Mark Rogers - The Dead

“God, I hope Mom comes back,” she said at last.

Long about one o’clock Uncle Buddy’s blue Chevy station-wagon, badly in need of a tune-up by the sound of it, pulled up in front of the house.

“Brace yourselves,” Gary said, looking out through an open front window. “Here they are.”

Out came Uncle Buddy and Uncle Dennis, together with their wives and Buddy’s gawky seventeen year-old son, Dave. They trooped up the front walk but paused midway along as Buddy, a towering beer-bellied presence, grabbed Dave and pointed a fat finger at his nose.

“Look, you little bastard,” Buddy growled, “You watch yourself. My brother’s dead, this is a very sad occasion, and if you don’t behave, I’ll beat your brains out.”

“What did I do?” Dave asked, the very question Gary was pondering.

“You know what you did!” Uncle Buddy thundered.

Looking very embarrassed, Aunt Lucy, his overripe, bleached-blonde better half, grabbed his arm and whispered in his ear.

“He’s going to learn respect ,” he snapped.

“But what did I do? ” Dave repeated.

Uncle Buddy put him down with a whack to the face.

Laff Riot, Gary thought, recalling Buddy’s yearbook nickname.

Having apparently not inherited his father’s sense of humor, Dave leaped back up from the ground, a knife in his hand.

Aunt Lucy stamped her foot. “David Holland, you put that down this instant! ”

Dave’s response was to bound forward and jab the knife at Uncle Buddy’s neck. Gary gasped, started to run for the door-then saw the blade, obviously rubber, bend when it struck Buddy’s flesh.

“Christ,” Gary muttered, shaking his head.

“What?” Max called from the kitchen.

“Just Buddy and cousin Dave, being themselves.”

Recovering from his shock, Buddy, livid, grabbed the knife from Dave, made as if to smack him again; then a change came over him. He inspected the knife, wobbling the blade back and forth.

“Chip off the old block,” he laughed. “Scared the shit out of me for a second there.”

“Watch your language, Buddy!” Lucy cried.

“Any fuckin’ thing you say,” Buddy answered, glancing at Uncle Dennis, who gave what seemed to Gary like a forced grin. Dennis’s wife Camille looked scandalized.

Buddy straightened his suit, pocketed the rubber knife, and started forward again, the others following. Gary met them at the door.

“How you doin’, Gary?” Uncle Buddy asked.

“Okay,” Gary answered.

“Everything all set for tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

Aunt Lucy, smelling of sickly-sweet perfume, gave Gary a big smarmy hug. “Any news about your mother?” she asked.

“No.”

When all five of them were inside, Max and Linda came forward, and there was a round of embraces and introductions.

“So you’re sexy little Linda,” Buddy said.

Gary looked at her. She had a clenched smile on her face that told him very clearly that what she really wanted to say was, “ So you’re fat old Uncle Buddy the jerk-off .” But what came out was: “Uncle Bud dy! I’ve heard so much about you!”

“Nothing good, I hope,” Buddy said, and kissed her on the cheek.

“Not one word,” she replied.

“When’s the viewing?” Uncle Dennis asked. Tall and late-fortyish, he looked like an older version of Max Jr.-broad shoulders, rugged face, dark hair, only a bit of a paunch.

“Three,” Gary answered. “Did you guys drive all night?”

“Almost,” Aunt Camille said. “Checked into a hotel around four.”

“Close?”

“It’s up on 35,” Dennis said.

“TV still down in the rec room?” Dave asked Gary.

“Yeah,” Gary answered.

“HBO?”

“Showtime.”

“I can live with that,” Dave said, and started for the stairs.

“David, you stay away from that one-eyed monster,” Aunt Lucy said. “Visit a while.”

Dave mumbled something under his breath and continued on his way.

“You want me to hit you again?” Uncle Buddy asked.

Dave disappeared through the door. Buddy grumbled, but didn’t pursue.

“You know, we were heartbroken to hear about your father,” Lucy told Max. “And now this terrible business about your mother…”

“She was a good woman,” Buddy said.

“ Was? ” Max said. “Do you know that she’s dead?”

“Relax,” Buddy answered. “Didn’t mean nothing by it.”

Just doing a little wishful thinking, right? Gary thought. Buddy had never been too fond of Mom. She was far too religious for him-being religious at all was too much, as far as he was concerned. Gary knew Buddy blamed Mom for the rift that had developed between him and Max Sr.- the Hollands had been an unbroken line of freethinkers until Dad met her.

“Gonna miss your father,” Buddy told Max and Gary. “My favorite brother gone, just like that. We had our disagreements, all right, but he was always the best.”

Gary saw Dennis bite his lip.

“Got any beer?” Dennis asked.

“In the fridge,” Max answered.

“Man, I used to pull some jokes on old Maxie,” Buddy said wistfully. “I ever tell you boys about the time I put cowshit in his bed?”

That was a new one.

“Yeah,” Gary said, forcing a laugh. “I heard all about it, remember?”

“You sure? ”

“I think so.”

“Nah. I’m sure I didn’t tell you.”

Then why’d you ask? Gary thought, but said nothing, knowing he was in for the long haul no matter what.

“Sit down, sit down,” Buddy said. “You’ll just crap your pants.”

They parked themselves on the couch, Gary steeling himself. Max headed for the kitchen.

“Hey!” Buddy called after him. “Don’t you want to hear the story?”

“No,” Max said.

When they left for the funeral parlor, Gary noticed that his Pinto sounded pretty ragged, much the way Buddy’s Chevy had; that was odd, considering he’d had it tuned three weeks before. But half the cars on the street seemed to be coughing and wheezing-it was obvious even though Gary had the windows rolled up. The day had turned quite chilly.

What happened to summer? he wondered.

He turned right on Beichmann, passing two cop cars heading up toward the beach, lights flashing. Reaching the western end of the business district, he pulled into the parking lot at Van Nuys and Monahan’s, Uncle Buddy right behind.

Everyone signed the memorial book; spindly Mr. Van Nuys came out from his office and had one of his assistants open the door to the chapel. He shook hands all around, expressed condolences, then led the party into the room.

Not very much like my dream at all, Gary thought.

Max Sr. was laid out at the back in a bronze casket. Sprays of flowers flanked the catafalque. Max nudged Gary and pointed to the right-there were Uncle Buddy’s anthuriums. Gary wondered what Buddy would’ve sent if Max Sr. hadn’t been his favorite brother.

Approaching the coffin, they all gave the deceased a once-over. Mr. Van Nuys hovered near, waiting to be complimented on his handiwork.

“So peaceful,” Aunt Lucy said approvingly.

So waxy-looking, Gary thought. The flesh had a slight orange tinge, and the features seemed slightly flattened, as if there were no longer anything to keep them from sagging-like blood pressure. Or personality.

Gary was quietly shocked. Even though he’d been converted to a vague form of scientific materialism back in his teens, he’d never ceased being surprised and appalled by the way death changed faces. He knew the corpse was just a mass of chemicals, that death was merely a chemical change, but something so simple didn’t seem enough to account for such a profound transformation. Muscles and bone structure hadn’t been altered, but this was no longer his father-if it had been walking down the street, Gary wouldn’t have known it from Adam. Knowing it was his father’s body, he recognized the similarities; but his father was missing from it, and somehow the loss didn’t seem chemical at all.