Having a quick funeral is a passion that no one will ever stop dreaming of. We prefer to yearn for a long life and even say a nice sentence before we die. But whenever we have to go to a funeral, we like to get there, bury and go. II. The idea of a slow burial with long and sad days like Isabel’s is a martyrdom. Perhaps there is no such thing as a perfect burial, not even an idyllic burial, but the fast one is totally invented and signifies courtesy.
The spectacle around death, the march through the kingdom’s territory, the parade of citizens to bid farewell to the queen, produce less laziness. A show is always a show: gum for the eyes. Maybe it’s because I was cured of fear when I read it. I married a communist, by Philip Roth. The funeral of the canary of Newark shoemaker Emidio Russomanno. The bird was named Jimmy, and one day he ate something he shouldn’t have and died. Russomanno held a grand funeral. A parade group held several carriages and there was a procession in the streets. Jimmy was placed in a white coffin and carried by four men. About ten thousand people gathered along the way. Everyone was laughing as Russomanno cried behind the coffin in the car. Even the coffin bearers were laughing.
Outside of one-off shows, rushing a funeral is always preferable to procrastination. Sometimes if there’s a rush, there’s a show. I experienced this in my town when Maldonado died. He was a handsome and tall neighbor. He was so tall and could not see far that he had a suitable box made for him. When the regiment reached the cemetery, someone noticed that the coffin had come out of the niche. After a few minutes of worrying, sacristan found a quick fix. He finished the funerals, wanted to be alone with the coffin and shortened the box with an ax and then shortened Maldonado by the knees. It was a magnificent ending and not without greatness.