Amen
The priest crossed the altar to the lectern. Walt leaned against me to whisper, “Psalm 23.”
“What?”
“Psalm 23. It’s always Psalm 23.”
“Which one is that?”
“The Lord is my shepherd…that one.”
“That’s the one God wrote for funerals. It has to be that one.”
He elbowed me in the ribs for teasing him during the service. I didn’t think I deserved an elbow. He started it.
Father James opened his personal Bible on the podium and found his place. He was a good man, but I resented him for being young. I always wanted to call him ‘Father Jimmy’ to poke fun at his youth. Priests should be old. They can’t council people on their lives unless they lived. Father Jimmy looked like he was dressed up for Halloween. I wanted to give him a piece of candy and tell him he had a great costume.
His voice was priest-like though. I appreciated his rich baritone. If I closed my eyes, I could almost picture the previous man, the one who’d married Walt and me. He’d done it late one evening, well after the daily services had ended and very much against the dictates of the governing body of his faith. He did it because he believed in our love more than he believed in the administrators of his church. I appreciated the old man and wished he was still the regular priest. He was in his middle nineties though, and far too old for the responsibilities.
In his place, Father Jimmy spoke the familiar lines and proved Walt right.
“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”
I never understood that line. Everybody wants. They want different things, but they want them just the same. Judy wanted love and stability. Failing that, she settled for the absence of suffering. Charlie wanted to mend his heart. Emily broke it, and for nine or ten days, Judy helped to heal it, until she killed herself and shattered it again. Johnny Spencer wanted a wife and children. He would likely get what he wanted, just not with the woman he planned.
Johnny had been right in one of the things he said when I met him. He managed to walk on crutches after only one week, not a few like the doctors said. He looked as broken-hearted as a man could look as he sat with his father to hear the service.
He demanded to see the body when he arrived. I refused and Charlie helped to persuade him not to insist. Judy had been dead for two weeks and only embalmed recently. The funeral home did what they could, but two weeks in a mortuary refrigerator had done her appearance no good. I checked inside the casket to make certain it was her, and that she was dressed in the new finery we purchased for the occasion, but I forbade anyone else from seeing. The casket was sealed before the funeral, and it would remain that way.
“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters.”
I glanced out the window to see the still water. It laid all over the ground in fluffy white drifts. It snowed for a full day and a night just twenty-four hours ago. Reading got eighteen inches. Thank God we were already there instead of home in Philly. I don’t know how we would have managed the drive. John and Johnny Spencer made it, and I considered that a miracle. Charlie shoveled us out of the Reading house. If not for him, I don’t know what we would have done. Walt and I can’t shovel snow anymore. Between his bad heart and my bad everything else, we would’ve been helpless.
The gravediggers opened the earth with heavy equipment and thank God they had access to it, otherwise poor Judy would have had to remain above ground until the thaw. The snow was inconvenient, but it was pretty. It also hadn’t dampened the turnout at the church. It was full to the very rafters. The mourners had no idea who Judy was, but when Father Jimmy announced the funeral service at his regular mass, he made a plea for attendance, and the community came out in force to support Judy and to pray for her soul. I vowed to thank every single one of them before they left that day.
“He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.”
I raised my eyes to the ceiling and spoke silently to the Lord. “Restore her soul, Lord Jesus. The poor girl suffered so much. Give her the love and acceptance she never received here.”
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff comfort me.”
Charlie was holding together well. He cried a little when he saw the casket for the first time, but he’d been quiet since. The loss was no longer fresh for him. He had two full weeks to come to terms with it. Poor Johnny Spencer was a mess. He wept openly and desperately. His father told him of the loss just three days ago. I was immediately summoned, through Doc, to appear at Johnny’s bedside to explain what happened. I went without Charlie, because the errand seemed like something I should do alone.
The youth hurled bitter, angry curses at me. He couldn’t believe I’d hidden her passing from him. I explained my reasoning and pointed to the crutches at his bedside which he wouldn’t have learned to use without the motivation of seeing Judy. He promised to ‘kill my old ass’ if he ever saw me again.
I reminded him that he’d see me at the funeral. I also said, “I’m seventy fucking years old. I’ve lived my life. If I could bring her back by surrendering the years I have left, I’d consider it, but that’s not how things work. I suggest you focus on getting better and getting on with your life. Like it or not, you have to live for two people now, you and her. Don’t fuck it up with anger and hate.”
