Dada 69

I stood up without saying anything and followed him out the door. On the staircase, he explained: “We put him in our little mortuary so we don’t  upset the others. Every time one of our residents dies, they feel anxious for two or three days. That makes it difficult for us to do our job.”

We walked through a courtyard where there were a lot of old people chatting in little groups beneath the trees. They stopped talking as we walked by. Once we had passed, their conversations started up again. They sounded like sea birds calling in the distance and I thought of Old Srino and his parott. When we reached the door of a small building, the director stopped:

‘I`ll leave you here, Mr Rama Abdullah. I`ll be in my office if you need anything.” He paused to go.

He  looked at me strangely again as if he wanted to say something.

‘The funeral is set for ten O`clock tomorrow morning so you can attend the wake of your dearly departed. One more thing: Your Dada, it seems, often told his companions that he wished to have a Chinese burial but in this particular Catholic style.’ 

Maybe Dada had thrown that last bit in for good measure just to make sure everyone knew he was different or did he really seek to make his penance ?

‘I have taken the liberty to arrange everything. But I wanted to let you know this.” The director said.

I thanked him. While never professing to be an atheist, Dada had never once in his life given much thought to all that religious stuff. He was too busy with his wives and girlfriends, not to mention his beer and brandy and rum and his resting days with his buddies and the solidarity of the sea.

‘The Buddha is within inside us all ‘ he used to say and laugh.