Funeral

As Karen laughed, he suddenly felt a prickle of moisture at the corner of his eye. "Ha, I really laughed until I cried." He reached out by reflex to pull a tissue, only to find no tissue box on the desk. He wiped his eye with the back of his hand, stood up, left the bedroom, and walked outside. Seeing the boss emerge, the two assistants went through the motions of looking busy again. Karen felt that this parlor fell far short of how the Inmerlais family ran things. Inmerlais Funeral Parlor was modest in size, but every detail was handled with as much refinement as possible, whereas this place was distinctly rough around the edges. Perhaps it was because Pavaro had spent these past years rushing around taking missions for point coupons to buy blood spirit powder for his two daughters, leaving little attention to spare for managing the parlor. What should have been clean and crisp now felt somewhat greasy. As for the idea that the two assistants couldn't do their jobs properly because they were God's Servants rather than ordinary folk—Karen didn't buy that at all. To a certain extent, they could be far more earnest and serious than ordinary people, just like Alfred and Ms. Molly when they had served as parlor hands back home. The prerequisite was that you had to make them genuinely fear you. Karen headed first to the kitchen, where he found Mrs. Lake washing plates, and pulled the kitchen door shut behind him. "You're the family's mortuary makeup artist, aren't you?" "Yes, I am," Mrs. Lake replied, turning around. "Do you know Annie?" "From Pastry Shop Street... oh, no, Annie from Red Leaf Street?" It seemed Mrs. Lake indeed knew of her. "Yes. She's dead." "Oh... that, I... I know. I know who she is. That's... that's such sad news." "She was investigating a case with that friend of mine. In the end, knowing full well it was suicide, she showed up and tried to save him. Then, just as expected, she died together with my friend." Mrs. Lake's expression grew conflicted when she heard this. "I know him—no, I know you wouldn't go to a place like that just to eat pastries. I know you must have had your own business to attend to. I asked you about it before, but you refused to tell me." "Yes, because only then could the family be kept out of harm's way." "I know about this woman Annie, this woman from Red Leaf Street. I knew full well she and my husband... that nothing was going on between you and her. But sometimes, when I lost my temper and yelled at you, I cursed her in the heat of the moment, too." "Annie wouldn't be angry." "Yes, but I was wrong. I'm guilty." "Her body is quite heavily damaged." "I'll restore her. I will, I can do it," Mrs. Lake said, patting her chest with conviction. "I'll tell her I'm sorry. I'll apologize to her." "It doesn't need to be too elaborate. Let's hold her funeral today." "Won't that be too rushed?" "No. She probably doesn't have any family." "All right. I'll do my best to restore her in the shortest time possible. I will. Also, there are two coffins in our storage room. If the funeral is today, there won't be time to order from the coffin maker, so we can use ours. They're very clean." "All right." "I'll have Pike reserve a plot at the cemetery. Will the burial be tonight?" "Yes. Call to book it yourself." "Oh, certainly. I'll follow up personally. I will." "We need two plots." "Is... is that friend of yours... to be buried as well?" "Yes." "Okay... I understand... I understand." Karen turned to leave the kitchen, paused briefly, and reminded her, "Don't place the two plots too close together." "I... I don't mind..." "No, it's just that I think Ms. Annie would probably prefer to stay a bit farther from my friend after death." "Yes, I understand." ... Karen walked to the front and said to Dinkum, "Give me the hearse keys." "Sure thing, boss. We got a job?" Dinkum brought the hearse keys over while he and Pike got the gurney ready. "You two stay here and set up the hall. It's a simple order. I'll go bring the guest back myself." "Understood, boss." Karen climbed into the Pavaro family's modified hearse and inserted the key. He glanced back at the rear cabin, then sat up straight and rested both hands on the steering wheel. It was wrapped in a layer of leather that had grown somewhat worn, but when he closed his eyes, that familiar feeling welled up once more. He had ridden in a hearse alongside Uncle Mason and Ron to "rescue" guests; He