The Ghost Who Fed Them Bones (28 page)

“Put this new blanket down at my head and see if you can lift me onto it before the blanket tears.”

I couldn’t quite work out whether Alice’s body was heavier than I expected or not. That would give me a clue as to how intact she was without actual y looking. Pinning the Earl’s blanket down with my foot I rather inelegantly manhandled Alice onto the edge turning her and shaking her to get her lying along the blanket, feet first this time. It was not a delicate procedure. If she had stil been alive she would have had a thousand bruises.

“Wel done, Paul. That was very brave of you. Now you have to drag me up the slope towards the car. Don’t worry about hurting me. I don’t feel anything except an urgency to work fast.”

Getting her to the car was not so hard, but I then stood there trying to work out how to hoist her into the boot without resorting to hugging her close, an idea which made my flesh crawl.

“There are some ropes in the boot,” Alice observed. “Attach one to my feet and winch it round the boot hinge and tie it fast when my feet are touching.”

This left Alice feet-up, head-down, like a large bedraggled fish suspended from an anglers rod.

“Now you can lift my head up and swing me in.”

I stil had to hold her under the back to heave her in. In the end I took a deep breath, inhaled cal ous determination and finished her off with my knee. I slammed the boot shut.

Strangely, Alice was breathing hard. “That was exhausting,” she complained with awe.

I wondered whether we should start fil ing in the hole again. It al depended on what the Earl’s story was. I lounged on the side of the road to consider my decision, and then resolved that I would. After al , manoeuvring the tractor looked fun. It took me a minute or so to master the controls, but by the time I saw the Earl and the farmer ambling slowly back towards us along the track in animated yet peaceable conversation, I had nearly repaired the damage to the track.

“Don’t worry,” the farmer soothed me. “I’l finish off. You have had a traumatic day.”

I carried on.

“Please,” insisted the farmer, “leave it to me.” I shut off the engine and climbed down, discovering my legs to be weakly uncertain as I hit the ground. The farmer grabbed me by the elbow to steady me. “Careful, now.” He climbed onto the tractor and fired it up again.

The Earl got into the car and I staggered over to the passenger side. The farmer nodded to us.

“What on earth did you tel him?” I asked the Earl, an involuntary smirk exploring its way across my face.

“He is a very reasonable man,” he replied. “He understood our predicament.”

“What was that?” I asked intrigued, with Alice listening intently.

“I told him that we needed to bury a body and that we would pay him handsomely to keep his mouth shut.”

“And he said yes?” That I could not believe.

“Of course he said yes,” exclaimed the Earl. “He wanted the money. However, I may find the police waiting for me when I come back, not that they wil find anything, natural y.”

I didn’t know what to make of it, but the farmer’s behaviour seemed to bear out the Earl’s claim, and the Earl seemed to consider that everything had gone exactly to his plan as he had envisaged it.

As I said, I could never hack it as an aristocrat.

* * *

Alice’s reburial service is dignified and simple. Only the Earl, the Countess and I attend of the living, with Alice representing her dead self.

It is a tortuous enterprise for both Alice and me. We neither know what wil happen next. Alice is hoping that her reburial wil release her spirit to the light. I am half-hoping that too, but also reluctant to see her go.

“You have promised to come and visit my grave regularly,” Alice reminds me. “That wil maintain the bond between us.

You cannot want me to linger here in this state forever. That would be very selfish of you.”

“No, I don’t want that. I want you to be here and not be here.”

“That is how I wil always be,” Alice assures me, without explaining herself.

The Earl backs the car up to the grave while the Countess guides him imperiously lest he inadvertently drop a wheel over the edge. “That’s enough, Constance. That’s enough,” she cal s out, rapping the car frame pre-emptively.

We haven’t ordered a coffin (how could we?), but the Earl knows enough to realise that we need ropes to lower Alice into her new resting place. We carry her body out of the boot to lie across the ropes positioned in paral el on the ground. I then take hold of the two rope strands on my side, the Earl and the Countess grasp the opposite ends, and we lift Alice until she hovers over the grave.

“Extreme care here,” the Earl orders.

