13 Mink Street

Aunt Winnie was on the phone when Aunt Mary passed through the living room, carrying a coffee pot. Winnie called out, “I’ll bring it down to you in a bit.”

“It’s fine. I’ll take it myself,” Aunt Mary replied. “That mother and daughter who jumped, they’re in pretty bad condition. I’m worried Molly might get scared staying down there alone.”

“Alright.” Aunt Winnie smiled faintly and dialed the next number, jotting notes in the registry beside her. She might not know what gift her nephew intended to prepare for the attendees, but at such a moment, members of the Immers family most disliked being idle. Silence bred pressure, and pressure was exhausting.

Aunt Mary carried the coffee pot down to the basement and stopped at the workshop doorway. She was a little surprised to see Ms. Molly stitching one of the corpse’s facial skin with a needle and thread. The woman’s movements were quick and steady, showing no hesitation. Everything about her looked natural and composed.

“You really surprise me,” Aunt Mary said.

Ms. Molly smiled at that. “I just keep thinking about how pitiful their deaths were, and then I’m not afraid at all. Is that normal, madam?”

“Like I told you, just call me Mary. And yes, that’s normal. Most people don’t feel any fear when it’s the body of one of their own loved ones.”

“But they aren’t my family.”

“Pity can also be an emotional bond.” Aunt Mary sighed as she sat down on another of the round stools nearby.

Sisso and his mother were easier to deal with. Sisso had died of poison, so just a bit of makeup would suffice. His mother had hanged herself, so her makeup needed to be a bit heavier. The fracture in her neck could be concealed with proper clothing, and the skin at the back of the neck could be pulled tight with staples so that she would look normal while lying in the coffin.

The wake was scheduled for the next day, so there was little time. The fact that there were four bodies to prepare made the work especially tight, even with Ms. Molly assisting.

As for the mother and daughter who had jumped, they had both suffered severe damage to their faces. Both of them required filler and to have some skin reattached.

Aunt Mary picked up her own needle and thread. “Molly, do you still have pigskin left over?”

“Here.” Ms. Molly handed a plate over.

“You hardly used any?” Aunt Mary glanced at it, and then stood to look more closely at the face Ms. Molly was nearly finished restoring.

“They only need to look normal,” Molly said. “So I took skin from other parts of her body.”

“That isn’t appropriate.”

“It isn’t?” Ms. Molly asked, puzzled. “If it were me, I’d rather have my own skin on my face than pigskin.”

Aunt Mary found that reasoning to be uncomfortably sound. If she put herself in that position, she would make the same choice. Still, after a moment, she said, “The relatives wouldn’t like it, if they knew.”

“I understand,” Ms. Molly replied.

Aunt Mary looked at the girl she was preparing on her own table and sighed. “Sometimes, things are just... helpless.”

Ms. Molly picked up her coffee and finished it in one draught. She tugged at a thread as she spoke, “Madam—”

“Mary.”

“Mary, life is sometimes like a durian cake. It might only smell bad.”

Aunt Mary assumed she was being comforted, and so she casually replied, “I’m allergic to durian.”

***

“The coffins can be arranged side by side. The husband here, wife here, and the mother here. The little girl should go in the middle,” Mason said as he supervised the setup. Beside him, Ron nodded.

“Spread the tables and chairs out a bit more. Guests won’t be seated inside. Put all of them out in the yard so that the interior feels larger.

“The drinks will be delivered later on, and they’ll be good quality. As for the food, my nephew Karon will handle it.”

“You’ve arranged everything well, sir,” Ron said.

Mason stepped back a few paces and bowed toward the bier in the receiving room, much to Ron’s confusion. “Sir, the coffins haven’t been put in place yet.”

“If I bow after the coffins are here, I’ll feel sick.”

“Is it really that bad, sir? I mean, these deaths were tragic, but we’ve seen worse...”

“Ron, I’m sick of myself.”

Ron fell silent. Mason pulled the curtains back at the window to look out at the crowd still gathered in front of the yard. “They’ve been very organized. From noon until now, they’re still perfectly orderly. Look at them; What are they doing, rehearsing slogans?”

