The Cool Room by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 14

After the service, Jonathan drove home to his wife, as he did every evening. He, too, was affected by the especially mournful tone of the day’s events. But his reaction was uniquely somber in that he was the one who had spent the last three days preparing the young girl’s body. The deep, elongated wounds, the dismembered head and grim open-mouth smile would not let go of him and would, for weeks, haunt his mind. Sleep had become difficult, and he found himself easily distracted. He had worked on clients in a similar state, but none as young as the young girl whose flesh and shattered bone he had pieced back together. Iona did her best to be supportive when his work became unusually gruesome, but her kind attentiveness did little good to soothe his tortured soul.

“You’re not thinking of changing careers, are you?” she asked.

It had never occurred to him that he would find a different way to make a living, and certainly he would not allow this situation to push him out of his chosen field.

“I don’t think I would ever do that,” he replied. Taking a moment to reflect on the idea, he followed with what he had known all along. “When I got into this, I knew there would be times that would be really hard to deal with, and sometimes it seems impossible. I mean, I’m only human. I know someone has to do this shit, but I’m good at it. Why would I give it up? I’m doing people a service. They need to grieve, and I need to make sure there’s something there for them to say goodbye to.”

This seemed to be all that needed to be said. He had, in a way, acted as his own therapist – with or without his wife’s support. After all, what was it she could possibly say that could sanitize the open wound of a degree of emotional involvement he knew to stay clear of? Although the images and emotions continued to cling to him for several weeks, they eventually faded, as any similar situations do. Yet, the mere presence of his wife seemed to speed the healing process until the next time he found himself faced with similar carnage and the onslaught of emotional agony.

His professional life now took on an additional calling. He would soon act as a mentor to Emily, who was about to join him in reconstructing the dead. Frank had years of experience that she could benefit from, but he felt that if Emily was to learn, she should learn from the best – an artist. And he could think of no one else but Jonathan. In the meantime, the deceased still rolled into the doors – into the cooling room and onto the stainless steel table. They spent hours being touched up and injected with embalming fluid. For now, the horrific sight of mangled flesh kept its distance, allowing those who passed of nothing more than entropy to grace the lace lining of family-chosen caskets. Life for the funeral technicians seemed to be back to normal. But normal would soon take on a different meaning as Emily walked in for the first day of her new career. Before arriving, she notified Frank by phone as soon as possible to avoid any disruptions should there be an active service taking place. Frank, however, had penciled her in on his calendar and, anticipating her arrival, was prepared to give a more thorough tour of where she would be working. He also thought that a female technician might bring a gentle presence to those seemingly lost in sorrow. This, however, was certainly not the reason he hired her. He saw it as something of a trade. He was giving her the start she needed, and she would be providing him with the skills that four years of higher education provided for her.