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Attention all personnel,
Come one, come all, to a wake for the Late Great Captain Pierce
Will be mourning all afternoon and evening
The deceased will deliver the eulogy, and the guests will have twenty minutes for rebuttal.
Remains to be seen in The Swamp-- M*A*S*H, "The Late Captain Pierce"
“One of these days you’re gonna have to learn to do this on your own,” Rachel lectured, as she finished tying my necktie for me. With a final “umph” she slid the knot right up against my Adam’s apple… I hate that feeling.
We were standing in Rachel’s bedroom; I was in pressed slacks, a long-sleeve shirt with too many buttons, silk socks that made me feel like I could slip on any surface smoother than gravel. And this damn tie. Rachel had picked all of it—she’d insisted. Rachel, for her part, had spent the last two hours bouncing between her bathroom and walk-in closet, “getting ready”... she’d been in her dress and shawl when I arrived and I’ll be damned if I could tell what exactly had changed since then.
“I know, I know” I said, tugging at the knot. “I’ve had other things on my mind lately. Like publicly mourning my best friend and wondering if I’m doing a good enough job.”
Marco, and his father Peter, are officially dead. Gunned down in multiple volleys of submachine gun fire in their own home. My parents are shocked. They’ve arranged for me to talk to a therapist (the same one they sent me to after Ax impersonated me for a few days). There was a moment of silence at school, and an assembly where Chapman had talked about coping with tragedy, with a smooth segue into a pitch about how to obtain free counseling services through The Sharing.
The house is still wrapped in a perimeter of crime scene tape. Marco’s stepmother, Nora, has relocated. She took a bereavement absence from her job at our school, but she was back quickly, talking about how important it was to her to return to the students she loves—and how she helped learn positive grieving techniques, again, through The Sharing.
Seeing as how Marco and I were best friends since kindergarten, this has brought a lot of unwanted attention on me—which would be a horribly tasteless thing to say, if it weren’t for one unusual circumstance: Marco isn’t dead.
But we have to maintain the cover story. Even the smallest slip-up could be fatal. Whoever coined the phrase “act natural” was an idiot. You ever tried to act natural? Try to breathe normally. Blink normally. Swallow when you feel like it, scratch when it itches. Don’t think about a pink elephant, act like no one is watching. Be yourself.
Congratulations, you are now an awkward, stilted bundle of self-consciousness and second guesses.
Just like me.
It would have been easier if Marco’s greatly-exaggerated “death” had coincided with a long absence, but no, I still see him almost every day. The Animorphing business has made lying second nature to me, but at least I could usually tell a lie that was tangent to the truth. I really did go with Marco to the Gardens (before scouting an alien undersea research facility). What do you mean, Mom, I was at the mall with Marco, Rachel, and Tobias (not a SoCal gas substation). Thanks to human morphs and holograms, I’ve even been able to include Ax, Tobias, and Erek in some of my half-truths.
But now, all mention of Marco has to be expunged in real-time like my life is a Soviet photo album.
I’ve been able to “mourn” mostly in private around the house—not say much, avoid eye contact, stay in my room a lot. But today is the funeral. Have to make an appearance—it’d be suspicious not to. And Marco insisted that it meant ‘so much to him,’ that smug little jerk. At least I’d been able to contrive a reason to get ready at Rachel’s; I could put off being next to Tom until the funeral itself.
“I wish the Chee could have just impersonated us for this thing,” I said.
According to Marco, he and Erek had an opportunity for an intel-gathering mission. They’d been sketchy on the details, but the Chee were convinced there’d be a temporary spike of unmanned Yeerk posts around the city, creating a perfect opportunity for espionage.
“Here,” said Rachel, handing me a black suit jacket. “The jacket, pants, and shirt are due back tomorrow at six. The tie and shoes are yours to keep.”
“All on your dad’s credit card, I assume?”
“This week he missed our scheduled phone call. I could care less but Sarah and Jordan got really sad. So I called him. He said he had to work late but I definitely heard a woman giggle in the background. So, I’ve decided he’s apologizing to the tune of four-digits this month. He’s covering all these clothes, including my mom and sisters.”
“Hell hath no fury…” I said.
“You know, he says he moved because his career here was going nowhere? The week he left town was when all that bogus ‘tornado’ reporting happened.”
