DANCING WITH THE ICE LADY. Ken Salter

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СКАЧАТЬ take care of all your Auntie’s needs in a way she be proud of you. Y’all don’t need to do nothin’ ’cept decide on which plan you want for yo’ special Auntie. We a full service funeral home an’ we gotta credit plan for every budget. Juss follow me into the office an’ we gonna check out how ta make your Auntie’s limited time on earth peaceful an’ serene while she waitin’ for the Lord to claim her for His own.”

      I dutifully followed Brother Thomas into a spacious reception room. He sat down behind a big mahogany desk and motioned me to one of several matching blue velour chairs facing him. The chairs looked liked they belonged in a rich man’s mansion. They were big, plush and designed to let even the biggest fanny settle right in.

      I caught the glint of light from overhead spotlights on the fancy hardware on a row of caskets raised on a special platform encircling the room. The one behind Brother Thomas looked like it had been customized in an auto body shop. It was metallic silver with gold trim; it only needed wheels and some detailing to pass for a street rod. You’d probably need one of those suitcases stuffed with cash to buy one of these boxes.

      I could feel Brother Thomas’ eyes behind his shades sizing up my reaction to my new surroundings. He’d probably seen me arrive in my old Chevy and knew I couldn’t afford anything more than a simple pine box. That wouldn’t stop him from trying to sell me a box beyond my means. His next move surprised me.

      “Why don’t you juss take yo’ time, Little Brother. Have a look at our fine selection of caskets and think hard ‘bout which one your dear Auntie’d choose for her trip to the Promised Lan’. This here book gotta summary of all our different burial plans and fun’ral services,” he said pointing to a large folio on his desk. “An’ if yo’ Auntie ain’t got no burial plot, they’s a list of real estate prices at the cemeteries at the end.”

      I picked up the large, loose-leaf bound book and quickly skimmed through it while Brother Thomas excused himself to let me absorb the shocking cost of being buried in style. “Be back in a few minutes to discuss how we gonna take care of yo’ Auntie.”

      The overhead spots now reflected the glimmer of Brother Thomas’ big gold pinkie ring off his spit-and-polish black patent leather shoes as he exited. He must have pressed a hidden button because speakers somewhere in the ceiling now softly murmured the sound of Bobby Bland singing, “Feel So Bad.”

      As soon as he was gone, I got up and checked the price tags on several of the customized coffins. Prices ranged from $1,500.00 for the simplest one which wasn’t much more than the proverbial pine box to twenty-two grand for the most ornate model with gold-plated hardware. A quick glance through the book revealed that the basic plan included pick up at the hospital or morgue, embalming, dressing for the memorial service in the mortuary’s chapel, and a trip to a local cemetery. The coffin was extra; so were the services of a preacher for the chapel and graveside service. The mortuary could hire a preacher for a hundred bucks a hit and even provide a church choir to sing your favorite spirituals for an extra grand.

      It would take at least $6,000.00 to get my fictional Auntie in and out of the doors of the Simmons Family Mortuary with no extras and a cheap coffin a couple of grades above a pine box; it would have removable handles and cheap velveteen lining. What did poor folks do? Most folks would be shamed into buying a coffin and services well beyond their means. For ten percent down, the mortuary would finance your burial provided you could put up a house, had other valuable collateral, or an acceptable guarantor for the loan. Finance charges were at the going rates for major credit cards.

      Up to now, no one had ever clued me in on how expensive dying was going to be. As soon as I got the figures straight, I marked them on a pad and then snuck a look outside the room. Another door not far down the hall was open, so I scampered down the corridor and copped a look. It was a carbon copy of the one I’d just left. They probably watched the newspapers for drive-by shootings and had two salesmen working during busy periods. From my vantage point I saw stairs leading up to another level; a side door to the parking lot, and another door leading to the chapel I’d glimpsed on the way in.

      I was tempted to hop up the stairs to confirm where they kept their business records, but knew it would blow my cover. I ducked into the chapel instead.

      The chapel was like most local churches except for a big double door on the right. By guessing at the distances to the choir seats and raised platform for the pastor’s lectern, I surmised that the cold storage and embalming facilities must be located behind the chapel on the right. That meant the business offices and records were up the stairs on the left overlooking the parking lot.

      While I was trying devise a plausible ruse to sneak upstairs, Brother Thomas caught up to me in the chapel. “Sorry to keep you waitin’ so long, Little Brother. Had to do some call backs to arrange for this weekend’s services. How you comin’ along wid yo’ plannin’ fo’ yo’ Auntie?”

      “I’m startin’ to get the big picture. I do got some questions.”

      “That’s what I’m here for, Little Brother. What you need to know?”

      “Well, my Auntie come from Louisiana an’ she really wanna be buried back home with her people when she pass.”

      “Ain’t nothin’ simplier, Little Brother. When da’ time come, we gonna take care a’ all yo’ Auntie’s business juss like she want. Everything the same wid’ the basic plan ‘cept the graveside service an’ burial be done down home in Louisiana. She gonna have her memorial service here wid’ all her friends an’ family, then we gonna ship your Auntie back home first class. Gonna come ta ’bout the same money she buried here. You juss gonna need to order her a fine casket to make shore yo’ Auntie and her people back home be proud a’ the way you send her off. Where you say yo’ Auntie stayin’ now?”

      I hadn’t said anything about where my Auntie was because I didn’t have one. Brother Thomas was trying to close a sale and probably had a big, fat commission to make at my expense. I needed to think of an escape without arousing suspicion I was playing him for a fool. I also needed to figure a way to access the mortuary’s business records and meet the Chinese bookkeeper.

      “Shore is a relief to know y’all can take care of my Auntie when she pass. Uncle Paul shore gonna be relieved, too. He ain’t moving too good; he got a real bad problem with stiff joints, a bad ticker an’ all. That’s why he send me ‘round to do some checking. He ain’t got a lot of money and he mighty worried about what it all gonna cost. So, could you put down some numbers so maybe he can get some help with financing?”

      “No problem, Little Brother. Juss take me minute to do yo’ figures. What name you want on yo’ papers?”

      He caught me by surprise. “Uh, might as well put ‘em down in my name; I’m probably gonna have to help Uncle Paul with a credit card. They call me Reggie Jones.” I lied hoping the dude wasn’t going demand to verify my credit on the spot.

      “Then Brother Jones it is.” He dropped his jiving when his fingers hit the calculator keys. It was frightening to see how fast he could add up a bunch of figures that would set me back just under $7,000.00 and put me on a fast track to the poor house.

      “Say, uh, you think it would be OK if I could bring Uncle Paul down here to one of your chapel services? He be too sickly to go back home when Auntie do pass. Would ease his mind a plenty to know he gonna have a memorial service right here for all they friends.”

      “No problem, Brother Jones. We havin’ special ’morial services Friday an’ Saturday evenings. The one on Friday gonna have a full gospel choir from the Ebenezer Church of God. You bring yo’ Uncle Paul on down on Friday and he gonna be real happy he doin’ СКАЧАТЬ