First published on 6 October, 2012.

The original description: A university student consoles people who happen to wonder about their place in a tragic environment. However, this won’t bring a magnificent review from everyone.

A red maple leaf landed softly on Chester’s open book on her lap. The quick observation of dry and clean surface caused a delighted smile and an adjustment of small round glasses.

‘Well, look at you. Going home ground, are we? Thanks for visiting us, you were beautiful.’

Chester blew the tall leaf off her book. She noted the sudden burst of red leaves around her as gusts of the fall were frequenting more and more. The pale sun glittered from towering skyscrapers’ walls far in downtown, yet they occupied a high portion of skyline, behind the lines of trees flanking the cemetery. She blew her reddish nose into a hanky in the middle of semi-round, pretty face which had a minimum set of makeup. She resented the result audibly and folded it inside the cloth, stuffing it into the pocket. Still better than her black scarf around the neck, though the temptation to use it was strong. Chester changed her posture a bit, rubbing her blackish bomber jacket against the tree trunk and withdrew her head more inside the fuzzy collar. Some would have considered this funny, because with her oversized red newsboy cap hiding abundant but wrapped brunette hair, her head seemed nonexistent. Only her legs, covered by worn-out light blue jeans and unkempt riding-style boots, twitched now and then; a telltale fact of inconvenient position which was convinced by a curled quilt under her. Still she sat there, reading and picking a cookie now and then from her brown satchel. Around her the squirrels were hastily stockpiling among the trees and headstones.  One of them stopped by, to be glimpsed with returned curiosity over lenses from under the large red cap.

‘Go on with your business, I’m not going to bury you.’

The half-whispered girl voice caused the squirrel to spring away. Chester took a glance to an open grave a few yards off. The surface of the square headstone was glistening and empty, an unambiguous shovel leaning against it. Chester returned to her book until the bells started tolling and a black funeral cortege appeared through the cemetery gates. She took a sip of coffee straight from thermos and cleared her throat audibly but continued studying.

*

A little girl in a school suit imitating mourning dress appeared quietly in front of Chester. She had a plastic black rose on her blond hair. Chester lifted her cap and lowered her glasses.

‘Hello there, I bet you are Cinderella.’

‘No, I am Violet. Who are you?’

‘I’m Chester. Nice to meet you, Violet.’

‘You have funny name.’

‘But aren’t you pretty? Do you know why you are here?’

‘My dad’s cousin, Jonathan, died.’

Little Violet looked over her shoulder at the cortege gathered around a coffin and a grave. Then she continued, almost whispering:

‘Everybody’s crying. I’m scared.’

Chester picked a softer tone.

‘Look, why you came to me is because I need to explain something so you would not be sad for too long.’

‘But I’m sad, will it go away?’

‘It will, and you are a child, it will go away faster than from adults. Those adults who lived near Jonathan will feel something missing, perhaps the rest of their life.’

‘Will they be sad forever?’

‘No, at first it’s sadness; then it will turn to an empty feeling that something is missing from the world. But the world keeps going, so do they and so will do you. Didn’t your parents ever say that Jonathan is now in a better place?’

‘Yes they said but that too scared me.’

‘They mean well. Look, if Jonathan was ill, then he is in better place; he’s happy wherever he is now.’

‘He is not ill anymore?’

‘No, everything’s in order now.’

‘But I’m scared of death. And I’m scared of those adults, the way they are now.’

‘That’s why you came here to me. Now, look at me carefully, look into my eyes.’

Chester picked her glasses off her nose and stared to Violet’s eyes, smiling. A smile, almost a joy, appeared to little Violet’s face. She turned away and partly running joined her silent, living body in the cortege. Chester put her glasses back on and mumbled herself:

‘Straight by the book, better show up in my review.’

She picked up a pen and a small book with black leather cover, creating a marking inside. Having implemented the routine she again picked up the large hardcover print of Becker’s Denial of Death, actually reading a pocket paperback of Wisconsin Death Trip inside it. A gargoyle winked at her from the heights of the gothic church. Chester returned the compliment with her tongue.

