Fiction by Howard Marsee

Howard Marsee is a graduate of the University of Florida Law School where he was a law review editor and wrote news copy for his college radio station. He is now a Florida attorney, arbitrator, special magistrate, and mediator. He’s published three novels: Write Sorrow on the Bosom of the Earth; Bridge at Mission Springs; and Dead Girl Waving, authored an unpublished screen play, Resurrection Mountain, and written numerous articles for historical society publications.

Burying Elmer

They had been digging for three hours. For the first two hours, the summer sun drenched them in sweat. Otis Fry and Homer Dix were only three feet deep in the hard, red clay when the storm arrived. It was Homer’s turn in the hole. With a beer in one hand, Otis was trying with a shovel to keep dirt from falling back into the grave. They had made the mistake of piling it on the uphill side of the hole, and rainwater was washing it back in.

“Damn it, Otis. Put the beer down and shovel the stuff back away from the hole. It’s coming in as fast as I shovel it out, and I’m ankle deep in water.”

“The coffin’s in the way.”

A cheap, unadorned, wooden coffin sat on the uphill side of the grave, close to the hole, and dirt from the hole was piled high against it. Homer’s dog lay at the foot of the coffin, hunkered down against the pelting rain. They were on the downhill side of a small, fenced cemetery.

“This is the Boudreaux family cemetery, ain’t it?” asked Otis.

“Yeh,” said Homer.

“Then why they burying Elmer so far from the other family graves?”

“Family took a vote. They figured, under the circumstances, they didn’t want him near everybody else. Even his momma agreed. Didn’t mind him being in the cemetery, though,” said Homer. “Thought that was fitting.”

“How much we getting paid for this job?” asked Otis. He was stacking shovels of dirt on top of the coffin to get it away from the edge of the hole.

“A hundred bucks.”

“You cut a shitty deal, Homer. Digging a grave is worth more than a hundred dollars, and Elmer owed me over a hundred dollars. When you and me split the hundred dollars, I’m still out over fifty bucks to Elmer.”

Elmer Boudreaux was the dead man in the coffin.

“Elmer ain’t paying us,” said Homer. “Becky Jo is.”

“I still say you still cut a shitty deal. Digging graves is hard work.”

“Becky Jo saw on Facebook that one hundred dollars was the going rate for grave digging,” said Homer.

“She must have been looking at a post from Bangladesh.”

“We got to cut her some slack,” said Homer. “She’s Elmer’s wife.”

“No, she ain’t. They been divorced for ten years. She’s shacked up with that asshole, Buck Smalls. Why’s she paying us to dig Elmer’s grave?”

“She saw on Facebook that was an ex-wife’s duty if no one else was around to pay. Anyway, she and Elmer been seeing each other again.”

“How do you know that?”

“My daddy told me?”

“What does Buck Smalls think about her and Elmer getting back together.”

“He’s so worthless. I doubt he cares. Anyhow, he works in Atlanta. So, he’s gone three days a week.”

“Becky Jo needs to stay off Facebook. Is she paying for the coffin too?”

“She says she got a deal from Oak Glen Funeral Home because it’s been used a few times for body viewing in the in the sanctuary.” Homer was struggling to dislodge a large rock with his shovel. His shirt was wet and sticking to his back. Red clay covered his pants’ legs.

“Why didn’t they leave him in the funeral home until we got the grave dug?”

“Becky Jo would have to pay a viewing fee. Another hairdresser in Becky Jo’s beauty salon told her the viewing would be a waste of money.”

“Why ain’t Elmer’s sons paying for the funeral?” asked Otis.

“One of them is up in Alaska, and he said Elmer wasn’t worth a stamp to send money.”

“That ain’t much of a son. What about the son in Miami?”

“He’s on drugs. Got no money and no brain left.”

“You would have thought his sons would have turned out better,” said Otis.

“Elmer wasn’t much of a daddy. You remember how many times he came to work drunk, and the foreman had to send him home? Word in town was that he’d get drunk and beat Becky Jo and the boys.”

Elmer, Homer and Otis worked for Lamson Drywall and Concrete. Elmer was a drywall truck driver, Otis was a drywall installer, and Homer drove a cement truck.

“That don’t necessarily mean he was a bad daddy, “said Otis.

“He screwed that Davis woman, over at River Bend, for years, behind Becky Jo’s back?”

“Where did you hear that?”

“My daddy told me.”

Homer’s daddy was Elroy Dix, Becky Jo’s brother. Becky Jo was Homer’s aunt.

“Well, I never heard that,” said Otis. “The Davis woman is uglier than a pit bull. Can’t figure out why Elmer would do that.”

