I See You've Called in Dead

by John Kenney

“Fortunately, there are other people almost as stupid as you at this company. We’ve got a reporter in Kabul who has apparently been selling hashish to locals. So that’s good. And the foreign desk editor has been caught on a security camera having sex with his assistant. In the kitchen.” “Phil?” “Yup.” “Doesn’t he lead a Bible study group?” “Yup.” “I might start going.”

The priest said, “Mrs. Gauss. Please. I know you wanted to say a few words.” “Seventy-one years we were married. Seventy-one years. And he was a philandering, moody prick most of it. An absolute prick.” And here, in a gesture of great gusto, she raised the bony middle finger of her right hand and forcefully presented it to the casket. The priest waited, appearing unsure about how to proceed. Finally he nodded slowly and said, “Okay. Well … Amen, I guess.”

“In my limited experience, I think we tend to flee pain. It’s natural. Physical pain. Too hot, too cold. We fix it. Mental pain. Same thing. We … drink, take drugs, obsess about sex, about food. Trust me, as a half man. I’ve tried all of it. A smart person once told me to sit with it. To stay in the pain.”

“Do you think this is a male problem, Murray?” I asked. “Absolutely. Women are vastly more intelligent emotionally and frankly that’s the only intelligence that matters. I can list every world capital and details of America’s involvement in the Pacific Theater during World War II but can’t mention to the occasional lady friend why I weep when I watch a Subaru commercial.” “The one with the dad and the school bus.” “You know the one.” We clicked glasses, two depressed, emotionally unstable men.