13 Mink Street

Chapter 10: Diary

On the outward journey, there had been two honored guests in the car. On the way back, there were only two urns.

The funerals had been modest, almost rushed. Yet as they returned from the crematorium, the sky opened up, and rain fell. It was an action that lent the moment a somber weight. It was a final, proper farewell for Jeff and Mr. Mossan as they left the world.

Karon eyed the urns standing before him and thought, as he had half expected, that the urns in their basement would absolutely never be used for pickling vegetables.

Ashes fresh from the crematorium were still warm. Due to haste, there were times that families would take an urn from the basement for the first transfer, intending to move the remains into an official one later on. Jeff’s ashes still needed to go through a final procedure before they were interred in the welfare section of the cemetery. Mr. Mossan’s children were unwilling to keep their father, and were also forgoing any sort of formal plot. Burials were expensive, even for ashes. Instead, they had elected to pay the Immers family a little extra under the table, enabling their father to “ride along” on the welfare route.

This was why Jeff had borrowed the space for Mr. Mossan’s funeral for a brief interlude. In return, Mr. Mossan would share Jeff’s place on the welfare registry. All things proceeding as expected, their urns would be delivered to the welfare cemetery together, and then placed in neighboring alcoves.

That’s not so bad, Karon thought. If either grows lonely, they can always knock on the partition with their skulls.

He was still puzzling over Old Darcy’s comments regarding the cost of urns when growing curiosity pushed him. He turned to Mason, who was up front, driving. “Uncle, how much profit do we make on our coffins?”

“With the cheaper coffins, we double our money. The special ones, the custom jobs, are marked up two or three times. People with status, like those with government backgrounds, prefer something plain and dignified. If they have a noble title and some money left over, they might order a fancier coffin, something custom-carved with the family crest, or whatever tradition they favor. The nouveau riche tend to keep things simple; just something flashy and covered with gold. We have a catalog back home with over two hundred models. You can flip through it later, if you like. The prices in the catalog are usually five times our cost, but of course, we always offer a ‘discount’ when talking to clients.”

Karon did the math. A markup of several times their own cost was not terrible, and was certainly much less than what Hughes Crematorium did, charging a thousand for an urn that cost them no more than fifty. That was a profit margin of nearly twentyfold.

Mason seemed to be in the mood to talk, and he continued with that same example, "Sure, our markups don’t match those on the Hughes’ urns, but look at the scale. A marked-up urn is nothing compared to even our most basic coffin, which sells for ten thousand rupi. Besides, we serve different clientele. As for our clients who are hauled off to the crematorium, well... let’s just say they’re not our best customers. But they’re Hughes’ bread and butter. They burn bodies day in, day out over there, yet selling just three of our coffins equals a whole month of their profit. Of course, Mr. Mossan isn’t a usual case."

“Uncle, have you ever thought about expanding?” Karon asked.

Mason shook his head. "I tried and failed. I used leverage—you know what leverage is?"

"I do."

"Good, then I won't spell it out. The point is, my poor nephew, your grandfather’s money, which you might have inherited someday, has shrunk quite a bit, and it’s all thanks to your hopeless uncle." He paused briefly. "Don’t hold it against me."

The tradition in Swillen was for the eldest son to inherit the family business, while the younger sons would be left to make their own way. As the eldest grandson of the direct family line, Karon would one day run the funeral home. At most, Mason would receive a small share, but never any authority.

"I don’t blame you, Uncle." Amidst the fragments that lingered from the former Karon, there remained a quiet fondness for Mason.

After spending half a month together, Karon had learned enough to have a clear understanding of Mason. The man was a bit lazy, quick to talk, and more interested in money than most, yet his flaws were no different from anyone else’s. What mattered was his attitude toward life, family, and money: steady, serious, and proper. Of everyone in the family, Mason was the one who most wanted to reclaim what he’d lost. He had once worked with finance and investments in a city far larger than Roja City. Now, he spent his days driving a hearse, ferrying clients for the family business. No one could find pleasure in such a fall.

Yet when Karon had asked if he should add a consultation fee of nearly twenty thousand rupi to the family ledgers, Mason had declined without hesitation. He’d made it clear he wasn’t the kind of man who would take money from his own nephew.

The few family members who actually received both salary and dividends of the profits were Mason, Aunt Mary, Tiz, and Aunt Winnie. After money went into the company accounts, he and Mary would split half of it the following month. What Karon had received was an easy profit. If he had not compensated Old Darcy with a thousand rupi, the only real cost would have been a few words.

“Karon, next time there’s business, you should talk to the clients yourself. Handle it well, and you’ll join the family company properly and receive a share of the dividends.”

“All right, Uncle.”

Working for Immers— No, working for Tiz, is my honor.

“As for expanding the business, I don’t see any point. Even if we managed to get a bank loan, there’s no way we could compete in scale with the big chains. I’d rather we focus on improving our service and look for new ways to grow profit. People like you, for example.”

Karon hesitated. “Couldn’t Grandpa fill that role?”

