Writing to Uncle Bob

by Karen Goldrick

Dear Uncle Bob,

There’s a few things I’ve got to say. First: the apology. I’m sorry I haven’t written before now. I’m busy with work, which is the second thing, and my domestic situation, which is the fourth.

The second thing, which I’ve already alluded to, is my job. Thankyou, Uncle Bob, for getting me this job at Caring and Dignified Funerals inc. The old dude, Mr Caring, is sort of all right. Maybe I found him a bit … well … disconcerting at first. Being so tall and pale I can cope with. And the black suit … well … everyone at work wears those. It’s that habit of his of arriving without warning that bothers me.

The first time he came into the room without making a sound, I was cleaning out a cadava. Nearly scared me to death. I suppose, if I’m going to be scared to death, that Caring and Dignified is the right place to be. Anyway, that’s the second thing. My gratitude.

The third thing is to ask after your health. You see, mum always taught me it was polite to ask after people, and I make sure I do it to everyone I meet at work. Except the dead ones, that is. So. Uncle Bob. How are you feeling? I trust I won’t see you down here too soon.

And now to the forth thing, which is the whole point of this letter I suppose. Mum always said to get to the point, and since I’ve done so in … well … four things … I guess I’ve got there. The point is … Uncle bob, I’ve got a bit of a problem. My domestic situation is, shall we say, a bit on the strange side. Not really strange. More … well … maybe I should start at the beginning. Mum always said … never mind.

It started one day when I was cleaning out a cadava. That’s my job. I have to hose them out before the embalmer does his thing. I’m the only one who doesn’t get to wear a black suit. Anyway, this was a special case. It was what we call a “Moonlighter.” That is to say, a deady brought in by the Moonlighting Society. They collect the homeless dead, bring them in here, and pay for their funeral. Moonlighters get all the best mahogany caskets with them purple velvet and brass platings, and get a full blown funeral at St Benedict’s. All paid for by the Moonlighting Society. Bit of a waste, if you ask me. See, what do they care what kind of funeral they have, if they’re already dead. If I was homeless, I’m not exactly going to dance in the streets if someone comes up to me and offers me a whizz bang funeral. But there you go.

So anyway, I’m hosing out this deady, when imagine my surprise he opens his eyes. Shit! And not just the stuff I’m hosing out. Now I know you’re going to think most deadies have their eyes open, but this one had come in with them closed. I know, ‘cause I made a special note of it. Means we don’t have to tack them shut.

Anyway, this one opens his eyes and I tell you, I didn’t know what to do. I jumped back, and for a while there I was too spooked to do anything about the water and mess going all over the floor. I just stared at his eyes and waited for him to close them again.

Eventually I turned the hose off, before I wasted too much water. Mr Caring always makes a special mention of not wasting the water, when he comes to visit.

I thought maybe I should fetch somebody. Maybe a doctor, to check he was really dead. I’m sure Mr Caring wouldn’t want any scandals.

I now what you’re thinking, Uncle Bob. You think I should have just checked myself. I tell you, I had to gather all my courage. Three deep breaths, like mum always said, then I walked over to have a closer look.

He wasn’t breathing. I swear. Couldn’t see his chest moving. The hairs in his nostrils were still. So I placed my hand on his chest, in the place where his heart should be. Soft at first, then pressed harder, but still I couldn’t feel anything. So, I said to myself I was being a complete idiot, and was about to move my hand away, when, and you’ll never believe this Uncle Bob, his hand reached up and grabbed my wrist.

The next bit happened so quick I can’t exactly remember how, but before I could scream or even wet myself, he sat up and clamped his other hand over my mouth. His hands were so cold I thought they might suck the life out of me, and I think my legs gave way. I know, Uncle Bob, my bladder did.

I don’t know how long we stayed there like that. Me, whimpering behind his hand. Him practically holding me up. I expected Mr Caring to arrive any minute.

Then he spoke. He said: “There there young man. Don’t be afraid.”

Are you kidding me! You think that’s gonna make me feel better! But I thought I better do as I was told, so I nodded, and finally he let me go.

His voice, Uncle Bob. I forgot to mention his voice. It was like he had no voice box, but still I could hear him, loud and clear. And I could feel the cold coming off his skin, and the little puffs of his cold breath. It was really strange, Uncle Bob, because he hadn’t even been in cold storage.

My mouth was dry, and when I tried to speak I couldn’t find my voice box either. So it was more of a squeak. I said: “ How are you feeling?” because that’s what my mum taught me and because it was all I could think of.

“Better,” he said, and I guess I was glad that the enema must have helped. But i really just wanted to get out of there, and tried to find a polite way to leave. I couldn’t use the toilet excuse. That was pretty obvious. So I said to him: “Should I fetch some-one?” and he just laughed. A horrible noise, Uncle Bob. Like a hyena…only I’ve never really heard a hyena so it was what I imagine a hyena would sound like. It crept up the walls and over the ceiling and I thought the whole of Caring and Dignified shook. It was enough to wake the dead.

Still Mr Caring maybe didn’t hear it, ‘cause he never came. I decided to make polite conversation. Mum always said…

Anyway. So I said: “ Would you like to see your casket sir? It’s a magnum 24A Deluxe. Feel how soft it is inside.”

I walked over to show him. Without a sound, he followed. He moved in a way, Uncle Bob, that was as if he wasn’t moving at all. I was sure he walked, but I didn’t see his knees bend or his feet take steps. He ran his hand over the velvet ruffles, and I thought I felt a bit of a cool breeze.

“Would you lie to try it sir?” I said, my voice sounding a bit better now.

“Would you?” he whispered back, and I felt fear like an iron rod in my back, and thought for a minute I couldn’t breathe.

But I wasn’t trying hard enough. Mum always said, never give up. So I took another deep breath and tried again.

“There’s a lovely funeral planned for you sir. A moving service at St Benedict’s, with a choir singing Amazing grace. You wouldn’t want to miss out.”

I gave him what I hoped was my most convincing smile. The kind I’ve seen Mr Caring use when he sells one of his caskets. Sort of a sad, knowing smile. Just a little miserly.

Then he smiled back, and I knew I’d lost.

I had to go out that night and hunt all night to find another deady to fill the casket. When it got to just before sunrise, and I hadn’t found one, I got so scared I just found an old drunk and hit him over the head, several times, with his bottle. Then I loaded him into a shopping trolley and snuck him in the back door of Caring and Dignified.

I bet he had a beaut funeral.

So, my problem, Uncle Bob, is that the Moonlighter has moved in. Sort of made himself into my domestic. Only he’s pretty useless. The tea’s always cold, the food has no taste and the washing always feels damp, and clammy. So, you see, I was wondering, Uncle Bob, if you could tell me what to do? Whether you had any similar experiences when you worked at Caring and Dignified? “Cause I have to admit I’m a bit scared of him, Uncle Bob. I keep hearing him say: “Would you?” in my sleep, and waking up in a cold sweat. So, apart from all the inconvenience, I’m getting pretty tired, and I’m starting to look like shit. ( Not literally!) If you know what I mean.

Once again I hope you are well, and I hope to hear from you soon.

Yours most sincerely

Malcolm