had lain comfortably inside a hearse's coffin when being discharged from the hospital; He had even driven a hearse to take Eunice out to the countryside on a picnic date. Nostalgia was never really about the object itself; it was about the memories the object evoked. Starting the engine, Karen pulled the hearse out. As he passed Alfred's car parked on the roadside, Karen honked the horn and waved at him. "Right behind you, Young Master." Alfred swiftly started his car and followed. When the hearse entered the residential compound, the security guard at the gate stopped it. Karen stayed in the vehicle while Alfred pulled up, got out, and handled the negotiation. Karen was cleared through in no time. After parking, Karen walked upstairs and entered the apartment. The maid, Xili, was cutting fruit. Seeing Karen walk in, her face froze. "Hello, Mr. Pavaro." "Mm," Karen acknowledged. He walked into the bathroom. Alfred entered the apartment and followed him inside. A moment later, Alfred carried Ms. Annie out on his back, walking straight out the door and down the stairs. Xili was still cutting fruit. Then, she saw "Mr. Pavaro" emerge from the bathroom carrying Mr. Pavaro on his back. Her eyes went wide. She dragged her gaze back to the fruit and kept slicing, no longer cutting neat chunks, but reducing it to fine minced shreds. Alfred returned, immediately took Mr. Pavaro from Karen's back, and carried him downstairs. Ms. Annie was placed into the hearse, while Mr. Pavaro was settled onto the back seat of Alfred's car. The two vehicles drove out of the compound one after the other and returned to Pavaro Funeral Parlor. Alfred pulled over by the curb, took a blanket, and draped it over Mr. Pavaro in the back seat, covering him up to prevent passersby from noticing anything unusual inside. With that done, Alfred sat back in the driver's seat, pulled out his small notebook, and wrote: *For some reason, seeing the young master drive a hearse again inexplicably touched my heart.* ... When the hearse pulled into the parlor, Mrs. Lake, who had been waiting, stepped inside first. She covered Ms. Annie's body with a white sheet before calling Pike and Dinkum over to receive the "guest." Draped in white cloth, Ms. Annie was wheeled into Mrs. Lake's workroom in the rear courtyard. "You two go set up the mourning hall in front." "Right away, Ma'am." Once Pike and Dinkum were sent off, Mrs. Lake drew back the white cloth. Looking at the multiple puncture wounds on Ms. Annie's forehead and body, she took a deep breath. "How long will it take?" Karen asked. "The body is preserved very well. I only need to patch up the hole on her forehead before applying makeup. The other injuries on her body can be hidden with clothing. When people pay their respects, she will look perfectly natural lying in the coffin." "Good." "Where will you go now?" "I'll probably just wait here." "I've tidied up the books and things you used to read and placed them on the desk in the bedroom. I don't sleep in that room anymore; I'm using the guest room. That room will be your study from now on. Of course, if you want to redecorate, that's fine too. I can arrange it." "No rush on that. I'll head to the study first." "All right." Karen stepped out of the workroom, closing the door behind him, and walked into the study—the former master bedroom. The desk, once tucked away in a corner, had been moved to the center of the room, while the bed had been pushed flush against the wall to serve as a daybed. Shifting the positions of those two pieces of furniture had completely transformed the nature of the space. Piles of books and file folders sat on the desk. Karen sat down and began leafing through them one by one. Before long, he found several volumes of Mr. Pavaro's work notebooks. These were of tremendous value to Karen right now; he needed working experience and a deeper understanding of the grassroots operations of the Church of Order. Mr. Pavaro was a meticulous man whose notebooks recorded everything in great detail, starting all the way back from his days as a God's Servant. Karen flipped through the pages. Most of the entries were written in the first person, giving Karen the impression that Mr. Pavaro was standing right before him, recounting his past experiences. Before he knew it, Karen was completely immersed in the atmosphere. Mr. Pavaro felt like a master craftsman leading an apprentice through the