Homer threw the shovel out of the hole. “It’s your turn, Otis.”

Otis climbed, slid on the clay, and into the hole. “Dammit, Homer, you left me the rocks.”

“You’ll get over it.”

Homer got a beer and walked to the coffin. “It’s getting wet. You reckon Elmer is getting wet?”

“Why’s it matter?” said Otis. “That cheap coffin ain’t waterproof. He’ll be a lot wetter once they put him in the ground.”

“Becky Jo says four men are coming from the funeral home to put him in the hole. She’s paying a hundred dollars extra for that.” Homer popped the top on the beer and took a swig. “You’d think it’d be colder, with the rain and all. We should have put more ice in the cooler.” The rain had stopped, and he wiped summer sweat from his forehead.

“I need the crowbar for this rock,” said Otis.

Homer got the crowbar from the pickup truck and tossed it into the hole. Otis began work on the rock. The red clay made the crowbar slick, and it was slipping in his hands.

“You reckon anyone would mind if we looked into the coffin?” asked Homer? “They say they shot him in the face.”

“I don’t think Elmer will complain.”

Homer went to the coffin, pushed off the dirt, and tried to lift the lid. “They got it nailed shut.”

“I guess we could use the crowbar.”

“That’s probably not a good idea,” said Homer.

“Was the Davis woman why Becky Jo divorced Elmer?”

“Nah. It was when Elmer robbed the Dollar Store with a toy pistol. He spent five years in lockup. I guess Becky Jo got tired of waiting,” said Homer. “Daddy says she was a looker back then and had a lot of men chasing after her.”

Otis was trying to wipe clay off the crowbar. “This rock is dug in pretty hard. Do you think this hole is deep enough?”

“We’re only down four feet. Becky Jo says it’s got to be six feet.”

“Something she saw on Facebook?”

“No, saw it in a John Wayne movie.”

“They going to have any sort of service for Elmer…you know, after they put him in this hole?” asked Otis.

“I ain’t heard.”

“You going to go if they do?”

“I guess you and me got to go. We worked with him for eight years. Folks will expect us to be there,” said Homer.

“You think anybody else will attend?”

“I don’t know.”

“People say he got away with a ton of money when he robbed the bank. I heard as much as two-hundred thousand. Police didn’t catch him for two days. What do you think he did with all that money?” asked Otis.

“Folks are still trying to figure that out. He sure didn’t have time to spend it.”

“Newspaper says they caught up to him at the convenience store up near the deer processing plant. That’s just two miles from Becky Jo’s beauty salon, ain’t it?”

“I say about that,” said Homer.

“Police said he had a gun and pointed it at them.”

“They always say that.”

Otis climbed out of the hole to rest and drink a beer. They sat on the side of the hole, letting their legs dangle over the edge. The rain had stopped and in the August heat, steam rose from the coffin lid.

“We still got a foot to go,” said Otis. “Do you think Becky Jo will notice if we stop now?”

“Probably,” said Homer. “She’s a real stickler for detail.”

“You remember the time you and me and Elmer got into a strip poker game with the Baxter girls over at Langford?”

“I do,” said Homer.”

“We got drunk and forgot to tell them jewelry didn’t count. The three of us were butt naked before they had their bras off. One of the girls made fun of Elmer, and he left before he put his clothes on. We had to take his clothes to him out in the parking lot.”

They laughed.

“I guess we had some good times,” said Homer. He got another beer from the cooler.

“What time are they coming to put him in the ground?” asked Otis.

“Becky Jo said about five o’clock.”

“We only got two hours left.”

“Then we best get back to it.”

“It’s your turn in the hole,” said Otis.

“Where do you figure Elmer hid the money?” asked Homer. He was shoveling dirt out of the hole.

“He had two days. Could have been anywhere.”

“You think we ought to look for it?”

“No.” said Otis.

“You remember when we used to go deer hunting with Elmer?” asked Homer.

“Up near Spiny Ridge.”

“Elmer had a hollow tree up there where he stored his extra gear and food.”

“Police already checked that,” said Otis.

“How about the cave on Blue Mountain?”

“They checked that too.”

Homer asked for the crowbar to work on another rock. It started to rain again.

“They should have put up a tent,” said Otis.

“Becky Jo says that would have cost extra.”

“What are they going to do with Elmer’s pickup truck? It’s only one year old, a good-looking Ford 150 with those special spike wheels.”

“It’s got a couple bullet holes in the back door. I don’t reckon his sons will want it. Maybe the finance company will take it back.”

“A pickup truck with bullet holes. That ain’t much for a man to leave behind him, is it?” said Otis.

