PSL: Quentin's Funeral

[whatisay]

Capitol funerals are oleaginous with wealth. Today they assemble to commemorate Quentin Compson not just with tears, but with commissioned oil paintings, fireworks, an orchestra playing some lugubrious dirge, with wines ages two hundred years and flowers genetically engineered to have the deceased's initials appearing naturally on each petal. The young man's body is no longer a matter of sodden, lifeless flesh but ash compressed into a shimmering jewel, set at the middle of a wreath of designer oleander at the base of a portrait picturing him more present than any who knew him ever saw him. The painted eyes look aware, like they're taking in every detail around them, while in life Quentin always seemed a step out of time, thinking of something else, half-listening to the conversation.

Jason, fifteen years old, hasn't seen his father sober since the older Jason went to identify the wax-white, water-bloated corpse in the mortuary. This Jason, in a new suit with a tag on the back of his shirt that itches his neck, had stayed home with his mother, listening to her mewl about how could this happen to her, how could Quentin have done this to her. He'd expected to feel something when his father came home, either relief or grief, because everyone was supposed to feel something when a sibling died, but the only emotion that had surfaced was a strange sort of unease that he'd quickly choked off with disgust that his father didn't even bother to come straight home, and instead arrived drunk.

"Did you drive like that?" Caroline had asked. "Did you want me to have to identify a body today too?"

The older Jason's drunk at the funeral, too, trying his best to stand still and not sway next to his black-clad wife and eight-months-pregnant daughter and her new husband. Benjamin's been left home; his crying would be "upsetting". Uncle Maury's had a few too; Jason's starting to suspect that maybe he's the only sober one, sharing company with Caddy's fetus. When the eulogy ends, having described a person Jason's certain never actually existed, there's a reception with pay-per-plate seating and photographers and fireworks in the background.

His mother pretends to faint from crying, although her face is dry, and calls for Jason, her 'last remaining son', to come help her. Jason slips outside just out of her eyesight, not wanting to engage, hoping she just assumes he didn't see or hear her while Maury props her back up. He heads round the back, slouching on a bench in sight of the parking lot, reconnoitering every half hour or so to see if things have died down. His nose, fresh from a rhinoplasty, is straight now, but there are fading bruises under each eye, covered by slight makeup. He undoes his tie and unbuttons his jacket, then finally just flings the latter off onto the lawn somewhere.

At some point his father goes to a microphone and starts rambling about the nature of time and his daughter's wedding and then Jason's just done, incapable of anything but disgust with everything here.

He heads back to the bench and picks up some pebbles, chucking them at the pigeons just to see if the birds will fly away.

Comments

[whatisay]

"You mean dementia."

The truth is, Jason doesn't know if his dad is 'sick' in a traditional sense of the word either. On the one hand, the evidence is undeniable, but Jason can't get over the fact that this is something his father does to himself. Every single night, by this point.

"The doctors say he has less than a year if he keeps drinking." And, well, he's obviously going to keep drinking, if the ramble in the background is any indication. He's only gotten worse since Caddy's pregnancy.

[cigne]

"De-men-tia."

She repeats it out of habit, each syllable separate so that she can remember it for the next time. She doesn't know anyone else with a drinking problem, at least not a public one -- her daddy drinks whiskey and bourbon and brandy after dinner, but only a glass. Two when Viatrix is home. For Swann, that's drinking, not endless amounts that leave one a mess in front of everyone they know. Not enough to kill you.

"Why doesn't he stop?"

[whatisay]

"Maybe he wants to go be with Quentin."

Jason snorts, because he isn't sure if he's serious or joking there. It's only recently that he's realized his father has a drinking problem, that the constant inebriation and sloppiness is abnormal, that most fathers don't come home and drink until they can't stand.

[cigne]

"Will you miss him, if he dies?"

It's an innocent question, wondered aloud simply because Jason doesn't seem very attached to any of his family, hasn't said a single nice word about any one of them, and he has a lot more family to like than most people do. Swann doesn't know if she would miss her mother very much, but she would miss her father very much, and Eta even more.

[whatisay]

"He's my father."

Which is to say that he doesn't know either. He slouches back on the bench, rubbing his temple with his knuckle, worrying his lower lip under his teeth.

"Would you miss yours?"

[cigne]

"Of course."

She says it instantly, without having to think, because it's true. She would be miserable without her father, always happy and joking around and bouncing her on his knee when she's sad. If the question was would she miss her mother, well then she might have to think a little bit harder to figure it out.

[whatisay]

"What about your mother?"

Jason's not stupid; he can see that there are strange dynamics afoot with the Honeymeads. It's always been part of Swann's presence, like a shadow following her around into the playrooms. Ilar was always there at the events, a jolly constant who treated the kids to candies under their parents' noses, but the few times Jason saw Viatrix she reminded him less of a person than of a faraway smoke signal spelling out the name of a mother.

