First Avenue (49 page)

One of the organ notes was off-key, but the organist played through it bravely. Her head, tilted at an angle so that she could see the music through the bottom of thick glasses, moved in time with the melody. Sunlight pe
net
rated the tall stained-glass windows on either side of her, and thin columns of dust rose in the light beams. Opposite her the casket stood on a metal stand. A wreath of garden flowers, woven together by caring hands, draped over the casket and touched the tile floor. Inside the substantial box were ashes—mother and daughter.

Katherine had arrived early for the service and sat in the center of a rear pew. There were a few people already at the front, mostly old people, weathered and stiff in Sunday-morning clothes worn out of order on this afternoon. As the time approached for the service, a few more slipped silently past her, genuflected on the worn red carpet runner that ran down the center aisle, and added to the hushed rows at the front. The people knew each other and touched hands across the tall wood backs.

If
Katherine
had known the empty rows would not fill, she would have sat closer to the front. She had not wanted to be in the way, but the gap was too wide. It must seem intentional to those in front.

Maria stopped abruptly at the row where
Katherine
sat, and
Sam
had to backtrack a little to rejoin her. He nodded to the girl that they would sit with
Katherine
, and a nervous innocent smile brightened
Maria
’s face as she sidestepped into the pew.
Katherine
’s smile held through her greeting. She wished the service would begin.

Maria wore a simple black dress. It was new, as were her black, low-heeled shoes. In contrast
Sam
wore a long-used gray suit with the coat unbuttoned. His brown shoes didn’t match.

They waited silently for the silence to end. The music had stopped, and there was no other sound to fill the empty space. Everyone sat still, unmoving, and expectant. The priest appeared at the altar, and the service began.

With some hesitancy in the beginning the three strangers followed the actions of the parishioners and stood and sat in unison with them, although they didn’t kneel with the others. The priest spoke in Spanish and English so that everyone understood. It was a sad day, he said, when a mother and child, both so young, were put to rest together. It was sometimes difficult to understand God’s will.
Katherine
agreed with that. She could not understand it at all. While he went further into the idea of God’s will, her mind stayed fixed in the ashes of the mother and daughter, side by side or perhaps even mingled together in the same casket. She heard the priest speak of hope. If he had heard the boy’s infernal laughter, would he speak of hope? And as she thought of it, the laughter suddenly filled the church and echoed in the tall arches that reached heavenward just as it had in the basement on
First Avenue
. Tell me, priest, how to understand that laughter.

Maria was crying. Her hand rose secretly to her face to remove tears before they fell.
Katherine
guessed that her tears came from many places. Why would
Sam
bring her to the funeral? He should have spared the girl this final ordeal.

Sam put his arm around the girl, and his hand, so close to
Katherine
, patted
Maria
softly.
Maria
tilted her head briefly in his direction, and
Katherine
thought she saw the girl smile despite her tears. The smile was enough of a miracle that she didn’t need to imagine the one the priest was offering. She decided to refrain from further judgment.

Katherine thought back to
Sam
’s voice on the telephone as he explained that he was taking time off and would not be at the dock. She wondered if he would ever be there again, or if she would.
Katherine
remembered the girl’s face upon recognizing her mother’s name.
Gloria
? He calls his kayak
Gloria
?

The service ended, and old men picked up the heavy casket and carried it down the aisle. She wondered why there was such a large box. Perhaps Mr. and
Mrs.
Sanchez
had to have something substantial to see and to touch. Why were there no young people to carry the load? Where were her friends? Some boy must have kissed her once. Some girl must have played with her on the swing. Did her young friends think that she had fallen from grace and they were different? Did they think that they could hide from the old men who carried the casket holding mother and child or from the sad, worn faces who followed it?

Mr.
Sanchez
and his wife,
Olivia
, were first behind the casket.
Mrs.
Abbott
walked between them. They stopped when they came to the row of outsiders.
Sanchez
held his hand out to
Sam
, who stood awkwardly in the narrow space between the church pews. The whole procession stopped, including the priest who led the casket and the old men who carried it.

“Come out with us,”
Mr.
Sanchez
said.

Sam reached for
Maria
’s hand and she stood with him.

“Come,” he said simply, and with his hand included
Katherine
.

She also stood up and followed his instructions.
Katherine
found herself immediately behind the casket. She looked for an opening to drop back in line, but there was no time and no opportunity. The procession began again and she was in it.

As they walked down the front steps of the church, the old man ahead of her stumbled and nearly lost his balance.
Katherine
instinctively reached for him and then for the casket. The old man turned to her and smiled with embarrassment. “Gracias, señorita,” he said. There was sweat on his brow and he appeared ill.
Katherine
looked to see how far they would walk. The cemetery was across the street from the church, and the grave with its canopy was at the far end. She moved closer so that she could assist more ably and lifted the handle at the rear corner of the casket.

“It is not necessary,” the old man said with great dignity. “I have done this many times.”

“It would be an honor,” she said, surprised by her own words that had so readily adopted his dignity.

“Then by all means,” he replied. “And you, señorita?” he asked
Maria
, who had also tried to help but had found there was little room to contribute.

“Yes,”
Maria
said.

“
Fernando
,” he called across the casket, “make room on your side. We shall have something new today.”

Maria went to the other side and the casket bearers shuffled forward a little and redistributed the load.

Katherine took small steps behind the old man as they descended to the street. They crossed the street to the cemetery gate and then followed a gravel path. Mostly she saw the gray hair of the old man ahead of her. It was oiled and combed, but resisted regulation and stood straight in the back.

Until then someone else had always carried this load of mother and child—the detectives and coroners with their carts and bags, the undertakers, the old men. It was better to feel some of the weight, although all of it now was from the casket. The mother and the baby weighed nothing.

At the graveside the priest prayed again—this time, only in Spanish. When he made the sign of the cross, the casket bearers gently lowered the box.
Maria
and
Katherine
stood aside as there were not enough canvas straps for everyone, but the old man whom
Katherine
had assisted took her hand and put it on a strap that they lowered together.

Instead of the casket she saw the baby, curled into a tiny ball in the small empty room. Too short a life, too brutal a world, too many who would not hear her cry. Listen, she told herself. Hear her cry.

Beneath the deck Sam lifted the new kayak off the sawhorses and dropped it upright on the ground. He opened the rear hatch and stuffed in his work belt and a canvas bag that held an assortment of tools. He walked down to the beach and looked east where there was a hint of predawn light. A much brighter light came on in
Georgia
’s house. A silhouette appeared in her window. He raised his hand and waved slowly and carefully.
Georgia
responded in nearly exact duplication. Then she moved away from the window, and the light behind her went out.

He walked back to the kayak and pulled the hammer out of his work belt. He looked at
Georgia
’s house again and then pounded the hammer on the creosote post supporting the deck.