Burial

THE BURIAL

The black Daimler hearse stopped outside the gates to the small
churchyard; a couple of private cars pulled up behind. This was going
to be a small, private funeral.

Two funeral company men in black morning suits skilfully manoeuvred the
coffin onto a trolley, slammed shut the car doors and proceeded with
their dead cargo up the gravelled path towards where they knew an open
grave lay waiting.

Following them were the mourners, five of them. A middle-aged man with
a couple in their early thirties, obviously his son and daughter and
two middle aged women. That was the sum total of the procession. It was
a cool but bright day with patches of cloud allowing the sun to shine
occasionally through.

As the trolley was trundled towards it's destination three sextons who
had been putting finishing touches to the edges of the grave stepped
back in respect. There was a leathery faced, grizzled old man who
looked as if he was as old as his workplace and two younger men.

Machines today dig most graves, great-mouthed earth-eating monsters,
which can scoop out a cavern in the ground in a few minutes. But this
was a very old, tightly packed cemetery with some of the headstones
dating back three hundred years. Any big, clumsy machine would do
serious damage to surrounding graves. Also, the three men knew that
they could only dig deep enough to bury the coffin with about a foot to
cover over. Any deeper and they would start to interfere with
seventeenth or even sixteenth century bones. The young men were casual
labour, the old chap being the only permanent staff but even he knew
his days were numbered as the graveyard was practically at the end of
it's use. Only a couple of spaces left and they were reserved. These
days his duties consisted mainly of weeding and general repairs in the
church.

As the small group reached the graveside the vicar came hurrying out of
the church full of apologies and explanations about 'working on
Sunday's sermon' although, when he was
being honest with himself, he knew that most of the congregation were
in the graveyard.

The funeral men gently lowered the coffin into it's resting place,
removed the ropes and stepped respectfully back. At the head of the
grave was a temporary marker, a simple wooden cross with the name '
Agatha Brown' written in chalk.

The vicar proceeded to read from a series of notes that had been given
to him; how Agatha Brown had been a magnificent success in life,
building a large company from nothing employing thousands of people,
donating millions to worthy causes and being a thoroughly, wonderful
person. He then finished with the usual prayer for the soul of the
deceased, shook everyone's hand and scurried back to his church and his
sermon.

The funeral men touched their hats in polite salute and walked quickly
away, already thinking of their next job, and the mourners started
slowly back along the gravel path towards the cars.

It was one of the two middle-aged women that spoke first.

"Well, God rest her soul, that's over; she certainly had a good
innings."

"Yes" responded the other woman, "and she wasn't really bad to work
for, all things considered."

"No not really, and of course at her age you'd expect them to get a bit
stroppy."

"Of course you do, and you know, in her young days she must have been
something fantastic. She started that company without any help and
built it up all on her own into one of the biggest in the
country."

"I know" said the first woman "but" and she glanced around her "it's a
shame there weren't more people at her funeral, but she never had any
children or family did she?"

"Well, all our years with her we never saw any visitors did we?"

"No, she was obviously too busy for a family. But, you know, she must
have been a good person basically, after all, look at all that money
she donated to charity."

"Yes, so although she got a bit miserable towards the end, she
obviously had a wonderful life".

"No"

The word hit the air like a hammer. All five of them stopped in their
tracks as four of them turned to look at the middle-aged man who had
spoken.

"No, you've got it wrong, she wasn't like that at all. That's not what
happened"

"Daddy darling, please, don't upset yourself" His daughter was at his
side in an instant.

His son, too, showed concern.

"Leave it dad, it's not worth it"

"I'm sorry, but I cannot leave this place with you thinking that she
was some kind of saint. Just give me a moment please"

The man walked over to a nearby bench, sat down, put his hands on his
knees and drew a deep breath.

The son and daughter stood by resignedly whilst the two women looked at
each other anxiously, wondering what was coming. The man gathered his
composure, and speaking quietly but clearly,proceeded.

"It must have been over sixty years ago now that a bright, extremely
pretty, young girl started work as the secretary to the M.D of a small
engineering company. Although married with two young children and older
than her, he quickly became besotted with this pretty young thing and
she took full advantage of his vulnerability. You must remember that in
those days people, certainly middle-classed married people, were rather
staid, straight-laced, probably what today would be called 'sexually
oppressed'. Anyway, she threw herself at him and in a while they became
lovers.

Imagine what that must have been like. In those days such a thing was
not done. It's different today. Today it would be brushed aside with a
quip 'been a naughty boy has he?' or 'some men have all the luck'. But
in those times for a man to become over familiar with a member of staff
was absolutely
taboo. If his circle of friends or his colleagues found out he would be
disgraced. And if his family found out 'oh no' that would be too
horrible to contemplate. His conscience gave him hell but he just could
not keep away from her. He was bewitched. He started to drink."
The man paused for a moment and blew his nose as if in an effort not to
become too emotional.

"Of course, from the girl's point of view exposure would have meant
complete ruin. Loss of job without reference would have been the least
of her worries. She would have become an object of revulsion. She would
have had to leave the district. Possibly emigrate. But as it turned out
she knew precisely what she was doing."

The man paused for a moment before continuing.

"One day, in what was later found out to be a deliberately misplaced
phone call, she allowed the man's wife to discover their affair. On
being confronted by his wife the man broke down and pleaded for
forgiveness. The wife agreed on condition that the secretary was
sacked. The man agreed and the next day called the girl to his office
intending to end it between them. A clerk seated just outside the door
overheard the meeting.