*

Chester did not enjoy the study too long. Another figure from the cortege appeared. Time for another verse, another section of the book.

‘Who the hell are you? Why am I here?’

‘I’m Chester. I’m burying you.’

‘What? The hell you are. Are you stoned or something?

Chester went quiet for a moment. The man in front of him was hardly at thirties and straight from a men’s store window or stock exchange, including the stiff face. Let him shortly agree with this moment. The man twitched shortly in an attempt to move away but then he adapted. Physically at least, if such expression could be used about his current state.

‘No, I’m not stoned. If you are, that has nothing to do with me. You came here by your own thoughts. Don’t worry, you are still there as per formal mourning requirements.’

The man glanced himself standing still in the cortege.

‘No, I must have dozed off of something. I only had two shots in the morning. I’m I drugged, kidnapped?’

‘Not in traditional meaning; merely by your fears. How would you like to handle them?’

Layers and layers of urban civilization, containing self-importance, imported cars, shallow relationships, feigned attitudes and planned threats were inverted under a basin of an ignorant child. The stiff face melted into an apprehensive curiosity.

‘Come here. I will show you.’

Chester rose, stepped briskly next to open grave and grabbed the shovel. The man looked at him with a tilted head, and then followed slowly. A name with only the year of birth had appeared to the headstone. The man watched it for a moment.

‘Settle there, I’ll show you. Don’t worry about the clothes. Have a nice day and rich life.’

The ignorant child in tailored suit climbed down the pit and settled quietly into the coffin. Chester reached the lid and closed the coffin after which she duly started shoveling, reminding herself to keep more cookies available. Having finished, she took a quick glimpse around, as if someone could see, and stomped the fresh grave. The next moment she was under the tree, grabbing the black leather book and the pen, panting. The previous visitor in the cortege was now showing signs of life.

‘You are welcome.’

Chester winked to the gargoyle, who in turn flashed a rocky tongue from gothic heights. The grave threw its stomped soil back to a heap, the empty coffin opened and the headstone turned clean. Chester continued her fake studies.

*

Chester took a glimpse to her watch. The roman number pointing out the shift ending was close. Time for one more. Thus she was not surprised to see a young man with medium long dark hair and red baseball cap in front of her. There was no embarrassed expression in the face with thin bearded jaw and moustache, the rest of his face unshaven. There was no funeral suit, but a similar pilot jacket open, tattered and dirty t-shirt and jeans in similar shape. The other sneaker had its laces open.

‘Hi, there. Cool jacket! I’m Rog! Whatcha reading?’

Chester felt sudden anxiety. She did not see Rog’s figure in the cortege. She checked her background to make sure the boy was not talking to someone else.

‘Who took your tongue then, can you speak? Whatcha reading?’

‘I’m Chester…’

Before she could react, Rog had snatched the book.

‘Chesster, coool! Who failed your name, midwives? Cool as hell! Hey what’s this?’

From inside the book dropped another, pocket size print. Chester now felt sudden cold. If this scenario was in her books, it should be on a later term. She had no measures if things went ugly. She attempted a brave tone:

‘So, Rog, you can see me?’

‘What, you high? What a day. I feel I could…Umm, watch!’

Before Chester could twitch her finger, Rog had dropped the books, was up along the tree and climbing higher until hanging upside down from a branch. A cemetery worker far away stopped his job and stood up watching Rog. Chester realized Rog was one and in both worlds and she started hoping the tall worker might save her day. The worker walked briskly to the tree and addressed Rog without yelling:

‘Hey there, come down now! This is cemetery, not a circus.’

Rog’s answer was finger and protruding lips.

‘Yeah? Fuck you, Quasimodo! Hey Chester, wanna see something awsum?’

The tall worker rolled his head to see whom Rog had addressed, stared a moment through Chester but then turned his face back to Rog and orbited the trunk after him. At least things were not worse, being seen by everyone meant big minus. Chester felt a little relief until she realized Rog’s intentions.

