Thin Blue Smoke: A Novel About Music, Food, and Love

by Doug Worgul

  “Mrs. Williams, I was telling the boss that I’m in a real bind. I don’t know who should take care of my mom’s body and how to do a funeral. This kind of thing has never happened to me before. Is there somebody I should call? And what about a grave? I don’t know about any of that stuff.”

  He looked at Ferguson.

  “We know about that stuff, A.B.,” Ferguson said. “Why don’t you let us take care of it?”

  “Don’t you worry about any of this, child,” Angela said. “We’ll take care of it all. Everything. We’ll take care of the hospital, and the arrangements, and the funeral, and everything. So, go home and sleep. We’ll call you if we have any questions. Just leave it to us.”

  A.B. took off his apron, hung it on a hook in the office, and drove himself home.

  *

  Two days later, on a cool, cloudless, afternoon, a small caravan of vehicles, led by a black hearse, arrived at a modest suburban cemetery set back from the road on a gentle slope. The hearse was followed by two black limousines, and a middle-aged white Cadillac with gold-spoked wheels. The hearse stopped at a prepared grave site. The earth excavated from the grave was covered with a large sheet of green felt. Fitted atop the grave itself was a casket lowering device skirted with green velvet.

  A professionally somber funeral director in a black suit stepped out of the hearse and opened its rearmost doors. His two identically attired colleagues emerged from each of the limousines and opened the passenger doors of their respective automobiles.

  Bob Dunleavy, Del James, Pug Hale, Leon Noel, Brother Ignatius, and LaVerne Williams exited the first limo and walked up to the rear of the hearse. Bob, Del, and Pug stood on one side, Leon, Iggy, and LaVerne on the other. LaVerne, Pug, Del, and Bob all wore charcoal gray or navy blue suits, and all wore ties except Del. Leon had on black pants, a white shirt and a skinny black tie, but no jacket. Iggy wore a plain brown sweater and brown pants.

  Angela Williams, Father Ferguson Glen, and Al Buddy Clayton got out of the second limousine. Angela wore a simple black dress with long sleeves. A.B. wore a black suit and tie. Ferguson wore white vestments with gold trim. They walked up to the gravesite, where Ferguson took a position at the head of the grave.

  The Cadillac was Mother Mary Weaver’s car, but Jen Richards was driving. Vicki Fuentes was riding in the front passenger’s seat and Mother was in the back. Jen and Vicki got out and Jen opened the trunk and removed a wheelchair, which she unfolded and wheeled to Mother’s door. She and Vicki helped Mother into the chair and, together, labored to push her up to where the others were standing. Mother wore a black dress and a big wide-brimmed black straw hat. Vicki wore black slacks and a denim jacket over a pink blouse. Jen wore a plain navy blue dress. Her hair was pulled up in a tight bun.

  The funeral director nodded at LaVerne and he and the other men leaned into the hearse and slowly pulled the casket bearing A.B.’s mother’s body out of the hearse. They carried the casket to the grave and carefully placed it down on top of the lowering device. Then they stepped back from the grave and went to stand with A.B., Angela, and the others.

  Then a rusted metallic blue Toyota Cressida without a rear bumper rumbled up the drive and stopped behind Mother’s Cadillac. A short, bony, man with thick glasses and slicked down gray hair, got out of the driver’s side. He wore pressed, creased blue jeans and a baggy red sweater pulled over a pronounced beer belly. From the passenger side came a chubby woman with stiff white-yellow hair. She wore sunglasses, a lime-green pants suit, and a black baseball-style jacket.

  They walked up to the grave. The woman linked her arm through the man’s arm. They looked at A.B. and smiled and nodded. A.B. didn’t recognize either of them. He looked away, and noticed that the headstones of the nearby graves were engraved with the name Dunleavy. He looked over at Bob, who winked at him.

  Ferguson raised his arms as if to embrace those gathered, and spoke sacred words.

  “I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord,

  He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live,

  And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.

  I know that my Redeemer liveth,

  And that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth,

  And though this body be destroyed, yet shall I see God,

  Whom I shall see for myself and mine eyes shall behold,

  And not as a stranger.

  For none of us liveth to himself,

  and no man dieth to himself.

  For if we live, we live unto the Lord

  And if we die, we die unto the Lord.

  Whether we live, therefore, or die, we are the Lord’s.

  Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord,

  Even so saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labors.”

  Ferguson looked up from his prayer book. “The Lord be with you.”

  Only Angela and Brother Ignatius responded. “And with thy spirit.”

  “Let us pray,” said Ferguson.

  “O God, whose mercies cannot be numbered: Accept our prayers on behalf of thy servant, and grant her an entrance into the land of light and joy, in the fellowship of thy saints; through Jesus Christ thy Son our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.”

  Ferguson and Iggy crossed themselves. Ferguson continued.

  “Like as the hart desireth the water-brooks

  So longeth my soul after thee, O God.

  My soul is athirst for God,

  Yea, even for the living God.

  When shall I come to appear before the presence of God?

  My tears have been my meat day and night,

  While they daily say unto me,

  Where is now thy God?

