Part of a 'rough draft' book I began some time back.
He could see them from here, though he doubted any could, or would, bother to see him. That was as he wanted it, as it should be, at least for now. As he pulled the car to a halt, and stepped out, a rainy mist was tickling his face, and the occasional droplet would touch his eye and blur the vision for a moment. He cinched his collar tight to his throat to keep the Midwest cold at bay, and walked slowly toward the crowd.
It was a rather large funeral he thought, from this distance it looked like over two-hundred. The line of cars behind the hearse was long and wound behind a hill, emerging again 300 yards down the trail, where the cars had become much smaller, the people sullen as they strode rapidly through the light rain. Just inside the wrought iron gates the final mourners were parking and making their way up the lane. Under the green tent, marked in discreet lettering ‘Chesterwood Chapel’ they were gathering. Open sobs were blowing on the wind toward him, and a middle aged woman, dressed sharply in black, seemed to be nearly convulsing in rhythm. Two men were aiding her movement inside the tent, and an overdressed man, orchestrating the movements like a band leader, was motioning them to a row of wooden chairs that faced a freshly perched casket. Flowers had been placed around the bier, and the whole matter seemed to be staged as well as any sales meeting he had seen. No one looked his way.
Some of the mourners seemed to be unsure of where to stand, or maybe what was next. The astute eye of the director seemed to calm and move them into the proper place quickly. The efficiency of the whole thing was almost nauseating. As if cued, the only man in the crowd that was carrying a book, stepped to the front of the casket. He was too far away to hear the exact words, but it looked as though he had taken a handful of dirt and was saying something as he slowly let it filter to the ground at his feet.
The lurker took a post perhaps eighty yards up the hill, found a sturdy white oak, and leaned. He was not fully shielded by the tree, but in the mist and fog, he had little chance of being seen. The minister sounded as dreary as the weather, and apart from the occasional ‘amen’ uttered in the crowd, all others were silent, except on the occasion of a single outburst coming from the widow. The man of God halted, stepped toward her, then recomposed himself and dropped back into position. He stepped toward the casket and lifted a rose from it, handed it to the woman. Then returned to his place to continue.
The watcher slipped around the back of the tree and reached to his coat pocket. He found the desire of his search and lit one. As the smoke curled away from his lips, a faint expression took hold on his face. A tear, or maybe just a drop of rain, found it’s way down his cheek, and dripped to his already drenched coat. He slid slowly down the trunk to a squat, and remained there till he had extracted all the flavor from his cigarette, then wistfully reached back and crushed it’s glow to the oak. Stepping back around the tree, he could see the crowd was stirring. The Reverend was bent down and speaking to the family now.
One lane over he could see a truck and inside it looked like two men in work clothes. They were watching the crowd. The back of the truck held what looked like landscaping equipment, and behind it, a trailer with a bobcat. The vultures had gathered. Some of the crowd was filtering back toward their cars now, and the director of affairs was moving toward the hearse. There was a lot of hugging and embrace going on in the crowd, and several women emerged from the tent holding a single red rose. The Director re-emerged and seemed to be offering directions to the group that was now dispersing quickly. He embraced the one who had nearly fallen in pain 20 minutes ago, but was smiling now. He handed her something, she looked at it then slipped the paper into her pocket, and began the walk to the limousine behind the funeral coach. She stopped and looked one last time toward the final resting place of her husband, and seemed to blow a kiss toward the tent. Then she walked to the car.