Ted and Mary
by Laura Cherri

Mary. Oh, Mary, Mary, Mary. As soon as I saw her face I fell in love with this beautiful princess. She's a pretty golden-haired, fine-boned twenty-years-old girl. She's got blue eyes. I know that because I lifted her eyelids when Mr. Norton, my employer, wasn't here with me. Since they brought her inside our funeral parlor I couldn't help myself looking at her all the time. She's so pleasantly cold and tender. The formalin and the phenol we injected her prevented rigor mortis. Did you know that rigor mortis can last up to sixty hours? I know a lot of things about corpses. I like them.

So my dear friends Formalin and Phenol will keep worms away from her. At least for a few days. Now she's lying on this table, as beautiful as an angel, waiting for her coffin. The light pink dress she's wearing is trimmed with lace and rich in little white pearls. On its top an embroidery of a white lily stands out against the precious silk fabric. I helped Mr. Norton to dress her up. A torment that seemed to go on for ages. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to hold her tight and kiss her and love her. I wanted to do it right there, on the table of the funeral parlor. I wanted it badly. But Mr. Norton was standing next to me, unaware of my frustration, handling my princess like she was nothing but a rag doll. I had to choke back my desire, and tried to control myself the best I could. Especially when I slipped her arms into the
sleeves of the dress and her head laid down softly on my chest. I almost screamed. Mr. Norton took my moan for a cry of disgust and cast a reproachful glance at me. He held Mary's neck without ceremony and kept her head up until
I finished my work. I was dying. Dying to ask him to let me be alone with her for a few minutes. I didn't. I'm not crazy. I care a lot about my job.

Mary is the sleeping beauty. Pale and beautiful like only the full moon can be. Smooth skin, cold skin, lifeless skin. White fairy hands crossed on her breast, holding an ivory rosary. Her hands. My God, her hands. I'm standing near her, trying to control myself, trying to control my burning desire to take her hand and slip it inside my shirt. Should I...?

I take a look around me. I strain my ears. Mr. Norton is in his office with Mary's parents. They're discussing about the payment for the coffin and the funeral service. There's nobody here with me.

I do it. I must do it. I'm dying to do it. I choose a couple of buttons of my shirt and let them out of their buttonholes. I take Mary's right hand and gently free it from the rosary. The contact with her skin is devastating. A moan escapes my lips. I turn round abruptly to see if somebody heard it. The muttering in Mr. Norton's office goes on. Good.

The nails of her hands are perfect. She's got tapering fingers. They told me she used to play harp. Wonderful instrument. I guide her hand inside my shirt, exerting a light pressure against my chest, against my pounding heart.
Ecstasy. Death is listening to my heart. I close my eyes, exhale, clench my teeth and swallow my cry of love. My hand touching hers, our fingers interlaced. The beating of my hot heart against the cold palm of her hand. You're my kindred soul, Mary. We complete each others. I'm alive and you're dead. You need my life as I need your death. My mind waves in the fever of passion. The muttering in Mr. Norton's office slowly fades away. I'm panting. I'm losing control, I know it, but there's nothing I can do about it. The wave of love arrived and swept me away.

A part of me, miraculously still on the alert, hears the footsteps in the hall. Somebody's coming.

I force myself to put her hand back into place as fast as I can, but I have some problems with the damned rosary. I waste precious time in trying to fix it up properly. When Neil gets into the room I'm still holding her wrist while messing about with the rosary.

Neil works with me at the funeral parlor. Yesterday he helped me to make the Y incision on Mary's body, and he also helped me to... remove the stuff we had to remove. Her stomach was still digesting her last meal. Did you know that food can still be digested during seven hours after death? Interesting.

Neil stops on the threshold. He looks at me quite puzzled. That's it, now he's gonna understand everything. He'll start screaming about maniacs and perverts, and all that kind of stuff that will make Mr. Norton and Mary's parents rush into this room. They'll probably lynch me.

"What are you doing?" he asks me. "Measuring her pulse?" and there he goes, chuckling like an idiot about his own joke.

I smile. He goes for the filing cabinet on the right, looking for the forms that Mary's parents will fill up. I hate him. He was disrespectful to you, Mary. As clear as daylight.

