by Jeff Strand
“I assure you I was more frightened than you were,” said Grandpa Zachary. “But the doctor said I’m the healthiest eighty-eight-year-old he’s ever seen. The pieces and parts don’t all work as well as they used to, but I plan to outlive you all. And when I say that, I don’t mean that I plan for your lives to be cut short. I mean that I plan to live for a ridiculously long time.”
“I’m really glad you’re okay, Grandpa,” said Marcus.
“You have nothing to worry about. I’m not going anywhere. We still have to run away to the circus someday.”
5
Marcus had never been to a funeral. His grandparents on Mom’s side were alive and well and living in Seattle, while his grandparents on Dad’s side—Grandpa Zachary’s son and daughter-in-law—had died before he was born. From what he’d seen in movies and on television, Marcus had expected a room filled with sobbing people, but the viewing felt more like a family reunion.
“Eighty-nine years,” said Uncle Greg. “That’s a pretty good run. Missed a hundred by eleven years though. That’s got to be frustrating.”
“Yeah,” said Marcus, wishing Uncle Greg would go talk to one of the many other available people in the funeral home.
“If you die when you’re seventy, that’s still three decades away from the big one-oh-oh. It was never really within your reach. But jeez, on his next birthday he would’ve been ninety, and then he’d only have been ten years away. That would really bug me. When you turn a hundred years old, you can basically say or do anything you want. What are people going to do? Put a hundred-year-old guy in jail for strangling somebody?”
“I think they probably would,” said Marcus.
“Really? I’d think they’d just let him go. I mean, how many more people can he possibly strangle at that age?”
“I’m not sure.”
“When you’re a hundred years old, it’s not like you can overpower somebody. You’re putting some effort into that. If I’m a judge and I’ve got a hundred-year-old man in my courtroom, my thought is, ‘Hey, the person he strangled had to deserve it.’ And even if they didn’t, they should’ve been able to fend off a hundred-year-old man, right? It’s like if you walk into a tar pit. It’s tragic, but you should’ve been paying more attention.”
“Are you saying that you hope you live to be a hundred so you can strangle somebody?” Marcus asked.
“Well, no, that’s not the only reason. Being able to say whatever you want would be pretty cool too. A hundred-year-old man could blurt out the most offensive thing ever, and we’d all just shrug and say, ‘What do you expect? He’s a hundred. Times were different back when he was born.’ I’m not saying that I would necessarily go around saying horrible things, but it would be nice to have the luxury, don’t you think?”
Marcus felt like this conversation could use a new direction. “How’s Aunt Catherine doing?”
“Oh, if you want to talk about somebody I’d like to strangle when I turn a hundred… No, no, really, she’s fine. We’re fine. It’s great being around her. Every day. Day in, day out, she’s always there. No time apart for us, no sir,” Uncle Greg said and sighed. “Don’t grow up to be like me, Marcus. Hold on to the sunshine in your life. I’m going to go get a handful of those little hot dog things in the croissants. It’s great that this funeral home has snacks. Do you want a few?”
“No, I’m okay. Thanks.”
Uncle Greg wandered off. Marcus was happy that he left, but now all he could think about was how much he missed Grandpa Zachary.
Somebody tapped Marcus on the shoulder. He turned around, and he saw it was Kimberly. His mood brightened.
She looked fantastic. He’d only ever seen her in jeans and a T-shirt, but of course, that would not be appropriate funeral attire. She was wearing a light blue dress, a dab of makeup, and her black hair hung down over her shoulders instead of being pinned back.
“Hey, Kimberly! I’m glad you made it!”
“I wouldn’t miss this,” she said, giving Marcus a hug. “I’m so sorry about Grandpa Zachary. He was always really nice to me, and I know how much he meant to you. Are you doing okay?”
Marcus shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”
“There are a lot of people here.”