The Countess is straining to be ‘game’ in pul ing on her section of the rope but it is obviously a struggle for her. Alice seems to be holding her breath as if nervous at being in the hands of an tottering pal bearer. She is lowered unevenly and unsteadily but she arrives as planned.

Alice claps us with genuine appreciation. “Wel done. I am home.” She real y is so pleased that the Earl and I burst into a laughter which confuses the Countess who, neither being able to see nor hear Alice, is oblivious to her reaction.

The Earl holds out his hands affectionately, almost longingly, towards the real Alice, the ghost standing beside me.

“Alice, what do we say … ?” He al ows his question to linger. “We owe you so much. You have been the most extraordinary experience of my life.” I glance at the Countess but she remains respectful with her eyes lowered. “You have solved a puzzle for me. You have relieved me of a most terrible burden that has plagued me since I was a smal child – the burden of seeing what absolutely no-one can see, until I ran into young Paul here. Those who see too much have an affliction as crippling as those who see too little. I genuinely believe that. You have redeemed me.” The concept of redemption is clearly of great significance to him. “And I now appreciate your suffering, the suffering endured by al your kind who cannot leave the earth. I pray to God that that never happens to the Countess here or to me.”

(And to me?).

“To Paul too, of course,” the Earl qualifies his statement hastily, “but he has a long time to go.”

(Not so long).

“I am only sorry that we never knew each other while you were alive. It makes me realise that I live like a pearl in the midst of a community I know absolutely nothing about. That realisation is humbling. How could I accept to be among so many people whose lives are unknown to me, even incomprehensible? That is a truly terrible thing to recognise in myself –

my single-minded focus on myself. So many people pass me by like ghosts when they are stil alive, and only come alive once they are dead. You have taught me al of this. Is it too late for me to change? Outwardly I can only appear the same, but in my heart I wil be different, paying penance for what I now realise I should have been.”

The Earl remains standing there with arms outstretched like a distressed sleep-walker which is maybe as he has felt his entire life. The Countess moves over to him and cuddles her arm around his back. “Come on, Dear. There is no need to torture yourself so. You have a kind heart and you have always made us happy. That is not so bad, is it? If God had wanted you to be God, He would have abdicated, wouldn’t He? Accept, Constance, the frailties of humanity.”

I feel compel ed to contribute something too, however awkwardly. I didn’t want to make a speech for the sake of it but the chal enge has been passed over to me by default.

“Alice, it is a beautiful place to be here for eternity. At last I think you are lucky.” I stop. It is a short speech.

There is a pause.

“I would like to sing something at my funeral,” ventures Alice.

“Certainly,” says the Earl. “What would you like to sing?”

“She would like to sing something?” inquires the Countess.

“Ave Maria.”

“Sing anything you like, Dear,” the Earl encourages her.

So she sings Ave Maria exquisitely in a sexy French accent topped by vibrato. The Countess simply stands there, head bowed, until someone tel s her it is over.

Alice continues, word perfect:

«Je crois en un seul Dieu, le Père tout-puissant, créateur du ciel et de la terre, de l'univers visible et invisible.

Je crois en un seul Seigneur, Jésus-Christ, le Fils unique de Dieu, né du Père avant tous les siècles ; il est Dieu,
né de Dieu, lumière, née de la lumière, vrai Dieu, né du vrai Dieu. Engendré, non pas créé, de même nature que
le Père ( même si la traduction "consubstantiel au Père" serait plus précise ), et par lui tout a été fait. Pour nous
les hommes, et pour notre salut, il descendit du ciel; par l'Esprit-Saint, il a pris chair de la Vierge Marie, et s'est fait
homme. Crucifié pour nous sous Ponce Pilate, il souffrit sa passion et fut mis au tombeau. Il ressuscita le
troisième jour, conformément aux Ecritures, et il monta au ciel; il est assis à la droite du Père. Il reviendra dans la
gloire, pour juger les vivants et les morts; et son règne n'aura pas de fin. Je crois en l'Esprit Saint, qui est Seigneur
et qui donne la vie; il procède du Père et du Fils. Avec le Père et le Fils, il reçoit même adoration et même gloire;
il a parlé par les prophètes. Je crois en l'Eglise, une, sainte, catholique et apostolique. Je reconnais un seul
baptême pour le pardon des péchés. J'attends la résurrection des morts, et la vie du monde à venir. Amen.»