door—the only difference being that this master had handed down his position to him before the teaching even began. From God's Servant, to God's Revelation, to God's Shepherd, and finally to Inquisitor—the contents had only reached the halfway point. That meant once one became an Inquisitor, the matters requiring handling suddenly became vastly more complex. It also meant Mr. Pavaro had indeed served as an Inquisitor for quite a long time, yet he had remained a Seventh-Class Inquisitor, receiving the lowest treatment within the Inquisitor ranks. Turning to the next page, Karen noticed a dark ring on the paper. At first he thought it was some kind of emphasis, but after reading carefully, he found nothing out of the ordinary in the surrounding text. "Oh..." Karen understood. It was simply that when Mr. Pavaro had written to this point, the ash from the cigarette dangling from his lips had fallen onto the page, leaving a tiny scorch mark. Karen had let his imagination run wild. On the desk sat a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and an ashtray. None of those had been there before, because the former Mr. Pavaro had never enjoyed the privilege of smoking in the shared bedroom. Karen pulled out a cigarette, placed it between his lips, clicked the lighter, and then rested the burning cigarette upside down on the ashtray. "Lit one for you. Keep talking." Karen went back to browsing the notes, silently committing the names of various people mentioned in them to memory. The clock hands crept onward, arriving at four in the afternoon before he knew it. *Tap, tap...* "Come in." Mrs. Lake walked in carrying a tray. She placed a glass of ice water and a sandwich-like item before Karen. Unlike a regular sandwich, it was spread with a dark paste. Karen picked up the glass, took a generous gulp, looked at the Pavaro family sandwich, and said with a smile, "I'm not hungry." "Everything outside is ready. Would you like to go take a look?" "Oh, is it?" Karen glanced up at the clock. He had actually been reading for so long. "Sorry, I lost track of time reading." "It's only right that we finish the work before coming to notify you." "Mm." Karen stretched his arms. "Would you... like me to massage your shoulders? I used to do that for you often, though usually after the girls finished their blood spirit powder baths." "No need." "I'm so sorry. I... I just can't help myself." "I should be the one apologizing. Perhaps we both need a little time to adjust to this dynamic." "Yes, yes. But please rest assured, I'll adapt very quickly." "No, you've done wonderfully, Ma'am. It's just that I can't fully immerse myself in my role. In a little while, I'll hire a new assistant." "Really? That would be wonderful." "Yes. When that time comes, you should be able to interact with him far more comfortably." "Yes, I understand." Mrs. Lake grasped the meaning behind his words. Karen got up, walked out of the bedroom, and went to the front hall—the mourning hall. On the display bier in the mourning hall rested a dark red coffin. It had an elegant appearance. Back home, Karen had often leafed through the family's coffin catalogs in his spare time, so he knew the coffin before him was by no means cheap. The hall was quiet, making the conversation between Pike and Dinkum—each holding a bottle of soda—come through with crystal clarity. Pike: "To think it's Ms. Annie! I nearly jumped out of my skin when I set up the coffin just now. The boss has some serious nerve." Dinkum: "The missus used to curse Annie whenever she chewed out the boss at home, telling him he might as well go die in Annie's bed and never come back, but she's never actually seen Annie in person." Pike: "What's even funnier is that the missus did Ms. Annie's mortuary makeup herself. I wonder how furious she'd be if she found out the person lying there was the very Ms. Annie she's always cursing." Dinkum: "What, you thinking of squealing?" Pike: "Bah, I'd never do something like that." Karen's footsteps startled the two assistants. They spun around to face him, looking thoroughly embarrassed. Karen had no intention of scolding them, however. There would be plenty of time to whip them into shape once his true self arrived at the parlor. Stepping up onto the platform, Karen looked at Ms. Annie lying in the coffin. She appeared to be fast asleep, resting deeply and peacefully. The clothes she wore were not new, but this was no