“Because of the Veleek?” I asked.
“Yep. Then the crocodile stuff happened and he had to run interference to shield me from the losers he left behind. Then Ax destroyed Ocean World; Cassie got ‘lost’ in the woods and got her fifteen minutes; we trashed the Marriott.”
“You crashed a jet,” I added.
“Oh yeah, I forgot about that!”
“You forgot? I wasn’t even here and I remember it!”
“Point is, local news got very interesting the moment my dad left, and I think he subconsciously resents us for it.”
“Well, if you’re right, your dad’s an asshole. Which about matches my dad’s opinion of him. What’s funny is, he’s right, it is our fault.”
“Except he can’t possibly know that. So he’s still an asshole.”
“This jacket is really uncomfortable,” I complained.
“Good, you’re supposed to be stiff and awkward at a funeral. You should look upset. Maybe even, you know, cry.”
“I’m not gonna cry!” I shouted.
“There’s nothing wrong with it. Perfectly normal under the circumstance. Not suspicious in any way.”
I thought I saw her trying to hide a grin. Maybe she was just admiring her handiwork. Rachel already looks at clothes like a normal person might look at a painting in a gallery, so I ignored it.
<Guys, it’s time to go> Tobias called faintly from outside Rachel’s bedroom window. As if to confirm, a loud blast from Rachel’s mom’s mini-van echoed up from the driveway.
“Wait, where are my shoes?” I said.
“In that box, just grab it and put them on in the car. Oh, and take this!” Rachel started to stuff something into the jacket’s front pocket.
“What the hell is that?”
“A pocket square. It matches the tie.”
“I don’t need that, this is stupid!”
“Jake! Listen, at formal events, women dress to stand out, and men dress to blend in. You don’t want people to look at you at this thing, right? As your fashion coach I insist that you shut up and trust me! You are going to be the best-dressed, most uptight, saddest best friend at this funeral. You’ll be completely invisible. The Chee couldn’t hide you this well!”
“Marco was lucky to have friends like us.”
Tobias, as planned, flew ahead to get to the funeral home a few minutes before we did. We didn’t expect any trouble, but seeing as how the Yeerks believed they were responsible for this double-murder, we had to assume some kind of Yeerk presence. Tom was a given at the very least.
The ride itself was uneventful. I had to endure some platitudes from Aunt Naomi; at least Rachel’s sisters were better behaved than usual. But upon arriving, we realized something was up as soon as we saw the parking lot.
“Jesus, did the whole town show up?” Naomi asked herself.
<Guys, something weird is going on> Tobias confirmed. <There’s a note taped to the door that says they’re moving it outside due to the ‘amazing outpouring of community support.’>
Naomi rolled into a curbside space across the street.
“Mom, don’t you have to pay to park here?” Jordan asked as we exited the van.
“Over my dead body! If I can’t fight my way out of a parking ticket I should be disbarred.”
It’s exchanges like those that make me see where Rachel gets it from.
There had to be a hundred people assembling on the cemetery lawn… two hundred. Standing room only at a double graveside service.
“Do you recognize any of these people?” I asked Rachel, hoping Tobias was also in ear shot, in one of the half dozen tall trees around us.
“Not really,” she answered. “But I recognize the types. Looks like a lot of Sharing people.”
“A lot of Sharing people,” I agreed. “Kids from school. I’m guessing some of those guys are from Marco’s dad’s work.”
<Chapman just pulled up. Tom was here before me.> Good, Tobias was close by… probably in a tree. He’d have to limit his scouting from here on—the Controllers know to look for raptors by now.
“There's Cassie,” Rachel said. “Cassie!” she called, as we started heading over to her.
“Rachel, I think there's something wrong with my shoe.”
“It's just because it's brand new.”
“No, really, I think there's something in it.”
“If you want to take it off and hop on one foot next to your friend’s open grave, be my guest. Probably not the best way to blend in. But it’s your call.”
As if to belabor the point, that's when I noticed my parents closing in from the parking lot, with Tom leading them.
We increased our stride in the opposite direction, closer to the graves, and to the weirdly ornate floral wreath surrounding a collage of pictures of Marco, propped up on an easel. There was a second, notably smaller wreath at the next grave, for Peter. And next to that was the freshly-flowered gravestone commemorating Eva.