"It seemed to me that the rosary was slipping away, so..." I begin to explain, but Neil makes a gesture to invite me to drop the subject. He already forgot what he saw. If ever an horrible suspect crossed his mind, it must have been so fast that he didn't even saw it speeding by. What he saw was my pretty good-boy face. I'm twenty-seven, but I look like a teenager. An innocent little boy with the face of an angel. I just love my face.

"The cross was overturned," I say. I keep on justifying myself even though I know there's no need to do it. "You know, with the Jesus on his stomach. I thought it my duty to remedy it." I'm still toying with the rosary to enjoy the contact with her hand.

"Whatever," says Neil without paying attention. Holding the forms, he gets closer to Mary and me. "You could fuck her right on this table and she wouldn't mind about it at all. Am I right, pretty baby?" he lifts the hem of her skirt and peeps between Mary's legs just like curious children do with plastic dolls.

I kill him. Right here, right now. As God is my witness.

The guy lets go just a second before I take the scissors and thrust them into his chest. Neil chuckles again. He slaps me on the back and then he's out of my sight.

You bastard. If you dirtied her dress I'll...

I bend down to inspect the spot touched by Neil's filthy fingers. The lace is clean, but it's not perfectly spread out. I gently fix it, and then I stand beside her, watching her face. I'll come to you after the funeral service is over. I know you're waiting impatiently for that moment as much as I do. Don't worry, my princess, I'll keep my promise. We'll be together tonight.



The vigil. Endless. Mary's coffin lies at the end of the room, encircled by flowers. Her grief-stricken parents sit on the chairs of the first row. People get in and stop near the coffin. I shiver every time somebody reaches out a hand to touch her face or her hands. They look at the girl's face with an expression I can't make out. Sorrow? Compassion? Fear? Anyway, they don't stay long beside her. They soon get closer to Mary's parents who are moaning and crying. They don't love you anymore, Mary. They don't see you anymore. You got out of their lives and got into mine. I'll take care of you now.

Mr. Norton, Neil and me are standing aside, ready to assist her parents and to satisfy their demands. I also walked by the coffin and, believe me, I nearly jumped inside it.

The funeral service. The priest blathering something about dust and ash, and me needing a sedative. A stiff dose, one they could give to an elephant to put it to sleep. I know the moment is near, and the thought is driving me mad. My heart is pounding so hard I'm afraid somebody will hear it. Now the coffin is closed, but I know that in a few hours I'll open it again to be with her. Mary and me.

Neil touches my elbow and then points to a girl who vacillates on the verge of the grave with her relatives, waiting for the coffin to be lowered into the earth.

"The sister of the dead girl is quite a chickie," he says.

I shift my eyes from the coffin to the girl. I feel nothing. Mary, Mary, Mary...

"I've got half a mind to offer her my condolences after the funeral is over!" murmurs Neil lasciviously.

Mary, Mary, Mary, Mary...

"Hey, Ted, did you hear me?"

I turn to him and smile my sweet, innocent smile. "She's a real knockout, Neil. Have a go at it."

Neil seems satisfied with my answer. Stupid guy. I look at the girl again, thinking that I couldn't touch that warm body for all the money in the world. I couldn't kiss her neck and feel the pulsating of her jugular. I couldn't kiss those red lips. I couldn't bear her warm hands on my body. Hugging that girl would be like hugging a huge hot-water bottle at the height of summer.

There they go, lowering the coffin into the grave. I crane my neck to follow it with my eyes until it vanishes from my sight. Mary, please, wait for me.

Dusk. Longer than the vigil and the funeral service. I feel like taking the sun with both hands and push it down, behind the hills. Go away. I hate you. I can't go to the cemetery if you keep hanging there in the sky.

I walk back and forth inside my bedroom like a nervous tiger in its cage. The spade and the flashlight are on my bed. Get hold of yourself, Ted. Breath, Ted. Breath in deeply. You'll have plenty of time. You'll have the whole night.

Darkness. I'm wearing a jeans shirt although the temperature would require at least a jacket. But I'm not cold, because my love for her keeps me warm. Just a jeans shirt and a pair of trousers of an hold tracksuit. These are easy clothes to take off. I'll be able to undress faster.

I climb over the cemetery's gate with no trouble. I'm trained and I know exactly where the ground slightly goes up, making the climb easier.