slight; Mrs. Lake had evidently brought out her own clothes to dress Ms. Annie. After paying his respects, Karen stepped down from the platform, pulled over a chair, and prepared to sit by the entrance for a while. By the doorway stood a signboard, which would normally announce whose memorial service was being held today, but it was currently blank. Karen pointed at the board. "Write it up." "Really write it, Boss?" Pike glanced toward the back, silently asking if the boss truly wanted the missus to find out who today's "guest" was. "Write it." "Yes, Boss." Pike hurried over and began writing on the board. Dinkum approached with a cigarette, offering it to the boss. Karen shook his head and said, "Thanks to the merits from this case, I'll be receiving a promotion before long. When that happens, we'll gain an extra quota here, and I'll hire a God's Servant." "Is it someone assigned from above, Boss?" "No." "So you already have someone in mind, Boss?" "Yes. Going forward, I'll continue taking missions to earn point coupons, so I might often be away for ten days or half a month at a time. The affairs here and the day-to-day operations..." "Don't you worry, Boss! You can leave all of that to me. I'll train the newcomer well and make sure our daily work runs smoothly." Karen looked at Dinkum and smiled. Dinkum smiled back, thinking he had earned the boss's approval. "Yes, yes, I'm writing it right now. Yes, please come in, right this way." Pike was gesturing inside toward two women who had approached to ask. Two conservatively dressed women walked toward the parlor. Dinkum stepped forward and asked in confusion, "You're here for...?" "To mourn Sister Annie." "Yes, we're here to mourn our sister." "Dinkum, go prepare tea," Karen instructed. "Right away, Boss." A funeral parlor's mourning hall didn't necessarily need to provide meals, but tea was an absolute must. The two women walked up to Karen, and each handed him an envelope of condolence money. "We didn't know who arranged Sister Annie's funeral, so please pass this along." Karen pinched the envelopes of condolence money and nodded. The two women walked to the display bier and began paying their respects to Annie. Just then, more women approached from outside. Karen remained seated where he was, continuing to receive condolence money. The crowd began to grow. All of them were women, ranging across different ages, and all dressed very conservatively. Quite a few of them seemed to recognize him. Handing their condolence money into his hands, they addressed him as "Mr. Pavaro." Gradually, the modest mourning hall was nearly packed to capacity. After taking turns stepping forward to pay their respects, they all gathered below the platform, standing together as if offering her a final vigil. At that moment, Mrs. Lake appeared behind Karen. "Did you notify them?" Karen asked. "You said she had no family, but I didn't want her departure to be too lonely, so I tried reaching out. I just never expected so many to come. I'm sorry." "It's fine. No need to apologize." Karen handed the stack of condolence envelopes to Mrs. Lake, then turned toward the interior, watching the women standing there in mourning for Ms. Annie. Each was observing a silent tribute in her own customary way. Their postures differed, but their reverence was the same, as were the distinct tear tracks at the corners of their eyes. Who would have guessed that Ms. Annie enjoyed such widespread goodwill on Pastry Shop Street? She was an elder sister, shielding the women on that street who made their living selling pastries. She hadn't been proselytizing—Karen saw no one praying with religious rites. Yet she was indeed a true believer of the Goddess Mills, consistently living out the teachings the goddess had left behind and taking the goddess as her exemplar. A funeral was, in truth, the clearest and most impartial venue for summing up a person's life. "She was a remarkable woman," Mrs. Lake said softly. "I feel honored on behalf of your friend—honored that he could call her a friend." In Karen's mind surfaced the image of Ms. Annie holding a cigarette between her fingers in that private booth. He then silently drew money from his pocket and placed it into Mrs. Lake's hand along with the condolence envelopes. "Forty riels. That's my condolence money." Karen added quietly, "She's worth every bit of it." "All right." Tonight, every pastry shop on Red Leaf Street was closed.