396
SUSAN SONTA&-
At the Easy Come Easy Go Funeral Home on Las MadriJIII
Blvd. a crowd of mourners gathered. Arthur, flustered by the
\lIIo
expected turnout, sped off unnoticed by a side door, later retl1J'lliu&
with a large carton of sugar cones and four gallons of vanilla
ice
cream. He loaded the cones with ice cream, three at a time,
and
distributed them among the guests. A photographer was circulating
about. -Several mourners ,concealed their cones when they saw
their
picture was being taken.
Among the mourners were to be seen a monocled figure, some–
what downcast in mien, attended by a burly man in a squashed
porkpie hat. "What a waste," the man with the monocle
kept
muttering. "What a damned waste." When Arthur came
round
with a cone for the monocled man, he waved it aside haughtily,
then stalked from the room. Snatching the now dripping cone from
Arthur's hand, the man in the porkpie hat raced after
him.
"Rude
bastards, aren't they?" whispered some of the mourners, relatives
cl
Arthur's, who had never approved of his marriage but had hastened
to the funeral.
In the back of the funeral parJor, a sturdy man-greying
at
the temples-sat alone, weeping into a large yellow handkerchief.
Just before the cremation was about to start, the weeping
man
lurched to the glass crypt, and grabbed Arthur by the collar.
"I'm Jim Johnson, you know. Her first husband." Then
he
broke down utterly. "It's hers," he said, his words broken by
sobs
and muffled 'by the handkerchief which was covering his face
and
to which he was referring. "Did you ever know that she loved
yellow?"
"No," said Arthur sadly. Perhaps Arthur would have been a
little less sad
if
he had known that this fondness for yellow was
an
item about Miss Flatface that not even Mr. Obscenity, urbane
and
sensually observant as he was, had known.
With a manly gesture of infinite tenderness, Arthur threw
his
arm around Jim. Together they both knelt in silence, as the body
was consumed. Up in heaven, Miss Flatface watched approvingly.
May she be pardoned
if
she gloated a little. It may be that none
of us is ever wholly known.
But
who among us has been loved
so
well?