“They say Elmer was doing fine years ago…before he took to the bottle,” said Homer. “After high school, they say he went to Detroit and worked for General Motors making Cadillacs. Married a woman there. That was when his first son was born, the one in Alaska now. The story I heard is that Elmer started hitting the bottle and deserted them. Came back home. Married a woman before Becky Jo, and she ran away with a car salesman.”

“If they have a service, you think anyone will speak for him.”

“You mean a eulogy. I doubt it,” said Homer. “Daddy said the Boudreaux family won’t show up.”

“You and me could say a few words, tell about some of the good times, you know, deer hunting and fishing. Probably shouldn’t tell them about the strip poker game.” He laughed.

Homer tossed a large rock out of the hole, and Otis rolled it aside. “Ain’t we got to six feet yet?”

“Get the tape measure. We’ll check,” said Homer.

The tape said six feet and three inches. Lightning struck a nearby tree, and renewed rain became a river from the sky. Dirt began washing into the hole again. Otis put his hands over his face. Homer picked up a shovel and tried to move dirt from between the hole and the coffin.

“We got to move the coffin,” said Otis.

With one on each end, they gradually pushed the coffin farther up the hill.

“Damn, I didn’t know Elmer was that heavy,” said Homer.

They both grabbed shovels and began moving dirt away from the edge of the hole. By now, there was a foot of water in the bottom.

“What are we going to do about the water?” asked Otis.

“Nothing we can do.”

“Don’t seem right they going to lower Elmer into the water.”

“He won’t mind,” said Homer.

“You think Becky Jo will mind?”

“Won’t do her any good to complain.”

“You think we ought to stay until they come and put him in the ground?” asked Otis.

“I told Becky Jo we would. They’ll be here in an hour.”

“Maybe it’ll stop raining.”

“Maybe.”

The two got beers from the cooler and sat on the edge of the hole, watching the water rise. Red clay stuck to the bottom of their jeans. The beers were warm, and rain was running down their faces.

“Why do you think Elmer robbed the bank?” asked Otis. “He had a good job at the drywall and concrete company.”

“Why was it he owed you one hundred dollars?”

“I won it off him in a poker game.”

“You think he owed anyone else?” asked Homer.

“Last few times we played, he gave out some IOUs.”

“I hear he’s also been going across the state line to a casino,” said Homer. “I also heard he’d been seeing one of the Fenton women over in Oak Hill.”

“Did Becky Jo know about that?”

“I don’t know.”

“He never told us about any Fenton woman,” said Otis.

“No reason he should.”

“But we were his friends.”

“I guess there are some things you don’t want friends to know.”

The van from the funeral home arrived, and Becky Jo wasn’t far behind. She was driving Elmer’s Ford 150 and was dressed in a brightly flowered dress, her hair fluffed high into a beehive. She was walking beneath a large umbrella, and her high heels were sinking into the clay.

Four men placed canvas straps under the coffin and slid it toward the hole. Becky Jo laid a lily on top.

“Ain’t no preacher coming to say words?” asked Otis.

“They want money to come,” said Becky Jo. “I don’t think Elmer would mind.”

“You going to have a service later?” asked Homer.

“No need. Not many folks would come.”

The four men slowly lowered the coffin into the hole. It splashed when it hit water at the bottom. The men rolled up the canvas straps and walked back to their van.

Becky Jo looked at Homer and Otis. “You got to cover him up.”

“We thought the funeral home would do that,” said Otis.

“Nope. They wanted money to do that.”

At least the rain had stopped. Homer and Otis picked up the shovels and threw dirt into the grave until all the dirt was gone. They mounded it on top and tamped it down.

“You going to put up a stone?” asked Homer.

“I promised him I would,” said Becky Jo.

“What’s going to happen to Elmer’s pickup truck?” asked Otis.

“I bought it from the finance company for the money Elmer still owed on it.”

“That’s a lot of money,” said Otis. “What about the bullet holes?”

“Body shop says they can replace the door.”

“We thought you were strapped for cash,” said Homer.

“Not exactly.” She handed each of them three new, crisp, fifty-dollar bills and winked.

“Dammit,” said Otis, “Do we got women in Oak Glen that can pay you fifty-dollar bills

for a hairdo?”

“Business is picking up. I’m getting a higher class of customers,” said Becky Jo.

Homer was quiet. Then he gave a knowing grin.

“Awful nice of you, Becky Jo.”

“How we going to change this for smaller bills?” asked Otis.

“You might not want to use Oak Glen Bank,” said Becky Jo.

“We’ll drive up to Atlanta,” said Homer.

Otis looked confused.

“I’ll explain it to you on the way,” said Homer.