At times of high fear and stress, the mind likes to wander, and make bizarre connections. At that moment I wondered, what was the largest number of graves in a row for presumed-dead people who were still living? Maybe “three” isn’t the record… but I feel like it’s got to be up there.
“Hi Jake.” Cassie gave me a quick hug as we met.
“Nice to see you, Cassie. You look really nice. I mean– you always look nice, but… you know.”
I gestured at her outfit, which in retrospect, I’m sure she hated. I felt like an idiot.
“Yeah yeah, Rachel outgrew Barbies and got us instead,” Cassie said.
“You two don’t deserve me,” Rachel said, waving my parents and Tom over as she spoke.
“Don’t do that,” I complained.
“What, you want to look like you’re avoiding them at a time like this?”
We heard a quick ring of microphone feedback through the PA system as an officiant mounted the podium behind the graves and announced we’d be starting in just a few moments.
The crowd was already pressing in around us. The front row would normally be reserved for family, but with Marco, Peter, and Eva all “dead”, there was no family. My family, then, was serving as the de facto next of kin. So, as the mass of spectators grew, I felt us moving inch by inch closer to the graves.
“Here,” Cassie said, holding out a bottle of something. “Hold out your hands.”
“What is that?”
“Sunscreen,” she said. “I wish I’d known this was gonna be outdoors.”
“Yeah it’d be a shame to survive all this only to succumb to UV,” I said under my breath.
Cassie squeezed a generous dollop into my hand. I reluctantly rolled my eyes and rubbed the goopy stuff over my hands, and then on my face.
“Make sure to get behind your ears,” Rachel said.
“But watch out for your eyes,” Cassie said.
<And wash your hands before and after you go to the bathroom> Tobias added.
“What is wrong with you people?!” I whispered. “I can stand in the grass for two hours on a sunny day all by myself.”
“But you’re not by yourself,” Cassie said, sweetly, genuinely. I calmed down very slightly.
“Yeah, we’re here for you Jake,” Rachel confirmed. Suddenly I was much more nervous.
Tom’s shadow fell over me. He gave me a “Hey Bro” and a too-hard pat on the shoulder, before exchanging more hollow pleasantries with Cassie and Rachel. I glowered at him.
“You look very nice, Jake,” my mother offered. I whispered a tiny “thanks” and turned and looked at the ground.
Act natural.
What the hell was I supposed to be doing?
And why were my ears burning?
The officiant began leading the mourners in a chorus of Ave Maria (I think?). Whatever it was, it wasn’t in English, but Cassie knew the words… Rachel just looked forward, looking somber and dignified. I tried my best to match that. Somewhere between the first and second chorus a man in a polo shirt with the logo from an assisted living facility helped transport a woman in a wheelchair, and placed her next to Cassie and me. She was an elderly Hispanic woman… oh my God. Marco’s grandmother; Eva’s mother!
Once again, the fear and stress response gave rise to two very different streams of thought. One: To Marco’s grandmother, this was all real; she’d outlived her entire family and had been left to die alone in a foreign country–this was an unforgivable cruelty and there was nothing we could do about it. And two: she hadn’t seen me since I was about ten, had never met Rachel or Cassie, and I was pretty sure she’d never met Tom, or my parents. There was a very good chance she didn’t recognize me. And even if she did, as far as I knew she spoke no English and I spoke no Spanish, so no matter how awkward it got, I wouldn’t have to talk to her.
“Father, unto your spirit we commend your servants, Peter and Marco Fulton…”
That trademark bead of sweat rolled down my back. Even though it was a nice day out, being in multiple layers of clothing, in black, in direct sunlight, is always murder. “You’re supposed to be uncomfortable,” Rachel’s words echoed in my mind.
“... for we rest assured in the promise that we, like your son, shall be raised up on the last day…”
My hip was starting to hurt from favoring my right side, because my left shoe felt so weird I wouldn’t rest all my weight on it. My face, which had felt cold, suddenly felt on fire.
“Father, in times like these we are reminded of your servant, Job, who lost all he had and yet still remained faithful to you. Grant us understanding, oh Lord…”
“Don’t rub your eyes!” Rachel whispered to me. I hadn’t even realized I was about to, but my hand was halfway to my face, where a bead of perspiration was threatening to enter my eyes.
