Five Letters and a Funeral

The absence of attendees was louder than any sentiments the priest had to offer at the funeral.

The next day, five letters were picked up from the church. Roughly 4-inches by 9-inches, they looked as spectacular as a #2 pencil in a schoolroom. Their contents were written on stationary from the church’s office – as paper thin as paper can get before it disintegrates. Each envelope contained several pages folded twice and scrawled with green ink in a half-cursive font. It was obvious that the writer was unaccustomed to having others decipher their handwriting. Otherwise, surely, a gentle co-worker, friend, or loved one would have chided them that their scribbles were as close to illegible as the paper was as close to non-existent.

The envelopes themselves were crisp, white, and business-like even if they were a bit bent at the ends. The priest of the church used the same envelopes to send checks, budgets, clergy updates, and pleas for anyone to join his ever-dwindling congregation. People these days just didn’t believe in God. No one had time anymore, even in this small town.

The priest was an old-fashioned man, despite being the youngest priest the town had ever seen. He didn't like computers. He feared they would lead him down the same path of distraction that must have caused his congregation to dwindle. Paper is what keeps everyone sane and everything functioning, he would tell anyone who asked, although no one bothered asking. He wouldn’t say it as you read it here though because this priest, this congregation, and this church reside in France, close to the border of Switzerland. Le papier est ce qui maintient tout le monde sain d'esprit et tout fonctionne.

At 1:00 pm, like every weekday at 1:00 pm, the mailman of the town picked up the outgoing mail from the church. The mailman wasn’t a man of God, but he had more time for the priest than most people did. He could see that the priest was a lonely man and could relate to him in his own non-God-driven ways. Today, like all days, he made small talk with the priest, but today their conversation drifted to the odd, green scratched envelopes.

“Who’s trying to reach people in America?” the mailman asked, looking at the addresses.

“I don’t know, but one of them is for Léo here in town. He was at the church yesterday for a funeral, so I assume it has to do with that,” the priest said, “The funeral for the American handyman who’s been living here for the past three years.”

“I saw Léo from my window the other day, I’ve never seen anyone look so gutted in my whole life,” the mailman continued to study the scribbled font. “What do you mean you don’t know who wrote these? You know everything that happens in this church.”

“Evidently not everything,” the priest sighed, “but if someone is writing letters, I won’t stop them.”

“You said the funeral was for that American?”

“Yes. I didn’t know him. He seemed like a kind person, and people respected him for his work. But, from what I heard, his funeral was held here because he didn’t have any family to be sent back to in the States. Barely anyone came to the funeral at all.”

The two sat in silence brooding over the nature of loneliness and contemplating whether sadness seeped through the veins of the whole world.

“Do you really not know who wrote these letters?” said the mailman, “It’s odd, isn’t it? It’s the same green ink you use and even the same envelopes.”

“I let anyone use the church office, but no one ever takes me up on it,” said the priest, “They're strange letters though, as you're saying."

“There’s no return addresses on them either.”

“Maybe one of the people who came to the funeral wrote them.”

“But, why use your office and why have them sent from the church? It seems unnecessary, unless someone is trying to stay anonymous.”

“And why would someone want that?” the priest asked.

“Maybe they’re blackmail letters, sent from your church to look less suspicious.”

“That’s not likely.”

“You never know…” the mailman trailed off.

The two sat in silence again, their thoughts propelling from how solitary the world was to how cruel it was, too.

“Should we just check the letters to see what they say?” said the priest, “I don’t want anything to come back to hurt my congregation.”

“I’m not allowed to, but you’re a protected man of God, aren’t you?” the mailman said, with only small traces of satire in his voice.

“No, it doesn’t work like that. It's nonsense for me to have said we should open them in the first place.”

“But is it?”

The men contemplated the mystery.

“Fine,” the priest said, breaking the quiet. “I’ll just look at the letters quickly to make sure they’re not harmful. God would understand that.”

He hesitated, then opened the first letter, turning to the mailman, “Do you speak English?”

“Yes, why?”

“It’s in English and I only know some Latin.”

“A lot of good a dead language does you.”

“Well, then you’re going to have to read these with me.”

---

Katie-loo Katie-kaboo,

Thank you for coming to the funeral. It was nice to see your face after so many years. I can’t believe you wore the pants we made in college together. It was certainly special to see them after all these years, although the stitching wasn’t really my best work. I’m happy to say I got much better at doing in-seems and everything else with time.

