That was a dirty rotten trick you did.''

''What are you talking about Miss Musk.''

"You know what about. I'm no snitcher but boy if you stand there denying it and stealing my tissues I'll go straight to Mr Vine. And you know what that will mean.''

"All right. I did it."

''Why. That's all I ask. Why.''

"I don't know. A good luck gesture from a show biz departed. His hand was just right there. I thought it would amuse you.''

"You call that funny. That's your idea is it.''

"Well things are gloomy around here Miss Musk.''

"When I told my boy friend. He was so mad he said he would come around and sock you one.''

"Miss Musk, you better warn your boy friend that I can really fight."

''He entered the golden gloves.''

"I don't care what he entered. I'll give him a departure. Eight through the wall.''

"Boy you talk tough don't you.''

"That's right, when necessary I do."

''Well doing a thing like that, that you did, gives me the impression that you must just not like me. And you could have asked permission to take my tissues.''

"That's not true, Miss Musk, I like you. And I'm sorry, I just didn 't think you'd mind if I took a tissue or two.''

''Guess you thought my dress was too tight that day.''

"O no. You have a most exciting figure.''

''Do you really think so.''

"Yes."

"Ok, just so long as we understand each other. And I want you to swear right now you won't ever try anything like that again."

"I swear."

The double deceased funeral surrounded by photographers taking pictures. When we finally closed the big coffin, visiting undertakers were scrutinizing the special air and water tight join down the middle of the twin casket lid. Cameras were whirring and lights beaming. Clarance handing out drinks in his office, smiling and pleased with compliments of his fellow undertakers. Even Miss Musk grabbed me by the arm and said isn't it exciting. Her fingers stayed a moment. Looking into each other's eyes. She said Mr Vine is going right to the top. And both of us could go with him and all those horrible old building codes, fire and health regulations and zoning laws they hound him with are not going to stop us.

On that triumphant Wednesday a particularly testicular Christian leaned towards Miss Musk. Putting his hands down on her desk and reaching to give her a peck on the nose. She closed her eyes and lifted up her lips. Just as Fritz came in growling. And promptly sent me back to the jammed suite of Esme and Putsie Jenkins. Whose daughter was trying to sign a contract for her life's story. Amid flash bulbs popping. And nosey mourners from other suites. The smell got pretty unpalatable. Vine with his head shyly tilted at the publicity. Finally raised his hands and said that's enough.

At three o'clock we were all ready to go. Shaking hands with visiting morticians. A reporter even asked me my name. We were a happy little go ahead team. I kept drinking ice water. And nervously taking frequent pees. And suddenly found Clarance standing right beside me. Both of us pissing. Said if only more husbands and wives could throw a seven at the same time. Could make use like they do on towels and bathrobes of the words his and hers.

At three o five, motorcycle cops were revving their engines outside. The line of limozines went all the way down and around the corner under the elevated train. Even the janitor of the warehouse across the street brought out his chair to sit and watch. And there standing alone against the massive red brick depository wall. Waiting for me to come out. Fat Cheeks. Flashing open his coat with his usual grin. And a brand new sign.

VOUCHSAFE AND BEHOOVE

WHOREMONGERS

A setting sun sending shadows east. The long motorcade crossing the Queensboro Bridge. Down past dingy roofed factories. Cigar of land sitting in the East River. They call Welfare Island. In that building there you drive in with a truck and an elevator takes you down to the island. A community of hospitals. Institutions charitable and corrective. A home for the recreation of indigents. For the aged and blind and chronic diseased. For the nervous ill. And those fatally dying. And once it was a pleasant peaceful pasture for pigs.

Vine said he never had a funeral like it. A message of sympathy from the mayor. Five motorcycle cops leading the way, sirens blaring, clearing traffic ahead. Vine in personal command. Riding with the local police captain of Astoria. Charlie and I in the flower car. Signs to Maspeth, Flatbush and Ozone Park. Charlie full of information said there was a whole Chinese farm on the North Shore growing Chinese vegetables. And heading past the gas works. Men lined the streets. Hats and caps in hands. Planes on the skyline taking off the runway of the nearby airport. Riker's Island out there on the grey East River. Charlie said three quarters of it was made from subway excavations. And I remember when I was a little boy. When I must have looked across all these lands. Sent away from Brooklyn by my uncle. Holding my smaller brother by the hand. To live high up in the back of a house. With a foster mother and father and a little foster sister and another brother. And I kept wetting the bed. And the woman screamed at me in the morning. All my comfort that summer was to lean out at night on my Bronx window sill. And waiting for the first fireworks to shoot up bursting in the sky. From the World's Fair. A sphere and a pylon like a cock and balls. An erection in Flushing Meadow Park. Imagined it so green with milk and honey and all the people of the world walked around with white angels landing on their arms and sticking lollypops of any flavour they wanted right in their mouths. Cried every night to sleep because my little brother kept asking why our mother and father would never come. He kept begging me please please big brother bring them back to me. I had to leave the window to hold his hand. And sometimes on dark stormy lightning afternoons he would kneel on his knees and with tears pouring down his cheeks begged god just for his mommie if he didn 't want to give his daddy back.