 |
|||
|
The Rules of Embalming By Kelly Spitzer There was still something wrong with the head. I'd tried almost everything to fix it: clay, wax, dental fixative. That only left plaster of paris. It had to work. Four hours and counting until the Angelo funeral and the old lady's face looked like the moon. With a photograph of the deceased propped on my work table, I set to work on the forehead, where small dents dotted the front of her skull. As I applied a thin layer of plaster over them, I contemplated their origin. Perhaps Mrs. Angelo flew through the windshield during a car accident and landed face down on the asphalt and tar remnants lodged in her skull. I didn't know, would hopefully never know. That was my rule. Fix the damage but don't ask questions. Don't give cause of death a picture. I worked on Mrs. Angelo's nose and cheeks while I waited for her forehead to dry. Similar marks pocked their surface, and her nose flattened on the end. After the plaster set, I smoothed out her complexion with foundation and powder. Satisfied I'd reversed death's work, I grabbed the faded print off the table and leaned back on the chair, resting my elbow on the unread pathologist report. She looked much better. Good as new, really. The family began to arrive for the pre-service viewing, and I watched as, one by one, they gathered around the body laid out before them. Mrs. Angelo was the best work I'd done yet. I expected high reviews. "Oohh, look at Grandma," a little blond girl said. "She looks so beautiful." I smiled from my post in the corner. "Best I've ever seen her," an old man, introduced to me as Mrs. Angelo's brother-in-law, said. He leaned over the casket and swiped between his front teeth with a toothpick. "Did she get plastic surgery?" A frown replaced my smile. Mrs. Angelo's nephew leaned in and inspected his aunt's face. "She must've. And from the looks of it, she probably spent a fortune. It was about time she gave in and had the work done. Too bad she went and died afterwards." His mother walked up behind him and swatted him with her purse. "How dare you say such things about your aunt. Of course she didn't get plastic surgery. My sister was beautiful despite her defects, and besides, I saw her a few days before she died." "Well, look at her, Mom." Mrs. Angelo's sister pushed her husband and son aside and peered into the casket. Her hand flew to her mouth as a gasp echoed throughout the room. The family turned and looked at me. A wave of heat washed over my cheeks. I ran to my lab, and with shaky hands, flipped open the pathologist's report. Cause of death: natural. If you would like to link to this story, please use this link. | ||