“Yes, sir,” Ron said. “They’re practicing their chants, likely for tomorrow. But they should be leaving soon. The reporters’ cars are already gone.”

Mason took out cigarettes and handed one of them to Ron. The man lit both.

“Honestly, I really wish we could set up a double-barrel shotgun for the wake tomorrow. I’d walk out holding one when it begins.”

“Oh, sir, that wouldn’t be very proper.”

“Wouldn’t it?”

“We’d need two double-barrels. Otherwise what would I use?”

“Right. Two.” Mason gestured. “You come out from there with a gun, and I’ll come in through the door with mine. Then bang, bang, bang!”

“Yes, yes. Best to put up a wire fence at the entrance too, to block them.”

“Exactly.” Mason’s mood suddenly sank, as did Ron’s. The two grown men stood facing each other in the empty mourning hall.

“Ron, go check if the truck with the drinks has arrived.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alfred sat out in the yard, his legs crossed. Earlier, a few female reporters had even taken photos of him. When Ron stepped out and saw no sign of the drinks truck, he turned to Alfred. “Hey, I’ve always thought your work clothes look really good. Where’d you buy them?”

“A boutique on Rhine Street,” Alfred replied.

That was the street where Piaget and Mrs. Seymour lived. It was not some place that could even be considered a wealthy district, as it was a place for the truly elite.

Ron smiled immediately. “Yeah, I buy clothes there all the time. Shops elsewhere just don’t have that same... smell.”

“Indeed,” Alfred said, tugging at his collar. “This one is the same design the Swillen royal prince wore last year while visiting the Belwyn mining district. It’s designed to look approachable.”

While Swillen still had a royal family, they were mostly symbolic, though they did occasional provide a bit of tabloid fodder for the public.

“You shouldn’t be hauling corpses,” Ron said. “You’d make more money in sales.”

Alfred smiled, pulled his cap down to block the moonlight, and said, “But I prefer working with bodies. Different corpses give different sensations. I like this job.”

Ron shuddered in spite of himself. “Miss Mina and the others should be home from school soon. I’ll go meet them, so they aren’t scared by those hyenas still outside.”

“Alright.” Alfred gently stretched as he looked up toward the third-floor windows.

A young figure sat there.

***

“The people outside finally left,” Karon announced as he peeled an orange.

Pu’er sipped black tea and sampled the fried carp noodles in front of her. “Very good, though I feel this dish could be better.”

“Not everyone in the family is a cat. I still have to cook dinner for everyone else after you.”

“I’ll forgive you this time, for the sake of this new dish.”

Karon tossed the orange peel into the trash and went up to the second floor. At the stair’s landing, he pulled a rope, producing the clear ringing of a bell.

It was not an original feature of the house, but something that Karon had installed himself.

Every time he rang it after preparing a meal, he felt a sense of ritual satisfaction as he waited for the family to gather.

Dinner.

Mina, Lent, and Clarice had returned from school unaware of what had happened during the day, but they were able to sense the adults’ sour mood. While usually chatty at the table, the children stayed quiet.

Tiz sat at the head of the table. His eyes swept over his family, and he said, “When eating, one should be enthusiastic and cheerful. That is the most basic respect for the cook.”

Everyone picked up their forks.

As always, Tiz finished first and left. After he was gone, Mason said, “Mina, Clarice, Lent, take tomorrow off to help at home. Everyone except Mary and Molly should get some rest early tonight. We start work at four.”

After dinner, only Aunt Mary and Ms. Molly stayed up to work through the night. Everyone else went to bed early.

Karon showered and returned to his room.

“Karon, did something happen at home?” Lent asked.

“It’s nothing to do with you. Don’t overthink things. Just sleep early.”

“Okay. You should go to sleep early too.”

Karon sat at his desk and took out The Light of Order again. This time, he did not skim through it or skip pages. He read it carefully, from the mythological opening on.

When the clock passed midnight, he closed the book, feeling unsatisfied. The atmosphere, the immersion, was nothing like yesterday.

With the lights off, Karon lay in bed, looking out the window. You’re looking forward to tomorrow, but what I’m looking forward to is tomorrow night.

