It was Bobby’s last wish to be composted and spread over their vegetable patch above the Yellow River, just a couple of miles upstream of its confluence with the Mississippi. They grew peas, eggplant, tomatoes there; firm, tasty lettuce, cauliflower, and kale; even a patch of wheat that yielded symbolic amounts of flour, but that Bobby had been passionate about. The rich alluvial soil of the riparian required no fertilization to speak of, and hardly any irrigation, but Bobby had dreamt of resting among his crops, of living on in next year’s harvest.
The vegetable garden sat where the sloping grass leveled out before plunging down into the fecund abundance of the riparian proper. The garden bathed in sunlight throughout the day in most seasons, and Bobby and Alfonso had spent many an afternoon lying in the grass overlooking the rows of pea stalks and the low, cobbled width of the kale crops, drying and basking in the hot summer rays after swimming the calm flow of the river.
Al stares out of the study window at the garden across the river, a medical bill with hiragana and English printing clutched in his arthritic hand.
He had never expected Bobby to be the first to go.
His husband had always been stubborn about his health, both when all doctors had still been human and now that RD-TDs, Robotic Diagnostics and Treatment Devices, had mostly displaced the traditional white coats and stethoscopes. He rarely fell ill, and even when he did, he’d sooner cross the river for fresh vegetables than go to their GP for a pharmaceutical solution.
So when his eyes developed a yellow cast, and later, when sharp, stabbing pains in his stomach made him double over, he’d shrugged and cooked some kale.
“I’ll be fine,” he said, holding Alfonso’s gaze with yellowed eyes as Al argued through his tears.
“You can’t know that. You keep saying that our house isn’t medical, that it could be wrong. But it could be right, Bobby. Not just about the hep, but about the cirrhosis, about the liver cancer even. What if our house is right?”
Bobby squeezed Al’s hand and shrugged.
“Then we’ve had a good run, sweetheart. Who would have thought we’d get to our golden wedding? Not your parents, that’s for sure. Or mine, for that matter.”
They had chuckled in unison, until Bobby’s laughter turned into a coughing fit. Al had helped him sit up straight and adjusted his pillow. Together, they had watched through the panoramic bedroom window as the sun set over the Yellow River.
Bobby had been right. They’d had a good run. But even after fifty years, he was gone too soon.
And now Alfonso can’t even fulfill his last wish.
REMAINS DISPOSAL QUESTIONNAIRE – ROBERT “BOBBY” REOLIN
Please answer the below questions completely and truthfully and correct any information already provided. Withholding or misrepresenting information that may affect the disposal of your loved one’s remains is a class-3 misdemeanor under the Funerary Environmental Impact Act (FEIA) and will result in an automatic determination of Reuse.
1. The cause of death for your loved one is registered as:
COMPLICATIONS FROM AN UNTREATED HEPATITIS C INFECTION
The medication your loved one was taking at the time of their demise is listed as:
NONE
Please enter any information concerning the cause of death not included in this description, and/or list any medication they were using that might affect the disposal of their remains.
Al smooths the Japanese medical bill on the desk surface. Such a little thing, really. Bobby’s dental had covered all of it. Such a little thing, with such major consequences.
He sighs and gets up from the form-fitting desk chair with a grunt. Grabbing his coat from the rack by the front door, he makes a stop in the garage to rummage through their toolbox. He unplugs the Mazda from the charging socket and buzzes down their wooded driveway, taking Route 401 into town. He may be too late. The disposal director may already have processed Bobby. He may be too late, but he may just be on time.
All he needs is five minutes alone with Bobby.
It’s very rare these days to get a composting permit. It has grown as uncommon as burial and even cremation, what with all the prosthetics and chemo. For the thousandth time, Al wonders: how much of Bobby’s refusal of treatment was prompted by his desire to be spread over their vegetable patch?
2. Please select your preferred method of disposal of your loved one’s remains.
X Composting – By selecting this option, you apply for a composting and fertilization permit under FEIA.
0 Burial – By selecting this option, you apply for a burial permit under FEIA.
0 Cremation – The per-Lb fee for fuel and for carbon dioxide compensation will be calculated from the weight of the remains at the time of cremation. By selecting this option, you commit to paying this fee in full.
If the above options are greyed out, it means that medication, artificial bodily enhancements, and/or prosthetics present in the deceased’s body at the time of their demise as registered in the Central Administration of Medical Procedures (CAMP), preclude composting, burial and cremation. In that case, please select Reuse below.
0 Reuse – This may include, but is not limited to: organ transplant, scientific research, trace element reclamation, food production, and construction (primarily bones). If you select this option, please also select one of the previous ones for those body parts that turn out to be unsuitable for reuse.
