A Singular Man

28

Funeral Services

of

Sally (Dizzy Darling) Tomson

November The Twenty First

at one forty five o'clock P.M.

On Board "Sea Shark"

Pier Seven, Foot Of Owl Street

Burial At Sea

A GREEN uniformed page leaning to whisper to George Smith at one fifteen P.M. high up in the silent loneliness of The Game Club.

"Mr. Smith, your car is here, front entrance."

Smith picking up the sable black coat. Lain over a chair. Old clock's tinkle of chimes. Stare out this window to the water tanks on roofs, see other windows dark and empty.

Her picture in all the papers. Her career. Sobbing and broken bodied before she died, her golden hair out across the road. A green sweatered arm on her chest. On a sunny Saturday. Under the biggest bluest sky. A stranger held her clenched fist. If she had the strength to sob. She had the strength to live. Young doctor, hand on her shoulder in the ambulance, said she was dying and she didn't want to die.

Smith taking the elevator down to lobby and street level. Passing by the litde light at the reception desk, the message board. A chill wind coming through the revolving door. Sidewalk blowing up a winter dust. Herbert waiting at the end of the canopy.

Dreadnaught gliding away past the lunch time crowds. Crosstown by the bare trees of the park. Awake to a phone call early this morning. Miss Tomson's lawyer. Would I be present at six P.M. this evening at Miss Tom-son's apartment to hear something to your advantage. So many new buildings abuilding along the river, to look down on the creeping ships. And a wrecking ball one day will knock down Merry Mansions. Make a nice pile of rock and Hugo will be out of a job.

At the foot of Owl Street. A line of black cars turning into an iron barred gate. Held open by police. Flashbulbs popping. Her casket under a bright flag surrounded by flowers. Barge out in the river carrying trains. Two tugs towing a tramp steamer. On this wooden wharf these gleaming cars one behind the other.

Four blue sailors lowering a chain softened with green felt. Swinging the boom from the tender above the hearse. Great heavy lead container rises up swaying against the sky. Moves over the stern and steadied by hands comes down to rest. Your life was full of celebrities. And once you said, don't ever Smithy, join with those guys who after pulling some ruthless deals, sit back in the warmth of luxury looking everywhere for love.

The flat shores disappearing one hour and a half out across the water. Sea choppy. Sound of vomiting along the rail. Snow flurry sweeping the deck. Get sheltered here against the wind. Claude Grace hatless between two elderly black women when he climbed on board. Rather nice out here. Taste of salt on the lips. All the others gone inside to get hot beef tea. With a shadow left at my side.

"Hi friend. Remember me, Ralph. Did you know the real Sally. It's cold. You never know. Goes out of the house healthy, not knowing her minutes are numbered. Maybe this isn't the time. But there's a rumour. She left you money in her will. Is it some kind of mistake. No insult meant. Beautiful girl like that. The legs alone. Say she slept with a different guy for every year of her age. You want to know how old she is."

Big white liner passing, passengers look so small at the rail as they wave. On this latitude and longitude of green blue ocean. Of all the suprising things, Miss Tomson has been in the military. Maybe saluting in there on the satin with one of her long tapering arms. And I've got a little simple prayer because you also had religion. From the port stern side of this ship. See the horizon of thin white fingers with a sunlight glint of red and gold. Those were the tip top towers in which you lived. Slip out from under that flag to the fishes dolphins whales, room to yawn and stretch. Command to fire the rifles. One splash in a rolling sea. And bubbles and wreaths are left. But maybe you'd like to know that at night seals sing. They come up out of the water with their big sad eyes.

Good news

In the sweet

By and by.