My Best Friend's Funeral
I stepped through McCarthy’s open front door with my hands in my pockets, passed a queue of mourners in dark suits and dresses and stopped at the sitting room door. The low murmur of respect for the dead quietened as I walked across the paisley carpet to the coffin in the corner. I glanced left at the polished dark wood coffin lid resting against the worn pink flowered wallpaper. The shots of whiskey I ingested earlier helped me to hold my chin up and I smirked at nothing.
I placed my trembling hands on the sides of the coffin and gripped the edge. I watched my knuckles turn white and took a deep breath to contain the urge to just overturn the casket. No reason, just the whiskey fueled devil inside. I let go of the coffin edge and wiped my clammy palms on the flimsy upholstery. My eyes widened as a bright red streak of blood appeared on the white silk. I jerked my hand from the sight, brushing my knuckles against a stiff leg. I popped my sunglasses onto my head and the blood vanished from the silk. I sniggered with relief as I glanced over my shoulder, but nobody seemed to notice. My imagination, thank God, and I edged my way to the head of the coffin.
I looked down at Michael ‘Butts’ McCarthy, pursed my lips and squinted at his face. In fairness, the undertaker had done a sterling job. The rings around his eyes were all but gone and the deep wrinkles on his forehead were smoothed to no more than creases. His face finally looked his young age, and for sure, too young to be snug in a coffin. I dipped my chin to get a better look and still couldn’t find a blemish. There was nothing to suggest any foul play.
At peace, they say. True, I suppose, as Butts hadn’t looked so good in quite a few years. His pale face was the colour of the stuff he snorted, the stuff he sold, and unfortunately for him, the stuff he stole. I peered down at the thieving so-and-so. If only he had just asked, I could have helped, but no, he had to break one of our Lord’s commandments and steal from Pa O’ Shea. I swallowed the regret and sniffled. There was a tug of emotion, a strange tickling of my throat, but hardly enough to label as grief. I sighed and suddenly his mother embraced me from behind and rested her head on my back.
‘Tony, oh Tony, they took my boy, my sweet Michael.’
Teresa McCarthy suffered from a depression through years of drug abuse, and it seemed she had a little something on board, to take the edge off. I turned with my arms in the air. She looked up at me and her eyes sparked, but her words weighed with melancholy. ‘What am I going to do now?’ She knit her eyebrows and shook her head.
Good question, hit the bottle, probably.
‘I know, Teresa. It’s alright now,’ I said, and I hugged her. I almost got a fit of laughing but I noticed four generations of McCarthy’s from all corners of Cork looking on, so I swallowed my immaturity. The older women with puffed eyes, sniffled in agreement with Teresa. They lightly elbowed each other, reinforcing the wretchedness of the day, as Teresa sobbed.
She suddenly stopped, looked up at me and gritted her teeth. Some light mascara spread to the top of her cheeks, exacerbating her look of despair.
‘Those good for nothin’ Guards. They didn’t raise a finger to help him.’ Her left eye squinted as though she was in the know. ‘Wouldn’t leave him alone, and where were they last Saturday night?’ She put her head on my chest again and sobbed a loud wheezy rasp.
I should have just gone to the pub. I could do with a pint.
But here I am in McCarthy’s sitting room instead, hugging the thief’s mother. I took a deep indifferent breath through my nose and noticed a weird smell of baby powder. I wasn’t sure if it was Teresa or maybe the undertaker masking the smell of death. I gently pushed Teresa away to arm’s length. I squinted down at her and spoke out the side of my mouth. ’They’ll get what they deserve soon enough. All of ’em,’ I said in a low menacing voice. I’ve no idea why, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to say about the good for nothing Guards.
In the small crowd behind Teresa, I noticed Butts leaning against the door frame. As usual, he sucked a lollipop and he folded his arms. The sweets rotted his teeth in the end, but he sucked the pops to stop his chain smoking. I blinked a couple of times to be rid of him, but he stayed with me and made a slurping sound when he took the orange pop from his mouth.
