Winter

Sly, inexorable, unrelenting
Sporting an ingratiating smile
Pardoning the air dried Summer laundry
The smoggy Fall rainy days
Ushering a slushy mess
Bidding for bitter winds

Balmy walkways
Leading to entrancement
Perchancing footsteps
Forward motions
Heavy hearty hums
Harmonizing amongst the branches -
Branches beckoning, crackling
Creaking and breaking off
The tree; fat frightened
Shivering shadows as
Headlights hesitantly swish
Their beams across the
Mesh screen

Burnt orange cinders cackle
Laughter provocates musings;
Ruminations. Gumption one
Moment and
Rummaging through
Photographs - folded and filed,
the next.

The whirring second-hand looms
A swarthy sky scales slowly
Combative fluorescents triumph
Momentarily; smoke billowing
The chimney escape
Children titter; peeking; sneaking
Lumbering the stairway
Eavesdropping the mistle -
Toes tipping across the tiles
Toward the lit tree
A cumbersome attempt.

Obsequious apparitions appear
In tween hourings; honoring
Languished others; friends, folk
Tales of old. Nimble neighbors
Bequeath gifts.

A radiant sordid sun rises
Abruptly adhering to nature
Awakening, admonishing slumbers;
Watching, witnessing while tired,
Voiceless, voracious  receivers
Vigorously tear through shiny violet
Wrappings. Slashings; tearings
Beckoning an excited calm.
A quiet, restful peace. Admiring.
Enjoying. Joy.

Manifest Destiny

Senses of Entitlement

Before the Civil War, Americans started moving westward and this expansion became known as “Manifest Destiny – a term coined by, journalist, John O. Sullivan. Between the 1840's and 1860's, known as the Antebellum Era, growth was abundant economically, socially, and industrially for Americans and their national pride grew strong. The Romantic Era contributed to drawing people westward through inspirational art and writings. Many other factors, some justified and others not so much, contributed to this rapid migration. The Gold Rush, the fertile Mexian soil and the cotton kingdom all played major roles in westward expansion. The question is were the thoughts and/or actions of certain Americans, such as Andrew Jackson and James K. Polk justified? Arguably, America was bound to move westward, but did God ordain them to or did they just feel entitled to the land? Westward expansion brought about progress but at the high cost of many values and Native American lives and therefore the movement could not have been ordained by God and should most accurately be described as entitlement gone too far. Manifest Destiny is a betrayal to Americas ideals because it betrayed some individuals rights to equality, justice, and freedom in the process.

Americans felt they were destined to the westward lands and felt a pressure to claim them before Great Britain or anybody else, rather, had a chance. “What friend of human liberty, civilization, and refinement, can cast his view over the past history of the monarchies and aristocracies of antiquity, and not deplore that they ever existed?” (O'Sullivan, 3). They feared the monarchs would encroach on the land before they had a chance and that America would end up the same as other aristocratal societies. He goes on to say, “the nation of many nations is destined to manifest to mankind the excellence of diving principles. . . equality of rights. . . equality of individuals. . . freedom of conscience, freedom of person...” (O'Sullivan, 4). These rights that O'Sullivan speaks of are the foundation of America; they are the values laid out for the country and Manifest Destiny betrayed them all. Directly stated in the Preamble of the United States Constitution, it reads: “We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity,” (Cornell Law School). Manifest desinty put the white man and his goals ahead of all other which is seen with the Indians, the Mexicans, and the African Amerian slaves. “Indians, Mexicans, and Filipinos became merely obstacles in the path to a better world,” (Torr, 94). Equality and general welfare were only considered for the dominant, white race. Anyone else were obstacles – just problems needed to get around or move out of the way.

The Indian Removal Act of 1830, under President Andrew Jackson, gave him power to negotiate removal options with the Indians already occupying the land – the Cherokee, Creek, Choctaw, Chicasaw and Seminole tribes. Jackson wanted to use their home lands to develop cotton industries. “I suggest for your consideration the propriety of settling apart an ample district west of the Mississippi...to be guaranteed to the Indian tribes as long as they shall occupy it...” (Jackson, 2). The Cherokee were an established tribe and were not willing to just sit back and be treated so unfairly. They went to the Supreme Court, who eventually ruled in their favor, but the ruling was ignored and the Cherokee, like the other Indian tribes, were forced to leave their homes. Over 46,000 Indians were removed and forced to migrate. The path the Cherokee took in their migrations became known as “The Trail of Tears” because of how horrifying and upsetting it was to have to leave their homes. Chief Seattle, the leader of the Suquamish and Duwamish tribes, wrote, “...but why should I mourn at the untimely fate of my people? Tribe follows tribe, and nation follows nation, like the waves of the sea. It is the order of nature, and regret is useless. Your time of decay may be distant, but it will surely come, for even the White Man whose God walked and talked with him as friend to friend, cannot be exempt from the common destiny,” (chief Seattle, 9). The growth of the cotton kingdom was made possible by the removal of Indians and America prospered greatly but that same progress cost America values and many Native American lives.

Texans desire for independence spring-boarded the countries debate over slavery. “In the 1840s Manifest Destiny was used to justify war with Mexico for control of Texas; in the years that followed it was used to justify war with American Indians,” (Torr, 96). The war with Mexico is a strong example of how Manifest Destiny betrayed the values of equality and justice that Americans laid out in their constitution.

“In 1833, General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna made himself ruler of Mexico. Santa Anna believed in strong central power. Late in 1835, he declared a new constitution that put the national government firmly in charge. Many Texans resented this move. On December 20, 1835, a group of Texans met and declared their wish to become independent from what they called Santa Anna's illegal government.” (Anderson 39-40).

Anderson goes on to explain how the anti-slavery northerners did not want to annex Texas because Texas was a slave state and southerners tempers heightened at the prospect of slavery limitations. “The Panic of 1837 caused tens of thousands of Americans to lose their farms in the South and their factory jobs in the North, and scores of settlers and adventurers poured into Texas,” (Wexler, 118). With so many Americans now living in Texas, and few of them pleased with the rulings of General Antonio Lopez, they sought after annexation. The Mexican government was not pleased when “new secretary of state, John C. Calhoun, negotiated an annexation treaty with Texas,” (Woodworth 4). Mexico saw the annexation as hostile.The tensions over Texas and a disagreement over borders between the Nueces River and the Rio Grande led to what is now known as the Mexican-American War. It was the first war over land and was driven by the idea that America had a right to Mexicos land. Many called this “Polks War” because it was president Polk who was the driving force behind it as he is the one who sent troops initially.

“Some favored it because they felt Mexico had provoked the war or because they felt it was the destiny of America to spread blessings of freedom to oppressed people. Others opposed the war. Some, primarily Polk's political enemies the Whigs, accused the President of having provoked it. Others, generally northern abolitionists, saw in the war the work of a vast conspiracy of southern slaveholders greedy for more slave territory,” (Woodworth, 12).

After an ugly war with 15,000 US casualties and 50,000 Mexican casualties, the US managed to acquire half of Mexico (our current California, and New Mexico states). The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo was the result of the war and stated that Mexico handed over the northern land – our current California, New Mexico, Arizona, Utah, and Nevada states -to the U.S. Afterward, many Americans remained unsatisfied because they wanted all of Mexico. Americans, at the time, felt entitled to more land and evidently were willing to go to extreme measures, such as war, to attain it. “And while race imposed no political distinctions, there was an 'aristocracy of color,'” (Servin 14). Servin points out that although race was not exactly in the discussion, per say, as Manifest Destiny took place, it was still there and it still played a vital role. He went on to explain that certain prejudices came off a lot stronger in the Mexican territories during the late 1840's. The war with Mexico is a prime example of the power of manifest destiny and a clear visual of how it betrayed the American values of equality. “Why should we precipitate this fearful struggle, by continuing a war the results of which must be to force us at once upon it? Sir, rightly considered, THIS is treason,” (Corwin 7). In Thomas Corwins speech against the Mexican-American War, he called Americans out on the disconnect between the principles the country was founded on and the actions taking place through manifest destiny.

Another location the Americans sought after was Oregon due to rumors of good soil and climate. President Polk, believing the agriculture wasn't good enough, did not promote any interest in the travels to Oregon but Andrew Jackson supported the Indian Removal Act of 1830. Still, many flocked there expecting land and patriotism or hoping to convert the Native Americans to Christianity. “During the first half of the 1840's, some 6000 Americans had taken the 2000-mile, six-month journey on the Oregon trail...” (Woodworth 6). The general outlook on it was for the natives to either assimilate or migrate – whether or not the white migrants would allow the natives to stay if they assimilated is another question. One of the grandest migrations, dubbed “The Great Migration,” in Americas history took place on the Oregon Trail, but it was an exhausting trek and many arrived with little to start off with. Oregon, at the time of this great migration, was still a land claimed by Great Britain so Polk decided to lay claim to that land as well. “They agreed on a border along the 49^th Parallel, that was farther north than the British wanted and farther south than Polk had claimed,” (Anderson 43). The Oregon Trail directly contributed to westward expansion because so many commuted there, believing the land was rightfully theirs, that President Polk had to claim it as such. The Oregon Treaty resulted, claiming Oregon as all land below the 49^th parallel. In later months, the trail would expand with a route veering towards Califronia which in turn contributed to the large migration westward sparked by the findings of gold.

