The Funeral
After Kimberly stopped crying in her father’s arms, she insisted on giving Keith a close inspection. (All our worries about covering him up seemed a little absurd.) Andrew tried to stop her, but she ignored him and pulled the blanket off and crouched beside the body.
She was awfully grim. She didn’t say a thing, but she didn’t cry, either. She actually lifted Keith’s head, turned it from side to side, and searched through his hair with her fingers. (I think she was trying to figure out what killed him.) After a while, she unbuttoned the front of his shirt. She asked us for some help, so we lifted him into a sitting position and Kimberly pulled his shirt off. She put it on right away, over her bikini top, but didn’t fasten the buttons.
Then the three of us, working together, wrapped Keith in the blanket. Andrew wound the rope around it, so that the blanket would stay put. The result was a tidy, man-shaped bundle. Tidy except for the fact that Keith’s feet stuck out the end.
Andrew slung Keith over his shoulder. With him in the lead, we made our way back to the beach.
Billie, Connie and Thelma were waiting for us at the campsite. They were all pretty much in tears. When we showed up, they gathered around Kimberly, shaking their heads and sobbing, hugging her and muttering. Kimberly seemed to be taking things pretty well. She was grim, but didn’t fall apart. Something about the way she stood there, being really brave and wearing Keith’s festive shirt, got to me so that I choked up, myself.
We had a discussion about what to do with Keith’s body. Since we don’t expect to be castaways for any great length of time, we didn’t want to dispose of it in any sort of permanent way. We wanted it handy and easy to recover.
We let Kimberly make the final decision. She chose to bury Keith (store him, more like it), over where the rocks jutted out to the south side of the beach. The place was close enough so we could keep an eye on it and get to the body easily in case of rescue. It was also far enough away so that the thing wouldn’t exactly be living with us. I’m hoping we won’t be able to smell it.
Bad enough that we can see it.
Not the body. It’s out of sight. But every time I turn my head in that direction, I can’t help but look at the pile of rocks covering it. Not to mention the cross. Kimberly made the cross out of driftwood, this afternoon. She stood it up at the head of Keith’s “grave.” It’s gnarled and twisted and as white as bleached bones.
That’s getting ahead of things, though.
First came the decision about where to put Keith. Then we all trooped over there, Andrew marching in the lead with the body slung over his shoulder. (Thelma came with us. Her ankle injury had been pretty minor, and she was able to hobble along okay without help by the time we had our funeral procession.) Kimberly picked exactly the spot where she wanted the grave to be. Then Andrew and Billie and I helped her to clear some rocks out of the way.
Thelma stood by and cried like a maniac.
Connie didn’t help, either, but acted strange; she stood rigid and watched, had this far-off look in her eyes, and rubbed her upper arms as if she was cold. Personally, I don’t think she was grieving over Keith. I think she was scared witless.
After we’d cleared a depression in the rocks, Andrew and Kimberly loaded Keith inside it.
Then Billie said, “Someone should say something.”
“Let’s bow our heads,” Andrew said. We did. In a low and steady voice, he said The Lord’s Prayer. Knew it by heart, which came as a surprise to me. I wouldn’t have taken him for the religious sort.
While everybody still had their heads down, I broke into “Danny Boy.” God only knows what possessed me. I’ve got a pretty good tenor voice, but I’m not a guy who goes around singing in public. It was a sappy thing to do. The guy’s name wasn’t even Danny.
But I’d liked him, and I felt so sorry for Kimberly…
When I got into “Danny Boy,” the waterworks were a sight to see. Everybody cried.
Even Kimberly teared up. After the song was done, she came over to me, wet-eyed and sniffing. She put her arms around me and hugged me.
I’m hoping she’ll do that again sometime, under more favorable conditions.
Fat chance.
She was too overcome with emotion to know what she was doing.
Anyway, I’m glad I went nuts and sang “Danny Boy.” She wouldn’t have hugged me, except for that.
When it was time to finish the burial, she asked everyone to leave. “I’ll take care of it,” she said. So we all left her there.
Away from the rocks where Kimberly was working, Andrew called the rest of us together.
“I don’t want anyone to go straying off alone,” he said. “Keith didn’t have an accident. He was murdered.”
Thelma let out a high-pitched, squealy sound. She seemed embarrassed by it, and plastered a hand across her mouth.
Connie started to shake.
Billie, frowning with concern, put an arm across Connie’s shoulders. “It’s all right, honey,” she said.
“We think it happened out in the jungle where we found him,” Andrew went on. “Someone knocked him on the head, and then hung him. That’s how we figure it.” He glanced at me.
“It was probably just one person who did it,” I added. “I mean, the sneaky way it was done.”
“Somebody strong enough to hoist Keith’s body fairly high up in a tree,” Andrew said.
“What’ll we do? Billie asked.
“I’m not sure yet. Need some time to think things through. Let’s figure on a pow-wow later on. For now, we’ll probably be all right as long as nobody goes off alone. I don’t think the killer’ll come after any of us out here on the beach in plain sight.”
“What about… when we need to relieve ourselves?” Billie asked. “Do you want us to do it right here on the beach?”
Connie joined the party. “Not me. Huh-uh.”
“We’ll work something out,” Andrew said. “For the time being, we can keep on using the same area as before. But not without an escort. Let me know, and I’ll go with you.”
“Oh, charming,” Connie said.
“I changed your diapers, babe. But don’t worry, I won’t peek.”
“This really sucks,” Connie said.
Andrew suddenly looked steamed. “You’ve got two sisters whose lives have been blown all to hell in a matter of less than twenty-four hours. There’s an asshole out there who’ll probably try and kill more of us the first time he gets a chance. What we do not need at this particular juncture is any kind of adolescent shit from you. We know you’re deeply inconvenienced by all this, but…”
“Go to hell!” she blurted. Bursting into tears, she whirled around and ran toward the water.
Thelma, by the way, was already on her knees, sobbing into her hands. This had happened at about the time Andrew made the remark about the two sisters whose lives had been “blown all to hell.”
Billie scowled at Andrew and shook her head. “That was really uncalled for, do you know that?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but went hustling after Connie.
I was the only member of the group still standing, in Andrew’s presence. He seemed to be glaring at me from behind his sunglasses.
“I didn’t say anything,” I told him.
“Don’t be a smartass,” Andrew said. And stalked off himself.
I was left on my own, so I got my bag and came up to my tower. (Violating the new rules about straying off, I suppose, but nobody called me on it.) There was a lot of journal to catch up with. Instead of going to the place I’d found yesterday, I picked a spot in the rocks where I had a view of our beach.
When I arrived, Kimberly was still busy on the other side of the inlet, picking up rocks and gently arranging them on top of her husband. After she finished with that, she took care of making the cross. (I’ve been keeping an eye on her while I write. The others are down there, too, but they haven’t been doing anything worth mentioning.) For a while now, Kimberly has been sitting on the beach. She is still wearing Keith’s bright, Hawaiian shirt. Her legs are out in front of her, her knees drawn up, her arms around her shins. She seems to be gazing out at the water. A breeze is stirring her hair, and fluttering the shirt a little behind her back.