The Librarian and the Mortician

Bernadette and Benedict Olivier were never ones for social affairs beyond a reasonable hour. Most residents of The Deep, a scratch of land featuring humble department stores, barbershops, schools and churches, know to leave the Oliviers to their business. Should one ever be so bold as to threaten their routine, you were sure to be met with those eyes, shocking, brilliant and never-ending. Their eyes were not large, just piercing and endless. If an event of the modest town absolutely required the presence of Bernadette and her menage, they were to occur during the day, preferably the weekends. Monday holidays were always a treat.

The Oliviers were one of the most respected households of the town. There was Bernadette, the librarian, a pleasantly severe woman of walnut hue and an esteemed member of local gentile society. Responsible for hosting splendid teas at the library, Bernadette Olivier invited all to hear her extend vast amounts of knowledge on varying topics. Witnesses of her diving insight and forethought included women, children, and sometimes men. At the most recent tea, the library was decked in eggshell lace and doilies, turquoise-encrusted centerpieces at each guest table and Bernadette’s master chair lined with ornate feathers. A particularly curious child by the name of Elegance Young, age 9, was enraptured by Bernadette’s presence. She was 5 minutes into her speeches when Elegance blurted out:

“Miss Bernie, how come you know so much?”

Without missing a beat, Bernadette responded. “I see...all.”

“Don’t your eyes get tired?” Elegance was not letting up. The people were shooting nasty glances at the wild and wonderful child.

Bernadette looked into that child’s soul, craned her neck ever with the poise of an heiress and smiled. Just a smile, nothing more or less. The child was intrigued all the more.

Then there was her husband, Benedict, an equally respected, equally walnut-colored man possessing an almost overbearing presence in the eyes of man. He was a mortician in The Deep. Those who worked the profession before him said they’d never seen a small town business attract such massive clientele. Seemed like people from 5 towns over in any direction sojourned to the feet of Benedict Olivier to die. His flesh was lucrative and mortal.

His current employer, Prosper Young, an old man of means and Elegance’s grandfather and primary caretaker, would often ask him the strangest questions in the presence of other employees and the bereaved.

“When you figure the next body will be in?” Prosper queried.

“Anon, my friend. Anon.” Benedict would say, gazing toward the distance at no one in particular.

The grieving would just stare at him, breaking their gaze should he ever make contact.

____________

Every evening at the same time, Bernadette would scoot across Main Street where the library sat. At the age of 65, she moved as though weighless. Bernadette would glide across the next few blocks of the downtown intersections greeting all. She knew them not nearly as well as they wished to know her. Mothers in conflict with their maturing daughters would wait by the gates of the high school 4 blocks south of the library, in Bernadette’s path home, and beseech her wisdom. If she had the time, she would pour out an offering at once shrewd and a salve. Should the sun begin to set, she’d end her conversations curtly and descend upon BowFeather Lane where she shared a most interesting life with Benedict.

Per custom, he would join her from the opposite direction at almost the exact same time every afternoon. They never worked past 6pm in the spring to early fall months. Once winter arrives, they would adjust their schedules to leave work by 4pm. Their employers, having achieved a richer reputation with the Oliviers on payroll, obliged without question. It’s been this way for years and shall be until the couple deem it otherwise.

When they meet, they promenade to their humble immaculately kept home, draw the curtains, wait til the setting sun trades her station with the moon and they feast.

__________

The summer of Elegance Young’s ninth year was the hottest the people of The Deep had felt in almost four decades. The city had seen such an improvement since those days. The literacy programs bloomed full force under the tutelage of a young teacher who journeyed to this nearly forgotten town with her husband that very summer. Apparently, he studied business at the same school she’d received her teaching degree. His skill needed not be put to the test. As a living embodiment of the primary rule of business, to stay in business, he was in himself success made manifest.

Elegance wanted so desperately to read as many books as she could that summer. Every day, she split her activities between sitting up under her granddaddy, her oldest friend, or situated among stacks in Ms. Bernadette’s library. Her parents were victims to either tragic accidents or tragic circumstances, so Prosper Young filled in the blanks where they couldn’t. He played mother, father, grandfather and confidante.

It was a 15 minute journey from the funeral parlor to the library, door to door. Even in the early morning breeze, beads of sweat pooled underneath the massive fro that she and Prosper loved to see grow wild. August 4 felt like hell had reached The Deep. Old ladies brandished parasols while the little ones ran nakedly with ice cold cherry drinks that decorated their chests and the broken sidewalks before succumbing to the miserable heat.

August 4 was also the day the town was to recognize Bernadette and Benedict Olivier for 40 years of contribution and service to the betterment of The Deep. A grand soiree was being held at 3pm. Every business agreed to close their production early for the occasion, including the library and the funeral parlor.

Elegance shook her hair freely and ran to hug up on her grandfather as he busied himself. He was managing a large box filled with sunglasses.

“Ain’t you s’pose to wear those, PawPaw?” Elegance began rifling through the contents.