He shouted me out of his hospital room. His father followed me into the hall. “Don’t mind him, Law. He’s…”
I held my hand up for silence. “I’ve got a thick skin. If it helps him to shout at someone, he can shout at me.”
“I promise he won’t be that way at the funeral…if we’re still invited.”
“Please come. He can shout at me some more up in Reading if he needs to. As long as he doesn’t do it during the service, I’ll listen to his grievances both before and after.”
Big John Spencer’s eyes filled with tears. “My poor boy. I wish I could bear at least some of it for him.”
“Just be there with him and bear it together; that’s all you can do.”
He sniffed and wiped his eyes on his sleeves. We shook hands and I left.
“Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.”
I kept Judy’s enemies away from the funeral. I didn’t invite the McGills. They refused to have anything to do with her in life, I didn’t offer the chance for them to absolve themselves of their partial responsibility for her death. Silvia Spencer was excluded. As for Agnes, I tried to include her.
A week before the funeral, I had Charlie drive me all the way from Philly to Scranton and right to her front door. I didn’t like her, and I doubted her ability to contribute anything to Judy’s funeral, but I wanted to at least give her a chance to do the right thing.
I went into the converted garage on my own. I brought a fresh pint of rye but no flowers this time. The bouquet I’d brought before was shriveled and black in the same place I left it. I gave her the pint and tried to speak to her civilly. I offered to get her a new dress and to escort her to the funeral if she would attend. She said she’d take the dress but to hell with the funeral.
I took my leave and threw the dead flowers in the alley on my way back to the car. I had Charlie drive with the windows open so I could air the stench of the filthy hovel out of my lungs and off my clothes. If not for the brand-new car, I would have stopped for a pack of cigarettes and smoked the whole way back to Philly.
“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”
Goodness and mercy did not follow poor Judy all the days of her life, but she would dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
The organ played and the congregation rose to sing ‘Amazing Grace.’ It was an excellent hymn for a funeral, but to sing it immediately after reciting the 23rd Psalm felt almost too cliché. Then again, maybe funerals were supposed to be cliché. Creativity is better left to weddings.
I let the congregation sing while I said a silent prayer for the peace of Judy’s soul. “Give her an extra hug, Lord, because she didn’t get enough of them here. And tell her I’m sorry for misjudging her. I never meant her any harm.”
* * * *
Father Jimmy gave the only eulogy. Charlie didn’t want to say anything, and Johnny Spencer couldn’t; he was too emotional. There were six pallbearers. Charlie was one, Big John Spencer was another. He took Johnny’s place. Walt was a third. I worried about him carrying the heavy casket, but he insisted. I wanted to do it, but my hands hurt so badly I worried I’d lose my grip. The other three were members of the congregation.
A small group followed the casket out to the graveside along a narrow path that was cleared through the snow by the gravediggers. I stuck with Johnny Spencer in case he needed help traversing the icy terrain on his crutches. The ceremony at the graveside was brief in deference to the weather. Only Walt, Charlie, John, Johnny, and me stayed to see the casket lowered and the first shovelfuls of earth thrown on top.
The gravediggers set to their task while we lingered in the cold. Johnny spoke to Charlie for the first time since the pair met in the hospital. “You knew Judy?”
“We were friends.”
“But you said you’re from Montana.”
“We met backstage at a play she was in. My brother builds sets. He’s queer like Law and Walt. His husband is a choreographer who worked with Judy. He introduced us. We hung out and did stuff together.”
Johnny leaned close to Charlie so his father wouldn’t hear what he had to say. I was standing too close not to hear. “You and her get it on?”
Charlie stammered because he didn’t know what to say. Johnny shrugged as much as a man on crutches can. “It’s cool, man. She liked doing it. I did too. When I left the first time, she said she’d wait if I wanted her to, but I didn’t want her to. I got it on plenty when I had leave. Didn’t mean I loved her any less. I’m glad she had fun. You seem like a good guy. I’m glad it was you and not someone else.”
Charlie offered a small correction. “We never went all the way. She was saving that for you.”
Fresh tears ran down Johnny’s face. “I told ‘er not to wait.”
“She said she had someone special. I guess she meant you.”
Johnny broke down. His father came to escort him to the church. He wept the whole way back inside.
