In classical mythology, the hero’s journey begins and ends at home. Our father began his life in this town and ended it here, but the road he walked was often a difficult one. He started his life with a market stall and ended it as a director of a company. Nothing stood in his way…
… he met his foes bravely and slayed his dragons boldly. In the end he met death with dignity and courage. A great poet once said,’ Cowards die many times before their death, heroes die but once.’ We love you Dad, we thank you and wish a safe journey home.
At the wake, the funeral attendants now seemed to have metamorphosed into waiters passing around smoked salmon and drinks on silver trays. The ouzo was warm against her throat and the late afternoon was paling to a dull grey. It was over now. He was laid to rest and she would be returning on a plane home tomorrow, back to her life.
‘That was a good reading you did, Rose You was always good with words. Me, I was always good with figures…and making money, like the old man,’ Nick laughed a hollow laugh and put his arm around Rose, hugging her. ‘You finished your novel yet?’
‘Yeah,’ said Spyros. ‘That was a good story you told about the old man, Rose.’
‘The old man would have liked it. He would have been proud. The only writing I’m good at is writing cheques. Get it, Rose. - writing cheques!’ said Nick, laughing loudly at his own joke.
Spyros looked at Nick. ‘You get that deal before, Nick? Is the bastard going to sign tonight?’
‘Yeah, Spyros. I snapped him mate. The lawyer rang before. He signed already.’
Her father’s favourite music played softly in the background - Zorba's Dance. Rose remembered how he used to love to dance to it at his parties with his friends, over and over till they collapsed. Someone had turned the music up and Nick and Spyros had their arms around each other now, dancing and laughing, tossing their undertakers’ jackets high in the air and passing the ouzo bottle one to the other. The music got louder and faster and they danced and laughed until they fell down together on the grass, wiping the tears of laughter from their faces.
‘Hey, Nick,’ said Spyros, trying to contol his choking laughter, ‘remember the night the old man belted you nearly fuckin’ senseless when lost him that deal. You was about sixteen. Remember, remember that Nick. Mate, I thought that he was going to fuckin’ kill you.’
Spyros punched Nick in the shoulder, ‘Remember that, mate.’
Nick covered his face with his hands and sank to his knees. He let out a low moan and then a deep rasping sound like a branch cracking from a tree trunk.
The day drew to night. The family gathered close together, seeking comfort from the presence of the bloodline, looking into each other’s faces for meaning. Somehow Rose knew that this closeness was ephemeral and would pass as the pain of their father’s death faded.
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