Short Story: Eulogy

Short Story: Eulogy

EULOGY

Lewis sat in the middle, his brothers on either side. Rob, who being the youngest, tended to get what he wanted, sat on his left looking out of the window of the Boeing 747. Joe, the intellectual, the educated one, sat on his right. Even in his slumber he managed to keep the air of aloofness that surrounded him in his waking hours. Lewis smiled as he noticed the Times crossword, barely started, hanging loosely in Joe’s hands.

Lewis’ thoughts concentrated on the purpose of their trip their grandfather’s funeral. A feeling of wistfulness tinged with bitterness came over him as he remembered his grandfather, Giovanni. He had been no saint, far from it in fact, but Lewis did have happy memories of him. However these were interspersed with darker, painful ones.

It was almost time to land so he adjusted his Rolex, one of the many presents his grandfather had bought him. He knew where the money had come from. At first he had been too young to understand; then as he grew older he chose to ignore his conscience. After all he was his grandfather and Giovanni had always told him ‘Family comes first’.

Lewis himself had never followed that path, and neither had his brothers. True, the temptation had always been there how could it not have been? He could experience the ‘fruits’ of this career choice almost every day of his life but, in reality, he had never had the stomach for it. Nonetheless he had respected his grandfather, or at least on the surface. For show. Inwardly he harboured other feelings mingled with the natural ones of family love.

Lewis looked at his brothers and pondered on how much they had all suffered and whether this suffering would now ease for it could never be completely extinguished. And, as he always did when his thoughts touched on unpleasant memories, he hummed a nursery rhyme.

The church sat at the top of a steep hill. There was only one road in the village and this led up to it. Cars were parked at the bottom of this hill and the mourners had to walk the 300 metres or so up to the top. It was a clear, cold day the two seasons had made fleeting acquaintance with each other and the trees had acquired sparse white coats.

Lewis arrived at the summit some minutes before his brothers and looked up at the small white provincial church – it’s strange, he thought, it looked much bigger from the bottom. As Lewis gazed upon it he remembered holidays here at Nella in his childhood. Sunday worship with his father, mother, and Giovanni. Then just his grandfather. And it was on those later ‘holidays’ that Lewis first formed the idea of retribution. Or revenge. It was a long time since the three siblings had been here though. Shortly Rob and Joe arrived and they stood, side by side, backs to the world, resembling, he imagined, three tall burnt-out tree stumps.

As they gazed upon the church, Lewis was certain that it seemed to increase in stature. It had a quaintness about it, sure enough, and from the outside it was not much to look at but to Lewis it had something else – an inherent sense of power, and death. He could almost taste it in the air. The seasonal smells were prevalent but there was another aroma, one of rotten decay. He turned to look at his brothers. Brothers to be admired. However he wondered if their mental scars would ever heal. And he also wondered if they suspected….

He looked about the hill and noticed that it was surrounded by woodland; and he wondered how many people had been led into the depths to receive their justice. As he contemplated this, a shaft of sunshine lit the woodland scene and he could discern a cluster of snowdrops. Lewis had never seen snowdrops (or snow piercers as his mother used to call them) in Italy before. He was then diverted by what sounded like a bird in song. He turned round again to face the church and he could see a pair of canaries, the brightest yellow, sitting on the roof, next to the tower. Canaries in Italy? At that time of year? Lewis was puzzled but his mood was lightened by their melody. He turned to his brothers to see if they were sharing this experience with him but they seemed oblivious – no matter, they were his birds! His flowers of song!

Lewis stood up on the altar and inspected the congregation. It was a funeral service and everyone was dressed accordingly. Black, or very dark clothes; women veiled; everyone with prayer-books or bibles; men with collars and ties, their hats by their sides; rosary beads in abundance.