“Here,” said Rachel, offering me a tissue from her purse. “Wipe your eyes and then blow your nose.”
I snuck a quick glance to my parents. I knew Tom was right behind me and didn’t dare crane my neck around to confirm it. I wiped my eyes. I wasn’t about to blow a huge “honk” in front of the crowd but I did a quick, dry noseblow into the tissue. I wadded it up and, without asking, Rachel handed me another.
As the officiant transitioned from Job to Lazarus, I gave a quick glance down to Marco’s grandmother. She seemed… serene. Almost smiling? Did she even know where she was?
My face was on fire now. The sensation had spread from my ears to my cheeks and forehead. A mild gust of wind, which should have been soothing, felt like sandpaper on my skin. And what was that I was smelling? It had that piercing cold sensation, like mint, but it wasn’t mint. Menthol? No, it was…
“Rachel?” I whispered.
“Yeah?”
“Are those tissues scented with eucalyptus?”
Cassie grabbed my hand.
“Yeah,” Rachel whispered back.
“You know I’m allergic?”
Rachel gave the slightest nod. Cassie squeezed my hand. My heart was pounding.
“What kind of sunscreen was that?” I hissed through gritted teeth.
“It wasn’t,” Rachel said.
Cassie tilted her head on my shoulder and whispered so quietly it might have looked like she was sneaking me a small kiss on the cheek.
“It was Icy Hot,” Cassie said.
“Would you please join me in an attitude of prayer?”
Across the lawn, heads snapped down and eyes closed. What choice did I have? I joined them.
“Almighty God… ”
I was sweating. I was fidgeting. Was the pain growing? Or was I just focusing on it? Now there really were tears in my eyes, and my nose was filling up. Cassie put her other hand on my arm, wrapping it in a sort of hug. My free hand still held the poisoned tissue, which I dared not touch to my face.
<Jake> Tobias said. <Now’s probably as good a time as any to tell you there’s a rock in your shoe>.
My eyes jerked open… blurred as they were with tears of histamine and betrayal, I could just make out Rachel’s concealed grin.
“Forever and ever, amen.”
“Amen,” everyone echoed.
I shoved the tissue into my pocket. This was agony, I needed to blow my nose now! But I wasn’t about to accept anything else from Rachel’s little purse of horrors. Even Cassie wasn’t above suspicion. I had no idea how big a breach of etiquette this was, or if anyone would notice, but I grabbed the only thing I had on me that could do the job: the pocket square. All pretense gone, I wiped my hands, flipped it over to wipe my eyes, then blew my nose as loud and long as I needed to.
<Oh, and uh, one more thing, Jake, that pocket square was scotch-guarded with a very light coating of, um… pepper spray.>
I have been infested by a Yeerk. I have fallen through a hole in time and space. I have been inside a nuclear fireball. I have been beaten, bitten, dismembered, eviscerated, shot, impaled, and cauterized more often than I can clearly recall. I’ve even died. At that moment, all I could think was “You know, combat isn’t so bad.”
I couldn’t scream in pain. I couldn’t yell in anger. And I couldn’t leave. So I did the only thing I could do.
I cried.
Cassie took her arms off my arm and wrapped them around my waist. Rachel moved closer from my other side and rested a hand on my shoulder.
“I can give you a Benadryl after this,” Rachel said.
“Go to hell,” I sobbed.
<I think it’s working> Tobias said. <People are conspicuously not looking at you guys.>
“Try not to be mad at them,” Cassie said. “It was my idea.” And as she wrapped me even tighter in a warm, tender embrace, my ribs were stung with what I can only assume was a concealed thumbtack.
“...Marco and Peter were preceded in death by Peter’s wife of fourteen years–Marco’s mother, Eva, who passed away in 1995. They are survived by Eva’s mother, Ana Lucía Cardeñas. She has prepared a heartfelt tribute to her grandson and son-in-law, which will be read in her native Spanish. An English translation is provided in the program.”
The officiant stepped aside, and the man in the polo shirt from the care facility took the podium. He began reading in what sounded to me like flawless Spanish. I didn’t understand a word.