I'm inside. I move away from the railing and switch on the flashlight. I try to walk slowly to avoid making too much noise with my footsteps on the gravel of the path, but then I begin to run just the same. I get to the grave, gasping and sweating. I move aside one wreath and a lot of bunches of chrysanthemums. I look at the earth and order to myself to make it properly, but soon after the first two methodical shovelfuls my digging becomes frantic. I ram the spade into the ground and furiously get rid of the load by throwing it away. I go on and on and on, like a train going at full speed, sweating profusely, dreaming about Mary's face. I'm digging like a starving dog longing for its buried bone. Mary's my bone. I think I'll take bites out of her. I've never felt like this before. I mean, not before Mary. Before her there were Lucy, Catherine, Eleanor and Michelle. But it was different with them. I kept calm. Measured. Now I'm a real animal whose self-control has gone to pot. But it's all right. I like that. It means I really love her.

TUD. The spade hit the wood. There we go. Mary, Mary, Mary... now I'll dig with my bare hands, and I'll dig until my nails break if necessary. I want you. You're my pale moon dressed in silk and pearls and laces, icy and beautiful. No more parents melting into tears. No more flowers. I am here, and I love you.

I drop the spade, kneel down and clear the lid from earth with trembling hands. Then, frantically, take the spade again and hit the latch until it's broken. I open the coffin. You're there, sleeping and dreaming about me. We're alone, now. Alone. You and me, Mary. Tell me you were waiting for me. My desire is so strong it makes me feel dizzy. I close my eyes for a moment, then I look at you again. Somebody put some make-up on your face. Neil. He did a good work.

I take off my clothes. The cold air on my body makes me shiver. I slowly get into the grave, into the coffin, laying down on her. Her dress. All those laces and pearls... a light scent of lavender. Who sprayed this perfume on your last dress, Mary? Your mother? Well, I'd like to tell her that it can't hide the smell of the formalin and the phenol. I reach out a hand and touch your cold lips. I kiss you. My tongue explores the inside of your mouth and finds the two wads of cotton I myself put there to prevent your cheeks from hollowing out. It was a wonderful time to get you ready for the funeral service, Mary. While I was placing them into your mouth I spent some time playing with your cold tongue. When Neil asked me what the hell I was up to I raised my head to show him my pretty face, and explained I was fixing your tongue so that it wouldn't fall backward and deform your throat. Neil got lost in the innocence of my big brown eyes and looked at me with admiration.

Why the hell am I thinking about Neil? I can't spoil a moment like this. Hold me, Mary, and make me forget about everything. It's time to do what I promised you. I promised I wouldn't leave you alone. Not tonight. Not your first night into the earth. It's important for me to be here with you, just to remind you that you're still a human being. Why all those tears during the funeral service? Why? They erased you already, but you're still here. Beautiful. Mine. I won't let you dissolve without giving you one more earthly joy.

I touch you. I'm here. Oh, My God, I'm here. I kiss you. You're so cold. My sweaty forehead on the cold skin of your neck. Fire and ice. Flames on the snow. My arms slip under your thin body. You're light, devoid of that cumbersome burden we call life. No gravity for you. I hold you tight. Your head falls softly backwards. You're icy and I'm burning. I adore you. I wish I could tear off your dress, but now it's too late, I should have done it before. I'm irremediably lost in laces and pearls and the scent of death your body's giving off. I spread your legs apart. White panties. Gone.

I sink myself deep. Cold, cold, cold. I shiver and burn, burn and shiver. I fly into your freezing sky with my wings on fire, moving faster and faster and faster. I feel death touching lightly my nape, and finally I slump against you, desperately gasping for air. Your chest crunches under my weight. How fragile are you, my beautiful crystal figurine? Please, let me fall asleep in your arms, Mary. Let's stay like this for a little while. I toss away the rosary because the cross is pricking me. I take her hands and put them around my neck. They slip away. I try again, this time using the rosary to tie her wrists so that they'll stay in their place. Good. Now I feel fine. Ruffled, stark naked, sweaty, dirty with earth. I touch her blond hair, then I gently caress her face. At that very moment she lifts her head and whispers into my ear: "Love me, Ted. Love me again."

The lid of the coffin falls down on us. I can hear the sonorous snap of her legs breaking. I scream. I don't like this at all. She shouldn't move. This surpasses all my expectations. I don't like the game anymore. I push upwards with my shoulders, but the lid doesn't give way. My luck is in. The latch is jammed. I thought it was broken. I was wrong. She whispers in the darkness. She moves and whispers.

© 2001 Laura Cherri