Tiz was a priest.

Mason shrugged. “Come on, who ever tells the truth to god?”

Just then, the car hit a pothole, and it dropped violently, jolting those inside. The car was fine, but the urns in the back clattered together loudly. Mason glanced over his shoulder and said, “When I die, I don’t want a funeral. Not even a coffin. I’d rather Mina and Lent not bother with so much as an urn.”

“Huh? You’re really that open about things, Uncle?”

“Some things, after you’ve seen them enough, lose all meaning. When I’m old, so long as Mina and Lent treat me kindly, then once I’m gone, they can just scoop my ashes into a black plastic bag from the fish market for all I care.”

“And what would you have them do with the ashes?” Karon asked.

“Simple. Put them in a big flowerpot, add a bit of dirt, plant something fast-growing on top, and put it in the garden. When you’re home, you can water me. When you’re away, I’ll keep watch over the house.”

Ron, half asleep in the backseat, had been startled awake by the sudden bump. He had already caught the drift of the conversation and asked, half curious, “Mr. Mason, Young Master Karon, is that really what you’re talking about?”

“What about you, Ron? Ever thought about your own funeral?” Mason kept one hand on the wheel as he lit a cigarette.

“Heh. I figure I’ll spend my very last rupi before I die.”

“What about your family?” Karon asked.

“Tomorrow after work I’ll see if that lady from the nursing home wants to go out. If not, I guess there won’t be a family. No kids.”

“And your remains?”

“My arrangements?” Ron patted his belly. “That’s easy. I heard the Roja Medical School accepts body donations. They even give the donors a respectful status.”

Karon nodded as Ron chuckled. “Heh. That’s why, before I die, I’ll sign the papers and donate myself. Better than rotting to nothing.”

Mason flicked the ash from his cigarette and laughed. “Didn’t expect that from you, Ron. You’ve gone up a notch in my eyes.”

Ron scratched his head, a little embarrassed. “I was never good at studying. All the smart ones make it into Roja. I just keep thinking... one day, this useless dropout lying there, and all those top students standing around me, their heads lowered as they treat me with respect.”

Mason burst out laughing, and Karon also smiled, though he did add, “Then you should probably lose some weight.”

Ron blinked. “Lose weight? What does that have to do with it?”

“It’s nothing official,” Karon calmly replied. “But all that fat piles up, and once they open your abdomen and the students are poking around, they’ll be trying not to gag and muttering under their breath about their bad luck.”

Ron straightened at once. “That bad?”

He fell silent, his thoughts drifting uncomfortably towards what would happen to his body after his death.

Mason glanced over, curious. “How do you know all that, Karon?”

“Aunt Mary told me about it. There are times that she gets bodies in terrible shape, and she can’t help but grumble about them at the dinner table.”

Mason nodded emphatically. “Her temper’s only getting worse lately.”

...

Later, Mason let out a sigh, flicked his cigarette ash, and muttered, “It’s all my fault.”

***

By the time they arrived home, it was nearly nine. The urns were carried downstairs to the basement, finishing the day’s work. Dinner waited on the table. There were mashed potatoes, smoked meat, and salad. Karon washed up and glanced at the food, disappointment taking hold of him. After such a long day and coming back so hungry, he had hoped for something richer, something that could anchor him and give him a bit more comfort.

Maybe next time, he would just cook for himself.

“Darling, I opened a can of herring for you.”

At the mention of herring, Uncle Mason stretched his arms out wide and kissed Aunt Mary multiple times in full view of Karon. “This is happiness! My love—my favorite meal—and you, who make it for me.”

Just the other day while in the car, Uncle Mason had told Aunt Mary that the pies she made with her own hands were one of only two foods he truly loved.

As for the other, it was something that he loved, despite how vile it was. It was so bad that he had to eat it in the bathroom: canned herring.

Karon blinked as he was hit by a sudden sense of unease. Mason drew the tab back on the can. There was a dull pop, and a rush of stale air. Instantly, the kitchen filled with a stench of rot so strong Karon nearly gagged on the spot.

Oblivious, Mason forked out a chunk of the herring and ate it with near reverence. Without even asking, he dropped a second piece onto Karon’s mashed potatoes. “Eat! Here, you and I are the herring’s truest devotees. Not just fans, but believers!”

He forked up another piece and called, “Come! Let’s live out our faith.”

He then placed it in his mouth and chewed contentedly.

Karon hesitated, cornered by expectation and habit. The old Karon had apparently loved the food. Perhaps, much like stinky tofu, it was better than it smelled? Maybe...

He braced himself, raised the fork, and put the herring in his mouth. A moment later, his eyes teared up. He couldn’t swallow. He grabbed his napkin and spat everything out. He then fled to the washroom, his body spasming from retching.

Mason and Mary, one sitting at the table, the other standing by it, gaped, startled by the reaction.

“What’s the matter with him?” Mary asked.

Mason guessed, “Maybe he caught a chill on the way back? From the rain and the wind.”

“I’ll get him some medicine,” Mary said.