  Now when I think thereupon, I pour out my heart by myself,

  For I went with the multitude, and brought them forth into

  the house of God,

  Why art thou so full of heaviness, O my soul?

  And why art thou so disquieted within me?

  O put thy trust in God; for I will yet thank him,

  Which is the help of my countenance, and my God.”

  Ferguson paused and closed his prayer book. He looked at A.B. and smiled. Then he looked at each of the others standing around the grave. He took a deep breath.

  “We live our lives as strangers to one another, even to those we love most and know best.

  “We are here on this hillside, on this clear blue afternoon, to lay to rest Mona Bennett. It is sad that she is dead. Sadder still, that my friend A.B. has lost his mother.

  “It is also sad, that among those of us gathered here at Mona’s grave, few knew her at all.

  “I say that A.B. is my friend, because I have known him for three years, during which time I calculate I have eaten at least 400 meals prepared by his hands at the restaurant where he works. I have spent countless hours in his company. And yet until he needed me this week to officiate at this service, I knew nothing at all about his mother. Not even her name. And that is beyond sad. That is shameful. What kind of friend does not know something so fundamental about another friend as his mother’s name?

  “Perhaps I did not want to know her name. When you learn somebody’s name they are no longer simply an idea—an abstract concept. When you know someone’s name they become a person, with a story. A person, like yourself.

  “If I had known Mona’s name I might have felt obliged to inquire as to her well-being in my casual conversations with A.B., and then our conversations might have become something more than casual. They might have become intimate. And we might have become even better friends. And better friends bear greater responsibility to one another than do casual friends. If I had known Mona’s name, I may have felt obliged to do something if A.B. had said to me ‘My mother isn’t feeling
well,’ or ‘My mother needs someone to help her.’ True intimacy requires something of us. And I may have felt the need to help. Or, more likely, I would have felt guilty when I did not help. Perhaps I wish only to be friendly, without being friends.

  “Because I never asked, I don’t know Mona Bennett’s story. But, in truth, none of us do. Not even you, A.B. You know some of it, of course. You are her son, after all. But you were only a part of her life for 35 years, and even then only just a part of it. And just as your life consists of more than being your mother’s son, your mother’s life consisted of more than being your mother. She lived things you didn’t live. She knew people you do not know. She feared things that you have not feared and dreamed dreams that were not your dreams. And though you were her only child, you knew only some things about her. But God knows them all. God knows all of Mona Bennett’s story. He knows her, and he has called her by her name.

  “Our stories and our names are our most intimate possessions. Our names are the words we use, whether we like it or not, to identify ourselves, both to others and ourselves. Your name is the title of your story.

  “A friend of mine once wrote ‘When someone knows your name they have a kind of hold on you. When they call you by your name, even from afar, you turn to see who it is that is calling you.’

  “God has that kind of hold on us.

  “A.B. was talking to Angela about his mother this week, and he asked her if she thought that his mother was in heaven now. The answer to that question is found in what God tells about love and judgment.

  “Love is hard. We try to love one another. But generally the quality and quantity of our love for one another is found wanting, because we find it difficult, if not impossible, to look beyond those things that are ugly and unlovable in those we try to love. Even though the things that are ugly and unlovable in ourselves are the very things that cause us to cry out for love.

  “In talking with A.B. about his mother this week, it became clear to me that she was not a perfect mother. But then A.B. was not a perfect son. A.B. would be the first to admit it. None of us are perfect. Thank God, perfection is not a condition of Christ’s love for us. Christ knows we are not perfect. Yet he loves us still. He loves us in our totality. He knows who we are. He knows our names. And he loves us. Better than we’ve ever been loved or ever will be. He remembers what we almost always forget, or never knew to begin with, that we are, all of us, more than the equation—the sum of our successes minus the sum of our failures.

  “Because we cannot fathom the depths of such love, we live in fear of judgment. When once I was despairing that God’s judgment of me would be fair and, therefore, in my case, harsh, a friend of mine reminded me that it is Christ who will judge us. He said ‘The one who will judge us most finally is the one who loves us most fully.’

  “So, A.B., is your mother in heaven? This is what I know: Christ loves your mother, A.B. He knows her and that is why he loves her. He loved her enough to die for her.

  “I know that your mother was baptized, A.B., marked as one of God’s own. And when the sheep are sorted he will recognize her as belonging to him.

  “I know that Jesus tells us that he is the good shepherd. Jesus says ‘I know my sheep. And my sheep know me. My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me.’

  “This week Jesus called Mona Bennett by her name. She knew his voice. And she followed him.

  “My friends, let us be reminded that Jesus is our model of love and friendship. Let us not live our lives as strangers to one another. Let us love one another as Christ loves us.”

  *

  Ferguson glanced over at Mother and nodded slightly. Mother closed her eyes as if to pray and began to sing.

  Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

  Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

  Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

  A long way from home, a long way from home.

  Sometimes I feel like I’m almost gone

  Sometimes I feel like I’m almost gone

  Sometimes I feel like I’m almost gone

  A long way from home, a long way from home.

