The Undertaker's Devil - 7. The Soul-Guide

Ritter woke in his own bed, Sammy’s outflung hand tickling his cheek. He gently removed Sammy’s hand and shook his shoulder. “Morning.”

Samael breathed deeply and opened an eye. “Morning. I wondered when you were going to wake up, sleepyhead.”

“Liar. You were dead to the world.”

“Only because I fell asleep again waiting for you.”

“How are you feeling?”

Samael touched Ritter’s chest. “I think I still have some Hell left in me.”

“I thought I fucked all of that out of you.”

“It might take a few tries. And you know Hell. It grows back like a weed.” Samael’s hand drifted lower.

“I suppose I should be grateful that you allowed me a brief dinner break last night. Nevertheless, I shall persevere, as many times as necessary, these old bones permitting.”

“One old bone in particular.” Samael started doing things with his mouth and hands which inhibited further conversation.

Hearing faint sounds downstairs, they both stilled. Samael whispered, “I thought you locked the door.”

From below them a voice called, “Andy?”

Ritter groaned and started dressing. “I did lock the door. Bill has a key.”

Ream called out, “Andy, there’s someone here to see you.”

Ritter continued dressing. “I hate to ask this, Sammy, but could you pretend to be working?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Ritter, sir.” Samael was almost dressed already.

As fast as he could manage, Ritter stumbled downstairs. “Sorry, Bill, I didn’t realize that I hadn’t unlocked the door.”

“Fortunately, Mister Hill here and I arrived at almost the same time. Mister Hill, this is my partner, A. J. Ritter. I’ll leave you in his capable hands.”

Ritter gauged the emotional state of the bent, gaunt old man before him. “I’m happy to make your acquaintance. How about if you tell me what brings you here today?”

Hill took a moment to reply. “It’s my wife. She’s not dead, she’s still hanging on. Her sister is with her at the moment. The doctor says it can’t be more than a week or two. Then I’ll be needing to make arrangements to, to…”

“I understand, Mister Hill.”

“And I thought I could come here and look around, and you do this sort of thing all the time, and I – I don’t know what to do—”

Samael had appeared carrying some brass handles. Ream asked, “Was there something you needed, Sam?”

“Just wanted to make sure these were the fittings Mister Ritter wanted. Sorry to intrude, Mister Hill.”

“Oh, you’re not intruding. I was just telling these gentlemen, you see, that I don’t know what to do. It’s my wife. She hasn’t got long. I don’t know what to say to her. I was thinking maybe someone here could talk to her. She,” he shook his head, “she does not want a preacher in the house. But I wish there was somebody…”

“We’ll be happy to come and see her,” Samael assured him. Ritter turned to him in surprise. “Might put her mind at ease.”

“Thank you,” Hill said. “When? When do you think you could come?”

“Sam Higgins here is new,” Ream broke in. “Thank you for your enthusiasm, Sammy, but—”

“Sam and I will be happy to visit, Mister Hill,” Ritter said. To Ream he added, “Don’t worry, Bill, Sam will just go along with me to observe and learn.”

Mr. Hill was shaking with relief. “Thank you so much. Do you think you could come back to the house with me now?”

Ritter raised an eyebrow, but Samael immediately said, “Of course, Mister Hill. We’d be happy to.”

Before they left, Ream cornered Ritter and said, “The reason I came over is that Haydee is doing an embalming at three o’clock, and I asked if we could come and watch. Meet me at the Can Can for lunch. Noon, if you can, and we’ll go over the particulars."

********

On the way to his home, Mr. Hill explained that his wife was very sick and in considerable pain. The doctor was surprised that she was still alive. She ate almost nothing and had shrunk to a whisper of her former self, yet still she stubbornly clung to life. The doctor would not tell her that she was dying, so she dismissed him as a fool.

As they entered her sickroom, Mr. Hill said, “Martha, I’ve brought someone to see you. Someone for you to talk with.” Mrs. Hill’s sister Helen looked up briefly from her sewing to regard Ritter and Samael sharply.

Ritter bowed slightly. “Hello, Mrs. Hill. I’m Andy Ritter.”

Samael immediately sat by Mrs. Hill’s bed and took her hand. “Hello, Miss Martha.”

She squinted at him suspiciously. “Well, of all the nerve, addressing me by my Christian name. And I see you grew up in one of those uncivilized places where even a married woman is addressed as Miss.” Her tone suggested annoyance, but a trace of a smile betrayed amusement. “Who are you?”