“And now I would like to dance on my grave,” she declares and proceeds to do so with a burst of rock ‘n’ rol jiving before glaring defiantly up at us. “I bet nobody has ever done that at a funeral before. I feel wel and truly buried now, thank you. Now heap the soil on, please, Paul. I want to get comfortable.”

“What’s happening?” whispers the Countess noting the shocked expressions on our faces.

“Alice has executed a rather energetic dance on her own grave,” the Earl explains.

“Oh my!” gasps the Countess, poised uncertainly between astonishment and delight. “Is that a local custom?”

“I doubt it,” the Earl replies. “It works best when you are as light as air.”

“And now what is happening?”

“Paul is going to close the grave.”

“I think there is something we should do before that. One minute, Paul,” and the Countess steps over to the pile of dirt, picking up a handful and sprinkling it over Alice. “Farewel , Dear. Good luck.” The Earl fol ows her lead. “Alice, My Darling.”

I put down my spade.

“Oh in God’s name,” Alice complains, “enough formality.” I ignore her and continue to dust her body, then I pick up the spade again and start shovel ing as the Earl and Countess watch respectful y. In fact, they wait it out until I have finished.

“Wel done, Paul. Wel done, Alice. That was a delightful ceremony. Now what happens?”

“I am hoping that I get to be spirited away,” Alice replies nervously, “but there is no sign of anything happening yet. I am not fading am I?”

“Not that I can see. Perhaps it takes a few minutes for heaven to get the message. In the meantime, come back to the house, Alice. We need to toast your restful future.”

“If you don’t mind, Milord, I think I’l stay here, where they can find me.”

“I am sure that they wil find you wherever you are, My Dear, but it is up to you. Paul?”

“I’l stay here a moment or two, if I may, then I wil join you.”

“Right you are, then.”

Alice and I watch them returning slowly to the house.

“What if I don’t go?” Alice’s voice is verging on panic.

“I am sure you wil very soon,” I assure her.

“Perhaps you are keeping me here.”

“I could be.”

“I think it is time we said goodbye.”

“OK.” I spread my arms. “I wil visit you often.”

“You had better, but only after I have gone.”

She reaches up and gives me a ghostly kiss on the lips whose outline I almost feel.

“Another lifetime, Paul, eh?”

“I hope so.”

“So do I. I love you. Best of luck. Now go!”

So I turn my back. The cigales are doing their own dance as I cross the garden, as are the frogs. It is a stunning last visit to the Château and I savour it by remaining outside for several minutes longer than necessary. Mme Paladin meets me in the hal . “Milord and Milady are in the summer room,” she informs me. “The Earl is very upset.”

Not that he appears that upset by the time I arrive, more chal enged. “I have been thinking, Paul, how do I get to have a funeral like that?”

“Don’t go getting sil y ideas, Constance. You wil have hundreds, if not thousands, of stony-faced mourners and the ful panoply of the church. Knowing you, you won’t want to hang around after that.”

“Good God, no, nor shal I.”

“Anyway, enough of such thoughts. You are a sprightly old man with years on you yet. Let’s not be maudlin. So you are back in Brussels soon are you, Paul?”

“Yes, in five days.”

“I should think that you wil be glad to get back home, won’t you? I shal be. English gardens are so beautiful in the autumn, don’t you think?” When I do not answer, she adds “Of course, you couldn’t care a less. Young men never do, but it wil creep up on you eventual y. Constance hated the garden until he turned at least fifty. Now he is out there more often than I am, bringing me back news of the latest buddings and flowerings, aren’t you, Constance?”

“I can go for hours without seeing anyone other than a few ancestors whom I ignore.”

“I would have thought that they might prove rather interesting, Constance. You should try talking to them.”

“I doubt that anyone in my family has ever been interesting, and if I once start chatting to them I’l never be able to stop them. No, I definitely prefer the peace and quiet.”

“Have it your own way. Wil you stay for dinner, Paul – Alice’s wake?”

When I hesitate, the Earl insists. “Of course you must, Paul. We must see Alice out in some style, even if it is only the three of us.”

“Then, thank you,” I say, persuaded that it isn’t just a polite offer I am supposed to refuse.