The Mormans also took part in Westward expansion being that they accounted for a large number of indivduals migrating together seeking religious freedom. Mormons, members of a religion founded by Joseph Smith, often found themselves mistreated in their neighborhoods. Many Americans disliked their religion and disrespected their beliefs in, primarily, polygamy so they followed Smith around seeking a more peaceful place to live. “...Mormons, often in trouble with their neighbors, had been forced to migrate to Kirtland, Ohio; Clay Country, Missouri; and finally, Nauvoo, Illinois. There, on the banks of the Mississippi River, they built the largest city in the state...” (Woodworth 8). Eventually, Smith was arrested and later killed by intruders in his jail, and the Mormons new leader, Bringham Young, led them out of the United States. According to Woodworth, in 1846, 85,000 Mormons followed Young to their new city westward in, then Mexico, and present-day Utah.

In the second half of the 1840's, California, or Alta California as it was then called, became the new hot spot for westward migration. Mexico granted the Alta Californian land to both Mexican and foreign immigrants in the late 1840s but the Mexican-American war expanded to that region and soon would fall into American hands. John Sutter, an immigrant who received a land grant and developed agricultural trade with it made quite the discovery after asking his construction supervisor, James Marshall, to find a location for a sawmill. “On January 24, 1848, a mere nine days before the treaty ending the war with Mexico would be signed, Marshall discovered gold nuggets among the debris...” (Lloyd 16). Many Americans who migrated seeking quick riches were sorely disappointed. Few who took the expensive trip to California even broke even after finding gold and even fewer found gold and became rich over night, as was the dream. “As immigrants poured into California in search of gold, cities and towns were forced to grow quickly to accommodate them,” (Lloyd 140). Through the westward migration, the country grew socially, economically, and industrially. Although the finding of gold was extraordinary, to say the least, it also prompted more arguments than possibly any other westward migration had, thus far.

“The question of slavery's status in the western territories was made more immediate when, on January 24, 1848, gold was discovered at Sutter's Mill, not far from Sacramento, California. The next year gold-seekers from the eastern U.S. and from many foreign countries swelled California's population from 14,000 to 100,000” (Woodworth, 19).

Southerners took their ways of life westward as cotton began to transform their economy. Many southern slave owners migrated west to set up cotton plantations on new, cheap land and they brought their slaves with them. Northerners shipped and traded the cotton which tied the two economies together but the disagreements the northerners and southerners had on the issue of slavery would eventually tear the country apart. Slavery not only remained a hot-button issue as extreme westward migrations and expansions took place, it became an intolerable disagreement throughout the country. “Under its [the fugitive slave law] provisions blacks living in the North and claimed by slave catchers were denied trial by jury and many of the other protections of due process,” (Woodworth, 28). This law heated the debate over slavery. Cotton development helped develop the South as it gave financial power and strength to the southerners, it became the source of social and cultural authority, and it tied the South to the nations economy. Cotton development had other effects too: it created distinctions and divided the country and it gave smaller farmers the idea they could get plantations and prosper so many relocated and brought their slaves with them, initiating a domestic slave trade in the nation.

Some Americans opposed Westward expansion. The Whig Party members were the foremost opposers of expansionism ideas. The northern Whig party members seemed to be aware that westward expansion would only reopen the discussion of slavery and territorial boundary lines. David Wilmot, a democratic congressman, proposed that all states acquired through the Mexican-American war be initiated as slave-free states. This was called the 'Wilmot Proviso.'

“In fact, by the 1840s virtually all destinarian thought entailed implicit or explicit references to 'race.' A proliferation of pseudoscientific theories of race in the Western world at the time generated . . . This discourse accomplished two things, in our context. First, it gave rise to a widening movement in the North not only to eliminate slavery but also to remove blacks from the republic of freedom through colonization schemes, curtailment of the rights of free blacks, or even the annexation of Texas as an aqueduct for 'drainage' of blacks southward into the presumably more climatically suitable tropics. The Wilmot Proviso was only one expression of this vision,” (Stephanson 55).

As Stephanson points out, racism was a strong underlying issue that took the forefront through Manifest Destiny, and not to our pride. America was a country founded on the ideals of freedom and equality and manifest destiny betrayed those ideals in an attempt to gain power and prestige as a new nation.

The 1850's proved to be a trying time for the nation. The Compromise of 1850 an attempt to stop controversy over slavery. “The Compromise of 1850 could only delay the inevitable separation of North and South,” (Wexler, 178). The Kansas-Nebraska Act allowed the states to use popular sovereignty to determine if they were slave states or free states. The compromises that took place were unacceptable to most southerners and they were extremely dissatisfied because they wanted to see slavery expand, not recede. Stephen A. Douglas, from Illinois, created the idea. Initially it was created to expand midwestern trade routes with a railroad (preferably, to Douglas, straight through his home state of Illinois).

“The construction of the railroads brought income to western residents... facilitated western colonization and settlement... stimulated the development of cattle grazing, mining, and other industries... and... made it profitable to locate factories nearer to the sources of raw materials and encouraged the development of western manufacturing activities,” (Torr, 152).

In order for the railroad to run through Chicago, the land west of Iowa and Missouri had to be determined and organized. Upon voting time, Missourians claimed land with a pro-slavery status and swarmed Kansas' elections. “Southern Democrats seized the opportunity to acquire more slave-holding territory when the Kansas-Nebraska bill was presented...” (Wexler, 178). Kansas, who had been closed to slavery since the Missouri Compromise in 1820, was overtaken by both pro- and anti-slavery efforts and a bloody civil war broke out. Over 150 violent deaths took place as well as 500 rapes. The act was an awful failure and basically over turned the Missouri Compromise of 1820 and the Compromise of 1850 as well as pointed the nation towards further civil war.

Westward expansion came about from many arenas such as settlement in Oregon, the war with Mexico over Texas, and the California gold rush. Primarily democrats championed the ideology of Manifest Destiny, being that they sought power and prestige as a newly developed nation. Throughout the 1820's-1860's, many attempts were made by Americans to migrate westward and establish new territories. In the process of expanding, many, native Americans, Mormons, Mexicans, slaves, and southerners, chose or were forced to migrate. The Native Americans, Mexicans, and slaves took the hardest beating and are easily victims of this idea that American was destined to expand westward. It would seem, though most likely ill-intended, that expanding westward became a primary pre-cursor to the Civil War. The disagreements and tensions that arose between the North and South over the issues of slavery took over all national pride and patriotism. Greed and false senses of entitlement overtook many Americans. To this day, immigration is still a tense issue in America. The discussion of illegal immigrants is particularly relevant, ironically, with the Mexicans coming to America. Ironic because roughly only 50 years ago it was Americans trying to migrate into Mexican territory; the Mexicans offered Americans land grants but America wanted to claim the land and started a war over it. In the Constitution of the United States, written in 1787, the founding fathers wrote that all should be considered equal yet continuing to 2012, America still struggles with these ideals. Thus, Manifest Destiny was a direct betrayal to American ideals.

Argument Poem

Sisters of Fate,

That twinkle
Teetering through twisted
Glances tells quite the tale –

Restraining – I watch the
Strings dangle and tangle
As you twirl them above

One twists sanity into
Tight, professional knots:
These fragile strings cling together
And the innocent impact of it rattles along

Another swings resentment
Through my wilting daffodil fields: Narcissus
Admiring his reflection – drowns. The
Stems contort with the lines of his brow.

Yet another wrenches sincerity against
A cold, quartz palisade: the stakes titter

as life is portioned out amongst us;

Passion for life left unrequited.

Of course, there’s this tiny, delicate, imitative string

Instead of swaying it hangs steady

Controlling its movements,

I tactfully trail alongside

and allot more time;

I untie Atropos' shoe

And watch as she trips;

She reaches for sisters who

Carry on with their dealings.

Series Poem

1965
A carnival on a warm evening;
Getting ready: green-glass
Packaging; fifteen years
Old and hormonal
The cologne became a
Part of him; newly released
And instantly popular he
Doused himself; it seeped
Into his skin – into his
Pores; and seemingly into
His bloodstream: evoking
A raw energy of excitement;
His curly Jewish locks
Curtained his face; Elvis Presley
Mock-sideburns; dark,
Thick sunglasses; a button
Down shirt and khakis; Brut
Mixed with sweat and lavishly
Coated in pheromones; He
Circuitously wandered:
Weaving through neighbors
And fancifully colored rides;
The scent working as
An astute path for a female
Admirer to easily track.

1995
Sitting at the kitchen table
His black leather hat and
Benson and Hedges Menthols
In front of him beside his wallet;
He’d snack on honey roasted
Peanuts and chocolate covered
Pretzels; cans of diet coke. His
Feet: outstretched and folded –
Watching the sci-fi network while
The hamburger helper began to
Boil on the stove. His curly
Jewish locks would struggle
To cover the bald spot
That rested like a yarmulke.
Sweat glistened on his scalp –
Drawing unwanted attention.
Expecting company he would
Retreat to the bathroom and
Gussy up; a comb over; a
Teeth brushing; and Brut.
The scent festooned him and
Trailed the hallway to the living
Room; dinner was almost ready.

2005
At a hotel in Buffalo Grove. His
Nephews Bar mitzvah; family in
From out of town. French toast;
Sausage links that mocked his
Swollen fingers; coffee with one
Cream and one Equal sweetener;
A family portrait to mark the event:
The last one ever taken; sad
Glances from distant relatives;
Looks of pity; his ballooned torso
Over stretching his sweats; sunken,
Puffy eyes; brut cologne overlaid
The stench of him: unable to bathe
Himself – he doused. His black and
Gray Jewish locks veiled his bald
Spot; he playfully topped with a
Yarmulke – defeated.