Prosper shoos her away, correcting her. “Aren’t you’. And no, my dear. These are for the party this afternoon.”

“Why?” Elegance hadn’t grown out of the questioning phase of her toddler years.

“Tonight we celebrate Mr. and Mrs. Olivier, but it’s also the solar eclipse.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s wonderful. It’s when the sun and the moon allow us to witness their union. They pass each other like old friends do. One in front of the other.” Prosper demonstrates.

“Eww, we’re going to watch the sun and the moon kiss??” Elegance scrunches her face.

Prosper mimics her. “Yes and we’re going to wear these so we don’t burn our eyes off and turn our faces orange. Now, scoot!”

Elegance hops out of the parlor before the first employee, Mr. Benedict is scheduled to arrive. Before she can wipe the sweat off her forehead, new populations of perspiration beat upon her upper lip, the back of her neck, her feet. She takes her time getting to her next destination, stopping short at a congregation of bushes just before the intersection of Main and Bowfeather. Wiry and nosy, she hops into the bushes close enough to hear the corner side conversation.

“We could always leave early, Bernie.” It’s the voice of Mr. Benedict.

“Ben, now how would that look? The guests of honor taking off from their own party?” Bernadette gracefully reaches into her purse, snatches a kerchief and methodically wipes her brow.

“We can’t be out there, among all those people, when it happens.” Benedict cries.

“Fine,” Bernadette thinks. “We’ll split up right before it happens. The party is going to be in the town square, away from here. We take whatever route we have to take and get back to this spot before the moon meets the sun.”

“What do we tell people tomorrow?”

“The sun should be back out. We can just rejing the festivities. Say we had to leave for a minute. Blame it on the heat. Anything.”

Benedict gives her a look. He responds.

“If they see us...we fly.” Bernadette nods her approval. They depart.

___________

Elegance could’ve imploded trying to discover whatever secret the Oliviers had as she rummaged through pages of Sharon Draper, Jacqueline Woodson and Kheryn Alexander. From around the corner, she’d peak her head to spy on Mrs. Bernadette and her plots. Mrs. Bernadette was not herself. She was flustered and uncommonly scatter-brained. Townspeople had a habit of visiting during her work hours for a reading, literal and metaphysical. Today, she was having none of it. Her eyes darted back and forth in a feverish pas de deux. She’d twist her neck to and fro. The library was cool, a reprieve from the crimes of humidity outside, but Mrs. Olivier sweat constantly and appeared flush. With time, she glued a smile to her face, encouraging those who wished to delight in her success that day that she was up to celebrating and being celebrated; that she was a real woman of society through and through.

The seconds birthed the minutes, the minutes stole the hours. It was after 1pm and nearly time for the storefronts and other businesses to close their doors. 2pm was the agreed upon closing schedule. At 1:30, Elegance waltzed up to Ms. Bernadette, flocking about her information desk.

“I got a question, Miss Bernie.”

“Have,” Bernadette pecked at her pupil “And the answer is no.”

“I didn’t even ask you yet!” Elegance retorted.

Bernadette composed herself. “Ask.”

“Why can we see the sun and the moon at the same time?”

Bernadette looks at Elegance, looks through her really. She weighs her words.

“Because every now and then, the world needs to believe in miracles.”

____________

The people of The Deep cake-walked to the town square in their summer best--white silk gloves gave the grandma’s pearlescent glows. Uncles who hadn’t let go of their glory days flexed monochromatic lavender and sky blue and peach linen suit ensembles. Everyone was a vision, inhaling the splashes of sun into their fingertips, their forearms glistening from newly applied shea butter.

They all stopped their individualities for the sake of the whole. How sweet it is to celebrate the people who make your home home? How fortunate they all were to have been blessed by the signs and wonders of the Oliviers, prophetic in their presence alone. They sang freedom songs and danced with their hips low into the gravel and cobblestone of their town square, The Mountain of Good Hope. They all wore their sunglasses.

Before them, the Oliviers stood. Regal, strict, saint-like. Their eyes took in their loved ones, their patrons, their friends. No one dared notice the panic set in their magnificent eyes. For who would give voice to fear amidst revelry?

____________

It began. The great convergence. The moon and the sun in one. Elegance saw the Oliviers trapped in an unholy embrace with her grandfather. He was so happy for them, his oldest friends, people he really didn’t know at all. She ran to meet them on the platform where they stood in front of the town, not knowing how she’d save them and what exactly she’d be saving them from.

She took granddaddy Prosper by the hand. The lips of the stars were aligned.

“EVERYBODY LOOK!” Elegance pointed straight up to the sky and broke the embrace between her grandfather and the Oliviers. The people craned their necks to witness the miracle above. It was a most spectacular sight.

Prosper, however, looked to his granddaughter, arms outstretched. On each arm, there sat a barn owl, walnut plumage and eggshell breast and belly. Elegance brought her arms in closer and the barn owls kissed. They craned their necks toward her. Their eyes pierced through her, seeing all.

The winged beasts flew into the heavens above, uncertain of their return.