The Seraphim and Cherubim House of the Redeemer had its exterior
walls recently painted, in maroon, and the two windows facing the
street were grilled. Radix looked up and read the fine print on the sign ̶
information about the services held, the hours of service; and the words,
Professor Adelanyo Abafa, Leader In Charge. He pulled the door handle
and went in.
They saw rows of folding chairs, a preacher's rostrum and a tiny stage.
The room was brightly lit and empty but for two people ̶ a woman
dressed in all white, and a man in a priestly white robe with a maroon
sash. They sat close together, staring at a coffin on a trestle right below
the stage. They turned as Radix and Judy Wiener entered and the
woman in white smiled and rushed forward to greet them. It was
Xavier's mother.
She squeezed Radix' hand and gave Judy Wiener a warm hug. They were
a little late, she said, they'd been a short service. Some of her friends
and some of Xavier's friends ̶ "just a few of us" ̶ had taken part, and it
had ended just fifteen minutes ago, since people had business to take
care of.
Judy Wiener, in tones tinged with sadness, explained they were delayed
̶ the traffic, silly problems at the school. She was sorry they'd missed
the service. Still, they were glad to be here to pay their respects.
Xavier's mother smiled. Her face was heavily made up, as if to hide
marks of strain and grief.
She turned and introduced Professor Adelanyo Abafa who gave a formal
bow. "Professor Abafa is from Nigeria," she explained. She stood close to
him, framing more than just a casual relationship. "I have to thank
Professor Abafa for everything. He came to my rescue at a time of my
greatest need." She looked up in his face.
The professor said, "We are all here to serve each other." He turned his
head toward the coffin and added, "You probably want to spend a few
moments alone with Xavier. You can go ahead."
Radix and Judy stood over the coffin. For awhile they said nothing. Radix
barely recognized Xavier's face. It looked puffed up where once the flesh
under the cheekbones was handsomely recessed. But it was undoubtedly
Malcolm Xavier Haltaufaudehude, about whom he knew very little (he
wrote that essay on Shakespeare's "Othello).
Standing there, feeling the hairs on his arm lift whenever the swiveling
fan in the corner sent air in his direction, he was aware of the
tranquillity in the room, and the sound of indifferent traffic outside.
He heard Judy Wiener murmuring, the same words over and over. A
single tear rolled down her cheek. She leaned over and kissed Xavier on
the brow, then she continued her murmurming like a prayer.
Radix wanted to feel something for the face in the coffin, but nothing
inside him stirred. He listened for a moment to Judy Wiener who was
making a huge effort to control herself. He made a promise to read the
play "Othello", see what had got Xavier so worked up in his essay. He
touched the coffin and turned away.
Back outside on the sidewalk they attracted the attention of a young
man from the Tire and Hubcap shop who stared at their clothes and
wondered what they were up to.
Xavier's mother did most of the talking. She seemed determined to show
how well she was bearing up despite her aching heart. She explained she
was going to have Xavier cremated; his ashes would be flown back to
Jamaica and scattered in the sea, in the western part of the island
where his grandmother was born.
"Professor Abafa was telling me I should arrange to have his remains sent
back to Africa, right professor?" She gave him a challenging smile. The
professor clasped his bible, a stolid sympathetic figure. "If we scatter his
ashes to the wind they will eventually find a path home," he said,
smiling.
Out in the open he was a short stocky man, with heavy-lidded eyes, a
thick neck, round-faced with a startling big voice. Under his priestly
garment his biceps and broad shoulders hinted at a boxer's physique. He
spoke only when prompted, offering a proverb or aphorism to reinforce
whatever Xavier's mother was saying.
Radix tried drawing him out about his church, and his duties as "Leader
In Charge". The House of The Redeemer had the look of an enterprise
recently founded, or under new management so to speak. Xavier's
mother intervened, saying she was grateful for the comfort and support
of the professor's church.
"Birth, death and taxes… the only things certain in life….let us not
grieve over what is inevitable," he'd say. And Xavier's mother smiled and
nodded, looking penitent and firm-bodied in white beside him.
(from "Ah Mikhail, O Fidel!", a novel by N.D.Williams, 2001)
FARJOURNEY CARIBBEAN 