Samael smiled his faint smile. Ritter noticed it and shuddered. “I’m Sam. I work for Mister Ritter and Mister Ream. Your husband has been telling us that you’re sick. I’m sorry that you’re so sick and hurting so bad.”

“Oh. I thought maybe you were from some church. I don’t want any of that.”

“No, you won’t hear any of that stuff from me.”

Without looking up from her sewing, Helen said, “Might not do you any harm, Martha.”

“We’ve been over this, Helen. No.” Mrs. Hill looked at Samael more closely. “Sam, is it? You’re hardly more than a boy. Why would you want to talk to a sick old woman? Why aren’t you out with folks your own age?”

“Oh, Miss Martha, young people are boring. And I’m not here to talk. How about if I just listen?”

“There’s not much to it. I’m sick and it hurts and I’m going to die. Nothing more to say.”

Samael was not discouraged. “Is it the sickness and the hurt, or is it more than that? There’s something else, too, isn’t there?”

She looked at him, puzzled. “You know, don’t you? Somehow you know.”

Ritter felt his hair stand on end.

Samael was not in the least bothered. “No, Miss Martha, I don’t know a thing unless you want to tell me.”

Tears formed in her eyes. “It’s a judgment on me. It’s because I let my baby die. My little Nathan.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Was it a long time ago?”

Mr. Hill looked uncomfortable and quite surprised. Helen cleared her throat and said, “Thirty years ago. Typhoid.”

Samael kept his eyes on Mrs. Hill. “It’s a terrible thing to lose a child. You still think about him, don’t you?”

Her voice was shaking. “If I had called for a doctor one day sooner, he might have lived. If I had just noticed that he was sick sooner. But I was busy thinking about some silly thing and I didn’t—”

Samael held her hand in both of his. “You worry and you think ‘I could have done this’ or ‘I should have done that,’ and you miss your boy every day, and you know what that means?”

She shook her head. “No, what?”

“It means you were a good mother. A bad mother wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. But you loved your baby, and it made you heartsick that you couldn’t save him. That doesn’t make you a bad person. That makes you a good person.”

Mrs. Hill made an effort to hold back her tears. “Then why is God punishing me with this sickness?”

“Is that what you think, Miss Martha?” Samael never lost his smile.

“Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I suppose you have some other explanation.”

“Here’s how I see it.” Samael’s voice dropped to a whisper. “If there is a God, he doesn’t punish us because we did this or didn’t do that. He hates making decisions like that. But he loves to gamble. He has millions and millions of dice and he rolls them and looks at them and that’s how he decides the terrible things that happen to people.” Samael’s expression suggested that he had just let her in on a colossal joke.

Her jaw dropped and she looked at Samael in astonishment. After a moment, she burst into laughter. “You know, I’ve always suspected exactly that about that old son of a bitch, sitting up on his throne in Heaven, so high and mighty.” She continued giggling.

Samael was smiling broadly by now. He glanced at Ritter and then back at Mrs. Hill. “A very wise man told me that sometimes bad things just happen. It’s not because we did something wrong. It’s just the way things are. And we have to help each other through it the best we can.”

Mrs. Hill wiped her eyes. “You’re a strange one. A boy your age has no business knowing such things. I bet—” She hesitated.

“What, Miss Martha?”

“I bet you know what happens after we die.”

“Oh, that.” Samael exuded confidence and leaned farther forward. “No, I do not. Nobody knows. And anybody who tells you that he knows is a big fat liar.”

Mrs. Hill broke into fresh giggles. She turned to Mr. Hill. “You see, Jacob? No preacher would have told me the truth like this.” She turned back to Samael. “But I bet you know something about it.”

“Well, I know this much, Miss Martha. Maybe our spirits go on after we die, maybe not. But if they do, they’re not in our bodies any more. And pain comes from our bodies. As long as we’re in this skin, we can hurt. When we’re not in a body anymore, we don’t hurt anymore.”

“You talk like you know all about dying.”

“Oh, Mister Death and me, we go way back. I’ve known him practically my whole life. He ain’t such a bad fella, really. But he keeps his own timetable. Ain’t no use trying to slow him down or hurry him along. Once he’s made up his mind, can’t nobody get him to change it.”

Mrs. Hill considered what Samael had said. “Jacob, please take this gentleman, Mister—”

“Ritter, ma’am.”