He pointed it at me as if taking aim. ‘What about my murderer? Will he get what he deserves?’ he asked.
I wet my dry lips with my tongue and took a breath. I wanted to say, yes, as long as I breathe, I’ll find who did it and make them pay, but I just sighed instead.
He grinned. ‘Ah, I’m only messin’ with ye. I’m glad you’re here with her today. She always liked ye.’ He shoved the pop back in his mouth.
Teresa looked up at me and slowly nodded. ’Yes, love, all of ‘em, for sure.’
Her eyelids drooped and then suddenly popped open. ‘Will you join us, Tony? At the church, like.’ She gripped my hands with a strength defying her stature and I glanced around the room of familiar McCarthy faces. I was about to refuse when she smiled. ‘Michael would want you with us, you know.’
At the door, Butts laughed. ‘Don’t know where she got that from. We both know how much you love churches.’
He laughed more than he should have, and I closed my eyes. I saw his still body lying in the middle of a crimson pool. His bloodied spiky hair shone in the moonlight, and from the door, Butts clicked his fingers at me. I blinked my eyes open.
‘Don’t disappoint my mother,’ he said.
Teresa continued to stare up at me waiting for my answer. ‘Of course, Teresa,’ I said calmly and smiled. ‘No place I’d rather be.’
One by one, the silver beads rolled, and slowly disappeared into Teresa’s slim pale hand. A black cross dangled and twisted in small circles with every movement of her fingers swallowing the rosary. She’s going through the sorrowful mysteries, I thought.
I was wedged between two large McCarthy cousins from Skibbereen and I bowed my head. I flicked my eyes to the right and saw the priest sprinkle holy water onto the coffin. He was mouthing something under his breath. Prayers most like, but Teresa’s mouth never moved. Her face was stone, her eyes glass, only her fingers moved the beads. The old, vaulted ceilings of the church amplified the faint murmur of the crowd to my rear as they waited for the priest to finish.
‘Is this never goin’ to end?’ Butts sniggered into my ear. ‘Didn’t think you’d last through the mass.’
I shifted in my seat and could hear Butts snuffle beside me. ‘You know, death, it’s not too bad. At least, I don’t feel the cravings for snow anymore.’
My shirt was damp with sweat and the wooden pew pinched my back and I let it. I wanted to feel the pain. I clenched my fists tightly, hoping that would shut him up. I raised my head and shivered as the whiskey wore off. The priest took the microphone from an altar boy and stood near the coffin. I barely heard the drone and looked beyond the priest to the stained-glass window over the tabernacle. A sad long-faced Christ hung on a cross for our sins. A yellow halo highlighted his crown of thorns, and a window latch partially blocked the bloodied spear piercing on his side. Surely, his death wasn’t enough for all our sins, I thought.
The priest must have finished because people began to come to the front pew to offer hands of condolence. Eventually I just left my hand out for the queue of sympathisers to get their fill. A rough hand of steel interrupted the many limp sweaty palms and it gripped me in a bone crunching clamp. I raised my chin to look up at his massive bald head shining in the church light. I held my breath and his beady eyes stared back. He pulled me forward until my forehead brushed his beard and I could smell his cheap cologne.
‘We’ve unfinished business, you and me.’ He squeezed my hand tighter, and I grimaced. ‘I’ll be seeing you around, boy.’
His whisper was loud, but nobody took notice. He let my hand go and disappeared into the crowd. No doubt Pa O’ Shea would be looking for what’s owed, but not today.
Five old school mates I had not seen for ten years shouldered the coffin with me, and the steeple bells rang as we walked from the church. We turned into the graveyard and walked along the centre road. Rows of red and yellow tulips on either side, danced and bobbed, as if in delight to see so many future customers, but today, they welcomed home only Butts. Their bright colours lured us forward, hiding the dark and solemn gravestones just behind. Gravel crunched under foot as the mourners pressed on. The slow gait and varied shoulder heights made the going awkward, but the coffin was light. Butts ate little, instead, he snorted and supped his calories and nutrients.
