The funeral was yesterday. It was a beautiful ceremony. A large statue of the crucified Jesus watched over those present. On the stage lay arrangements of flowers and candles to decorate the urn. Behind it was a picture of Martin. The priest said the prayers in Spanish and invited the mourners to say goodbye to the dead. The family members then rose and shared their grief and experiences with the deceased. S couldn't speak. His mother and aunt stared at him as he got up and left the church in the middle of one of his relatives’ speeches. He sat outside smoking a cigarette while waiting for it all to finish.
Today they are here, at Martin’s house. That same big picture of his uncle hanging in the living room. Around family and friends walking with embarrassment, talking about Martin, offering their condolences and help, and eating hesitantly from the refreshments and coffee. S was silent, nodding and gratefully grinning at all the right moments. He walked around the house that was once warm and safe and now felt empty and bland.
S and his family moved there when he was young. He looked in the room that was his, his brother's, and his mother's bedroom. His father was never in the picture and after years of financial struggle, Martin and his wife invited them to move into their house. The bedroom was always small and now seemed to shrink even more. He tried to remember how they managed to get by in this crowded space. His uncle and aunt warmly welcomed them even though they also had children of their own to take care of.
He returned to the busy living room. The old relatives filled the couches, while the adults sat on plastic chairs crammed wherever possible. The mournful murmurs of the mourners filled the small house as the children scrambled in a game shouting between their legs, not understanding the gravity of the situation. Maybe it would have pleased Martin. The younger guys crowded into the kitchen while the women around them treated the guests. He tried to join them at the old dinner table that always crowded him as children. One of his aunts tried to come out with a big tray "My beloved S, can you let me through?". He obeyed politely and was pushed back into the living room.
One of the grandmothers whom he did not remember the name asked him about school. He tried to answer when one of his nephews came across him and interrupted. Despite the open windows S felt suffocated. He responded politely and made an excuse to step out onto the balcony. The balcony was basically a piece of concrete with a railing outside the house. In the yard across the neighbors' children ran on the grass. The sky was grey and cloudy. Cars began to slowly return to their houses in the familiar route.
Ever since he was little, his uncle raised him. The balcony was their favorite spot. S and his uncle would sit outside each evening and catch up on life. His uncle would take out a cigarette. "Never start smoking!" He would tell him in Spanish before lighting, then inhaling with pleasure and sitting back leisurely.
S always listened to his uncle, but somewhere between high school and college, he too began to smoke. Although Martin was not happy about it (at least openly) smoking became their ritual. Cigarette butts would fill the ashtray as they talked about first love and then about first heartbreak, what to learn and what to do, how to save and how to spend, and what about God and sometimes just about the weather.
Notwithstanding, S reached into his pocket. The flame had already smoked his cigarette when he realized what he was doing. In fact, he never smoked here alone. Suddenly the smell of tobacco and the taste of paper rejected him and he threw the pack angrily on the floor. he moaned. “Have to go back to the guests, show respect to the dead” he thought. He knelt to the floor to pick up the pack. Next to him was a crumpled cigarette stub. Red Marlboro, he smiled to himself. He never understood why his uncle smoked them. The price is high and the taste is terrible. "But not if you buy them in the right place," his uncle would say, telling him about his friend's grocery store near the little restaurant. Not paying attention, he took out another cigarette and sat down for a last smoke with Martin.