***

At three thirty, all of the lights in the Immers house were on. Ron and Alfred placed the family of four into coffins and pushed them up from the basement before arranging them in the mourning hall.

Then, there was a knock at the door.

A cigarette already in his mouth, Mason cursed softly. “So early?”

Mina opened the door. “Uncle Lot.”

The Lot family stood outside the door. Even Sara’s grandmother was there, supported by her daughter-in-law and granddaughter.

It was bitterly cold. Lot rubbed his hands and carefully asked Mason, “May I... may I see Sisso now?”

“Yes. Please come in.” Uncle Mason signaled for the music to start. He, Alfred, and Ron stood on either side, inviting the family to mourn.

The family did not take long. They visited each coffin once, and then gathered back at the door.

Uncle Mason offered, “Shall I drive you home?”

“No, no. You’re busy. We won’t trouble you.” Lot looked much older than yesterday. His eyes had lost their light.

At that moment, his mother took an envelope wrapped in black cloth from her bosom and handed it to Mason. Condolence money.

He shook his head. “The funeral expenses have already been paid. There’s no one to accept this.”

The entire family was dead, so who would even receive it?

Still, the old woman insisted, stuffing the envelope into Mason’s pocket. Her lips trembled as she forced out the words, “Their money... is dirty.”

Mason’s face flushed. He lifted his chin and took a deep breath.

Lot pulled his mother back and had his wife take her outside. He stepped forward to apologize, “I’m very sorry. My mother didn’t mean...”

“It’s fine. I understand.” Mason’s eyes had flushed red. “Still, allow me to see you home. How did you get here? There’s no tram at this hour.”

“We won’t go home just yet. I plan to take my family to a nearby park and we’ll sit there all day before catching the last tram back.

“Reporters came by last night and offered me money. Five thousand rupi to come here today and accept an interview, with another five thousand after that. I refused, told them to find someone else, but I’m afraid they’d go back to my house again, so I brought my family out to hide.

“Ten thousand rupi... Even if summer lasted all year round, I couldn’t make that selling sandals.”

Lot took out a cigarette, lit it, and smiled. “Cheap stuff. Won’t offer it to you.”

He continued speaking as he walked away, “Getting out for a bit... it’s also because I’m afraid I really might not be able to resist that ten thousand rupi.” He sighed. “That’s a lot of money, huh?”

***

Karon woke at seven thirty. His routine remained stable. Even with morning work, he did not need to rise early. His responsibilities were lunch and the afternoon snacks, not breakfast.

From the third-floor window, he could see that things were already quite lively outside. The group of “white roses” from yesterday had regathered, and were sitting around chanting slogans.

Another group of “workers” in stained work clothes arrived holding signs and joined the protestors. It was unclear where they had all come from at dawn. They looked dirty from working night shifts, as if they had rushed over without rest. Reporters were already taking photos.

By noon, there would be even more of a commotion.

Karon ate breakfast while reading the paper. Roja Daily was in a frenzy. Almost all of the first three pages were devoted to covering the suicide of the protest leader’s family. The stories went beyond mere news, and instead read more like a suspense novel. Details strongly implied that the former mayor had ordered the deaths because he was humiliated by the protests.

Is just a suicide no longer enough? Karon noted the editor-in-chief’s name. Humir.

After breakfast, he began preparing lunch. Tiz came downstairs in his priest’s robes. “Grandpa, did you eat?”

“I did.”

Karon nodded and continued wrapping spring rolls. He did not bother with any sort of delicacies, and was just preparing fried spring rolls, fried eggplant patties, and egg fried rice. Plenty of carbs.

As he worked, the noise downstairs steadily rose.

Crying.

Speeches.

Then, synchronized chanting started up. “Sigran, come out and apologize!”

At ten thirty, Karon carried the spring rolls downstairs. Mina, Lent, and Clarice helped carry the dishes and set up a self-serve buffet. There were also drinks.

After setting everything down, Karon wiped his hands on his apron.