Everything Good Will Come

Empowerment Will Come

Sefi Atta's novel, Everything Good Will Come, is an unabashing, raw story that explores life in Africa after the Biafran War through the eyes and ears of the main character, Enitan. Enitan dreams of being viewed as equal in society. She comes across many types of women and with each one, she tries to further her cause for female empowerment. Atta weaves seamlessly through the relationships Enitan has throughout her life to portray a subtle, gradual shift that results in a whole new outlook by the end. Each relationship changes or affects her and contributes to the enthusiastic, dancing Enitan seen at at the end of the novel when her father is released from prison. Everything Good Will Come, portrays men as one-sided and women as push-overs through their roles in society but subtly, Atta shows the degrees of independence and strength by bouncing each character's differences off one another to reveal that everybody's role is only what they make of it. It seems to be sending the message that the fight at large is not about sex roles in society but rather a fight for human empowerment.

The relationship between Enitan and her best friend, Sheri, is an interesting and revealing aspect to the novel. As children, Sheri and Enitan were opposites. They came from different backgrounds and different family structures. "Sheri was a Moslem and she didn't know much about Christianity, except that there was a book in the Bible and if you read it, you'd go mad" (34). Their friendship begins early in the novel and continues until the very end, but, like any relationship, it has its ups and downs. After Sheri gets raped, Enitan feels less than sympathetic for her best friend. Enitan actually feels that it's Sheri's fault. As the rape occured, it was as if Enitan didn't understand what was happening. She felt that it was "a silent moment; a peaceful moment. A funny moment, too," (62). At this part of the novel, Enitan was still too naive and immature to understand what had happened to her friend and, possibly, the thought of sex still embarrassed her, which is why she wasn't sure if she should laugh and be comfortable with it or be silent and horrified. Later, Sheri settles down with a married man, and Enitan is less than enthused for her friend's decision. In a perhaps true, but brutally cynical moment, Enitan reflects that, "Marriage could immediately wipe out a sluttish past"(102). Upon further reflection, Enitan feels: "Sheri was the Nigerian man's ideal: pretty shapely, yellow to boot, with some regard for a woman's station. Now she was a kitchen martyr, and may well have forgotten how to flaunt her mind," (105). Enitan is looking down on her friend, yet again. She feels that she is better than her because she is living a seemingly blameless, more worthy lifestyle. She sees a woman in the kitchen and immediately assumes they are succumbing to their role in society. Later in the novel, she goes as far as "likening a handful of kitchen martyrs to people confined in Nigerian prisons," (326).

Enitan's mother and father have very different approaches to raising her. When they find a book in Enitan's suitcase, they have diametrical points of view. The mother demands that Enitan never see Sheri again because she's a bad influence and the father feels that the mother is over-reacting. Her father says, "You're her mother, not her juror" (37). During Enitan's childhood, her parents were constantly bickering, and Sheri was an escape for her. Sheri offered something new and "led [her] to the gap between parental consent and disapproval" (43). Mid-novel, Enitan basically turns her back on her mother and follows entirely in her father's footsteps. "I no long believed her; hurt one moment, hurtful the next. She could recall what my father said ten years ago, and yet she misconstrued my entire childhood" (93). This is a turning point in the novel for Enitan, who was raised by her mother's strict rules and is now deciding for herself she disagrees. In a way, Enitan is not only turning her back on her mother's ways but, also, she's acknowleding a denial of her female role in society. Now that Enitan is well educated and has seen the world through her own eyes, she can turn her back on her mother's beliefs. It shows a generational change. Her mother is still stuck, perhaps, in the old view of womens roles, while Enitan is trying to find her own place in society. She doesn't want her mothers perception of men and woman to affect her outlook. Her mother is so focused on her husband and how he treated her that she was blind to see how it affected Enitan. All the mother could see was her role as a wife. She couldn't see herself as a mother, as a friend, or as a mentor, and it affected how Enitan's childhood is conveyed. But what's interesting is that Enitan in a way ends up very much like her mother for awhile. She marries Niyi and argues with him. And just as the father's mother came at Enitan's mother, "threatening that he would take another wife" (173), Niyi's mother confronts Enitan to remind her "He is the head of the house" (301).
Enitan's relationship with Niyi is revealing and essential to portray the societal expectations of men and women. "Niyi Franco. He was a lawyer, though he was now a manager in an insurance company. His grandfather was a lawyer. His father and four brothers were lawyers. His mother retired from nursing the year he was born" (163). Niyi and his family represent the socially ideal roles. All the men in the family are lawyers, and the women stay at home and attend to the house and family needs. When Enitan wants to get involved in the protests for her father's sake, Niyi has an attitude towards the movement that Enitan is so deeply passionate about. He's not willing to support it or speak out for it, and instead, he only looks out for himself. He doesn't realize how vulnerable he might be if he didn't have the cushion of money in his family line. Contrastingly, Mother-of-Prison is only looking out for her family's best interests. She killed a man because she was assaulted after her husband died but even in prison she speaks out against societal wrongs. She won't be quiet.

Enitan's first boyfriend, Mike, was quite a different portrayal. Mike was an artist and though his career wasn't enticing, Enitan still dated him. "Mike was wrong. Most women I knew would sprint from an artist. It meant that they might have to dabble with poverty and poverty always cleared people's eyes in Lagos" (83). Enitan was never seeking a career-driven, put-together kind of man. She wanted someone to share her passions with, and after Mike cheated on her, Niyi was just the right fit. But Enitan was never fullfilled with Niyi, she "never once expected him to tell [her she] was beautiful," (214) which is why she decided to leave him by the end of the novel. Niyi was holding Enitan back from what truly mattered to her, and she wasn't the kind of woman he wanted. He told her, "You are not a domesticated woman. You just don't have that...that loving quality," (214). Atta seems to be implying that gender roles are one thing, but what men are to women and how that affects their individual lives is another thing. Enitan wasn't what Niyi wanted because she didn't fit the mold.

Yet, Atta still shows how societal expectations affected Enitan. "In my 29 years no man every told me to show respect. No man ever needed to. I had seen how women respected men. . .Too many woman, I thought, ended up treating domestic frustrations like mild cases of indegestion: shift-shift, prod-prod and then nothing" (186). Enitan never had to be told. She learned through watching other woman. It reinforces that idea that society has been like this a long time. Men come before women, and women know it. Woman are expected to cook, clean, and play house.Yet it doesn't have to be said, so it's not reinforced, perse, to each generation verbally, which contributes to why Enitan is able to question it. Shortly after Enitan's reflections and realization that society seeped into her head somehow, she goes through a mental battle. She breaks women into the three categories: "strong and silent, chatterbox but cheerful, weak and kindhearted. All the rest were known as horrible women," (200). Enitan isn't content fitting into these groupings. She wants to "tear every notion they had about women," and create a new perception that she could happily fit into.

It took a long time for Enitan to come to the understanding that even though some women are not fighting the sexism as she so blatantly is, it doesn't mean they are not fighting at all. "So cynical was I about the core of strength an African woman was meant to possess, untouchable, impenetrable, because I didn't possess one myself." (252). Enitan realizes that she's been wrong in her view of African women. She once thought they were weak and easily influenced, but now she can see the silent strength. African women take on a lot more than they appear to. Most of the things they do go unnoticed and are internal. Meaning, the things they contribute are expected, but the battle and the way they fight is by sacrificing something of themselves for the better of their families. Mother-of-Prisons is the prime example of this. Her husband couldn't hold a job and she paid for everything in their home and then told people "that it was [her] husband who was providing" (277). And her husband ran with it. She didn't marry him for love, she married him because it's what women do. Sheri did the same thing. Enitan sees Mother-of-Prisons as a role model because she won't stop using her voice. Even though it won't change anything, it still means something to her. Similarly, the reporter Grace Ameh, who was imprisoned with Enitan, acknowledges that they are just "fighting for a chance to be heard" (298). The only other strong role model Atta gave of an independent, strong women working all on her own was Sheri's grandmother, Alhaja whom the reader barely got introduced. "Alhaja headed a market women's union and earned enough to educate her children overseas" (158). Sheri took after her grandmother because she started her own catering business to give herself more freedom. But the bottom line is that everybody's role is what they make of it. Married or single, working or not, vocal or silent – each woman gets to make their own impact, and it all still matters in the end.

While Grace Ameh decided to be a reporter to speak out, Mother-of-Prisons chose to fight silently. Sheri and her grandmother Alhaja chose to start their own businesses as their way of combating the societal expectations that women remain in the home. Niyi's mother and Enitan's mother remained in the societal roles. Mike used female goddesses in his art as if to make his case against society, but morally, his actions cancelled out his opportunity to make a strong statement in the novel. Niyi was supportive of Enitan as a typical husband would be but he didn't support her passions at all because he wasn't personally affected by it. This was "a country struggling with foreign family structures" (247). Everyone is trying to fit the mold, but the mold might not be right for the place and time. Enitan rejected her role and chose to take her own path when she left her husband. Her enthusiastic dancing at the end, when her father is released, is the cherry-on-top of Atta's point. It is a fight for human rights as a whole. While women in particular still have to go to great lengths to be equal with men, the overall battle is for human empowerment and the release of her father is one small step in the right direction.

Works Cited

  Atta, Sefi. Everything Good Will Come: A Novel. Northampton, MA: Interlink, 2005. Print.

13th Happiness Street

Dis-pairing Reality

13^th Happiness Street is a short story, written by Bei Dao, that uses unique symbolism to portray familiar situations. David Der-Wei Wang wrote a commentary called "familiarization of the uncanny," which can be used to assess Bei Dao's story. In It, Der-Wei wrote that "Chinese literature of the late 80s and 90s has been characterized by: radicalization of traditional realist discourse and defamiliarization-to 'make strange' that which is familiar – or to creatively deform what is unbearable – or to presuppose that Chinese life is banal, repetitous continuum that needs upsetting." While it's a mouthful to read, it is an accurate analysis of Bei Dao's 13^th Happiness Street. The first part that Der-Wei talked about – radicalization of traditional realist discourse – is referring to something that's been exaggerated from it's traditional sense. An example would be pointing out how far removed children are from their parents because the Chinese have always portrayed parents and children as very close. Because traditionally children and parents are seen as close, to portray them as disconnected may seem radical. It's something that kind of goes against the norm and draws attention to something that is normally swept under the rug. The second part, defamiliarization, is taking something ordinary and tweeking it so that it's no longer familiar. An example of this can be seen in 13^th Happiness Street when everyone in the library are reading the exact same book about corpse robbing because the library is naturally a familar location but having everyone read the same, strange book defamiliarizes it. In 13^th Happiness Street, Bei Dao seems to be saying that the Communist party is controlling, emotionless, and lackluster to follow and that life under Communist rule is restraining, to say the least.