The parking lot at the Disposal Home is almost full. There must be a ceremony in progress. Al hopes it will make his job easier. In a practical sense, that is; emotionally, he’s afraid this will be one of the hardest things he’s ever done.
When he enters the lobby, the receptionist recognizes him and gets up with a flustered look uncharacteristic of the disposal profession.
“Mr. Reolin, one moment.” She disappears into the back and returns with the familiar, kind figure of Mrs. Ahenny. Mrs. Ahenny rounds the reception desk and takes Al’s hand in both her own.
“Alfonso, it’s good to see you. I was just processing your beloved Robert’s composting application . . . .” A look of concern draws across her face, and Al’s heart sinks. Is he too late? She guides him to a conference room, all subdued colors and monochrome flowers. They sit at a low table.
“Is everything in order?” Al asks, but he already knows the answer.
“Well . . . .” Mrs. Ahenny places her fingertips together and gazes earnestly into his eyes. “Of course, we’ve discussed dear Robert’s deeply felt wish to be spread over your lovely vegetable garden. As you know, the FEIA is very clear on the rules and regulations surrounding composting. And I was processing your response to question 3 in the disposal questionnaire and assessing dear Robert’s earthly remains . . . .”
That’s it. They have found it. They have found it, which means that as far as Mrs. Ahenny knows, he has lied in the questionnaire. The automatic misdemeanor conviction isn’t the worst of it, not by a long shot. Al feels his tears starting to run as he realizes that any chance of a composting permit is now lost. Mrs. Ahenny has no choice but to report him, and Bobby will not rest in his beloved garden above the river. His remains will be processed for reuse.
The pliers in Al’s jacket pocket are useless now.
3. Please list any prosthetics, bodily enhancements, and/or other artificial items and materials that would prohibit composting. To obtain a composting permit, all of these items need to be removed prior to disposal director assessment.
According to the CAMP, the following items are known to be in the deceased’s body:
NONE
Al remembers their trip to Japan, the remarkable range of delicious foods, the terraces overlooking Kamo River, the cherry blossoms, the overwhelming beauty of the temples . . . and the acute pain that had all but incapacitated Bobby. It had been one of the few times Bobby had ever submitted to visiting a medical professional. The Japanese dentist had performed an efficient root canal, and Bobby had felt no pain for the remainder of their vacation.
Back Stateside, Bobby had had every intention of reporting the procedure to the CAMP. But administration had always been Al’s responsibility in their marriage. So of course, it got forgotten.
Until Al found the bill in Bobby’s desk yesterday.
If he had remembered, or if he had gone through Bobby’s papers before filling out the questionnaire, he could have mentioned the composite filling under question 3. He would gladly have paid the fee to have it removed.
Too late now.
“Mr. Reolin?”
Al sits up with a start, realizing Mrs. Ahenny has been speaking to him for some time.
“Sorry, what was that?”
She smiles.
“As I was saying, when we assess a loved one’s remains, we sometimes discover foreign items that were overlooked or forgotten, and thus accidentally left out of the questionnaire. Quite often, it’s nothing more serious than a molar with composite filling.” She pauses and looks him in the eyes. “If they were disclosed in the questionnaire, we would of course remove them; we have the tools right there, in an unlocked cabinet in the mourning room. But if the questionnaire doesn’t mention those items, FEIA requires us to report the omission, and to deny composting.”
She gets up and folds her hands in front of her. Al looks up at her with grief and dread. He is so certain what she’ll say that when she does speak he has to play her words back in his mind twice before he understands. And when he does understand, relief floods his eyes as he hugs her in gratitude.
“Would you like to spend some more time with your beloved Robert in the mourning room, while I prepare the composting permit?”
The glass facade of their home reflects the splendid, riotous sunset. Darkness will soon descend over the valley. The smell of grass and soil is loud and strong in the air, a scent Bobby used to love. The birds have already grown silent, and Al hears only the quiet murmur of the river and the wind whispering in the spruces above the house.
He kneels in the soil beside Bobby’s memorial and rubs some of the rich, fertile clay between his fingers. His gaze drifts over the garden. He sees Bobby’s ruddy cheeks in the curve of the tomatoes; the blond locks of his youth in the waving of golden stalks. Al knows he is being fanciful, but he deserves some fancy.
He turns to the marble monument and brushes off the splashes of mud from last night’s rainstorm. The words ‘In loving memory’ at the top of the stone are untouched by the mud, but Al takes special care to clean the carved letters of Bobby’s name. He straightens up with popping knees and surveys the result.
Something still mars the surface of the headstone. A drop of mud is covering the dot in their last name, the ‘i’ in ‘Reolin’ an irregular brown splash. Al bends over and gently brushes the last mud away.
The white, knobby ivory in the half-inch dot sparkles in the reflected sunset.
“There,” Al says. “There you are.”