***

In the bathroom, Karon clung to the sink, trying to recover from his shaky breathing. When he turned, he saw Pu’er sitting by the door, watching. There was a tilt to the cat’s mouth. It was almost a smile, practically a taunt. “Are you laughing at me?”

Pu’er’s only reply was a slow swish of its tail.

Just then, Mary called from outside the door, “Karon, did you catch a chill? I brought you some medicine.”

“Thank you, Aunt. I’ll take it in a minute.”

“And your dinner...” No. He couldn’t sit back at that table. He didn’t even want to climb back down the stairs. By this time, the whole second floor had to be reeking of herring.

“Lent keeps some snacks in his room. I’ll just have a bit of those. Since my stomach’s upset, I shouldn’t eat much.”

“All right, then. Take care. If you’re still sick in the morning, I’ll take you to the clinic.”

“Thank you, Aunt.”

Mary walked away. Through the door, Karon could just make out that she was scolding Lent. “Lent, all your teeth are rotting and you’re still hiding snacks? Since you don’t want your teeth, maybe I should tear them out of your mouth!”

Standing in the bathroom, Karon felt a twinge of guilt for ratting out his cousin, maybe even a bit of regret. He took a long shower to steady himself. After drying his hair, he headed to his room.

On his desk, he found milk, bread, a cup of water, and the medicine. Lent was sitting on the floor, sifting through a box he’d pulled from under the bed. When Karon came in, Lent looked up, looking wounded.

“Big Brother, Mom found all my hidden sweets and chocolate. She took them.”

It was more resignation than anger that colored Lent’s face. There was no blame. “If I’d known, I would have eaten them all at once instead of saving them and having one a night.”

“Heh.” Karon smiled and pulled a thousand rupi from his pocket. He then hesitated. Giving a child so much didn't sit right with him. Instead, he just handed over three bills. "Go buy yourself some candy. Tell me when you need more."

Lent shook his head, refusing to take the money. "I can’t use your money."

"Isn’t it normal to help your little brother?"

"No. Mother says we should take care of you because you don’t have—" Lent caught himself. "Anyway, I still have my pocket money."

Including Karon, there were four children in the house. Officially, each one received an equal allowance, assigned in the family budget. However, his cousins, who still had their parents, found their pocket money “kept safe” by his aunts, and what they actually received was a paltry amount. Only Karon, who had no parents to claim his share, ever saw the full amount for each month. This was what explained how he’d managed to save up six thousand rupi.

"Just remember to brush your teeth every day and don’t go wild with the sweets. That’s all."

Still, Karon set the three hundred rupi on Lent’s bed. He noticed the books and notepads scattered about from Aunt Mary's earlier search. They were supposed to stay out of sight under the bed.

In the pile was a notebook with a white rose stamped on the cover, its petals carefully colored red with a pen. Karon picked it up and flipped it open. On the first page, he saw a drawing: three figures, two tall, and one short. The work was rough, but clear. The father was on the left, the mother on the right, and a boy in the center, his hair cropped short.

"Nice drawing," Karon said.

"That’s not mine, Big Brother."

"Not yours?" Given the room, if it wasn’t Lent’s, it could only be Karon’s. He dug through his memories, yet came up empty. Still, that made sense. The notebook was old, and there had to be things that the original Karon had forgotten.

"Lent, time to brush your teeth and get ready for bed!" Aunt Mary’s voice drifted up the stairs. It was just as well that the Immers family lived in a freestanding house. In any apartment, her voice would have incited complaints.

"Coming, Mother!" Lent ran out, but Karon lingered. Still sitting on the edge of Lent’s bed, he turned the pages.

The second drawing was much the same: a couple and a child. So was the third. Karon's interest began to fade, but the fourth page gave him pause. The sheet was almost nearly blacked out, save for an empty circle right at the center. To a professional eye, such a drawing by a child spoke of deep insecurity. The black suggested protection. The image called to mind a child’s instinct to burrow beneath the covers, leaving just enough space to breathe or peek out into the dark. Yet there was a heavier sense from this drawing; it was more suffocating.

He turned to see more pages. The drawings were repetitious, with only the circle shifting; bottom, top, left, right. Karon turned to the next page, only to then hesitate.

This time, it was a picture of two figures laying side by side; a man and a woman. If the earlier style still held true, they were surely a father and mother. The horizontal position meant that they were lying down. Beside them stood a solitary upright figure. Both of the parents “lying” on the ground had dark stains spreading out from their middles, creating black puddling on the floor beneath them. Karon swallowed. Wounds? And blood pooling? The standing figure was an adult who hadn’t appeared in the earlier drawings, and they held something in one hand.

Karon raised the notebook closer, studying the lines. Children’s drawings always required a bit of guesswork. Is that a sword? The blade’s much too short.

A memory suddenly flared; the day he’d come home from the hospital, he’d helped Tiz clean a wound on his arm. Within the man’s black toolbox, there had been a sword hilt. "Tiz!"

"Yes?"