I whispered to Charlie. “It’s good that you told. Now he knows how much she loved him.” I gestured toward the church. “You ready to go in?”
He turned his back to the grave and looked down the snow-covered hill. “It’s pretty here. She’ll like it.”
I touched his shoulder to get him moving. “Come on, Charlie. She’s at rest, now. It’s time to go inside.”
We went back to the church where Walt and I had a luncheon catered for everyone who attended the funeral. I thanked the members of the congregation for being there for Judy. I also looked for Linda Dennis. She was the waitress we met at O’Hara’s Diner in Scranton. She’d been in the same homeroom as Judy all through school and I hoped she’d attend the funeral. When I telephoned to invite her, I told her to bring as many people as she wanted. She said she’d think about attending. She might have thought about it, but she didn’t show.
Larry and Stephan wanted to come, but they couldn’t get away on short notice. I didn’t make the offer to any other member of the theater. Judy held herself apart from those people when she was alive, it didn’t feel right to include them after her death.
Johnny Spencer approached me on his crutches. His eyes were dry, but red and swollen with grief. “May I speak with you, sir?” He asked like I was his father.
“Sure.”
“I’m sorry for the other day. I shouldn’t have…”
I didn’t let him finish. “No harm done. I’m glad you and your dad made it safely. How were the roads?”
“They roads were fine. Most of them were dry. We’re used to snow up here. The road crews know how to deal with it. Down in the city, there’s nowhere for it to go, so they can’t do nothin’ with it.” He rocked back and forth on his crutches, and I worried he was unstable. I asked if he needed to sit, but he refused. “I’m alright. I sit so damn much my ass is getting square corners.”
He looked up with worried eyes. “I’m sorry for swearing at you like that. I didn’t mean…”
I spoke peace to him. “No harm done. Listen, Walt and me have a second home near here. When you come see Judy, you should telephone. If we’re in, we’ll give you lunch. I want to know how you’re getting along.”
“You sure you want to see me after the shit I said?”
“Sticks and stones, Johnny. You didn’t hurt me. I know where your anger came from. You’re going through a difficult time. You’ve been to war, you’re wounded, you’re scared about what the rest of your life looks like. The one thing you thought was sure, was ripped away. You had every right to be upset. You didn’t hit me and you didn’t hold a grudge. You just apologized and I accepted. We’re fine, alright?”
“Yeah, thanks Mister Edwards.”
“You can still call me Law.”
“Thanks, Law. Hey, uh, will there be a stone? I’ve been talkin’ to Charlie. He said you’re payin’ for all this, and I know the stones are expensive. I got a little money. It’s not much, but when I start workin’ I could…”
I interrupted him again. “It’s already taken care of. Charlie helped me pick out a nice monument. It’s going to be rose-colored granite, and it’ll have her name and the dates. I didn’t add any epitaph or Bible verse or anything. I didn’t know her well enough for that.”
“That sounds nice. She liked roses and she didn’t like what’da’ya’call, sappy bullshit. Judy did everything straight out or not at all. I’ll…I’ll miss her so much!”
He started to cry again. We were near a door to the outside, so I escorted him out so he could have his cry in the relative privacy of the parking lot. I stood with him and froze my ass. A second later, one of the congregants walked in from the lot with his wife’s purse in his hand. Paul’s wife Edna was forever leaving her purse and needing her purse. He spent more time getting it from the car and taking it back than I cared to think about. He didn’t mind because he smoked like a stack and the trips to and fro gave him an opportunity to light up.
I asked him for a couple of smokes as he drew near. He obliged and left us alone. I gave one to Johnny and lit them both. He shifted his crutches to one hand and smoked with the other. He wiped his face on the sleeve of his dress uniform. I offered my handkerchief but he refused.
He sniffed and cleared his throat. “Judy’s all I thought of when I was in country. I went over a second time because I wanted to earn money to ask her to marry me. We didn’t write no letters because…because I’m fuckin’ stupid. Judy was the smart one. I’d sit down with a piece of paper and a pencil and an hour later, all I’d have was ‘hey babe.’ She used to write. When I first went to Nam, she wrote every week. I felt bad to get all her letters and not be able to write back. I asked her not to write no more. I said for her to just save up everything she wanted to say and keep it until I got home.