As he started to speak the girl guessed what was coming and literally
threw herself at his feet. Begging and crying and pleading she caused
him to falter in his resolve. Seeing this she pushed her advantage,
begging him that she loved him and wanted to have his children
regardless of the fact that she could never be his wife".

The man paused for a moment and seemed to catch his breath.

One of the women could not contain her curiosity.

"What happened, did he tell her to go?"

"No. The truth is, he was weak. He just couldn't hurt her. Even more
than that he couldn't bear the thought of never seeing her again and
she knew this. Opening a drawer in his desk she got out the bottle and
glass she knew were there, poured him a drink, and went back to her
desk.

Once there she phoned the man's home and spoke to his wife. The same
clerk as before listened in. Years later he was to state on his
deathbed that he heard the girl say to the wife 'I'm pregnant and your
husband is going to divorce you and marry me.'

No one knows what really happened or what the wife was thinking. We do
know that she ran into the street and died under the wheels of a lorry.
It was said that she deliberately killed herself but it was never
proven.

The M.D was distraught. His drinking increased but the girl managed to
hold him together until they were married. The wedding took place
within a year of the wife's death.
She got him to give her a block of shares as a wedding gift, saying
that the only way she could earn the respect of the company directors
was to become a director herself.

Once on the board she got to work on him with a vengeance. Encouraging
his drinking, taunting him over his puny sexual prowess until he soon
became a shell of his former self."

One of the women piped up again.

"But didn't anyone see what was going on? Didn't anyone in the family
intervene?"

"Who could, or would? The man's children were too young to really
comprehend the situation and, as I said before, people were very rigid
in their attitudes. No one would take it upon themselves to interfere
in someone else's business and what went on between a man and wife was
sacrosanct."

The man paused to clear his throat. The two women looked at each other
uncomfortably, knowing that this was none of their business yet
fascinated by the story. The young couple stared at the ground, or into
space.

"I suppose" the man continued, "that it must be obvious to you that the
man in the story was my father and that his children were myself and my
sister. The woman was, of course, Agatha Brown. Anyway" he went on,
"one day, and God knows how she did it, she convinced him that he was
no longer capable of running the company and that the only way to save
it from ruin was to pass control to her. He signed over enough shares
to give her control and that was almost the end of it."

"What happened?" One of the women asked.

"Almost within days she threw him out of the house and eventually
divorced him on the grounds of mental cruelty, drunkenness and
desertion. As soon as she could she sold the house and everything that
had belonged to him that she could find thus totally isolating the
children from their inheritance. She even managed to get her hands on
my mother's jewellery. She then set about expanding the company in the
course of which she destroyed several of her competitors in ways that
today's stock exchange rules wouldn't allow."

"And what", one woman asked, "Happened to you and your sister?"

"We were taken in by an aunt and uncle and a trust fund, set up for us
when we were born, paid for our education and upbringing. I suppose we
haven't done too badly, considering. I have a family as you can see and
have done well in my profession; my sister is happily married with
twins."

"But what happened to your father?"

"No one knows. He just vanished without trace. He kept a small yacht by
the coast and that disappeared at the same time. It was assumed that he
took it out to sea and scuttled it with himself on board. Anyway, he
was never seen or heard of again and after a few years was pronounced
officially dead."

"All this may possibly be true" one of the women commented, "but as
evil as you say she was, she must have repented at least a little
otherwise she wouldn't have given so much to charity."

"Did she? Was she really such a philanthropist? Are any of those
stories actually true?" the man's anger started to show "You two ladies
looked after her for the last ten years of her life; did you ever see a
letter from any charity thanking her for her generosity? Was she ever
honoured by any orphanage or hospice? No, it was all a lie. She never
gave away a penny and when her will is read we'll find that she's left
millions to zoos and wild life reserves. Not that she loves animals,
she just hates them less than human beings"

"But why did you come to her funeral if she caused you so much
grief?"

"To bury my hatred. I had hoped that if I could finally look into her
grave I could manage to put it behind me"

"Well" one of the women said, giving her companion a significant look
"we must be going now, hope we meet again under more pleasant
circumstances". At that she took her companions arm and they were both
obviously relieved to walk away.

"Come on dad," said the son, "let's get out of here."

"Yes dad, let's go."

The daughter started to tug at his arm.

The man took a deep breath.

"I'd like to sit here just for a little while; oh, don't worry" seeing
their looks of concern, "I'm quite all right. I'd just like a few
minutes alone to gather my thoughts. You two wait for me in the car,
I'll be ten minutes, no longer, I promise."

"All right" said the son, "ten minutes and we come and get you,
deal?"

He smiled "It's a deal."

Left alone the man sat back in the seat, closed his eyes and lifted his
head back. At that moment the sun burst through the clouds and as he
felt the warmth on his face he imagined it warming his heart. He even
managed a silent prayer. 'Dear god, let it be over; help me purge this
venom that has poisoned my existence for so long. Bury this hatred with
that old woman's bones.'

The slight, but sudden, drop in temperature as the sun ducked behind a
cloud once more woke him from his reverie. He slowly opened his eyes,
and as they began to refocus he noticed an odd phenomenon.

Because of a fluky combination of geometry and geography he realized he
had a line of sight right across the cemetery between the intervening
headstones to Agatha Brown's grave.

He saw the three workmen finishing off filling in the grave, and
although he couldn't hear them speak, the distance being too great, he
watched as they tidied up around the edges and patted the mound into
shape.

He watched as the two younger men each lit a cigarette, shoulder their
spades and amble off.

He watched as the leathery old man carefully and deliberately spat upon
the earthy mound.