EPILOG
I spoke with Jack Keogh a few months ago. I was wearing a bright orange jump suit, trimming bushes on the grounds of the State Capitol Building, when I looked up to see a frowning little man in pressed slacks and clean white shirt, carrying a clipboard with what looked to be signatures. Marilyn was with him. “I thought that was you,” Jack said, coming up to me and holding out his hand. “How are they treating you?”
“Could be worse,” I replied. “They let me get a little sunshine. Hello, Marilyn.” I kept both hands on my clippers to avoid a handshake. I think Marilyn, at least, understood my predicament. If Jack touched me, I’d have to be strip-searched.
“Tell me something,” Jack said. He looked straight into my face, his blue eyes intense. “When you carried his coffin, was it heavy or light?”
“I couldn’t say, Jack. It was kind of heavy and kind of light. I don’t carry coffins every day. Besides, you know, there were six of us.” My eyes slid away from his gaze. I knew about Jack’s condition from my father, but I would have looked aside in any case. It’s a habit you get into, not looking at people directly. I saw the guard starting to turn my way.
“Don’t give me the same song-and-dance everyone else hands me,” Jack whispered. “Heavy or light?” He reached for my collar, but I backed away. The guard was coming fast now, loosening his baton. I stepped back onto a tulip bed that had just been dug up. “Heavy or light?”
“Take it easy, Jack,” I said. “Even if it weighed a ton, how could we tell what was in it? All I know is, there was something in there.” I glanced at Marilyn for help. Then the guard was on me.
“Did this man speak to you, sir?” the guard asked Jack. He was a squatty character, one of the more intelligent. “It’s not allowed,” he added. “Smith, you’d better tend to those spruce trees like I told you. Move away from the sidewalk.”
“Heavy or light?” Jack called out after me. All I could offer was a shrug. When I stole a glance again, the guard and Marilyn were leading Jack toward the steps, though he tried to turn back.
What I told him was factual. The coffin could’ve held dirt, or cow bones, or a VC corpse. That weight in the bag could’ve been camp garbage, or a dozen random legs off the amputation table. Jack was a character in Palemon by then, someone little kids pointed at, the man who walked the gutters and picked up bits of paper all day. So I didn’t lie to him. Not exactly. I lied to Marilyn.
Ed’s coffin was light.
THE END
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