We turned slowly to the left down a pathway of old flagstones. It was just wide enough for a coffin to be shouldered and the tulips disappeared, replaced by wildflowers and ferns. The marble headstones in neat rows gradually gave way to limestone Celtic crosses of varying size in what seemed like random locations. The sheltered older part of the cemetery had a cragged look of rustic resilience and the wind whispered rather than blew through the robust sacred ground.
At the end of the narrow path of flagstones, we turned to the right and climbed five long shallow steps to a raised area containing about a dozen graves. High stone walls on three sides reduced the wind to barely a breath. A small grotto to the Virgin Mary nestled in the centre of the wall and the branches of a Horsechestnut tree provided ample shade for the lady.
We lay the coffin down near the freshly opened hole in the ground. I took a step back and my shoulder tingled without the weight.
Butts leaned an elbow on his gravestone, took the pop from his mouth and grimaced. ‘Will you make sure they don’t carve a dove into the stone beside my name. I’d like something more, I don’t know, macho, d’ye know what I mean?’
I nodded and wondered what might work. ‘A lollipop and a fag, maybe,’ I said quietly and patted the gravestone.
He laughed. ‘Maybe.’ He looked to the sky and squinted. ‘Looks like rain,’ he said.
The crowd pressed from behind, imitating the billowing masses of clouds overhead. Various shades of grey in the sky, bubbled and shifted, threatening rain, but continued to hold their fill. A distant roll of thunder announced the downpour would not be long in coming.
Butts walked towards me and stood only a few feet away. He smiled at me, and I looked into his eyes and saw peace. My chest compressed and my heart ached like a giant fist squeezed my very soul. I was trapped in the spreading mass of people and my breathing grew shallow. Beads of sweat formed on my brow and I loosened my tie knot. I had to get out of this place of death, just get away from the throng. I grasped Teresa’s hand tightly in mine and looked into her swollen eyes.
‘I’m sorry for your troubles,’ I said, and a lump in my throat choked further words. I pushed through the surging crowd and shouldered my way down the flagstones. The wind picked up and swept across the old cemetery, whistling through the Celtic crosses and ruined church stones. The ivy clung desperately to the ruins and invaded old graves, searching for new earth to latch into and grow. The graveyard in an eerie way breathing life, but on this day, it swallowed death.
Not far from the main gates, I looked over my shoulder at the undertakers lowering my best friend into the ground.
‘I know I messed up,’ Butts said.
I stopped with a pain in my chest and leaned my hands on my knees to get some relief. Butts stood beside me and tutted. ‘A pity,’ he whispered, ‘but maybe it’s not too late for you.’
I blinked back tears and shook my head as I peered at the graveled ground. ‘You deserved better. We both deserved better, but it’s too late. My day of reckoning is near, and there’ll only be one outcome, of this I’m certain, and it’ll be brutal.’
I retched an empty stomach, before I rose, and my head spun.
Butts stood in front of me, and I could feel him grasp my shoulders like he used to do to make me listen. ‘It’s my fault and you shouldn’t have to pay. Let’s escape together, you and me. Just the two of us. Like we always planned. Someplace where there’s no snow, and no Pa O’ Shea.’
I snorted with laughter through my tears. ‘And no point arguing with you, I suppose.’ I wiped my eyes, but more tears came. ‘I miss you Butts, you fool. You should be here, and not in that blasted coffin. Why did you steal from O’ Shea?’
Butts was relentless. ‘We can start again, you know. Go a different road, Tony. Lay off the snow and live like regular people with dreams of happiness.’
Through my tears, I saw the crowd of mourners erect umbrellas in the distance. I cleared the sadness from my throat and swallowed my guilt as the first rain drops fell on my face. I took a deep breath, put my hands in my pockets and turned away.
‘We’ll see,’ I said out loud, and I walked together with my best friend through the cemetery gates.
