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“Gary loved me harder than either of my children, my husband, or my parents ever did. But...” Marcia pulled her hand away from my wrist and put it over her mouth. Maybe she didn’t trust herself to speak. That’s when I put him at the top of my “Pester” list. Somebody was saying something on the outside, and at the same time the door handle moved up and down. He’d forgotten that he had locked the door and, despite his utterly confused state, he suddenly realized he was behaving like a madman; the dead man’s belongings were lying all over the chairs and strewn around on the floor. He picked some of them up quickly and stuffed them into the suitcases. “Of course,” he said, hanging his head so his curls covered his face. “Of course she did.” There are five men following you, says Bett?, without warning. That’s a shame, I say. Do you recall the obituary that stated it was well known that brass bands are the best places for making friends? “I’m surprised you didn’t cut off Derek’s thing,” I said. I was wearing a white sundress that didn’t crowd my tits or ass. It accented my figure simply because it fit and I liked the way it made me look — somewhat older and a few pounds over the limit. ‘Here he is,’ said Hickey. ‘Told you he wasn’t dead.’ “I’m making a lot of money,” I told him immodestly, along the way. “Business is wonderful. It’s very easy, all I have to do is draw cheques.” Aw, you poor old thing, I forgot you, I say. “Best chance?” But Steinger?ur’s daughter L?a attended the burial, and the damned cow threw a fit when she saw that they were going to put a hairy male leg in her mother’s coffin, though it was wearing an intricately knitted sock. I asked whether it would have changed anything if it had been a female leg, and she gave a shout, cursed me in front of the priest, and said that she was taking her mother away, that she didn’t belong in that utterly empty cemetery. It was difficult to lay Steinka to rest, bless her soul. Her daughter ran off with the coffin, and I was stuck with the leg. I wasn’t about to buy another coffin for it, so I felt it my best option to bury it out here in the cemetery, in consecrated ground. I constructed a rather good-quality box and even warbled “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.” But apparently that wasn’t elegant enough, because the cursed leg’s returned to haunt us. It kicks open doors. I’ll just keep going, says Hei?ur, driving on. But the merciless earth draws me in once more. This time I’m forced to drag myself downstairs to go to the bathroom, giddy and half-blind in the darkness. I’m fortunate not to stumble and fall like Edda. Thanks. ~ ~ ~ There was never anything funny about this desert, I say. It used to take people at least one day to cross it by foot, with everyone scared shitless that a flood caused by Katla might come and take them. Dad crossed the sands first when he was twelve and still recovering from pneumonia. He got caught in bad weather and made it to the other side haunted and bedraggled..

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