under the big black sun: a fable
At his sister's funeral Mac moves through the room like no one has ever seen him before: calm, assured, dignified. He meets strangers and does not hesitate to pull them close with a few plainspoken words, grief evident but in control. He becomes the one consulted about the many small decisions such affairs entail. He looks beyond himself in the rented suit—fee donated by Martin—whose presence is requested in the family's small reserved section.
Martin, who does not quite know how to get out of this, observes Mac closely. They sit together in the second row; in front of them are John and family. The husband of the deceased remains isolated and aloof at the end of the first bench with his mother, a small shrewish woman given to audibly negative comments about each aspect of the service, as if the death were some enormous inconvenience to her personally. She constantly pats her son, arm around his shoulder. He appears composed, or tranquilized. His surviving child is not present.
Both caskets are closed, the larger and the smaller.
The preacher's microphone proves erratic. Accordingly, little of the reassuring sentiments are heard. Everyone watches his mouth and nods.
Kelly sits in the midst with dark glasses.
Midway through the address, the door to the sanctuary opens wide, flooding the room with rude bright sunlight. A bulging woman in a loud floral print pantsuit stands at a stricken angle. The preacher pauses.
A monstrous sigh emerges from the woman, huge and inexhaustibly wistful. The long echo rings off the stained glass framework, and then she is gone again. The door closes slowly.
Dimness resumes.
"Mama," Mac whispers to Martin. "I knew she wouldn't be able to take this."
Martin considers everything with a rigid face. In front, John glances at his beeper, as if convinced it's not working properly. His wife shushes an impatient child.
The PA system stabilizes somewhat, and the preacher enunciates the word God in a single-tone chime.
It is a curious matter for Martin. Who could be so angry at something—or someone—that she would set herself and her small child on fire?
Finally the meager service is over. And in the instant the preacher ceases, before anyone rises, Martin finds himself confronted with Mac's sudden and ill-flowing tears.