“Then when I came home, I only spent a few days with her. My mom, you see…” I reminded him that I knew about his mother. “I shoulda…I coulda…I keep thinking if only I’da…”
I shrugged and drew on my cigarette. It was the mentholated type, and I didn’t like the way it tasted. “You can second guess forever. Don’t blame yourself. Of all the people who bear responsibility for what happened, you’re not one of them. Don’t forget that this was ultimately a decision she made for herself. As much as you want to say, ‘if only you would have,’ you need to remember this was her choice. Maybe she should have trusted you more. I’m not badmouthing her, but you shouldn’t blame yourself for a choice she made.
“You should also remember that whatever pain she felt is over. The pain you’re feeling has just begun. It’s the living who have to figure out how to endure life after the dead leave us. You’ll figure it out. You’re a young man. You’re ambitious and attractive. You’ve got a dad who loves you. Do the work you need to do and learn to walk again and start your life. You’ll meet a great girl, and you’ll marry her and you’ll have a couple dozen kids.”
He gasped and choked on his cigarette smoke. He coughed and flailed an arm out for me to steady him. He threw his cigarette away as he reached. I let him latch onto my shoulder until he stopped coughing. He settled and smiled for the first time since I met him in the hospital. “Couple dozen?” He wheezed. “Three or four is plenty for me.”
“Then have three or four.”
I made sure he was steady and backed away so he could put his crutches to work. “You think I’ll find someone?”
“Sure, you will. You saw what I’ve got hidden and I found someone. Besides, you’re only missing a foot. Your pecker still works, right?”
He gasped again and broke up laughing. “Yes, it does.”
“Then lean on your strengths and minimize your weaknesses. You’ll probably never run a marathon, but you’ll be able to walk. You might even be able to dance. You can talk and work and kiss and love and make babies and provide for them and help raise them and bounce them on your knee. You’re a good man. Remain a good man and everything will be fine. So, you’re missing a foot; so what? It could be a lot worse. You could be an asshole.”
“That would be worse.”
“Better a good man with one foot than an asshole with two.”
He chuckled but sobered quickly. “Thanks for everything, Law.”
“Sure, Johnny. I’m sorry as hell to have to do it, but I’m glad I was in a position to. I’m glad you came.”
“Me too.”
He sighed into the cold. “My dad told me what my mom did, about the letter she wrote. I ain’t spoke to her since. I don’t know if I ever will.”
I sighed too and rubbed my cold and painful hands together. “I don’t know what to say about that. Your mother pissed me the fuck off with her attitude toward Judy. She was wrong and you can blame her for being wrong, but don’t blame her for what happened.”
He got mad. “Why the hell shouldn’t I?”
I turned that over in my head for a minute until I came up with an answer. “You know the saying about the straw that broke the camel’s back?”
He said that he did.
“The camel was loaded down with a ton of straw. Someone put one more on and its back breaks. Who do you blame? Do you blame the final straw, or do you blame all the ones that were loaded on before? I’ll tell you the same thing I told Charlie, everyone is at fault and at the same time, no one is. Your mother added a straw to the load. She’s responsible for that straw, not for the whole load.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means as much as you want it to mean. It’s up to you how much you judge her for what she did. You have to decide and you have to live with your decision. She did what she did with the best of intentions for you and no concern at all for Judy. Maybe that’s why they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. You can hold her responsible for what she did but be careful about blaming her for the whole mess. Be careful about writing her off. I was estranged from my family for thirty-five years. I don’t recommend grinding an ax for that long.”
He clenched his jaw in anger. “She did wrong and now my girl is dead, and I’ll never meet my baby.”
“Those things are true. You can blame her for what she did, and you can hate her and not speak to her, but who does that help? It won’t bring Judy any peace and it won’t help you either. If you want the advice of someone old enough to be your grandfather, I suggest you let some time pass and see how you feel.
“When you can speak without shouting, have it out with your mom and see how it goes. Things will probably never be the same between you, but you can still have some kind of relationship. At the very least you don’t want to make things harder for you and your dad. He’s not going to leave her, which means hating her makes your relationship with him harder. Besides, hate is a dangerous thing. It hurts everyone it touches.”
He gripped his crutches and pounded one on the frozen ground. “I’ll think about it.”
“Do that.” I dragged the door open and held it. “Let’s go back in. I’m too old to be out here with no coat on.”
He steadied himself and made his way back inside.
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