‘What are you going to do? No, you can’t be serious!’

‘Yasss!’

Rog took a leap. A sudden storm of red leafs surrounded the diver as he slammed heavily upon the cemetery worker, who fell under the sheer accelerated mass and crashed his head against a headstone. His neck went into unnatural position and blood ran down the stone.

‘Outta sight! What an adrenaline rush!’

Rog sprang up and bowed to the twitching body of the cemetery worker.

‘Oh, pardon sire but everyone’s always hidden in cemeteries and ah just wanted see a body!’

Chester stood watching Rog in terror.

‘Who are you?’

Chester’s tone was almost failing. Rog’s face went unbelieving.

‘What, don’t you have Internet or watch telly?? I’m Rog and I made a million bucks last week in Scumbag Race! Three arrests, eight pets score of road kills! Dontcha know? I’m Rog, one of The Three Asseteers and I made five millions last year by shooting rockets from my ass and going downhill in a shopcart! What, are we a wee bit bucket-born? Whatta geek! But now, seriously. Let’s talk about you.’

Chester moved sideways. Rog followed. They started slowly to circle the tree, Rog’s eyes staring Chester’s over her glasses. Chester was now wishing her replacement for the next shift would arrive.

‘What about me?’

‘I know who and what you are.’

‘What am I?’

‘You know who you are and I stopped by to tell you that I’m not scared shit of anything!’

‘Of course you aren’t.’

Their feet were plowing rustling layer of red leafs in the ground as they circled.

‘Ha! Brown-nosing does not help you. I’m gonna getcha and then no one needs to get retarded by trivialities you think people need to get grips with!’

‘You call it a triviality?’

‘What else. Fuckin’ mortal fear.’

‘But I’m just volunteering to help a few people. If they are shocked by thought of death. It hasn’t gone anywhere from anyone.’

‘Don’t flatter yourself; you’re just another preacher in your fantasy world. Surely you can heal cancer and hunger and wars and diseases?’

‘I’m a student.’

‘Yeah, I know The University. See this?’

Rog turned his head slightly and swept some hair aside. There were marks of multiple stitches and only now Chester noticed Rog’s head was asymmetric.

‘Compliments of another leap. But I’m alive and those assholes at my insurance paid their company off the business. But a long friggin surgery.’

‘Are you sure you are still alive?’

‘Oh, I am. Which will be not your state after I get you. Anyway, at the surgery I exited my body. It was awesome. I had lots of visions. That stuff would cost millions in the street. Then I saw your University and you! And I found you. Ha!’

‘I’m not the only one.’

‘Oh, now we pray “Puhleeze don’t kill me, take my mother!” I could do that. But you are soo clean, a pure saint! And a pure martyr after I get you.’

‘Then, why? Is it subtle bringing your animal courage here?’

Chester was panting in fear. She never imagined herself invulnerable, not mentally, not physically. That was one of the Requirements.

‘Look at you, lecturing about death and there you are; peed your grandma pants already?’

‘Why?’

‘Simple. You fuckin’ hypocrite saints are about to ruin the business. My business is big money from adrenaline and glee, and most important, it’s almost legal way to prank at everyone’s costs everywhere. You shitty humanists are soo clean you don’t see the reality: Last year our Stooger sipped a bottle of bourbon and went down the cliff with his Porsche; and those motherfuckers mumbling about Darwin laws were banned, everyone was honoring Stooger as the coolest! You see, we are the true warriors, true heroes of this world. No use for patient Scrooges! Acid, action, adrenaline, big money! The world does not need you to lecture people into lazy sheep! The world needs fast going and getting everything in before they die. Lack of mortal fear means lazy sheep; it means no acid, no action, no adrenaline, no big money! This world is going down; the fortune is for those grabbing it fast. And dear Chester, you are about to witness your own genocide!’

By the sheer odd lecture, Chester was not quick enough as Rog leaped forward, grabbing the shovel in midair. A loud klangg! resounded through ethereal as it flattened Chester’s face and crushed the small glasses. A burst of blood flew through the air and the long hair exploded free from under the flying newsboy cap. Chester fell heavily to the ground, slightly moaning from behind her broken teeth.