[cigne]

Swann frowns and knits her brow, not upset with the question but just thinking about it, and it's difficult to sort through her own thoughts about it -- she doesn't have the emotional skills nor the vocabulary to actually express how she would feel if her mother died.

"I would... I would miss her, I think," she says slowly, her little forehead still furrowed. "But not like I would miss Daddy."

[whatisay]

"You think? You mean you don't know?" Despite the accusatory tone, he actually feels relieved to hear that flicker of doubt, like he's not the only person who's sat and thought maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing to lose his family, to shed them like a snake sloughs off skin.

[cigne]

She frowns deeper, like she's confusing herself by thinking this way. Her voice holds protest, but not very much, because she's sure she would miss her mother more on principle than anything else. She would miss Viatrix because she's supposed to.

"I would miss her. It would just... it wouldn't be like if Daddy died. It would be a different kind of missing." She pauses and looks at her doll's head. "It wouldn't be so different anyway. She's always gone, and even when she comes home, she doesn't really have time for me."

[whatisay]

Jason thinks he'd miss the idea of his father more than he'd miss the man himself, or the idea of a father. It's not as if his father has never been affectionate, but the lion's share was given to Candace and Quentin, and Jason always felt, somehow, separated from them, as if there was a glass wall dividing the family in half.

"What, she doesn't love you?"

[cigne]

Swann shrugs again, and fiddles with the mass of her skirt, all the fabric weighing her down and making it so hard for her to move. The bodice is tight, even on her little frame, and she wishes she could reach far enough back to loosen the corseting.

"She's my mother. Of course she loves me."

It sounds rote, like it's something that's been repeated over and over to her, until she spits out the same thing just from habit.

[whatisay]

"That doesn't mean anything."

Jason knows better than to equate love and family. He doesn't know when he came to that realization, but he's pinned himself to it like a protestor chained to a fence.

[cigne]

"Yes it does," she protests, her brow furrowing deep again. "All mothers love their children, Daddy said so. She's just busy. They both are."

She's not there yet, not yet able to understand why her mother is never there, why she's so distant. She can only take the excuses that her father gives, sweet lies to spare Swann's feelings and preserve the family name.

"She gets me presents, at Christmas and for my birthday."

[whatisay]

"Do you think District mothers love their children? They shill them out for extra food and then let them go die in the Hunger Games."

Now it's a matter of stubbornness, of talking sense through Swann's innocence. Jason sits forward with his elbows on his knees, like he's giving her a lecture.

[cigne]

"They don't have a choice, everyone's name goes in the bowls." She says it not out of defense for the Districters, but just because it's a fact, has no bearing on whether or not anyone loves anyone else. "And the mothers are too old to volunteer for their kids."

In fact, she thinks that if any of the Districters don't love their children, it's the Career Districts, encouraging their children to willingly dive into the fray.

"So that's different."

[whatisay]

"Then why do tesserae exist? It's so mothers can tell their kids to put their names in extra times and get the family more stuff. That's exactly what it is. And that's not even talking about Careers."

His eyes are cold and hard. "Face it. Not every parent loves their kid."

[cigne]

"Maybe the kids agree to it, to help their families. You make it sound like the moms just want more and more stuff, but if their kids starve, then what's the difference?"

She's frowning, refusing to agree that everyone is bad at their core.

"Most parents do. Why else would they have kids?"

[whatisay]

"Don't mothers just want more and more? That's sort of what mothers do." Jason snorts again, but he has a wild, excited, focused look in his eye, like he's shooting at a target.

"So someone's there to take care of them when they get old."

[cigne]

"That doesn't make sense. It's food, they need it for their families, so they have to use the tessarae. That's all."

She's getting more confused, because she doesn't really understand his line of thought anymore.

"I never heard anyone say that's why they had babies. Is that why Caddy's having a baby? So someone can take care of her?"

[whatisay]

"And they get it for themselves too. Funny how that works, the kid making the sacrifice and the mom getting the tesserae." He rolls his eyes.

"Caddy's having a baby because she can't keep her legs closed." He pauses. "Don't tell anyone I said that, even though it's true."

[cigne]

"The kid has to do it. They have to go get the tessarae, so they have to be willing to do that for their family."

She doesn't understand, he's talking about tessarae like it's jewels or something that the mothers are hoarding, when in reality, it's just food for a whole family. Even she knows that.

"She has a husband,"

[whatisay]

"You'll understand when you're older." His eyes get hard and beady. "Like I said, don't tell anyone I said that. I'd get in trouble. Caddy would get in trouble."

[cigne]

Swann huffs and looks away, jamming her arms crossed over her chest while she pouts. "I'm not going to tell, I'm not a tattletale. Who would I tell, anyway? No one listens to me."

[whatisay]

"Alright, fine." But he won't tell her the specifics, just leave her with the implication. He gets up off the bench and sits down next to her, looking at her doll with a scrutinizing, hard face.

"Why do you like dolls, anyway?"