I was in pure survival mode. I shrugged Rachel and Cassie off my arms and loosened my tie. Water was free-flowing from my eyes and, far worse, my nose, and it was all I could do not to loudly gasp for breath. I almost reached for the pocket square again out of instinct. I briefly considered using my tie as a wipe but in addition to that being disgusting, I realized I couldn’t trust it. With my tie loosened, I realized I could just barely grab the collar of my morphing outfit undershirt and stretch it up toward my face. I dared not blow but I pinched and wiped off as much of my nose as I could. Disgusting, but better than nothing.
As the Spanish eulogy continued I was vaguely aware of a smattering of “awes” and stifled polite laughs at what I could only assume were amusing anecdotes. Somewhere in the back of my head I wondered how many of our classmates and Sharing-crashers actually understood Spanish… certainly a few, maybe more than a few, but I had far more urgent concerns.
Someone gently tapped on my right hand, and I almost slapped it away assuming it was Cassie offering further “assistance,” but it was… Marco’s grandmother. She was offering me a handkerchief. A pristine, white, clean handkerchief. She wore that kind of genuine soul-warming smile that I’m convinced all grandmothers–and only grandmothers–have. And I felt like an ass. She was concerned about my well-being during the reading of her grandson’s eulogy. I gently accepted the handkerchief, gave a slight bow and said “Gracias,” and immediately wondered where the hell that came from: bowing is an Asian thing and I probably sounded like a complete tool saying “Gracias.” I mentally filed that aside for later soul-searching, if I lived.
<Smooth, Jake> Tobias said.
I rubbed my eyes and blew my nose vigorously, figuring if Cassie and Rachel had somehow gotten Marco’s grandmother in on this, then I deserved whatever was coming my way. But thankfully, it seemed to just be a normal handkerchief.
A golf clap signified the end of Marco’s grandmother’s tribute. She reached out once again, and squeezed my hand. I figured this meant she recognized me. I really hoped there wasn’t something I was supposed to have heard and missed. I also hoped there wasn’t a tiny trace of pepper spray on my hand. I wondered if there was a way we could get a message to her, something to put her at ease… she was innocent in all this. Then again, she seemed to be coping remarkably well.
“Before we close, we are going to turn the podium over to a man who was a dear friend of young Marco, who will be sharing some thoughts on his behalf. Please welcome from the parish of St. Hubbins, Father Sarducci.
The officiant yielded to a portly, mustachioed man in a priest’s cassock, wearing a brimmed hat and red tinted eye-classes. The priest shot the crowd a smile. I wasn’t certain what was going on, but I did know that Marco was not and never had been friends with a forty-five year old priest.
<Who the hell is that guy?> Tobias asked.
“I’m not falling for anything else,” I said.
“No, seriously Jake, I don’t know what’s happening here,” Rachel said. She looked as confused as I was. So did Cassie.
The Priest adjusted the microphone and gripped the podium with both hands. And then, as he scanned the crowd, he made eye contact with me, and I knew from the shape of that smirk…
“Geez Herb, you run a lovely funeral home but if the crowd were any deader we’d have no way of distinguishing them from the deceased. Hey! You all out there! There’s a reason they call it 'mourning.' Wake up folks! I kid though, thanks for having me, everybody. For those of you that don’t know me… that means you aren’t gambling addicts, or you attend the meeting on a different day. Hi, Hendrick!”
He waved right at Chapman. This time, the snicker that echoed through the crowd was not the demure, polite kind we’d heard during Marco’s grandmother’s tribute.
“I first got to know Marco when I counseled him after his mother’s death, and we stayed in touch. Marco was fiercely intelligent. Wise beyond his years. And possibly the funniest person I’ve ever met. And for some reason he never showed any interest in joining the church, I don’t know if that’s related. Although he was never big on joining things: sports teams, after school clubs, the Sharing. He never saw the point. Again, he was a very smart kid.”
For the first time, I chanced a glance back at Tom, and then, although I didn’t have the best angle on him, Chapman. “Confusion” was the overarching theme here.
