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The seasons
The seasons flew by very pleasantly, until that one
sad day. They found dear old Grandfather in his
quarters. He had died of old age. Michel had been
watching him deteriorate for a while and knew the
end was in sight. Nevertheless, it was a devastating
event.
It was drizzling on the day of Jean de Saint Rémy’s
funeral. They took turns keeping vigil with the body
in the house, until it was brought out for the
burial services. All the family members were there.
Old Pierre and his wife had come all the way from
Grasse, as well as Jean’s three sisters and cousins
from near-by Marseille. The Catholic prayer service
took place in the church of Selongey. The families
walked to the church, where the coffin had been
placed. Michel’s grandparents were walking so slowly,
that he had plenty of time to carefully observe the
fancy houses with turrets at the Place des Halles.
Finally they arrived at the church, where many
friends and acquaintances had gathered. At the
entrance, a large man with reddish hair accidentally
bumped into Michel. His shoes were covered in paint.
He was apparently not an invited guest, but he
wanted to go in. Michel didn’t pay any attention to
him and the funeral procession slowly moved through
the gate with the imposing round arch door. Jacques
and Reyničre were the first ones to stride past a
row of pillars in the church and they were followed
by Michel and his four brothers in chronological
order. Reyničre was overcome with emotion and shed a
tear for her father every now and then. The public
was seated at the wooden benches in the main chapel
where the coffin was set up in the center. The
church of Selongey had various chapels, which were
all lit by windows with blood-red divisions. Way up
high was a painting of an apostle. The last visitor
had found a spot and Priest Bergé, who was wearing a
faded red shoulder covering, began his sermon. The
funeral service was, as everyone knew, aimed at the
purification and eternal rest of the soul of the
deceased.
“When someone has died, this means that he has
irrevocably taken his leave of this world. This
person will then be with God. This is not an ending,
but a new beginning. Those who have lived good lives
will go to heaven, and those who have lived sinful
lives will go to hell. The transition from life to
death is often not a harmonious passage. But the
Lord protects us all, because he understands the
complicated lives of humans and accepts everyone as
he is.” The Priest then awkwardly leafed through his
Bible, from behind his lectern and began to read a
long drawn-out passage in Latin. Michel looked
around and recognized the metal holy-water font, an
up-side-down church tower, in which one of his
friends had once almost drowned. Candles were
burning everywhere; there were so many that even the
tomb of the founder of the church in the front
chapel was lit up. His engraved image was visible at
the entry. Jean had long ago managed to interest his
grandson in art and culture and they had visited the
church of Selongey together a number of times.
Michel knew the interior well and would have rather
examined the murals than to have to listen to the
droning sound of Bergé’s voice. Or the armor-plated
vault in the sacrist! Of course, he couldn’t. Though
he knew it would be perfectly fine with Grandfather.
“Life before death,” he had always said. Finally,
God’s servant praised the deceased for his charity,
in ordinary French and the visitors sat up straight
again. Michel saw the carilloneur, who was hard of
hearing, get up. He was dying to get to his
forty-eight church bells and start ringing them and
began to climb up the stairs in the turret.
Meanwhile, the priest was sprinkling the body with
holy water and scenting it with frankincense. This
was to indicate that the body of the deceased was in
a state of holiness before God. The acolyte said a
few more prayers asking for forgiveness for Jean’s
sins. After the hymns, the priest and his helpers
strode out of the church and the pall bearers
followed with the coffin. All those gathered walked
behind them. The church bells were ringing and they
all approached the cemetery in silence. Family,
friends and other interested people who had joined,
gathered around the grave that had been prepared and
the pall bearers slowly lowered the coffin into it.
Reyničre quickly put a few flowers on the lid before
the priest, who was standing at the head, silently
blessed the grave and said an “Our Father.” After he
finished the prayer, he threw a small amount of soil
onto the coffin, with the words, “Earth to earth;
ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” Then everyone said
goodbye to the jovial Jean by adding their own scoop
of soil onto the coffin and Michel watched his
deceased friend slowly disappear. Finally, Jacques
thanked all those present for their sympathy and the
family sadly returned home.
After the mourning period, Michel and Mother visited
Grandfather’s hallowed place up in the attic. Still
feeling sad, Reyničre opened the shutters to let the
light into the room and then they took an inventory
of the estate. Memories drifted up and her son
stared, unseeing, through the attic window for a
while, feeling depressed.
“This attic is so lifeless and desolate now,” he
grumbled, when mother was unexpectedly called
downstairs by one of her children.
“I’ll be right back, Michel,” and left him there,
alone. From the attic window he had a good view of
the town. He discovered a new home about half a mile
away that had been built without his noticing. One
of its windows was open; it was a glass one.
Unprecedented, but it was too far away to see it
very well.
I know, I can use Grandpa’s spy glass, he suddenly
realized and soon he could see every speck of the
house. Then the youngster could not resist the
temptation to sneak a look inside. He saw a tall man
with short, dark hair, who was passionately working
at a painting easel.
Why would anyone imitate sunflowers? Michel wondered
in surprise. The unknown person was standing in
front of a canvas and repeatedly dipped his paint
brush into the paint. At one point, he picked up
another brush that he used for painting in finer
detail and again glanced at the real sunflowers,
which were arranged carelessly on a table behind it.
Suddenly, the artist felt as if he was being
observed and he turned around with a start. The
voyeur was startled out of his wits, feeling caught,
although he couldn’t possibly be seen, he thought.
Still, it looked as though the stranger was staring
at him, albeit with a friendly look. Only then did
Michel realize that this was another peek into the
future. The other world dissolved almost instantly
after this. The house was also completely gone.
Too bad; no one to share my daydream with, he
thought sorrowfully.
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