‘Awsum!’

Rog admired the blood and hair on the shovel blade.

‘A mortal bookworm asshole. Let’s see how soft matter you are made of.’

He raised the shovel to use it as a blade. Chester raised her open palm to receive the slashing force. Nothing happened.

‘Let go! Let me go!’

Chester slowly lowered her hand. Rog was hanging in the air, still having a grip of the shovel. In the other end of the shovel was standing a huge, gray bearded black man in a pinstripe suit and a bowser hat: Dean Morgenstern himself, on another inspection. Chester cried a little upon relief. Next to Morgenstern stood much shorter Joe, The Most Boring Geek of The University and Chester’s replacement. Joe was standing eyes more wide than his square glasses and scared. Dean Morgenstern watched Rog and growled:

‘What do we have here? Chester, you alive?’

Chester considered the question somewhat funny and started laughing along a cry. Rog would not let the shovel go:

‘Let me go you big black shit! You have not right..!’

‘Right? Are you talking about rights? Look at you; you are so scared to lose everything, aren’t you?’

Dean Morgenstern separated Rog from the shovel and grabbed him from the collar. Rog’s feet were dancing in the air and he yelled from the depths of his throat:

‘P-O-H-L-I-I-Z-E!’

The big black man laughed.

‘Law and enforcement you need now? A regular Puck, that’s what you are.’

Rog went silent, glaring his captor. Dean Morgenstern raised him and put his nose almost to contact with Rog’s. He made a gesture with his free hand’s fingers.

‘I’m not going to kill you. I’m this close to break the University Rules and tell you something but that would kill you. On behalf of Chester’s, I’m going to finish her last task of the day.’

Having said that, he moved to the edge of the open grave.

‘Nooo, you can’t do this to me! Police! Police!’

The shrieks ended abruptly when the big black man took a grip of Rog’s jaw and forced him to see the headstone. Rog’s full name and the year of birth followed only by a dash, appeared into the stone.

 ‘I could show you the latter number.’

‘What? Yeah yeah show it to me!’

‘No. You are welcome.’

Dean Morgenstern flung Rog into the coffin; the lid banged shut.

‘Joe, it’s your shift.’

Joe appeared with the shovel and begun the filling. A faint banging was heard for a moment, then the coffin went quiet. Dean Morgenstern walked to Chester.

‘Look at you girl, you are in bad shape. Oh dear, no use to send you to nurse. I’m afraid I must use my own Points.’

Having said this, dean Morgenstern laid his huge palm upon Chester’s face. When he took it off, the face and glasses were intact.

‘Oh, my gum tickles. But thank you sir…’

Chester felt her face, picked up her newsboy cap and rose from the ground as dean swept his hands to a cloth.

‘All in a day’s job. You all right?’

‘Yes, thanks.’

Like by a common agreement, both turned to have a glance at Rog, now far away at the grave of his friend. The cortege was gone. Rog was alone and he was crying, convulsing now and then.

‘Uh oh, something to spend more Points.’

Dean Morgenstern watched the body of cemetery worker.

‘To Hell with law and enforcement, I’ll handle this soon. He will remember just stumbling.’

Chester nodded.

‘So, how’s the studying?’

Before Chester answered, Dean Morgenstern had picked up Chester’s two books from the ground. He erupted into a tremendous laugh and spread his hands with books.

‘So it is true. I did not believe it first. You truly read Wisconsin Death Trip instead of Denial of Death?’

Chester felt much better so she blushed a little.

‘You’re forgiven. Better than Joe’s Batman inside Book of the Dead.’

Panting Joe withdrew his head between shoulders but went on. Dean Morgenstern wiped his eyes, then rubbed his silvery beard.

‘You still want to do volunteering?’

‘Definitely. I still love these folks. Mostly.’

‘Ok, home you go. And Chester…’

‘Yes?’

‘Read the right books first, I hate when these happen.’

# # #