[HumanePain]

Chapter 1


I had drifted between jobs, but never stayed long, I just lost interest. Sure I needed the money, but I always managed to make the money stretch for as a long as possible between work.

I was in one of those stretches now, and had the freedom to wander the countryside, until I found myself in the Midwest: Mathes, Iowa. It was a midsize town that seemed large enough to hold the potential for me to find some odd job or another, but small enough to leave me alone with time to think amidst peace and quiet.

Changing modes from traveler to job applicant, I cut my dark brown, shoulder length hair to collar length, and shaved off my black goatee, revealing a pink chin that had been hidden from the sun this summer, contrasting with the rest of my tan face. My dark brown eyes made me look almost Mexican, but I was white, and was always told when I was growing up that I had a little Indian in me.
Now that I was cleaned up, I was presentable for whoever made the hiring decisions.

I applied at various places, answering ads in the paper, and would make my way back to the house, where I rented a small room. I didn't need much, just a place where I could shower and shave, and catch some sleep.

On this typical job hunting day, I had decided I was done for the afternoon, and wandered a little away from downtown, where the businesses were farther and farther apart, and the green hills began to sprout homes.

I noticed a large brownstone brick building in a few acres with a sort of retail appearance in the front, but this was inconsistent with the three chimney stacks at the rear, the farthest one belching smoke.

The parking lot was sprinkled with well dressed figures, going back and forth between cars and the entrance.
Curious as to this reason for this contrast, I walked closer, and upon seeing a hearse arrive and drive to the rear of the establishment, realized that this was a crematorium and funeral home.

Making sure my silver tie was snug against my white shirt collar, I held my head up and made my way to the entrance, with a solemn face, eyes lowered in sympathy to the bereaved I encountered.

I walked around and saw no one in the entrance, and so began exploring one of the hallways, expecting to find a family mourning room, or perhaps a manager's office, but instead, came to a pair of French doors that opened to the rear of the building, where there were rows of white chairs lined up facing away from the building, with a view to the beautiful countryside: a small lake, surrounded by a forest flourishing in the middle of summer, blue skies and white clouds, drifting massively, so close that one could imagine they were alive as large, lumbering beasts, grazing on the forest trees, as if they were grasses.

Mourners shuffled in and out of the chairs, some walking towards a large canopy, that shaded a beautiful silver casket, covered with flowers, with flower stands flanking either side.

I ducked back into the building, and continuing down the stairway, came across a stairwell leading down, and curiosity getting the better of me, took the liberty of further exploring the place.

Downstairs, the lighting was poor, and I realized that the only lighting was from slim, horizontal basement windows, and a flickering orange light coming from the center of the large, cavernous basement: the ovens.

Only one of them was operating. The others had "pilot" flames only, a faint blue glowing from the natural gas.

I crept closer to the one in full use, drawn by the warmth and reddish glow. A movement from the opposite side of the blazing furnace caught my eye, and I saw: myself, reflected in a mirror, my black framed glasses reflecting the furnace light so that I could not see my own eyes. The image struck me; I thought: I belong here! I MUST get a job here!

As I crept around the other side of the flaming stone oven, I could hear sobbing and crying. It was coming from up another stairway, light streaming down as if from heaven. I realized my intrusion, and withdrew back to where I entered. I hurriedly climbed back up the stairs.

Once I was back in the hallway, I looked both ways but still did not see anyone else. I took another look out the French doors, and noticed that the breeze had become a trifle stronger, blowing the flowers on the stands flanking the casket, looking as though it would blow them over. It appeared that whatever ceremony was held, it was now over, but now what appeared to be one of the funeral home employees, a woman of middle age, was struggling to set firm one stand of flowers, and then running to the other side, struggle to set firm again the other stand, then back once more, trying to keep some decorum until all mourners had left.

I walked a fast but respectful pace to the display, and, with a solemn node to the woman, walked to the stand she could not attend, and held it fast. She flashed me a brief but sincere smile of relief, and posing in my charcoal pinstripe suit and silver tie, stood solemnly holding the flower stand with one hand, and the other hand behind my back in respect, with my countenance somber and downcast.

After some time, the mourners left the vicinity of the casket, and the woman approached me, carrying the flower stand.

"Thank you for your help Mr.---"

"Emil Schmidt. And you are..?"

"Mrs. Shelly Gray. Pleased to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you too Mrs. Gray. I assume you would like some help carrying the flowers inside as well?"

"Why yes, thank you."

We proceeded to the same French doors I had peered out of, and placed the flowers there. I then shook her hand and asked:

"Would you happen to be hiring help? I am looking for work."

She smiled broadly and asked:
"Do you have any experience? You seem a...natural, for this kind of work."

"No, I regret to say" putting on my most solemn, funeral home pallor "but I learn quickly, am fascinated by the prospect of working here, and feel I have the best of common sense in dealing with the bereaved."

"Well, I am inclined to agree Mr. Schmidt. Would you help me roll the deceased into the basement?"

Nodding, we proceeded back to the deceased, and carefully rolled the casket to a concrete ramp that led to the rear of the basement. I tried to appear not to know where I was going, so as not give away my premature familiarity with the place. But as to actually putting a body in an oven, I was uninitiated, and waited with curiosity to see what she would instruct me to do next…