Early in the story, Bei Dao references exactly how controlling the communist party really is. “Hey, where's the neighborhood committee office, young man?” (282) The definition on the bottom of the page reads: “Also called a residents' committee, it helps the government in social surveillance and control.” This dialogue lets the reader know that something more is going on than what meets the eye. Now the reader is aware there's a committee set up to survey and control. The word control in this context really drives home the fact that the communist party wants to control everyone because it feels harsh and unexpected in this context. Another instance of how controlling the Communists are in this story is seen when Fang Chang goes to talk with the investigators. “The important thing to note here is that by using psychological tactics you can force the criminal's thinking into a very small space, or shall we say a surface, where he can't possibly conceal himself, and then he's easily overwhelmed.” (288) The communists think they can control everything and everyone by manipulating things. Dao seems to be pointing out how outrageous and wrong it is to think they can control everyone, as if they're gods. It also is a good example of 'familiarization of the uncanny.' To a reader, at least now, communism seems very uncanny and crazy but here, Dao is familizarizing it by explaining tactics and making it seem normal.

The party is clearly seen as emotionless in many instances. “Then they're still alive and breathing,” she broke in sharply. "A howl of laughter. One fat woman laughed so much she started gagging, and someone thumped her on the back. 'I'm a reporter,' Fang Cheng explained hasitly. Instantly the room fell deathly silent. They gazed stupidly at each other, as if they were not too sure what he meant.” (283) This exchange of dialogue proves a lack of emotion. The woman only cares to know if there's someone dead. She feels no sympathy or remorse for this person whom she assumes has just lost someone. The day to day repetativeness of her job might play a role but it also shows the lack of emotion taking place in this town. Then when she finds out nobody is dead, she can't stop laughing. The level of rudeness and inappropriateness is shocking. Another place that emotion is lacking is seen when Fang Chang wants to know why nobody can answer him why 13^th Happiness Street is blank. Fang Change goes to the library to look into some books for answer, and the librarian cant understand why he thinks he would find answers in a book. He responds: “A place where life has ended can still contain all kinds of secrets.” She asks, “Doesn't anyone know what they are?" and he replies, “No, because even the living have become part of the secret.” (289-290)

Life has ended in communist China because nobody is able to live anymore but secrets are still carrying on. Even though this book that could give him answers in not a living thing, it can still reveal answers more than any living thing seems to be able to. Even the living have become part of the secret because some people don't question why 13^th Happiness Street is blank. Those who know it's blank and don't question it are just followers of Communist rulers and continue to cover up the secret. The fact that so many, such as the investigator and the librarian, don't even wonder why it's left blank shows a lack of emotion within the society. They either know better than to question things because people dissapear when they start asking too many questions or they couldn't care less about why things are the way they are. Either way, it's a dinstinct lack of emotion and passion seen in this town. And again, a deep standing lack of emotion is seen at the end of the story. “You're the twelfth so far. Just yesterday a girl jumped.” (291). This is definitely an example of David Der Wei Wangs characterization: “identification of the grotesque as a state of normalcy.” Although suicide is more common in China than America, this comment is showing of sense of desensitizing. Twelve suicides and the speaker is not in the least affected by it. The speaker has watched Twelve people jump to their deaths, yet he still sits there day to day, watching, and not wondering why people are jumping at this particular spot. He doesn't wonder what's beyond that wall? It shows how emotionless and absurd people who followed the Communists were – as if to say they don't have a brain atop their heads and are just acting as robots for the Communists.

Bei Dao also seems to make it a point how lackluster the whole town is. When he uncovers the secret at the very end, the way he describes the scene is interesting. He wrote: “When he looked at the people running in circles around the desolate grounds and the outside all covered with weeds, he finally understood: so now he too was inside the wall.” (292). The final line “so now he too was inside the wall” might also be a hint that now, he too, is inside of the secret. These are the people that questioned society, just as he had been questioning the blank spot on the map. The secret is that anyone who questions the communists will be hidden away. It's ironic because they're finally in on the secret, but they're inside a wall and unable to communicate the secret to anyone else. Also, it is seen here: “He bought a pair of high-power binoculars at a second-hand store and set off in the direction of Happiness Street, working his way towards his target through a maze of lanes and alleyways. Finally he saw a tall chimney towering along in a stretch of vacant ground, surrounded on all sides by broken bricks and rubbish” (290). The way Dao describes it as “working his way towards his target through a maze of lanes and alleyways” is ominous in that it feels as though he's spiraling downward. As if uncovering these secrets is sending him further away from the reality he's known for so long and it becomes clearer that he may never climb out after he uncovers the truth. It makes the reader stand in the place of Fang Chang, looking through the binoculars and theireyes are darting around, through mazes and lanes until finally they find what he's looking for.

13^th Happiness Street shows how secretive the communist party was. When sitting with the investigator, Fang Change asked: “What am I being accused of?” and they replied, “Prying into state secrets.” He then asked, “Is Number 13 Happiness Street a state secret?” and they replied, "Whatever no one knows is a secret.” (289). The communist party did their best to keep everything on the down low. They didn't want anyone knowing what was going on behind the scenes or who was involved in any which thing. Even those involved may not even know the answers to the questions or the truths behind the secrets. The result of such secrecy ends up being an "insane asylum" for those who refuse to stop looking for answers.

The story is a strong, poignant example of what life under communist rule may be like. There is a "radicalization of traditional discourse" seen is how the houses are being built. Fang Change asks the housing authority: “What exatly is it?” and he replies, “A house, of course. The latest style.”Fang responds, “Actually, it looks like a . . .tomb.” (285) This portion of the story where they talk about the new housing style being built is intereting and adds to the story because it shows how plain and boring the whole system was. When read, describing something as a 'block' immediately seems boring, yet the character talking about it is only excited. Chang then compares it to a tomb as if to imply they are already dead because they hardly get to live anymore. They might as well be dead so why not build the houses like tombs. It's a radical jump from the traditional form of housing but it sends a strong message.

Between the Assassinations

Living in Class

Aravind Adiga's Between the Assasination's is a compilation of short stories taking place in Kittur, South Africa. Kittur is a fake town located "between Goa and Calicut" (1). The stories within the novel occur between the 1980's and 1990's; they hone in on the years following Indira Gandhi's assasination in 1984. The stories in Between the Assasination's are about the societal struggles and corruption brought on by, or coinciding with, the caste system. Each story paints a rather morose, bleak picture of of India in these years. Some stories follow a main character who temporarily triumphs the caste-system but falls back down in the end, while most other stories follow character's who remain pinned by the caste-system, either economically or socially. The novel reveals that the caste system spurred corruption and only separated society by creating a hierachy that ended up pinning people, even those from higher castes, into corners that were impossible to navigate out of.

In Valencia: To the First Crossroads, Adiga portrays a Brahmin woman who is treated lesser than the lowest of castes. The story follows Jayamma, a Brahmin woman by birth, whose family had nine children and could only afford to marry off the first six of them; Jayamma was one of the unlucky children they couldn't afford. Most of the story follows Jayamma staying with the Panchinalli family as one of two servants; the other servant is a Hoyka named Shaila. Jayamma and Shaila do not get along at first because they think less of one another due to their caste-mindsets. "It's not me making the noise, master – it's that Hoyka girl! She doesn't know our Brahmin ways" (227). The advocate, Mr. Panchinalli, tells Jayamma, "She may be a hoyka...but she is clean, and works well" (227). Mr. Panchinalli seems to be outside of the caste-mindset. He treats Jayamma and Shails as equals. But interestingly, Adiga had the Hoyka, Shaila, get married off. Jayamma has no economic freedom and the caste system is pinning her down so she's stuck; she cannot be married nor have sex nor do as she pleases. There's no way for her to move around because all her earnings are sent back to her family who refuse to let her stay with them, and are constantly sending her off to other households to continue working. Shaila is a lower caste and she is far happier than Jayamma. Jayamma is a higher caste but she didn't reap the benefits of being it. The caste system seems to have failed here. The Christian neighbor girl, Rosie, is a minority and probably considered even lower than everyone else yet she is happy. At the end, "a strange thought came to her: maybe, if she sinned enough in this life, she would be sent back as a Christian in the next one" (242). She could be carefree and do as she pleases; she'd be free of the caste system. Jayamma is an example of someone who has no means to wriggle out of the constraints of the caste-system.