“Yes. You and Mister Ritter go sit in the parlor for a while. You too, Helen. I want to talk to Sam alone.”

Mr. Hill nodded. “Of course, dear, if that’s what you want.” Ritter and Mr. Hill shuffled out, Helen following them.

“Sam,” Mrs. Hill began when they closed the door behind them, “I’m glad you came today.”

“I’m glad I came, too.”

“I don’t have many good days. Yesterday I couldn’t have talked this long. It’s like I was saving up one last good day to talk to you. Might be my last one.”

“I’m glad you were feeling well enough to talk.”

“I’m worried about Jacob.”

“Oh?”

“He’ll be lost. He won’t know what to do with himself. We haven’t been apart much in thirty-five years. I know him. He’ll be like a kite without a string.”

“I’m sure he will miss you very much. It’s gonna be hard for him.”

“Is there any way I can talk to him? After I die?”

“Not directly, Miss Martha. You might get a word or two in slantways.”

“How?”

“He’ll dream about you. You can talk to him then.”

“You think so?”

“I know when my grandma died, I missed her a lot. And I dreamed about her. I dreamed the whole family went on a picnic. We had a big lunch and sat by the river and the other kids played games and picked apples. It was getting to be late in the afternoon. I came over to her and said, ‘Well, what else can we do while we’re out here? Do you want to walk up to that rise and watch the sunset?’ And she said, ‘No, thank you, Sammy. It’s been a lovely day, but I’d like to go home now.’ I think it was her telling me that she’d lived long enough and it was a good time for her life to be over.”

Mrs. Hill lay back. “You really think that God doesn’t punish us for what we did wrong?”

“I used to think that everything bad that happens was because of things we do. Like I said, it took a very wise man to set me straight.”

“Who was this wise man?”

“It was Mister Ritter, the man who came with me today.”

“Well then, I thank both of you. You made me laugh, Sam. It’s been a while. And when you don’t know something, you say so. I like that.”

“I’ve got plenty of ignorance I can share with you any time you want, Miss Martha.”

Mrs. Hill smiled. Then her face contorted. “I have to rest now, Sam. Let yourself out.”

Samael quietly left the room.

********

In the parlor, Mr. Hill was just telling Ritter, “I’ve never heard Martha cuss before.”

“She seemed happy doing it.” Ritter shrugged.

“And it would not have occurred to me that she could take such comfort in blasphemy.”

Ritter searched the ceiling. “The Lord moves in mysterious ways.”

Helen greeted this with contempt. “Psh! I was expecting lightning to strike.”

“I expect the Almighty was more likely laughing.”

Samael entered. “Mister Hill, your wife is tired now. And I think she’s hurting pretty bad. She’ll probably want to see you.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Mr. Hill said. “I don’t know how you did that. I’ve been so afraid of saying the wrong thing to her. I guess I didn’t need to be so afraid.”

“She’s worried about what will happen to you after she dies. Maybe you could tell her she doesn’t have to worry. Just let her know that you’ll follow her directly.”

“But what if I don’t follow her directly?”

“Even if it’s thirty years, it won’t seem like it to her. Ain’t no clocks where she’s going.”

Mr. Hill stared at Samael for a moment, then glanced at Ritter. “Thank you so much for coming. I won’t show you out. I’ve got to go to her.” He turned and left the room.

As Ritter and Samael stepped out into the street, Ritter said, “Sammy, how did you know what to say to her?”

Samael shrugged.

“What star did you fall from?”

“Star?” Samael grinned.

“You know what I mean. What academy of ancient wisdom sent you to me?” Ritter touched Samael’s sleeve. “How did I get so lucky?”

“I just told her common sense. And I told her what you told me, about bad things just happening, no one’s fault.”

The hair was still standing up on the back of Ritter’s neck. A strange mixture of awe and lust washed over him. “You’re not a devil. I’m pretty sure you’re not an angel. You’re some kind of spirit from another world. Which is confusing, because it makes me want to fuck you all the more.”

“Good, because I’m not a spirit. I’m flesh and blood. And my flesh and blood wants your flesh and blood, so be careful or I might grab you right here in the street.”

********

Ream and Samael approached Haydee’s Funeral Parlor a few minutes before three o’clock. At lunch, Ritter had begged off, saying, “Take Sammy with you, Bill. He’ll tell me all about it. I’d better get back to the shop and attend to business.”

