Crackpot Palace by Jeffrey Ford Read Free Book Online Page B

light.
    Between the first pew and the altar, there was an empty folding chair set up next to Uncle Sfortunado’s.
    â€œHello,” Luke said too loud, sending echoes everywhere.
    The old man turned and stared through thick glasses. He wore a gray cardigan dotted with cigarette burns. His beard was a week old and white as snow, his hair crazy. “Gaduche,” he said, raised a trembling hand, and farted.
    â€œGood to see you again,” said Luke.
    â€œThis is who I get to sit the dead?” said Sfortunado, shouting into the dark. He grimaced. “The cat makes the owl bleed . . .”
    â€œDarene’s father told me to come.”
    â€œYeah, yeah.” The old man waved a trembling hand in front of his face.
    â€œMy condolences about Gracie,” said Luke.
    Sfortunado laughed and pointed at the altar. “Go tell her you’re sorry,” he said.
    Luke got up and slowly ascended the three steps to the coffin. Gracie came into view, a deflated balloon made of dough. She wore a white dress, a giant version of a little girl’s party rig, pale green lipstick, and her blond hair helmet was slightly askew. A hand grabbed the side of the coffin. Luke started and then saw it belonged to Uncle Sfortunado, who stood beside him.
    â€œLooks like shit,” said the old man. “What do you think?”
    Luke stalled by rubbing the back of his neck. Finally he said, “Well . . . she’s dead.”
    Sfortunado shrugged and nodded. “This is true.”
    â€œWhat happened to her?”
    â€œSomething bad.”
    Luke went back to his chair. Sfortunado mumbled a few words to Gracie and then announced, “She smells like flowers.” He threw his head back and laughed loud. The echoes rained down and Luke considered splitting. The old man hobbled back to his chair, and less than five minutes later was asleep.
    Luke studied the statuary on the altar, elongated marble figures in the throes of agony gathered in a semicircle at the center of which hung a large golden sun made of gleaming metal. He took out his cell phone and texted Darene, WT RELIGN R U ? Uncle Sfortunado was swaying slightly from side to side, snoring, his arms folded across his sunken chest. Darene’s reply came back. NO TXTING. C U @ DAWN .
    Time stood still in the candlelight, and Luke listened to the church quietly creak. The rapid scuttling of some tiny creature echoed like a whisper from the shadows. Somewhere something was dripping. It didn’t take long before the creepiness gave way to boredom. “They should have a TV set up here,” he thought. Eventually his mind turned to Darene.
    They’d been together since the previous autumn, junior year. Whatever her culture was, it demanded an old-fashioned formality between kids their age. They went to all the parties together, movies, some concerts, but she insisted he meet her family and attend the holiday and birthday gatherings at her house.
    Both his male and female friends told him he was pussywhipped, but he didn’t care. Darene’s hair, ringlets of black springs that seemed alive, her smooth dark complexion, her green eyes and unabashed laugh, canceled out all of their scorn. She definitely knew her mind, and yet he wasn’t particularly good at school, or good-looking by anyone’s standards. The whole thing was a mystery he enjoyed pondering.
    Luke’s memory returned to that night at the picnic table by the lake for quite a while and then he checked his phone for the time, sure that at least a couple of hours had passed. He discovered that not even a half hour had gone by since Sfortunado had fallen asleep. Taking a cue from the old man, he put his phone in his pocket, folded his arms across his chest, and closed his eyes. As he began to doze, a putrid stench, the first stirrings of which he attributed to Uncle Sfortunado, slowly overcame the aroma of old incense and pervaded the place.