In Market and Maidan, Adiga follows Keshava and his brother, Vittal, whose parents are no longer taking care of them and they team up to face society together. They're not actually brothers,"The two of them had been brothers for only a few days" (111). They are in the same boat and this bonds them together as much as any blood ties would. They go to the market place in search of a relative, an uncle, they heard lived there. When they arrive they are told "no Hoykas [live] in this market (112). It's as if they are implying the village is too good to have any Hoykas in it. Their uncle is a shoemaker in the village who initially puts both Keshava and Vittal to work but later he realizes he doesn't have enough work for both boys and he sends Keshava to work with the barber. Meanwhile, the boys are living in an alleyway and get visited by the town "brother" who comes around randomly to collect money for their sleeping arrangements. This portrayal of life in India shows how lowly those in lower castes have to live; they have to pay to sleep on the street. When they couldn't pay, Brother went to hit Vittal but Keshava stopped him and Brother appreciated his bravery by offering him work on the bus. Keshava already had an interest in the buses and jumped at the oppurtunity, which Vittal and the barber did not like. The way Keshava jumped at the opportunity is interesting because it shows the depseration of individuals seeking to better their lives. He was ready to pounce and leave his support group behind, portraying an 'every man for himself' mentality. Keshava excelled and got promoted when another bus driver was injured. For awhile Keshava does well as the bus driver but he still isn't happy and by the end he gets injured and kicked out of his hostel. When he tries to turn to Brother for help, Brother and those in the hostel turn their back on him and say, "This Hoyka is mad! And he stinks! Get him out of here" (141). Then the bus driver, who was injured before Keshava took his job, arrived and offered Keshava food which he rejected because it stank. In this story, the lower caste was able to rise up momentarily but in the end he is just as stuck as anyone within the caste system. His happiness was never met, even as he excelled, perhaps because he knew that eventually he would drop right back down to his Hoyka-level.

In the first three stories of the book, Adiga shows plainly how hard it is for someone of a lower caste to rise up. In The Railway Station, The Bunder, and Lighthouse Hill, the character's are naive and vulnerable to being taken advantage of. Corruption found them all but each one overcomes the obstacle, in a way, at the end of each story yet remains pinned down by their place in society. In The Railway Station, Zaiuddin, who is a Muslim, bounces from job to job and is always accused of theft. He stumbles upon a job getting paid to watch trains but realizes later that he doesn't know why he's collecting the information and decides he can't be a part of it.

In The Bunder, Abassi is the manager of a factory in Bunder which "has the highest crime rate in Kittur, and is the scene of frequent stabbings, police raids, and arrests" (23). He discovers his employees are going blind because the stitching they're required to do is too detailed. While sitting with a group of thugs one night, Abassi says: "Corruption. It's like a demon sitting on my brain and eating it with a fork and knife" (31). They discuss how they're all being gipped and conned, and he starts to wonder if there's nothing anyone can do to fight back. He feels guilt about the women in the factory going blind and sends them home, with full pay, at the end.

In Lighthouse Hill, Xerox wants everyone to have the freedom to read this book that is banned. Xerox, like the banned book, is shunned from society because he is the son of an untouchable. At the end of the story, even after being beaten up in prison by a lawyer and policeman, he goes back to the station to warn them he is going to sell the book and at the end he treks up a hill to try sell it. He tells the policeman, "You can break my legs, but I can't stop selling books. I'm destined to do this" (47). Xerox figures whatever the country is trying to hide by banning the book should be revealed to everyone; as the officials beat him he was awakened to the reality of corruption and he hopes others can read this banned book and be awakened to the corruption, as well.

In each of Aravind Adiga's stories, corruption and economical struggles run rampant in the lives of those in lower castes. All are unable to move from their appointed place in life. The caste system in the novel is viewed as counter-productive and detrimental to many. If anyone is ever able to shift their roles, albeit momentarily, they remain unhappy and discontent; they know inevitably something will happen to push them back into their roles. Adiga's sonorous depiction of the caste-system is acurrate and quite telling of how life changed between the assasinations.

Lake Street Denny's (LSD's)

“How many will be joining you?” the restaurant attendant asks as we enter the Denny’s on Lake Street. The three of us glance at each other, unsure of how to answer this simple question. Finally, after a few seconds of silence the Tall Blonde with striking blue eyes speaks up, giggling as she does so. She tells the attendant that we aren’t entirely sure how many will be joining us. The attendant, seemingly accustomed to this response, nods and smiles, and directs us to a large, empty section in the back.

The restaurant serves a different purpose to many people; for some it might actually be for food and for others it might be the prices. But for us it is like a drug – so the fact that their name is Lake Street Denny’s (nicknamed LSD’s) is quite ironic because for the teens in the surrounding neighborhoods it serves as a sort of drug. The restaurant leaves us with a high every time we leave; we always seem to want more – and even when we don’t want more we find ourselves returning every night.

As we are led to the back of the restaurant we pass only a few tables with guests to fill the seats. Near the front sits a quiet Hispanic family – the father enjoying a large breakfast with scrambled eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausage, and toast while the mother nibbles at her spicy buffalo chicken melt and the young boy plays with his grilled cheese. They seem focused on eating their meal and keeping to themselves and a part of me feels bad as we pass them because I know the noise and disturbance our group would most likely cause.

Sitting at a booth to the side are two girls talking leaning over the table to catch what the other is saying. One girl has short dark brown hair with bright pink highlights – she wears thick-rimmed black glasses that make her look creative to me. As I pass I can envision her sitting in a dark room painting abstract images with vivid acrylic paint while listening to loud music. The girl across from her is very thin and has longer black hair with a strong side part. She is very beautiful. She wears cigarette-cut black jeans and a loose black top that looks like it should be thrown back into the 80’s. They are both decorated with piercings and tattoos.

Sitting at the booth right behind them sits a guy and a girl, seemingly on a date that isn’t going so well. He is a slightly plump Chinese guy wearing a light blue polo t-shirt and has small silver rimmed glasses. Even sitting in the booth it is evident she is much shorter than he is. He is talking loudly to her about religion – as if trying to convince her that she was wrong in thinking her Christian God was legit. “It’s so obtuse to believe in a God that punishes innocent people,” he spat at her loudly as we passed. She sat, smiling and nodding lightly toward him but I could tell just by her response that she was not enjoying herself.

The attendant places our menus down at the booth and asks us what we would like to drink. This is not our usual waiter. The guy we usually get is named Dave and he is friends with all the regulars. He jokes with everyone about giving them a free meal and adding alcohol to their drinks. From my experience with the guy I would say people get along with him so well simply because he holds a parallel relation to their nicotine addictions. Ever since the restaurant switched to ‘No-Smoking’ in June of 2006, smokers all across the board seem to be finding a common ground in their mutual grievances. But like I said, he is not our waiter tonight.
“Dr. Pepper,” Travis – my big lipped, blue-eyed boyfriend – said in his usual mumbled tone. Our waiter looked at him blankly, and asked again. From this response it was easy to guess our waiter was new on the job. This time Travis looked up into the waiter’s eyes and repeated himself. The waiter wrote down the order and turned to the Blond-Haired blue eyed girl.
“Ummm. I’ll have a… coffee and water please.” He nodded and turned to me.

“Dr. Pepper and coffee please,” I said as I looked up to him and smiled. I felt bad already for this waiter – I knew the hassle our group would cause him and he seemed new at the job. The waiter left our table to retrieve our drinks; he first returned with the two coffees and a few minutes later with the Dr. Peppers and water. It wasn’t until the second chunk of our group arrived that he returned to take our order.

Shane, Tiffany, and Drew had arrived at the same time as Kevin, Jon, and Desmond. As they walked up to our table we made room – Travis scooted closer to me and the Tall Blond sat across from me. The Tall Blond made sure not to look up at them as they spread out around the table – she kept eye contact with me. This small, though still significant, action of hers makes me think she isn’t up for a ‘group thing’ tonight. She had a very long and challenging day and I don’t think the loud exterior of our group was what she wanted. As the new arrivers approached I deterred my gaze from the Tall Blond and glanced up at Kevin who was talking the loudest. Not only was Kevin loud but he also stands a full six feet from the ground. As he passed the quite Hispanic family they all glanced up at him – perhaps annoyed with his voice level – and I cringed at the prospect of their annoyance.

It’s hard to explain but their arrival would make the night. Shane, a disheveled and wide eyed guy, ordered a Dr. Pepper for himself and a hot chocolate for his girlfriend, Tiffany, who has your typical models body but wears oversized clothing. True to form, both Jon and Kevin ordered a Dr. Pepper. Drew and Desmond (or Big Dez as we call him due to his large physique), both low on cash, ordered a water. Drew always has a maniacal look in his eyes and Desmond is just like a big old teddy bear waiting to be hugged. The look in the waiters face already had a slight annoyance to it – I don’t think he was ready to wait on a large group, especially a loud and troublesome group. Unfortunately for him the group would only grow louder and more troublesome as the night went on.

The Tall Blond and I ordered a side of seasoned fries to share – Travis ordered a bacon burger with extra jalapeños. Shane and Tiffany, both exhausted from a long day at work and an even longer time until they could go to sleep, ordered a breakfast with extra toast. The waiter asked Shane what kind of toast he would like and in his exhaustion he simply shrugged and said “…buttered…” The table burst out laughing and Tiffany explained to him that the waiter meant what kind of bread, not how he took his toast. The girl sitting with her loud, opinionated date looked over to us and I think she was secretly wishing she was sitting at our table and not hers. Still, I imagine we were the least favorite kind of table for a waiter to be in charge of – we were large and not necessarily there for the food.

Jokes and laughter erupted from our group every couple of minutes. A few times I could swear I saw some glares from the table with the two girls. I guess our loud voices beat out their small, quiet conversation. Then Tiffany turned to both the Tall Blond and me and smiled mischievously. She followed in saying one word – one word that only the Tall Blond and I would understand, and one word that would send us all into fits of laughter for at least five minutes.
“Legend,” she said with a smile and turned to Shane laughing. I guess the funniest part of it was that it was an inside joke between only the girls and none of the guys knew what we were laughing at. Travis, slightly paranoid, thought it was something I’d told the girls about him and thought we were laughing at his expense so this small one-worded joke would soon send him into a pit of depression. Meanwhile, Shane rolled his eyes and turned to the guys to tell them, as if they didn’t already know, that the girls had an inside joke.