“Yep. For such a cranky old guy, he had plenty of friends.” There were at least thirty people in the funeral home right now, and though it was a sad occasion, there was the occasional burst of laughter, probably from somebody sharing an amusing anecdote about Grandpa Zachary.
Kimberly glanced over at the casket. “Why is it closed casket if he died of a heart attack?”
“Grandpa Zachary always said he wanted a closed casket. He didn’t want people gawking at his dead body. I don’t blame him.”
“Are you sure he didn’t plan some sort of trick?”
Marcus laughed. “He would. One last prank after his death.”
“We should mess with people,” said Kimberly. “He’d want that.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. Maybe tell them the reason it’s a closed casket is that he really died in a bullfight.”
“His last words were, ‘Don’t tell me that bullfighting should be left to professionals!’”
Kimberly grinned. “Exactly!”
“Or that his last words were, ‘Hey, you want to see my new grenade trick?’”
“Or tell people that he decided to become an escape artist. This is his first attempt. Tell them if he’s not out in five minutes, they need to rescue him, or he’ll suffocate.”
“Yes! We could see if we could fool somebody into opening the casket!”
“I bet we could make it happen,” said Kimberly. “Working together, we can accomplish amazing things.”
“We should’ve thought about this before,” said Marcus. “We could’ve set up a spring-operated contraption so that when someone opened the casket, his body popped up.”
“We could cause heart attacks left and right.”
“Drum up business for the funeral parlor.”
“Oh, they’d appreciate that. Maybe we could get a commission. What do you think is fair?”
Marcus paused to consider the question. “Fifteen percent?”
“I was thinking twenty.”
“Are they covering the cost of the pop-up mechanism in the casket, or are we?”
“They are.”
“Then 15 percent is fair.”
Kimberly nodded. “All right. Should he be in zombie makeup, or should he look normal?”
“I’d say normal. We don’t want to cause a panic. If people get trampled, it’s way more work for the mortician than if they just drop dead.”
“Are we horrible people for making jokes like this?” asked Kimberly.
“Nope,” said Marcus. “Grandpa Zachary would approve.” Marcus fought some tears. “Actually, he’d probably say we’re making the trick too complicated. Maybe he should just disappear from the casket. We open the lid to show everybody he’s inside. And then we close it, wave a magic wand, open it again, and he’s gone.”
“I honestly can’t believe he didn’t plan that himself,” said Kimberly. “How would you pull off the trick?”
“Easy,” said Marcus. For some reason, he always found it easy to brainstorm magic tricks when Kimberly was there to listen to ideas. “Trapdoor in the casket. I’d distract them with the wand while I stepped on a pedal that released the trapdoor, or you’d pull a lever while all the attention was on me.”
“So his dead body would drop on the floor?” Kimberly asked, concerned.
“Well, yeah, but we’d put pillows down there.”
“Would the pillows muffle the sound enough?”
“We’d have the audience chant something,” said Marcus. “If they chanted his name, it would cover the sound of him hitting the pillows. The trick is perfect. Gran
dpa Zachary would be bummed that we wasted a perfect opportunity. I’m so disappointed.”
“It’s heartbreaking.”
“Promise me that you won’t let me die without arranging a trick where I disappear from my casket?” asked Kimberly.
“I can’t promise that. You could get attacked by a rhinoceros on the way home today, and then I’d have broken my vow.”
“A rhinoceros?”
“Or a hippopotamus. Or a really ferocious meerkat.”
“Actually, if I got attacked by a rhino, that would be impressive enough. A magic trick at my funeral would be overkill. I’d want people to talk about the rhino attack, not my body disappearing.”
They both laughed. But then despite the lighthearted conversation, the reality that Grandpa Zachary was truly dead hit him. Marcus suddenly wanted to burst into tears, but he didn’t want to do it in front of Kimberly. He didn’t want to hug her and start sobbing. It would make things awkward later. “Thanks for coming,” Marcus said, trying to keep his voice steady. “I should—”
As he glanced around the room, his sadness transformed into anger. What was Bernard Pinther doing here? How did he have the nerve to show up at Grandpa Zachary’s funeral?