“One of the things we focused on in our sessions was ‘things left unsaid.’ We talked about what Marco wished he could have said to his mother, and what he thought she would have wanted to say to him. I believe it’s never too soon to start thinking about our own mortality, and Marco decided to write a piece reflecting on things he’d want to make sure he got to say if he knew he was going to die. Under the circumstances, I don’t think he’d mind me sharing. Normally we’d get the parent’s permission to share something like this but, you know… the seedy underbelly of our fair city has pulled off a ‘hat trick,’ as it were. I hope you all join me in praying that the real killers are found soon, which reminds me, I see a few boys in blue at the back of the crowd and I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you for your service: I’m referring of course to the good people from 1-800-Flowers, they’re always on time, their arrangements are tasteful, and most importantly they’ve never shot someone in the back eighteen times. Anyway…”
I still hurt. My eyes didn’t want to focus on anything. There was still a fucking rock in my shoe. But as the nervous energy in the crowd ratcheted higher and higher, I just surrendered to the absurd and started laughing.
The “Priest” unfolded a piece of notebook paper.
“Marco writes…”
He paused, and gestured to the paper like we needed the clarification.
“Well, there you have it. I’m dead. That's all, folks! Who could have seen this coming? I can only assume it was doing something I loved, so I guess that means it was nowhere near the school. I really thought I’d get at least a few more years, but look on the bright side: the only way I was ever gonna see six feet, was under.
“To my best friend, Jake. You may not have shared in the wild thrill of hot dates and flings that I’m sure I had in the last few months, but I’m happy that you’ve found something even better: true love. And to that, all I have to add is this: Dude, she’s your cousin. That’s gross.”
I wasn’t sure whether to express my bewilderment first to Cassie, Rachel, or my parents, so instead I short-circuited and did none of those things.
“And speaking of Rachel, I’ve got to admit… I always kind of wished there was something between us. A militarized border.
“And Cassie, we weren’t the best of friends, but your friendship with Jake means we saw a lot of each other, especially that one time. In my defense, I didn’t know that door lock was broken. Cassie, I know you’ve always struggled with trying to decide what’s right, so I hope this helps. Make an ‘L’ shape with both hands, and the one that’s backwards? That’s right.”
“And to Jake’s brother Tom… as an only child I often wondered what it would be like to have a sibling. As an honorary older brother, you convinced me that was a mistake. But seriously, I’ll never forget the bit of advice you gave me last year, when you said ‘Marco, college is a waste of time, but if your old man is a doctor, fake interest and milk the college fund.’”
“I never said that!” I heard Tom protest.
“But that wasn’t an option for me, my dad was just a computer programmer. The pay isn’t as good and the company is always looking for ways to save money. For example, on last year’s company weekend getaway, they were so hard up for cash they put my dad’s boss Jerry and his secretary in the same hotel room. I really admire that kind of frugality.
“I’d like to take a moment to express gratitude to some of my classmates who made a difference in my life during these difficult times. Like Drake and Woo, who took time out of their demanding dive team schedules to help me unwind by sharing the weed they hide in the drop ceiling tile above locker 301, the one with the water stain.
“When Mozart was my age, he was already a master composer, having written and performed several symphonies. My accomplishments pale in comparison, but I would like to take a moment to reflect on my greatest ones, modest though they may be. When my grades started to slip in the wake of my mother’s death, our assistant principal Chapman was right there, encouraging me. And with his advice about focusing on practical real-world academics, he inspired me. I learned that the school’s records for grades and attendance are managed by a program called ClassLog which can be accessed from anywhere on the Internet. I also learned on one of my many trips to his office that Chapman uses the same password for everything, which is his daughter's name plus the last two digits of the year she was born, all lower case, no spaces. And when I say everything, I mean his personal email, his online banking, and the website for that community center he manages. Thanks Mr. Chapman, for inspiring me to always do the best that I could. It may not be as good as the Requiem, but I hope my magnum opus can inspire someone to do something great anyway. Wutang Forever, Marco out.”
There were laughs. There were murmurs. There might have been fights breaking out for all I know.
“Oh wait, just one moment please, brothers and sisters, before you disperse. That is the end of young Marco’s letter… but not quite the end of the ceremony. If you will direct your eyes skyward, we will be releasing a flock of doves, which symbolize…God’s promise or something, I dunno I never read the book.”
The “Priest” knelt behind the podium and rose holding a cardboard box with a lid.
“Are you all ready? Alright, here’s hoping this goes better than it did for Alice Cooper.”
“You think this is in any way real?” I asked. No one answered me.
“Here we go!” He ripped the lid off and… I don’t know what I was expecting, but a dozen perfectly normal looking white doves emerged in flight from the box and scattered. Eleven of them went up and away in random directions. One did not.