Drew requested I tell him what we were laughing at but I refused. I found it interesting that Drew was saying anything tonight – it usually seems that those who don’t order food are the ones who don’t talk much. Desmond, as per usual, did not order food and he was sitting at the end of the booth quietly. Drew then got a very intense look in his eye, that sort of maniacal look, and grinned to himself. In his best Arnold Schwarzeneggar impression he yelled “Do it now!” From that point forward, every time anyone asked anyone for anything, the following remark would be “DO IT NOW!” ‘Can someone please pass the salt?” someone would ask. In response, someone else would yell across the table: ‘Do it naahhww!’

Come the early hours of the morning when it is finally safe for Tiff and Shane to venture home and sneak into their room at Tiffany’s house, we would decide to leave LSD’s. Splitting the bill was always an adventure. The Tall Blond and I would pay with a credit card while the rest of the group would rummage through their pockets for money. Travis would give a dollar under what he owed because he rarely had enough to cover his tax – Kevin would chip in five dollars for his and Jon’s $1.50 glasses of Dr. Pepper. Shane and Tiff would always cover their part in full and often times paid separate from the rest of us. Any tip that we felt the need to leave was left up to the Tall Blond or me. The last thing we’d do before leaving is run a napkin across the table to wipe away the condensation that now covered the surface from our drinks. We paid the waiter at the cash register and he bid us good night even though he knew we’d be back the very next night.

Newman the Gravedigger

There are some fish that cannot be caught; its not that they’re stronger or smarter than other fish, they’re just touched by something extra. And it was my job to put to rest the fish that aren’t so lucky. Keep in mind, I aint’ talkin’ about fish really, I’m talking about people. Some people seem to escape death every day of their cursed lives, but no doubt there are others who aren’t quite as lucky. In my day, I’ve put down some folk who shoulda’ been puttin’ me down but that’s what I did.

I was a mortician. I started workin’ there when I was only twelve years old because my Pa’ gave me the job. He was also a mortician- but back in my Pa’s day there weren’t many folk dyin’ off quite as quickly as they did when I managed the place. I guess you could say it was a family business. The interestin’ thing about the Morgue that my family owned is that it was placed in the graveyard. The bodies were brought there and it was our job to get them in the casket and bury them. Mind you, they had already been examined by the doctors and what not so we aint’ involved in none of that.

In the morgue, all the windows were covered with stained glass images of Jesus and his death and resurrection. The light that came through the windows made the entire building glow in a golden-yellow hue – so as to make it feel a tad more welcoming. A golden and red oriental rug extended down the main hallway. On the walls there were beautiful photos and paintings. We had a photo of the past four owners of the morgue – my grandfather, my uncle, my father and then my own - on one wall and the other wall was filled with paintings of bold acrylic colored images of Jesus’ life. My family was very religious – we attended church every Sunday morning; my mother liked to say that’s what kept my father and me sane.

Past the hallway and the oriental rugs, there was a large room; circular and vast in height. The floor was black marble and my assistant, Benjy, did such a swell job cleaning it that as you walked you could look down and see your mirror image looking back at you beneath your feet. The walls were painted an off white shade but most of the walls were covered with a sage green curtain that draped down from the ceiling.

My wife loved the place – she visited frequently for a long time but when she acquired her own job at the church, she didn’t come as often. She was nearly four years older than myself but looked as if she were ten years younger. When we met she had large blond curls, a pale complexion, marvelous blue eyes and she died looking the same way. I was nearly fifty years old when she left and it has been eight years since. I managed her funeral, I dug her grave, and I poured the dirt back in the whole. Sadly to say, she was not the saddest grave that I have dug in my time.

There was once a young boy who was hit by a train, and an infantile girl who was given the wrong medication by her clinically insane mother. Being a mortician is not fun, but it is a job and someone has to do it. Times like that are rare, most of the graves we dig are for old folk who died of natural causes – though we undoubtedly get one sad case every month.

So, I managed funerals and I also assisted in digging the holes, but I did not do this job alone; I worked alongside two people – Ezra and Beatrice. It was just us three and my fair assistant Benjy of course, for a long time but eventually, there came a period that flu was spreading around and there were more deaths than we could handle on our own so I had to hire on a new worker. But there I go jumpin’ ahead of myself.

For starters, Ezra worked with me in the morning because he was a morning person, he liked to work alongside the birds – I guess to him it made the whole business seem a little less depressing. He once told me he liked to work there because he wanted to send people off right – bless them and such as they go. Then there was Beatrice, she’s a real character. She worked with me at night because, well, to be honest it’s because she was one dark young girl. She was the type of girl who thought death was beautiful – the kind that wore all black and kept her skin real pale so as to make herself look dead. She was real sweet though, good worker. Though, that is hard to say in all honestly because the night shift is far less demanding than the day shift – mostly all she ever did was wander the graves, checking for unwanted teenage folk who was lookin’ for a good scare. All I did was transfer the bodies from the bags into the caskets before we buried them.

Nonetheless, we had to hire on someone new because there were so many people dying of the new flu which was plaguing our town that Beatrice had to start working earlier and Ezra had to start working later. We were all working overtime and within a few days, our work was lackin’ and we weren’t getting’ as many graves dug as people that were dyin’. I put an advertisement in the paper for some extra help and it was a few days before we got a response. The response came from a young boy around the age of thirty. His name was Newman and he wasn’t much for talking when I met him. He was a somewhat dark character, with dark eyes and a defined chin – very tall. Durin’ our meetin’ I don’t think he uttered a word. He merely nodded, acknowledging my presence I s’pose, and lettin’ me know he could do the job at hand. All the same, despite his strange nature, he was my only candidate for the job so I hired him – partly out of pity for him I imagine – because he was dressed in some raggedy clothes and he looked rather dirty.

The next day, when he started, we dug more holes than I ever expected. He picked up all the slack and then some. When it was time for Beatrice to come on her shift, there was barely anything to be done. For nearly a week all she did on her shift was wander the graveyard for hours on end; and when even that task grew tiresome for her she read in a corner in the Morgue .She was near the fireplace and beside a great marble piano which had a row of tall white candles burning on top it – she seemed to prefer a candles light than a lamps.

The flu stopped spreadin’ as rapidly as when we hired him so we weren’t in such harsh need for extra help that I only had young Newman workin’ twice a week. He started off real well, but the second time he came to work he didn’t seem to be himself. I went up to him one night when he was digging a grave for a teenage boy around the age of sixteen who’d died of the new flu. I said to him, “Newman, my boy, is you alright?”

He looked at me and said nothing; he went back to diggin’ the grave. I left him alone for the rest of that night but that was not the end of the few encounters I had with him. A few nights later he was sittin’ under a tree looking at the sky – so I went to him again. “Newman, we have some graves that need diggin’, you want to give me a hand?” I said this as gentle as I could because a part of me feared him but I also wanted to reach out to him. He kept to himself so much that I was kidna’ worried somethin’ may have been wrong.

“What thou inquires tis’ not humanly attainable,” he uttered to me in a hushed tone. What took me aback most though was not his voice – surprisingly – but it was the fact that he didn’t even look up to see it was I who he was speaking to. He did not move, did not help me, did not even say another word after that. It was as if he could sense who it was – perhaps by my voice – and this young boy sent a nasty chill through me. True though, his voice was cold and weak and I admit there was a small bit of fear instilled inside of me that night.

These holidays were comin’ close and we decided to have a quaint party for just us five; Beatrice, Ezra, Newman, Benjy, and myself. It was a cold night, the wind was bitter, and the warmth of the morgue was welcomed. Though, there was a very unnatural smell about the place – a smell I had rarely, if ever, smelled before. It was extremely distinct, and yet I couldn’t figure out what it was. I sent Benjy to find out what it was, and to get rid of it.

Benjy, being the cooperative helper that he was, searched the entire graveyard first – before searching the building. When he came back, his cheeks were rosy pink and his nose was bright red from the cold. Before searching the buildin’ he drank some eggnog with us and shared some casual chit-chat. All the while, Beatrice was off talking with Ezra and Newman was sittin’ alone near the windowsill. After Benjy finished his cup of eggnog, he searched the rest of the morgue. When he came back, he looked extremely disturbed. He came straight up to me and whispered in my ear, “Maddock, you gotta’ come see fer yerself.” So, I followed him downstairs and as we went, the smell grew stronger and stronger. I don’t know how to describe it, maybe like a rottin’ bird that been splattered in the street for too long or a gutted fish spent too much time in the sun; sickly sweet perhaps. When I saw what the smell was really coming from I nearly heaved up my dinner. There was a body in a bag half zipped – it was supposed to be put inside the casket almost a week before but someone, being Newman, I guess forgot; or just chose not to.

Benjy helped me put the bag in the casket because I imagine he caught a fair glimpse of how flushed my face was when I saw what we were dealin’ with. After situatin’ the body in the casket and sayin’ a much needed prayer for that body’s soul, Benjy and I went back upstairs to the holiday party. We drank another cup of eggnog together and quietly discussed the matter at hand.

“Maddock, this aint’ right; those two folk, Beatrice and Ezra, they work hard all their workin’ hours and that Newman character, he don’t talk, he don’t listen, and he obviously don’t do his job. Somethin’ gotta’ be done, and fast,” Benjy said to me. He continued, “But it’s up to you, you know. You is the boss, you gotta’ handle this. I’ll do whatever I can to help ya but in the end, it’s all in your hands. Like a fish to the fisherman, I can advise you where to throw the hook but its up to you to listen, catch that fish and wheel ‘em in. Anyway, thanks a lot for the party and the eggnog but I gotta’ be headin off, my family’ll be missin’ me come sundown,” and with that, he left.