We didn’t get to talk, but I think you’d be happy to know that I didn’t sell my soul to anyone who was trying to grind the world into smaller pieces of shit. Reduce, reuse, recycle. I got to be part of that and fix things that people needed repaired. Maybe, I did a little bit of good for the world after all, but I doubt it.

I’ll never forget our activist days in college and the way you talked about saving the world. I always thought you were an airhead for being so idealistic. I had figured the best I could do was blow up some industrial shit and escape to the desert with Abbey, but now I know you were right all along.

Speaking of the silly rat, where is Abbey-the-boy-dog? I know someone has him right now, but I don’t know who. I hope he’s okay. He’s so full of love, even though he’s a little shithead. Okay, a big shithead. That reminds me, thank you for taking turns with Joe to take care of him when I couldn’t. You’re good friends.

Take care of yourself for me, okay? I’ve realized, too late, that it’s the people in your life that make it worth something. I’ve had lots of adventures and am grateful for that, but now, all I can think about is the things I wish I could fix. There’s a lot more than pants I'd like to mend.

Did you see Nate at the funeral? I looked all over for him. I’m working on sewing-up the inseam of that relationship, but I might have messed it up too much. Still, I hope he can forgive me somehow.

Thanks again for coming.

Best,

Eli

---

Heyo Joe,

What’s up, ya meathead? I love you, man. I hope you’re the one watching Abbey right now. You probably are since you helped name him. Plus you spoiled him like crazy. You’d always get home from class before the rest of us, sit on the couch with him and just let him munch on chips every time you pulled one out for yourself. I guess that’s what happens when you’re the only poly-sci major in a house full of engineering students and can come home early. You’re a smart son of a bitch even though I gave you shit. You did sell your soul becoming a lawyer though.

Anyway, I am glad you became a lawyer, and you know that. But you should be doing more to help the world than working for corporate money now. I know it’s not my place cause you’re the one who got me and Nate out of trouble all those years ago, but you also know why we did what we did. You helped inspire it.

Me and you used to talk all the time about Edward Abbey. He was a sexist, racist, lunatic, but he loved the environment in a way we could feel. It was a fierce kind of love that justified exploding dams because they mess up natural, beautiful things and implode whole ecological systems. Our world is barely clinging to what’s left of our wild places anymore. I thought you were going to help protect them by being an environmental lawyer, but you sold out.

Looking back, I know that what Nate and I did in our Ed-like fight for the planet wasn’t great either, but we had good intentions. Well, I had good intentions and could talk him into just about anything. Like the night he finally kissed Emily, do you remember that? We had all bugged him about it for months and one night I hounded him for so long that he finally made his move. I’ve never seen him smile wider.

Nate hasn’t talked to me since the incident though. It’s been six years. I figured I’d move on with my life for a while and we’d come back to each other eventually. We were always inseparable, and it’s not just ‘cause we’re twins. We had the same friends, ended up going to the same college, and had the same major, but lived our own lives and had our own interests. It’s probably because we look nothing alike that we were able to be so tight, since no one compared us to each other, at least to our faces. When we’d stand together, anyone could tell we were siblings because of our face shapes, but his shaggy red hair, stoutness, and the half-foot I had on him made us look completely different. He always had a wicked lil’ grin on his face, too, and you know how hard it is for me to smile.

Where me and you chatted about Ed Abbey together, you and Nate would play pong. I remember you could only get me to play dice with you on the weekends, but damn, I don’t remember a lot of Mondays because of the three-day benders those games always kicked off.

I miss him, Joe. Let him know that, will you? Since we lost our parents, I figured we’d get close again, but we never did.

I didn’t mean to just talk about Nate here, but you understand better than most why I need his forgiveness.

Thanks for coming to France for me, man. Look after Abbey and take care of yourself.

Best,

Eli

---

Amazing Emily,

I’m happy I got to see your husband and your kid at the funeral. Nothing like a nice French vacation to liven up a death, huh?

I’m sure Nate would have loved to see you. I know you two didn’t end on the best terms, but I’m glad we all stayed friends after you guys broke up.