At the back of the church, standing up, Lewis could make out two men who were obviously not mourners. True, they wore black, but not ties – they wore black sunglasses and matching polo-necks. Their complexion was darker than was normally found amongst Giovanni’s ‘family’ and Lewis reckoned they were hit men brought in from somewhere in South America, probably, to find his grandfather’s killer. God this is just like a scene from a Coppola or a Scorcese film, he thought. He suddenly felt uncomfortable – he wished he could see if their eyes were on him. He had been composed, cold even, ever since he had landed in Italy. Now he was starting to feel nervous; he loosened his tie and undid his top button.

He cleared his throat and began his eulogy

‘My grandfather, Giovanni, was a devoted father and loving grandfather; and I feel very humble even attempting to speak about him. I certainly feel honoured to have been related to him. He was so full of love, patience, great endurance and infinite kindness. Words really cannot do justice to him’.

At this point Lewis paused, sniffing slightly. The irony of what he had just spoken almost causing him to smile. He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. Then he glimpsed the two men again and suddenly his stomach tightened, and he felt his hands and neck moisten. His heart thumped and his legs buckled slightly – he held on to the microphone and steadied himself. He looked at the congregation again and saw that no-one had come forward to help. ‘Maybe they know’ he thought. With the clean side of his handkerchief, he dabbed his eyes and then dried his neck and hands. Now ready, he carried on

‘Everyone that knew him knows what he was like and anyone that did NOT know him, to my mind, has missed out on a life-enhancing experience’.

Again Lewis stopped, this time reflecting upon his latest words. He wondered how many lives had been spared by not knowing his grandfather. He looked at the congregation. On the front row the only people who weren’t looking directly at him were Rob and Joe. Their heads were bowed. Everyone else was staring at him, some with tears in their eyes. Others expressionless, cold. He trembled, fear started to eat away at him. Composing himself he spoke. Or he tried to. Nothing came out. He swallowed and moistened his mouth. He tried again

‘For us who are left behind it has been an unhappy time, obviously but I feel he is still with us and that should give us hope because as G.K. Chesterton once said “Hope is the power of being cheerful in circumstances that we know to be desperate”. Giovanni, we love you more than words can say’. Finished, he glanced at his brothers who were now looking at him. Rob had tears in his eyes and Joe wore a pallid expression. ‘For you’, Lewis thought ‘I did it for you’.

**********

I remember the first time you held me. To comfort me, you said. Why, I asked. You need me, you said. Why, I asked. Your father is in prison, you said. I remember the first time you came to my bed. To comfort me, you said. Why, I asked. You are family, you said. I remember the first time you hurt me. Why, I asked. It’s love, you said. I remember the second and the third times you hurt me. You loved me more and more, you said. I remember you comforting Rob and Joe. Why them, I asked. They are family as well, you said. I was jealous, I said. You are special, you said. I remember the pain. The greatest love, you said.

**********

There were many times over the years, until his grandfather had grown tired of him (them) when Lewis had felt sick; sick almost to the point of death with the pain and the agony. The ecstasy, Giovanni had called it. And on these occasions Lewis felt his senses were leaving him. These led to bouts of blankness (his so called vertigo).

In the middle of frequent endeavours to remember and earnest struggles to re-gather some token of the state of seeming nothingness into which his soul had lapsed, there had been moments when he dreamed of happiness.

Lewis now called to mind the blankness, the dampness and the pain; and madness, the madness of a memory that busies itself among forbidden things.

**********

He shook the priest by the hand and stepped down from the altar, joining his brothers as they walked down the aisle towards the exit. He stepped into the fading daylight where he was soon flanked by the two men he had noticed inside. He turned round, saw his brothers and nodded. They returned his greeting simultaneously. They understood. Lewis permitted himself a wry smile as he remembered the snowdrops in the woods and, on an impulse, he looked up at the roof of the church but his canaries had gone.

As he was led down to a Mercedes, he recited a nursery rhyme he had sung to himself many times, ‘If you go down to the woods today you are in for a big surprise’. And as he entered the vehicle, Lewis wondered what the snowdrops would look like up close and what sweet rest there must be in the grave.