Soon after his departure, Beatrice left and that left Ezra and me to talkin’. Ezra came up to me that night and similar to Benjy, he had a few things on his mind about Newman. “Maddock Sir, I don’t like where things are headed. Does it bring you happiness? You wander through the graveyard each night, finishing the holes in which Newman did not do. You cover up his wrong doings, like tonight. I know it was a body; I overheard what you and Benjy were saying. I wasn’t eavesdropping – I was just getting some more eggnog for Beatrice and myself when I heard.”

“Young Ezra, I do much appreciate your concern but I think I have things well under control. Do you remember when he first came? I’ll refresh your memory; he picked up ALL the slack, and then some. He dug holes at night that you were to dig in the mornin’. That was a good break for you. But I do understand, something aint’ quite right,” I concurred to Ezra.

“Sir, you’re a religious man, are you not,” he asked, but I said nothing. Maybe he sensed an unspoken acknowledgement to his vague question, I don’t know, but he continued, though now in a much more hushed voice. “I think in that way, we understand each other. I don’t want this to turn into anything that it’s not, but I think this is rather serious. I know I tend to have a sedate nature about me, but I don’t want to keep my mouth quiet about this one. Sir, the Lord would not have it – such small respect for the dead. And I don’t mind picking up his slack – in fact I’d prefer it because personally, I feel the need to send the dead off right and I can’t be sure that will be done when others do the job. My concern, them, lies in Beatrice and at the risk of a disease spreading. If Newman fails to complete his duty of transferring the bodies to the casket, don’t you think the flu could still be alive in the person and possibly spread to us? Perhaps that is not a possibility, but do you want to take that sort of risk? It’s not a fair trade; Newman to do nothing and us to be diseased for it.”

I s’pose Ezra grew frustrated just talking about it because he did not continue after that. A few moments after our shared conversation, he also left to join his family for the remainder of the night. It was just Newman and I left at the Morgue. Having nothing left to do, I went to him. “Newman my boy,” I said cheerfully, “are you having a good time?” He said nothing. “I noticed you didn’t eat anything, don’t you like the food? We have ham, corn, bread rolls, potatoes, and we have eggnog, pie, soup, and salad,” but again, he said nothing. I did not want to bring up the situation that had arisen, it was the holidays; I did not want to damper his spirits – though they already seemed rather down in the dumps.

“You got any family to go home to,” I asked, but again, there was no response. And just like the last time, he didn’t even glance my way. “Well,” I said, as I placed a key on the table near the windowsill, “here is the key to place. I’d appreciate if you locked up before you left. I have some relatives to visit tonight so I gotta’ head off. Ezra and Beatrice have the other keys so don’t worry about me being able to get in tomorrow mornin’.” I smiled again, cheerfully, and left him there.

The next morning, the Morgue was still open but Newman was gone. He hadn’t locked up. In fact, he didn’t even shut the door when he left. There was snow blown in for about ten feet of the door. To my good fortune, Benjy was already there with Ezra and they were sweeping – and shoveling – the snow out of the entrance. Within the next few weeks, there was a swift growth in the deaths from the flu and we were in need of many workers again. I had Beatrice workin’ ten hours a night and Ezra workin’ eleven hours in the day. Newman was there most of the day and night now, but he didn’t take to doing much of anything. On this day in particular, Newman was somewhere off in the graveyard. During the hour that Ezra left and Beatrice came, they both took me into a back room and had a few things on their mind that they wanted to get out. Beatrice, having never spoken to me on the topic, was a bit more anxious to get her word in edgewise.

She began, “Maddock,” she paused and continued quickly, “Sir, we have a most large problem on our hands and I rest assured you know what that problem is. All the same, no action has been taken to solve that problem so I feel the need to bring further attention to it – assuming some attention has already been brought up.” At that time, Benjy walked in and stood near the door, as if guarding it shut, as Beatrice continued.

“Newman doesn’t do his job – and not only does Newman not do his job, but he gets in the way of mine and causes more work for you. Why do you keep him around?”

Ezra decided against adding anything and just nodded in agreement. When I looked to Benjy he chose, also, not to say anything but he looked up at me for a split second and I knew he agreed. When I said nothing, Beatrice slumped out of the room – almost forcing Benjy to step aside from the door. Ezra looked at me and said, “Sir, you know what has to be done…” and he left quickly. I honestly didn’t know what to do at the time but instead of saying anything about that matter I just left the room also, leaving Benjy alone.

After I left the room, I went out into the graveyard to find Newman – I guess I figured something should at least be said to draw attention to his slackin’. I found him sittin’ in the snow, without a coat, leanin’ against our most extravagant mausoleum. I stood in front of him, shivering slightly from the bitter cold, and looked down at him through fogged over glasses. He didn’t look at me, as usual. “Hey there boy, aren’t you cold,” I began, but no words came from his mouth. I sat next to him and began again. “Listen Newman, I can’t dance around the issue anymore. We have a small problem and I’m sure it’s just a misunderstandin’ – well, I hope it is. But anyway, the problem is that you don’t do your job anymore. If you continue this way, I’m gonna’ have to fire ya’, ya’ here?”

He did not look at me, but said “What thou inquires tis’ not humanly attainable,” in a weak, whispered voice. I stood up, and looked at him, waiting for him to say something else; anything else – but he didn’t. Before I left, I removed my coat from myself and I draped it over the boy. He had come to small shivers every few minutes and I knew he hadn’t eaten in a long time. Since he began working for me, he’d lost nearly twenty pounds, and bein’ so tall there weren’t much weight he had to lose.

The next few days were very tense. Lots of folk were still dyin’ off from that cursed flu and we were one worker short, again. I tried to pick up most of the slack, and Benjy helped every now and again, but there was only so much time between transferring bodies into casket that we could go outside and dig. There’s a time when a man needs to fight and a time when a man needs to accept reality – that the battles over, the ship has sailed, and his path is lost – but I was not ready to accept it as reality yet. On top of everything else, I was receiving calls from a company that wanted to buy the graveyard. This company had already bought off all the local cemeteries and I imagine we were the last one left – or we were, at the very least, one of the last. This flu was labeled a plague and was expected to kill off nearly another half of the community within the next few months. My guess is the’ thought they could somehow gain control of the situation by ownin’ the place that all the unfortunate folk went after they were cursed with the flu. Benjy was supporting whatever decision I wanted to make, and Ezra was good about encouraging me through the decision-makin’ process, but Beatrice was most brutal with her words. I know she meant them out of concern but they sure were brutally honest. She even said to, “Maddock, it is impossible to tell who you are anymore – the man behind the reason or the man behind the fear?” What she said was understandable, but it cut deep.

My next encounter with Newman was very strange – to say the least. He was sitting in the Morgue playing the piano near the fire – I put my piano in the Morgue after the holidays past to make the place feel more welcoming. I believe he was playin’ a piece by Mozart, though I’m not the one to be entirely sure. It was a beautiful piece – it echoed throughout the entire building – and I swear it sounded like he had nearly four hands because he was playin’ so swiftly. I sat on an antiqued white wooden chair with a red suede fabric cushion in front of the piano and waited for him to finish the piece. Newman played for forty minutes or so after I arrived, all the while smiling to himself as he played. It was the first smile I’d seen on him, well, ever.

I clapped lightly when he finished, and he looked at me. The smile, surprisingly, did not fade – at first. A few moments after he looked at me – perhaps after realizing he had finished the piece – the smile faded from his face. At the same time, his brows frowned and he looked away slowly. I continued smilin’, trying to be encouraging and all. “Newman my boy,” I exclaimed, “Who knew you could play so well! That was down right genius, ya’ here?” He, naturally, didn’t say anything. I sipped my coffee and waited a few minutes before saying anythin’ else; I was hopin’ the tactic of not talkin’ for so long that the opposin’ person spills their inner-most thoughts would work but I had no such luck with that. When he didn’t fill the silence, I stood and walked to the piano; I leaned against it and set my coffee mug on its top.

Newman continued to look away but I held my stare on him. “Newman, we still have a problem. You know that,” I questioned, but continued before waiting hopelessly for a response, “I know you do… Listen to me and listen good boy, I need you to work, and the others do too. Ezra and Beatrice are really strugglin’ to pick up the slack you leave behind. This is hard for me, but you’ve left me with little options. I’m going to give you a choice – a choice that I most assuredly never had. If you talk to me, tell me what’s going on, fill me in on your situation, I wont fire you, but without your giving me anything to work off of, I’m sorry to say that my only choice is to let you go.” I waited and he said nothing. For an hour I stood in front of the piano looking at him but he never moved. I sighed and took hold of my now cold coffee. “Newman my boy, I have to let you go,” I told him as I walked away.

I left the room and walked into a room I’d made especially for myself. It was small, probably ten feet by ten feet, and I’d spent the past ten years personalizin’ it. I wrote short prayers on the walls and tacked up pictures of all the workers I’d had work with me and pictures of my family. I went in that room and I prayed for a long time because I was not content with the decision I had made. I spent most of the remaining night in there prayin’. When I was done, I just locked up and went home.

In the morning, I arrived early. I had some business to take care of with the company who wanted to buy the cemetery and I knew it would take a while to sort things out. I went straight to the backroom where the phone was and sat at my oak desk. The only light in the room was the lamp on the table – it was a brass stand with an emerald glass shade and it didn’t give off much light. I soon realized there was a message from the company, they basically said in the message that they were still interested in pursuin’ my business and were eager to hear back from me. Before calling back, I went and made a pot of coffee. In the main room with the piano I found Newman sleeping by the fireplace.

The fire was very dim and hardly lit but it was still burning. I woke him up and kneeled down by him. “Newman, uh... I fired you yesterday, you gotta’ go,” I said as gentle as the words allowed. He did not say anything though; he did not move. I put my arm on his shoulder and said it again, “Newman, you can’t stay here.”