Ream rapped a knuckle on the glass door, on which was painted “X. Aaron Haydee, Funeral Director.”

Haydee was both tall and wide, with dark hair slicked back and a thin mustache curled at the sides. He waved them in. “Come in, Mister Ream. Right on time. And who is this?”

Ream shook Haydee’s hand. “This is Sam. He works for us. He would like to watch, too.”

Samael said, “I’d like to help, if you’ll let me.”

“You got a strong stomach, Sam?” Haydee clearly doubted Samael was up to the task.

“I’ve seen plenty of dead people,” Samael assured him. “Won’t bother me.”

“Not so many that you won’t be careful, I hope,” Haydee said. “There’s a lot of blood and a lot of unpleasant gasses and smells, and through it all, we have to remember that this used to be a person.”

“Of course, Mister Haydee.”

“Come on back,” Haydee said, leading them to his morgue. “I do a lot of this in people’s homes, but in this case they brought the body here.” On a cooling table at the side of the room lay the body of a corpulent, middle-aged man.

“What was his name?” Samael asked.

“Mister John Cline. Prospector. Near as anyone can tell, he had a heart attack. Might have been a little optimistic about his ability to work in a mine.”

“Hello, Mister Cline,” Samael said, looking up above the body. “I hope you don’t mind what we’ll be doing today.” To Haydee he said, “Is his body being shipped back home? Is that why it’s being embalmed?”

“That’s exactly why, Sam,” Haydee said. “So many men come here from all over, just to find a fortune. But so often something else finds them first.”

Haydee started the embalming process. Testing Samael’s limits, he had Sam fix the jaw, insert needles, and set up the drain tubes and big bottles for fluids. Haydee showed him how to use trocars, bulb syringes and vacuum pumps for draining blood, releasing gasses, and feeding in embalming fluid. During the substantial time required for the process, Samael never flinched, and he treated the body with a respect that Haydee appreciated.

“Sam, I think you’re a natural at this.”

“You explain it real good, Mister Haydee.”

“And you’ve never done this before?”

“I watched part of it once.”

“Well, it certainly sank in. Are you going to be doing the embalming at Mister Ream and Mister Ritter’s establishment? Is that the plan?”

Samael stepped back. “It all depends on what they want.”

Ream, who had done little during the procedure, said, “I think that probably will be the idea. Mister Ritter is not too keen on the prospect.”

“Well, then, Sam, it looks like it’s falling in your lap.”

Samael nodded. “I don’t mind. It’s a chance to give people what they want, to be buried back home.”

********

Back at Ritter and Ream’s, Ritter had dozed off at his desk when Samael arrived. Samael stepped into the office and smiled at Ritter’s soft snoring. Then he saw the tiny white flowers he had picked, sitting in a vase, the smallest of the many flower vases they kept for funerals, on the desk. “I guess he liked them after all,” Samael murmured.

He shook Ritter’s shoulder gently. Ritter awoke with a start and stood. “There you are, you magical spirit. Are you quite done guiding souls to the afterlife for the day?” He lifted Samael’s hand and kissed it.

Samael laughed. “’Magical spirit.’ Do I feel like a spirit to you?” He took Ritter’s hand and brought it to his crotch.

“Perhaps not. And how did it go at Haydee’s?”

“Piece of cake.” Samael kissed Ritter’s still-bruised lips. “Piece of bloody, gassy cake, no disrespect intended to the man we embalmed. It all made perfect sense to me. Buy the equipment and I can do it any time. Now let’s get back to the land of the living.” Samael started unbuttoning Ritter’s pants.

“Oh, Lord, you’re going to wear me out again. I still haven’t recovered from last night.”

“Someone I know told me that if I want to hold on to you, I have to make you happy.”

Ritter chuckled. “Sammy, if you make me any happier, I’m going to smile so much I’ll dislocate my jaw. An old man needs his rest.”

“Well then, take me out to supper. That should help you recover.”

“Only too happy to do so. Lead on.” Ritter stopped. "I just remembered where I've seen your smile before. A few years ago someone discovered a statue in Greece. An ancient, ancient statue. It was the god Hermes with the infant Dionysus. I saw an engraving of it somewhere. Your nose is different, but your smile is just like Hermes. He was the god who escorted the souls of the departed to the afterlife, among other duties."

"You know, Andy, for a body-snatcher, you sure talk fancy sometimes. Now let's go. I'm starving."