Short stories

Bad reasons

He patiently waited for the sobs to dominish before returning to his office. But of course it was not over. Far from being over, actually. He knew the routine. As he approached the door, the woman began to cry while groaning. She sniffed loudly. He was disgusted so he decided not to come in right away. He preferred to wait for the woman to calm down again. He still had to pretend compassion. Much harder if he wanted to vomit. At the beginning of his career, it already had happened. What a humiliation! He swore that it would never happen again. If he wated a little longer, he could soon end this meeting and return to the calm and tranquility of his establishment. He didn't love the presence of the living. Pretty normal for a mortician.

"Oh... I'm sorry..." the woman groaned, sniffing.

It was the sign he was waiting to pursue. He entered the room and gently laid a hand on the woman's frat shoulder. Then he went round and returned to sit behind his desk, displaying a sad and compassionate smile.

"It's perfectly normal," he replied, bringing the box of tissues closer. "Given the circumstances, I can understand that it's not easy."

He immediately regretted his words. It was possible they would trigger a new series of tears. But the woman just nodded, wiping her cheeks. He uttered a slight sigh of relief, glad that no consequence arose from his error. He could therefore pursue the arrangements the widow wished, promising to redouble his vigilance with his words. Nevertheless, the widow seemed to be able to control herself at a certain level. A good thing for the continuation of the events. The organization of the funeral wouldn't be easy. Was there a will? Any last wishes? It changed the way the meeting was going. Most people wished to respect the deceased' last wishes, but on rare occasions a slight circumvention was made. He loved it when it happened. The bereaved spent practically without counting. And that gave him an idea of what he might find before the funeral...

"But," the woman began, "it should not be so difficult...! He had been sick for months, suffering without anything being able to help him. I... Why don't I feel it as a liberation...? He... he no longer suffers..."

He could see her eyes flooding with tears. He understood she was looking to keep control of a stranger.He was grateful. Can she do it? She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths before nodding.

"He... he wished to be cremated."

He nodded as an answer. He didn't need to hear any more. So there would be no preparation fo rembalming. Everything should take place very quickly. He swiftly lowered his gaze on the open file on her desk. Each deceased had his own record - identification, age, date, date of death, cause - and he completed the whole thing with the family as he did now. Except there was something strange about this woman. He observed for a short time the hand holding the tissue. According to his record, the deceased was about ninety years old. But the widow, under the veil of black lace she wore as a sign of mourning, didn't seem to be more than thirty years old. He had doubts about what had happened on his "client's" death, but did another person also doubt it? The diamon on her finger also told him about the financial situation of the couple. And perhaps on the cause of the death of her husband... That part was not of his concerned. He crossed his fingers on his desk.

"The burdon of the arrangements can sometimes give this impression," he calmly replied. "I can help you make some choices. Then... your budget..."

The widow straightened herself slightly.

"I... I think he had something planned. An amount... Lawyers currently have the will to deal with the estate. So I..."

He raised his hand to silence her. He knew the reason. It wasn't the first time he had heard it. There was a will, but the deceased's immediate family - surely children of a first marriage - wished to contest it. The new wife was hated, generally regarded as a gold digger. The fact that she was alone in front of him could mean that the family was right. He scrutinized her face through the black lace for a moment. Her gaze expressed a certain sadness. She had actually cried, but was it grief?