<Greetings, Prince Jake! Cassie, Rachel> Ax thought-spoke at us, exuberantly. <I have been asked to perform this bizarre act in Marco’s honor!>
Just then, Chapman yelled and clutched at his bald spot. He looked with disgust at something smeared across his hand.
The Priest, still holding the empty box, continued his crowd work. “Oh, my… Hendrick, did that bird just–? Oh, what are the odds? Well, maybe it’s good luck, like catching the bouquet at a wedding… well, I suppose that would have a different connotation here, wouldn’t it? At any rate, I am so sorry.”
And with that, Father Sarducci surrendered the podium back to the funeral home officiant, who led the bemused crowd in a shaky chorus of “Amazing Grace” while two assistants somberly lowered the coffins into the ground. Figuring absolutely no one would show any concern for me at this point, I ripped off my left shoe, found the stupid rock, and threw it into Marco’s grave. I was strongly considering storming off on foot when–
“Excuse me. Jake?”
The man from the assisted living facility was back at his post behind Marco’s grandmother’s wheel chair, which he had turned to face me. He was flanked by Father Sarducci.
“Yeah, I’m Jake. You have me at a disadvantage.”
“Oh, don’t you recognize me?” the assisted living facility guy said. “You dog sat for me once, remember?”
“Oh! I think I remember now. Are you a friend of Mr. King?”
“I am indeed.” He smiled. So did Father Sarducci, whom I now had no doubt was Marco, in some human morph I didn’t recognize but may or may not have already heard about.
“I’ll deal with you later,” I said to Marco.
“You remember Marco’s grandmother, Ana Lucía?” said the Chee.
“Of course I do.” I held out a hand, which she shook with surprising vigor, and said something in Spanish. I looked up, helplessly.
“She says she knows it hurts to lose a best friend, but there’s nothing to be sad about. She says Marco, Eva, and Peter are all angels now.”
“That’s a lovely sentiment,” I said, smiling at her.
Marco added “I think there’s some nuance that doesn’t translate. Abuelita literally saw Marco, Peter, and Eva as angels. In the sky. From the courtyard of her nursing home.”
I thought about this for a second. “Halos and wings, the whole get-up?”
Marco smiled. “Yeah, Erek said we should consider going ‘biblically accurate’ and doing the thing with four heads and the flaming wheels covered in eyeballs, but cooler heads prevailed. And speaking of cooler heads… how’re you feeling?”
“Let’s just say I’ve never hit a priest before but it’s looking like a lovely day for it.”
Marco’s grandmother said something else. I looked back to her Chee caretaker. So did Marco, who knew only slightly more Spanish than me.
“She also says it’s interesting that so many of Marco’s classmates speak Portuguese."
“What the hell?” I asked.
“Oh, that tribute she ‘wrote’?” Marco said. “In ‘Spanish’? They wrote it,” Marco gestured at the Chee, “and it was actually in Portuguese.”
“Which almost nobody here should understand,” the Chee added. “But if, say, thirty percent of the people in attendance have slugs in their heads, and those slugs in turn have Andalite-derived universal translators in their heads, and their body language and verbal responses indicate that they understood perfectly, well we just might have identified a huge number of previously unconfirmed Controllers. Of course a few people who actually speak Spanish are rather confused, but that’s a small price to pay.”
I lit up as the realization dawned on me. “So that ‘intel gathering’ mission…”
Marco nodded, and pointed at the ground indicating “right here.”
“It was Marco’s idea to have one of our moles in The Sharing advocate to get such a big turn out here in the first place. They thought it would be great for recruitment. And by putting it outside, we could easily surveil it from every angle.”
“They also paid for everything,” Marco added.
“That was… actually kind of genius. Maybe I can forgive you.”
“Well, before you say that…”
“Excuse me,” I heard the funeral home officiant say. “We have one last note to share. It was supposed to be anonymous, but per Father Sarducci, Marco generously willed his PlayStation 2, his personal computer, and his basketball signed by the 1999 L.A. Lakers to charity.”
The Chee dutifully translated this to Marco’s grandmother.
“You don’t own any of those things, do you, ‘Father’?” I asked Marco.
“You know damn well that I don’t.”
“But I do.”
“You did, yeah.”
And then I had a new reason to cry.