He looked at me in the eyes and said, “What thou inquires tis’ not humanly attainable,” and he shut his eyes again to go back to sleep. I didn’t know what to do. When Ezra and Benjy arrived they were just as much taken aback as me and they, too, did not know what to do. They both began to strongly encourage me to negotiate a deal with the business seeking to buy us out and I concurred, they’re plan seemed rather sound in essence.
I gave the business a phone call and began to negotiate the logistics of it all. Our idea was that we would sell the Morgue to them if they allowed Beatrice, Benjy, and Ezra to continue working either there or at another Morgue. Through much unwelcome discussion of going back and forth between ideas and options, they agreed and within the next few weeks we began the moving process. I packed up all my belongings – the paintings, the pictures, the piano, some furniture, and other things around the place and brought them to my home. Everyday Newman was still there, for a while I found him playing the piano but once that was moved I only found him lying near the fireplace.

After only a week we were completely moved out; Ezra, Benjy, and Beatrice were working at another Morgue, located in a hospital about ten miles down the road from where my Morgue was. I spent most of my day relaxing in my studies but something was still unsettling to me about Newman; I knew nothing about the boy. With much time left to spare, and with the curiosity getting the better of me, I took a short visit to the local Police Department where I had a friend who’d done some past investigations on certain deaths and certain situations conveniently revolving around the Morgue.

When I arrived, he was sitting at his desk which was located in the front of the building nearest the door. Atop his desk there sat a chrome lamp stand with a green lamp shade – it gave off a golden lambency – given there were windows surroundin’ most of his work area – and there was a black name plate with brass lining on the desks corner; it read: Officer Donald Raghin. I sat in front of him on a thickly cushioned chair and folded my hands on my lap. He was finishing up some paperwork so I allowed myself to be patient enough and wait for his finishing. While waiting, I took a step away from his work space and I assumed the liberty to serve myself a cup of the stations pre-brewed coffee.

When I came back to his desk, he had completed his work and drew his full attention to my, welcomed, though nonetheless unexpected arrival. He smiled slightly, but forcefully as if expecting bad news, and waited impatiently for me to begin – all the while tapping his foot quickly and pushing his finger tips against the desk in an excessively patterned motion.

“I need information,” I said and paused before continuing to check his reaction, “on an old friend. His name is Newman Carcosa.” Without even a word, Donald went to his computer and typed the name in – I imagine he knew that he wasn’t gonna’ get no further explanation from me.

“There’s not much,” Don began, “he grew up in Rhode Island. There’s nothing on his family… nothing about his childhood… Oh, wait something on a family member. I think it’s his father,” he read on and didn’t continue for a few minutes. “His father died of the flu, about three months ago.”

My face fell; he had been diggin’ grave after grave for folk who gone and died by that cursed flu. No wonder he stopped eating and what not. I looked up at Don and nodded in thanks. I stood, leaving my coffee on the table and shook his hand, “Thank you so much Don, can’t tell you how much you’ve helped – that’s all I needed to know.” With that, I left quickly. I went back to the place I lived and intended to sleep – too much thinking can grow tiresome.

Unfortunately, when I arrived home there was a letter slid beneath my door. I sat on my faded brown leather sofa and tore the seal of the envelope. There was one sheet of paper inside, folded in three segments, and one sentence on the paper in thick black ink. It read: Newman won’t leave, get your worker off my premises; signed, Erickson Smith. Exhausted, though feeling like I had to take action, I grabbed my coat and left in determination for the graveyard.

Per my arrival, Mr. Erickson was waitin’. I walked past him and straight into the main room of the morgue, where I undoubtedly found Newman lying before the fireplace. Only seconds after I got there, the police arrived to arrest him. Newman was the frailest I’d ever seen him – weak and pale – and he still spoke no words when questioned. The police were forced to hand-cuff him for trespassing on private property and failing to comply. He did not object to their forceful nature – he remained limp.

Having nothing left to do but go back home, I apologized to Mr. Erickson for the trouble and retreated back the way I came. Once I made it to my dwellin’ place, I felt extremely anxious. I rehearsed nearly a thousand ‘if only’ scenarios in my head but none seemed to end in a fitting manner. No matter what I did, there didn’t appear to be any logical solution – well that is besides prayin’ of course. So again, I found myself bowin’ down before the Lord in need of some much needed advice. I had the most potent feeling of melancholy that there was some divine purpose for all this – but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out what that purpose was.
Almost a full week went by before I found the nerve in me to visit Newman in jail. But when I got there, I almost wished I hadn’t gone at all. He was slumped in a corner of his cell – he was real pale still and looked as if he’d lost ten more pounds since I’d last seem him. Knowing very well that he wouldn’t talk to me even if he did have the strength to, I passed up talking to him and went straight for the cell guard.

The guard was sitting on a metal chair at the front of the entrance to the cells; I’ll never forget his look. He was rather large in the waist but pure chicken scratch at all other parts of his body; besides his cheeks which were rather rounded. He had very bright green eyes – oddly they didn’t look to be in the least faded through his age. At first glance he looked passably intimidating but to the observing eye he came across as a very friendly individual. Reluctantly I walked over to where he was planted and smiled cheerfully. I said to him, “hello there, my name is Maddock and I was hopin’ to visit young Newman – though I see he isn’t entirely eligible for visitors now, is he?” He looked up at me and stood slowly, shifting his belt imperiously.

“Newman,” he questioned but continued before I had the chance to point him out, “Oh, Carcosa, yeah. What about him?”

I glanced over at Newman, “Well, I guess I was hopin’ you could do me a small favor – well, not a small favor because I know personally that there’s no such thing as a small favor; its practically an oxymoron to suggest it – but it wont take much doin’ on your part really.”

He nodded at me to continue and mumbled out the words hoarsely, “Go on…”

“You see Sir, I was considering to make you a proposal. If I were to give you some money and you could agree to see to it that Newman, excuse me, Carcosa, is taken well care of in the sense of at least eating then I will be on my way.”

He looked at the money and back at me, “I’m sorry, I wish I could – I really do – but it’s not right for the guards to make any sort of special handlings with any of the boys.” The guard took a seat and folded his arms over his protuberant belly. I took another look at Newman, there were a few flies buzzing about his general area.

I nodded at the guard and said, “Well, thank you so much for your time and willingness, good day then.”
That was quite an unsettling trip and it set my mood for about the next week. I did not want to do anything – not even pray. I had grown hopeless; I had such a strong feeling about young Newman but I had no possible idea what to do. I felt as if I had failed my purpose in life – despite the sad attempts of encouragement I received from Benjy on his daily visits to my home. Ezra and Beatrice visited, also, a few times but no deeds were to be shown of these fruitless visits. I read many times that week the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 5 of the Bible. Particularly verse five, which read: “Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth.” Something about it comforted me, but I did not know what for I never fully understood the verses in Matthew 5.

Exactly several days after my last visit, I went back to the cell to see how Newman was doing – and also in hope of coming across a different guard who would perhaps be more willing to bend his rules for the sake of a mans life. When I arrived I went straight to the back where the cells were – because I had memorized my directions of the prison at my last visit – and I went straight to where the guard was sitting. Fortuitously it was a different guard so I explained my proposal again. Somethin’ stuck me as odd throughout my whole proposal though and I think it was that he never quite caught on to who I was talkin’ about. I referred to him as Newman and as Carcosa but he remained as bewildered as ever. Again, to my fortune, it was time for this guards shift to end and up came the guard who I’d spoken to the week before. I gave him time to situate himself into his metal chair before I spoke again – though this time, instead of offering a proposal, I decided to just ask his assistance in pointing me in the direction at which Newman was.

“Newman,” he questioned, eyebrows raised again – the same as the week before he did not know who I was talking about.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you know him as Carcosa I believe,” I assured him.

His face fell and he stood up. This time, he rubbed his unshaven chin with his pointer finger and thumb and made it an objective not to look me in the eye; that struck me as odd because as far as I was concerned it was the guards job to look people dead in the eye and instill a sort of fear in them. But not this time, he avoided direct eye contact at all costs. He cleared his throat a few times before he began to speak. “I’m terribly sorry Mr. Maddock, was it? Carcosa passed away not even two days ago. Rest assured I did my best to make him eat but he wouldn’t; he wouldn’t even talk or more. That boy was kind of disgusting if you ask me; he went to the bathroom in his very pants and never changed.” The guard realized his words were cutting deep and he stopped talking.

I nodded slowly and walked away without respondin’. I knew I was too late; whatever words I had planned to use to encourage Newman were useless now. Newman was dead and I couldn’t help but feel like it was my fault. I took to myself for the next few months and I moved out of town. I never went back into managing a Morgue like I intended; instead I chose to write a book but I realized that I didn’t have that in me either. No, all I had left to do was write about my life and what’s happened.

I’ve dug many graves in my day, but none quite as sad as the one I dug for Newman. It was the last grave I dug and I imagine it will be the last grave I’ll ever dig. Diggin’ that hole for his casket was harder for me than diggin’ the hole for my wife because in my wife’s case I knew where she was goin’ after her death. In the case of Newman, I had no idea what he believed. All I could do was pray for the Lord’s mercy to be upon him but even that couldn’t change what had already been done.

In telling the story of Newman Carcosa, newest gravedigger per my hiring, it is impossible to separate the man from the soul; the things that are hard to believe and the things that don’t take much believin’ at all. The best I could do is telling the way I saw it. I know it may not make much sense because Newman was the kind of guy you had to meet – or at least – see to really understand where he was comin’ from but I think his life – at least the part of his life that I know of – needs to be recorded in part, if not one day in full. Young Newman Carcosa was a man worth rememberin’.