Victoria Gardens was lonely and deserted as Mr. Caper had instructed whenever he came to visit. It had been 9 years since his wife was laid to rest in this cemetery but the visit was as heart wrenching as the funeral where he, the pastor and undertakers had been the only guests in attendance.
The death had come as a shock to the whole state. It was a plane crash that had claimed the lives of several citizens robbing their families of peace. Mr. Caper, unlike many other victims, bore the death and grief of the loss of a loved one completely alone and no justice could come from anywhere.
He would have bought a private land for her - just for her, if he had been as wealthy when she had passed. Sadly, he was at that time a poor widower with no family left, after losing his wife. Victoria Gardens Cemetery was the best option he could afford at that time from the grant the government issued as compensation.
Now, it was too late to move her even though the means and power had arrived. Such an activity would only rob him of the last ounce of privacy he had slaved to protect from the public demands of his billionaire status. Heaven forbid, such a dynamite falling into the hands of the press.
The visits filled with him with a sort of anger which he had never been able to address. His guess was that, he had wished he had been the one who passed, instead of her. Now, he could only treasure her in his heart as life had teased him with love that didn’t last. He made up for these emotional grudges by commanding silence from the staff of the establishment.
The black colored Cadillac came to stop at the T-point cross path. The path looked like a cross with the long rear leading directly to his beloved. The doors of the sleek vehicle opened as he and his entourage stepped out. Mr. Caper stepped out in his lean, muscular frame nested within his expensive three piece suit.
CRAAAAAASHHHHHHHH!!
All ears bent down and faces twisted in cringe at the loud noise from the establishment’s administrative building. The noise got the attention of his attention in the worst way possible. It took away the one thing he had instructed the managers of this place to always maintain whenever he visited: silence. The melancholic cloud that characterized his mood and his entourage, changed into disgust.
Why couldn’t people just cooperate and do their jobs?
‘Jasjeev, could you check that noise for me?’ He said. The aide nodded in obedience and hurried his heavy muscular frame to action.
The others stood aside, head bowed in solemn solidarity for the reason behind this visit.
Each step was bittersweet – a reunion to lost love but a reminder of that pain from longing. Her beautiful portrait with her angelic smile beckoned to him as he walked. It saddened his heart on how much and how quickly he felt he was forgetting her. The picture was beautiful as he remembered her but new and slowly alien. But he killed thoughts like this when they stirred in him. It was as it always was – perfect, beautiful, not to be broken by anything in the world. He painted that mental picture in its place to replace those thoughts. Of recent, even the color that fueled the painting was running out quickly and he couldn’t pretend anymore.
His heart was now numb from her absence and loneliness had done a stellar job of reducing the joy and intensity he used to feel before he lost her. He could never admit it, though. It was convenient to stay with a fleeting memory. His heart would rather cling to nostalgia than pursue some new love story. He liked to tell himself he still felt the same. It was easier that way.
He stopped at the marble stone before her. Beautiful pictures of her that he had brought over the years and withered flowers all gathered together, forming a mass under her stone. The staff periodically cleared it to keep it tidy but they left a few out at his request. He felt a pang at his heart, after seeing the roses of the previous month. He had in his hands another bouquet of twelve lone rose. One for each month of the year because his new billionaire status would only permit him to visit once in a year.
He placed the roses on the cold marble resting place with a wry smile on his face, when he had another interruption.
CRAAAAAAASHHHHHHH!
The wry smile faded into a frown that was followed by a hiss of anger, loud enough to make his aides take steps back, as he whirled around to face them.
‘Can someone get that noise to stop?’ he said and his taut voice traveling through the silent garden.
‘We think there is a scuffle at the front desk, sir.’ Henry was bold enough to reply after quiet contemplation.
‘I figured that part out, Captain Obvious. The question is why and how soon will it stop?’ His gloomy aura overshadowed the anger in his voice. The usual power he would have delivered such confrontation was gone.
‘Sir…sir...’ All heads turned to the sound of Jasjeev’s voice.
He ran to them, out of breath. He took a moment to regain himself.
‘There is a scuffle at the reception.’ He began.
‘Say something more up to date for heaven’s sake.’ Mr. Caper said.
‘It is a small boy. Yelling. Breaking things as he is averting the reception witch.’ Jasjeev added.
This receptionist again. What was this new drama now?
‘I will like to meet this boy and the reception-ist.’ He stressed the last part in hopes that it will somehow correct the title that had stayed from the last time the aides followed him to visit.
He turned back to the cold marble and felt the usual sting in his eyes emerge as it always did whenever it was time to go. He maneuvered them in his sockets from falling with the mastery that came with practice. The silence sat in the air as the melancholia returned to their midst. It seemed so perfect.
SPLAAAAAAAAASHHHHHH!
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Alright! That does it.
Motioning to two other aides, Mr. Caper whirled around quickly but silently as he strode for the administrative building. His polished oxfords made distinct strides to the ground as he walked, his head held up high further emphasizing his 6ft 5 inches height. The walk only took a few minutes but he continued to glance at his watch. One would think he was merely time conscious. In truth, he was actually nervous.
The reception was decorated in a modern office setting and was bland in terms of décor, except for a cactus plant pot blocking a good view of the sky from the window. Then the pictures of the people who had been laid to rest on its grounds were pasted on the wall on side of the office.
Mr. Caper never looked past his wife’s picture. It would only hurt seeing so many other people who had also passed. Yet his eyes wandered to the last picture which meant the latest addition.
It read the name: DR ROWAN E. KALE.