You have a beautiful daughter. Did I hear her name is Gloria? Is she named after one of the routes we climbed? I remember you standing on top of it, almost fully covered from your helmet to your knees in your parka, shivering with the biggest smile on your face. I was never sure if you were shivering because of excitement or cold. Maybe both. I just remember that I was almost shitting my pants after that climb it was so hard. Seriously, one of the scariest things I’ve ever done. Obviously not the scariest one now though.

You were always a badass and I am so thankful that you were my adventure partner for all those years. Nate used to joke that we spent more time together the two of you did. But it wasn’t ever like that. You and Nate always had something special. It’s probably just because you have something so similar to Nate about you that we got along the way we did anyway.

You set the standard pretty high for the rest my mountaineering partners. Léo was the only other person I trusted as much, maybe even more than you. Now, I’m scared I scarred him for good. The mountains are a dangerous place and all of us who spend so much time in them know it. We’ve all lost people. And we all come up with reasons to get back out again. We all feel the thrill of being part of something perfectly raw and beautiful. We just get to go out and be ourselves without caring about the past.

Anyway, thank you for coming all the way out with your family. I hope Gloria grows up knowing she is loved by one of the most badass people in the world.

Best,

Eli

---

The next letter was written in French.

“At least I can read this one,” said the priest.

“Don’t you think we’ve gone too far…” the mailman said while his eyes started roving over the page, widening.

---

Léo,

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have died on you. I can’t imagine a more horrific thing than walking out of the mountains with your partners’ broken body on a make-shift sled behind you.

I heard what happened at my funeral. Everyone kept talking about how amazing it was that you found my body, and how unfortunate the avalanche was. I heard I died falling over rocks as it swept me down the mountain. If it had only been snow, you probably would have saved me.

You did your best. There is only so much anyone can do. You are the best mountaineer I’ve ever climbed with and one of the best partners I ever had. Please, don’t blame yourself. We all know the dangers of the mountains. They are raw, powerful, and change from calm to chaos in seconds. Don’t let my death sour the love you have for them.

At a certain age, those of us who play in the peaks have all loved and lost friends. I know my death was different. You had to see it, and I’m so, so sorry for that.

I don’t have the right words to say to you. Instead, maybe this quote by Ed Abbey will help you understand how I feel about my death on the rocks:

“Better a cruel truth than a comfortable delusion.”

Thank you for everything.

Best,

Eli

---

Nate,

Hey bro, I miss you. Please, don’t let your hate for me keep you from reading this.

I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t mend what I broke between us. I should’ve never let you take the fall for me like that. I shouldn’t have left you to the fucking hands of fate and Joe’s court defense. You were lucky to get so little jail time, but still, I know I should’ve been there with you or done more to get you out. I didn’t realize how much it would change your life.

I fled. I’m not proud of it. France was amazing, but I couldn’t escape you even here. I think I spent more time in the mountains as a way to keep me from thinking of how I let you down.

Then, I let you down a second time. The second our parents died should have been the moment I fixed things between us, and instead we sat quietly next to each other at the funeral. I promise that as we sat there I thought about how I could fix us. I promise. I guess that doesn’t really change anything ‘cause I never opened my mouth to tell you how sorry I am and how much I wanted you back.

Now that I’m dead, there’s not much I can do to fix anything anymore. It doesn’t make anything better to say that it’s my one regret in life, but all I can do is say I’m sorry and I hope you can forgive me someday. I love you, please, know that I always did.

You made my life full in ways I only realized once we were apart. There’s something special about having a brother like you, a brother I would’ve called my best friend if it was worth stating the obvious.

You were the biggest person in my life, Nate. I wish you nothing but the best because that’s all I can do now.

All the best,

Eli

---

The priest and the mailman sat in silence, bewildered. As the two men reeled, a red-headed man approached. He seemed to be looking around, desperation and sadness twinging his features. He spotted the two men and hailed them with a wave as he strode over.

“Excuse me. Oh, wait, excusez-mui. L’église? The church?”

The mailman replied, “Yes, this is the church.” He looked warily at the man, thinking the man couldn’t be who he suspected the man was.

“You speak English?”

“Yes.”

“I’m late for a funeral. I didn’t mean to miss it, but I got here as quickly as I could. Is there any way I made it in time or could speak to someone who administered the ceremony?” The man said, “The funeral was for my brother; his name was Eli.”