Bellowing in rage and charging at him was probably not the appropriate way to handle this situation. Nor was flinging ninja stars at him, which didn’t matter anyway. Marcus neither owned ninja stars nor knew how to throw them with accuracy. Plus he wouldn’t have brought them to his great-grandfather’s funeral in the first place.
Marcus decided that the best approach was to ignore Bernard and hope that he’d walked into the wrong funeral parlor by mistake.
Then he realized that Bernard had seen him, and he was walking toward him. Now would be a good time for Uncle Greg to show up with an armload of hors d’oeuvres. (“Wooo! Free cheese and crackers! Everybody dig in!”) But no, his uncle was nowhere in sight. And Bernard was standing before Marcus, clearing his throat, and Marcus was going to have to respond to whatever he said. The wake was about to get really uncomfortable.
“Hello, Marcus,” said Bernard.
Marcus squirmed a bit. “Hi.”
“Who’s your friend?”
“I’m Kimberly.” She extended her hand, and Bernard shook it. Marcus hoped that whatever putrid bacteria lived on his hand didn’t make her sick.
“Pleased to meet you, Kimberly. My name is Bernard. Marcus, I’d like to offer my deepest condolences about your great-grandfather. We had our differences, obviously, but there was much about him to admire.”
Marcus wasn’t sure if he should say, “Thanks,” or, “Bite me.” He went with saying, “Thanks.”
“Circumstances have changed since your great-grandfather and I made our wager, and I want you to know that I have no intention of holding you to it. That should be a huge weight off your shoulders.”
Marcus had been so upset over the loss of Grandpa Zachary that he hadn’t even thought about the performance. His parents had let him skip school, and he’d told his four clients that he’d mow their lawns that weekend. But Bernard was right. It was a relief to know he wouldn’t actually have to go through with rehearsing and performing a stupendous trick.
Yet he could imagine the ghost of his great-grandfather, Zachary the Stupendous, hovering over him. Don’t let him cancel the show! This is for my honor! My hooonnnnnooooorrrrrr!
But you’re dead, Marcus would say. I was supposed to do this with your help.
Yes, I guess you’re right, Grandpa Zachary’s ghost would say. I didn’t think about that. This whole idea is ridiculous and impossible. Forget I said anything.
Also, you don’t believe in ghosts.
You’re right. I don’t! How hypocritical of me! And then Grandpa Zachary’s ghost would vanish.
“Are you all right?” asked Bernard. “You went very pale for a moment.”
Marcus stared at Bernard’s face. There was something about him that was…well, evil was probably taking it too far. Marcus doubted Bernard spent his evenings cackling with wicked laughter and plotting to rule the world. Mean was a better description, though maybe that was an exaggeration too. Bernard didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would kick a chipmunk in the face. Arrogant, Marcus decided. Bernard was arrogant. He thought he was so much better than Zachary, and he thought he was doing Marcus a great big favor by letting him out of their wager.
He is doing you a great big favor, said Marcus’s brain. You can’t do this show alone. Grandpa Zachary was your coach. Tell Bernard, “Thank you.”
“No, thank you,” said Marcus’s mouth.
“I beg your pardon?” asked Bernard.
He’s offering you an escape, said Marcus’s brain. Take it, you fool! You won’t do Grandpa Zachary’s honor any favors if you embarrass yourself in front of everybody.
A different part of Marcus’s brain said, But Grandpa Zachary wouldn’t want me to give up. He believed in me. He’d be disappointed if I didn’t try.
You’re not giving up, said another part of his brain, the part that usually only thought about potato chips. Look, none of this was your idea. You didn’t agree to this performance. The expectation was that you’d have Grandpa Zachary’s expertise available to you throughout the process of formulating this illusion.
Mmmm, sour cream and onion.