Tiz stood by the coffins, praying. The crowd’s performances were quite enthusiastic. Several of the local celebrities were being especially dramatic, doing things like clutching at the Sisso family’s coffins or wailing as if their own parents had died.

The reporters captured every moment.

A female star wearing a black dress stood apart from everything else. She went to a corner near the restroom with her assistant, and then returned with reddened eyes. She stood right by one of the coffins, her tears slowly falling.

Her assistant immediately had reporters shoot their pictures.

Afterward, the woman dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and whispered, “It’s too noisy here. It’s affecting my rest.”

The assistant soothed her charge, “It’ll be over soon. The appearance fee is one hundred thousand rupi.”

The woman’s expression instantly relaxed again. They both ignored the apron-wearing server beside them: Karon.

“Mr. Morf is here!”

The crowd stirred. Morf was tall, well-built, and elegant. What caught Karon’s attention was not his appearance, but the Morf Gold cigarettes in his pocket.

“Karon.” Piaget had arrived.

“Mr. Piaget, condolences are being done over there,” Karon explained.

“I don’t know the family,” Piaget replied. “So no condolences.”

“Oh. Spring roll?”

Piaget tried one, and then asked about the dark dipping sauce. “Fruit vinegar?”

“Just vinegar.”

He dabbed his roll in and nodded. “This suits it best.”

“You have the same tastes as me.” The spring rolls were quite popular, but while the other sauces needed refilling, the vinegar had barely been touched.

“Delyss is here!”

The environmental activist Delyss made her appearance with a speech. The speech had nothing to do with the environment. The four coffins merely served her props, a way to condemn the trampling of freedom, democracy, and human rights. Her final shouts rang out, “Who gave him the courage to do this? Who gave him the authority? How dare he do this?”

She said “him.” Singular.

“What a terrible speech,” Piaget commented while still eating.

“I thought she’d criticize the fact that the four coffins are being buried together as environmentally unfriendly,” Karon replied.

Piaget laughed. “Busy day?”

“Yes.”

The three children were running food, but the adults stood about as stiff as puppets.

“I don’t like this feeling,” Karon said.

It felt like the people dancing on the corpse in Crown Ballroom. How many of those present were truly there for the Sisso family?

Piaget understood and said nothing about having recommended the funeral home.

After Delyss, old Councilman Harget led other politicians, chanting slogans as they marched out. They were heading to the East District to ignite public anger.

“I don’t like politics,” Piaget sighed.

“Neither do I.”

“Idiots competing for votes gives me a headache, though there are times I realize I’m one too.”

“An accurate summary. Fried rice?”

“Yes.”

Near dusk, a fat man arrived. He inspected the setup like a designer. “Very good. I’m satisfied.”

Mr. Orkan had his assistant settle the pending payment. The protests in the East District were already fully mobilized.

Aunt Winnie looked afraid, and Karon knew why. He stepped forward to accept the payment. Again, it was in cash.

Orkan ate a spring roll. “What’s this? It’s cold, but still good.”

“Spring rolls and eggplant patties.”

“Strange names. Are there any hot ones?”

“I can prepare some and have them delivered, just leave an address.”

Orkan agreed.

After leaving, his assistant said to him, “Boss, I thought you wouldn’t pay. Funeral homes generate plenty of profit already.”

Orkan laughed. “I’m doing this for Adams.”

The service ended, but when Mason prepared to send the coffins to the cemetery, Karon stopped him. “Grandpa says keep them here tonight. The burial will be tomorrow.”

Mason complied without question.

Dinner was noodles.

Later, Aunt Winnie handed Karon a list. “The names are sorted by status, addresses attached. Mr. Forde didn’t come, but his assistant left an address.”

Karon pocketed it.

He showered thoroughly. Before a true banquet, it was necessary to tidy up. Aunt Mary had left clean clothes on his bed.

Holding the list, Lent asked, “Karon, are you going out?”

“Just for a walk.”

“I want to go too.”

“I’m taking a walk with Grandpa.”

“Then I’ll go to sleep.”

Karon went to Tiz’s study. He took a breath, and then raised his hand. He paused, and glanced at the list. “You guys have had your fun. Now, it’s my turn.”