The Weird Insights of a Scobberlotcher

Forty-six Sounds Black with Sunny Streaks

I sneak out to see Mary every once in a while. Never tell Alice. Just silly, really. After all, can the living actually be jealous of the dead? Envious maybe. But jealous? Well, it's been almost two years now since we buried her at Southview and I'm still doing it. But I have to keep my visits brief. Say hi. Leave some flowers. Skedaddle. I'm not really crazy about the place, though not for the obvious reason. We used to live right across the street back in our wasted renter days. It's one of the reasons she chose the spot. Had a great overview of it from the top floor of the duplex. Very peaceful. Unobstructed sight-lines. Great west light. Mary and the plants loved it. Me not so much. There was this thing about the view. Nothing concrete. I never said anything. But every time I looked out the window I got the distinct impression that the graves were exercising some sort of subtle, collective gravitational attraction. Even on sunny days they always seemed to be trying to pull the sky down around them like a shroud. At night I could almost hear them sucking at the stars. Winter was the worst. All too frequently the clouds would succumb. So it was a bit, I dunno, suffocating? Can you say that about a view? One good thing came out of it, though. It did encourage me to finally push for full civic citizenship as home owners.

Anyhow, I was there just a little while ago. Put on my Skecher antigravity boots and made my way over to Mary's marker. There was already a party of four Chinese men visiting a grave site off to the left. They were performing some sort of ritual. There was chanting. Or maybe it was low singing of some kind. The seven tones set to music. Whatever it was, it was white and sinuous. Oddly soothing. They were also pouring some kind of liquid onto the freshly dug grave from a brightly painted amphora. A touching ceremony but I didn't want to intrude so I kept my mind on the job and my eyes to myself.

I was down on one knee. Just finished laying some flowers to rest against Mary's gravestone when two more Chinese men marched behind me on their way up to the other party. A verbal brawl punctuated by pointed fingers immediately broke out. Four on one side of the freshly protruding mound, two new arrivals on the other. Quite a spectacle. Now I was overtly curious. Couldn't help it. The scene was so utterly counter-graveyard. Besides, I figured at this point they probably wouldn't notice me gawking from a coupla doors down. Then the harsh words abruptly turned shrill. Sharpened shouts came chopping through the air toward me. I was completely exposed. Unplugged. Nothing I could do to avoid them. Then they were inside me. A vicious pack of bumblebee buzz saws with black teeth made of ideogram fragments angrily ripping through my brain. Hellaciously painful. Unbearable. Turned tail and ran. I've known more glorious moments.

It was the first time I'd not said a few words over Mary's grave - as was my solemn custom - so I felt a little bad about abruptly abandoning her like that. But I pleaded self-defense, then let myself off on a technicality. Any feelings were entirely one-sided anyway, your honour, so no remedy is indicated. Case dismissed. Boy, too late now but Conrad Black could have used me as his presiding judge.