You did not know that Grandpa Zachary would, in fact, be deceased before the process even officially began. Therefore, you are under no obligation, morally or legally, to subject yourself to the anxiety, long hours of practice, and possible high cost of developing this trick.
I hope we’ve got salsa in the refrigerator. Chips taste better with salsa.
If you accept Bernard’s offer to cancel the wager, you are in no way disrespecting the memory of your great-grandfather. Since there’s a high risk of humiliation, you are actually protecting his memory.
Hey, it looks like Uncle Greg is eating chips with ridges. There are a lot of advantages to ridges, especially if there’s salsa or dip, but I’m not sure I want to go that route today.
Am I babbling? I feel like I’m babbling. You other parts of the brain will let me know if I’m babbling too much, right?
You’re babbling, said the part of his brain that had said Grandpa Zachary would be disappointed if Marcus just gave up.
Sorry, said the part of his brain focused on potato chips. That’s why I try not to think too much.
“No deal,” said Marcus’s mouth.
Bernard blinked in surprise. “Really?”
“That’s right. We made a bet, and I’m sticking to it.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“You’re only sixteen. That’s pretty young to be developing and performing amazing illusions.”
“Fifteen. Thank you for the compliment.”
Bernard shrugged. “All right. Whatever you want. You’ll be the opening act for whatever theatrical performance I have scheduled for that day. If you’re not amazing, I’ll encourage the audience to boo you right off the stage.”
“I can handle booing,” said Marcus.
You can’t handle booing, said Marcus’s brain.
“I’ll be in touch. See you in eight weeks. Sorry again about your loss.” Bernard nodded politely at Kimberly and then walked away.
“He seemed nice,” said Kimberly.
“He’s not,” said Marcus. “He’s terrible. Disinfect your hand with the strongest soap you can find. Or actually, better yet, dunk it in acid for a couple of seconds. Just enough to sizzle off the top few layers of skin.”
“So what was he talking about?”
“I have to create a bewildering illusion unlike anything the world has ever seen that will shock, stun, and astonish the audience at Bernard’s theater.”
“In two months?”
“A little
less, yeah.”
“Do you have a trick prepared?”
“No.”
“Do you know what you’re going to do for your performance?”
“No.”
“Do you have any ideas?”
“Not really.”
“Have you conquered your stage fright?”
“A little.”
“Seriously?”
“Maybe. Well, no.”
Kimberly looked at Marcus like he was crazy, which he supposed he was, if you reviewed all of the evidence. “And when that man said he’d let you out of the bet, you didn’t accept that offer?”
“Nope.”
“Are you sure that was the right decision?”
“Nope.”
“Do you think you should chase after him and say that you’ve changed your mind?”
“You don’t think I can do it?” Marcus wasn’t offended. It was a legitimate query.
“I didn’t say that. I’m gathering information. You answered no to a couple of questions where you probably would have answered yes if this was a good idea, but I’m still reserving judgment.”
Marcus sighed. “I just feel like I’ll be letting down Grandpa Zachary if I don’t go through with this illusion. He wanted me to do it. He thought it was a great opportunity to showcase my talent. And it’s not like we bet ten thousand dollars or something.”
Kimberly narrowed her eyes. “How much did you bet?”
“There’s no money involved. Grandpa Zachary’s honor is on the line.”
“How does that work?”
“I’m not sure,” Marcus admitted.
“I mean, are you robbed of all honor if the trick bombs? Does Grandpa Zachary have his honor taken away from beyond the grave? Does Bernard become more honorable if he wins, even though he’s basically just humiliating a teenager in front of a bunch of his paying customers? The parameters seem kind of vague.”
“It’s not the best bet ever,” Marcus admitted.
“So you definitely don’t want to chase after him? He might still be in the parking lot.”
“I’m going to do this. Worst-case scenario, it crushes my dreams of being a professional magician, and I devote the rest of my life to working in retail.”