  Sometimes I feel like a mournin’ dove

  Sometimes I feel like a mournin’ dove

  Sometimes I feel like a mournin’ dove

  A long way from home, a long way from home.

  Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

  Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

  Sometimes I feel like a motherless child

  A long way from home, a long way from home.”

  Angela, Jen, and Bob were crying, as were the woman and the man who arrived late. The others were all quiet. Except for Del, who leaned over to Bob and in a whisper loud enough to be heard by occupants of nearby graves and asked, “Isn’t that song in poor taste? I mean the kid just lost his mother for Christ’s sake.”

  Bob shot Del a look that shut him up.

  The Reverend Ferguson Glen held in his right hand a length of brass chain from which was suspended a small ornately cut brass globe—a censer. This he swung over Mona Bennett’s casket as he walked around the perimeter of her grave. The fragrance and the thin blue smoke of incense was carried out over her casket and then over and around A.B. Clayton and the others.

  Ferguson nodded at the funeral director who had been standing off to one side during the service. He stepped forward and, with one of his colleagues, began lowering the casket by working a crank mechanism on the lowering device. A.B. made a small sound with his breath. When the casket had been lowered all the way into the grave, Ferguson raised his hands toward the sky and then spread them out over the grave.

  “O God, whose blessed Son was laid in a sepulcher in the garden: Bless, we pray, this grave, and grant that she whose body is buried here may dwell with Christ in paradise, and may come to thy heavenly kingdom; through thy Son Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

  Ferguson then asked that the group join him in the Lord’s Prayer, which they did, Del much louder than the others—saying “our debtors” when the others said “those who trespass against us.”

  Ferguson then bent and scooped a handful of earth from the pile mounded up by the grave. He let the dirt fall from his hand into the grave and onto the casket. He looked at A.B. who looked confused and a bit frightened. Angela took A.B.’s elbow and led him to Ferguson’s side. A.B. then stooped and picked up a handful of dirt. He looked into the hole for a moment and then let the dirt drop onto the casket. A big sob welled up and out of him.

  The others then followed. Each of them taking up earth with their hands and letting it fall into the grave. When they were done, Ferguson said, “Rest eternal grant to her, O Lord.”

  Angela and Iggy responded, “And let light perpetual shine upon her.”

  Ferguson continued, “May her soul, and the souls of all the departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.”

  Angela and Iggy responded again with, “Amen.”

  Ferguson then made the sign of the cross and delivered the final blessing.

  “The God of peace, who brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus Christ, the great Shepherd of the sheep, through the blood of the eternal covenant: Make you perfect in every good work to do his will, working in you that which is well-pleasing in his sight; through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.”

  Ferguson glanced at Angela who bent and whispered something to Mother, who cleared her throat and sang.

  Why should I feel discouraged,

  why should the shadows come . . .

  Angela hugged A.B. and so did Del, Bob, Vicki, and Jen. Mother reached up from her wheelchair and embraced him. Pug and Leon shook hands with him. LaVerne stood behind him with his hands on his shoulders.

  The woman and the man who had come late approached tentatively. The woman extended her hand to A.B.

  “You must be A.
B.,” she said. “I’m Lurleen Haysmith. Me and your mom was good friends. I am so sorry for your loss. I’m going to miss your mother. I’m really going to miss her. We was real close friends.”

  The man stepped forward to shake hands with A.B.

  “I’m Rudy Turpin,” he said. “Maybe your mom told you about me. We been together for awhile.”

  His face seized up and his voice failed him. “Anyways. Your mom and I were together. I loved your mom and I can’t believe she’s gone. I don’t really know what I’m going to do now. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  LaVerne had taken Leon, Vicki, and Jen aside and was talking to them. “Why don’t you all go back to the restaurant? Leon and Vicki, heat up some ribs, chuck, and pork, and greens and potatoes if there are any. We’ll meet you there. Jen, thanks for driving.”

  Leon, Vicki, and Jen pushed Mother back down to her Cadillac, put her in the car, and left for Smoke Meat.

  LaVerne turned to the others, “We’d like to invite everyone over to the restaurant for some food and fellowship. Lurleen and Rudy, will you join us?”

  Lurleen and Rudy looked first at one another and then at LaVerne and said they’d be happy to come.

  *

  Leon and Vicki brought out three platters piled with pulled chuck, pulled pork, ribs chopped into two-bone pieces, and slices of white bread.

  Leon informed LaVerne that there had been no greens or potatoes left in the walk-in, so LaVerne told him to make some coffee and bring out some vinegar pie, sweet potato pie, and peach cobbler.

  They sat at a cluster of tables by the doorway to the kitchen; LaVerne, Angela, Bob, Del, Pug, Mother, Brother Ignatius, Jen, Rudy, Lurleen, and Ferguson, who had removed his vestments and was now in a black suit, with a black shirt and clerical collar. A.B. kept on eye on Leon’s and Vicki’s activities, but LaVerne and Angela told him not to worry about it, so he tried not to.

  Angela spoke up first. “Thank you all so much for coming. And thank you Ferguson.”

  A.B. looked at the floor and nodded. “Thank you all for coming. And thank you Rev. Glen.”