The Suit

The Suit

“What do you mean, he wants a new suit?”

“That’s what he said.”

“He’s got his black suit. He always wears his black suit. His black suit is perfectly suitable for the occasion.”

“He wore that suit to every wedding, every funeral, every family function for the past twenty years, Derrick. As a matter of fact, he bought it for your wedding. And it’s the last suit he ever bought.”

“So why change now John? He’s got something of a record going here. This is no time to change horses, as they say.”

“As who says?”

The two brothers look at one another. In this, as in most things in life, they are united by their tendency of opposition. One tall, one short; one eats fish, the other hamburger. One entered academia, the other, corporate. One forgave their father his failings; the other held a grudge. One wanted to buy the new suit; the other did not.

“You know what I mean,” says Derrick. Don’t start with that cutesy academic, logic stuff. Stick to the topic.”

“It’s practically threadbare in parts, Derrick.”

“The topic?”

“The suit, Derrick! Now who’s being cutesy?

“You’re exaggerating, John. A little shiny, maybe, but still serviceable. More to the point, given the occasion, is anyone really going to notice?”

“You’re callous, Derrick. Callous suits you, speaking of suits.”

“I’m just practical, John, not disrespectful, so don’t start climbing the peak of moral academia’s sensibility. And actually, the remark wasn’t all that funny.”

Frustrated, John leans against the polished oak of the $4,000.00 casket that the funeral director has just pitched to them. “If we can’t agree on a $400.00 suit, how do we agree on a $4,000.00 casket?

“You were going to spend $400.00? Really? Four hundred dollars for a suit and then bury it in a $4,000.00 casket? Derrick edges towards the Economy Immortality casket, and away from the gunmetal-grey platinum, redundantly named, Eternity Forever casket to which the director had led the “two such fine gentlemen with such clearly refined tastes.”

"John, you harp about the need for corporate responsibility. Where’s the responsibility of wasting four hundred dollars?If we have to buy a suit, then at least buy the old man a suit for, say, $200.00 and give the other $200.00 to charity. At least you’d be helping someone with the money.”

“That’s a great idea, Derrick. I never thought I’d hear something like that from you.”

Derrick realizes that he’s just fallen into his own trap. “I was just trying to make a point John. Four hundred, two hundred, what’s the difference? Suit, casket, they’re both going in the ground. Nobody sees them anymore. Nobody benefits from any of the money spent on them. Nobody!”

Looking at the undertaker still hovering close by, Derrick adds, “Except the undertaker.”

“Funeral director, sir. And why should we be excluded from the nation’s economy?”

“My apologies,” Derrick offers.

“Suddenly you’re anti-capitalist, Derrick?” John adds with an apologetic nod to the undertaker. “Where’s that ‘prime the economy,’ attitude?”

“It’s alive and well, John. Just not here at a dead end, so to speak.” Derrick turns quickly to the hovering undertaker. “No disrespect intended.”

“You can’t reduce everything in life to a utilitarian equation, Derrick.”

“Sure I can. Why can’t I? It suits…” Derrick emphasizes ‘suits’ to annoy his brother, “…the occasion.”

Groaning, but deciding against being lead down another unproductive path, John asks, “What does Mom say?”

“Not much John. She’s too busy grieving. Says she’s leaving the mundane matters to her two strong boys, her comforts in this time of grief.” Derrick smiles at his own irony.

“She did not say, ‘mundane,’ Derrick.”

“Not in so many words, no, but …practical…utilitarian ...mundane, it’s all the same, John. Let’s get it done.”

The undertaker adjusts his four-in-hand and coughs discreetly. “Gentlemen, I apologize for listening, but truly, in this confined area,” he gives a small wave in the direction of the coffins lining the walls, “it is difficult not to hear.”

Derrick grimaces skeptically.

John nods encouragingly. “What is it Mr. Sampler?”

“It occurred to me that I have the perfect solution. One that will more than satisfy your concerns to send off your beloved father in the finery he so richly deserves,” a nod here in John’s direction, “while also preserving your, shall we say, ‘flair’ for economic realities,” a nod towards Derrick, who is sure there is a more than a hint of the sarcastic in the man’s use of the word “flair.”

Both brothers respond, “Yes,” at the same time, but they pronounce two vastly different words. John’s “Yes,” expresses itself as, “I’m interested. Let’s hear more. Awash with skepticism, however, Derrick’s “Yes,” says, “Get on with it.”

"Well, then," the director begins, "You might not be aware, but Sampler’s Final Resting Place Emporium, far from being a ‘dead end,’” a slight nod here towards Derrick, “is, I think, how you termed it, actually quite innovative. Perhaps you noticed lighting equipment and a 16 mm camera to the side of the lobby when you entered?”

“Please, don’t tell us that you are offering to shoot a video of the burial to commemorate this auspicious, historical, moment in our family’s life, preserving it for future generations!”

“Of course not,” says Mr. Sampler, “and the camera is a film camera, not video.” But he is lost in thought, considering the viability of using video.

“Mr. Sampler?”

“Hmm? Sorry, of course. My apologies.” Again, the tie is straightened and the throat cleared. This time the brothers, as though by tacit understanding, say nothing, waiting for the funeral director to explain what the movie equipment has to do with them.

“The movie equipment is for a commercial.”

“A commercial?”

“Indeed! I’m sure you have arrived early at one of the local movie emporiums in order to secure a good seat, and have then watched the full screen advertisements showing there. As you must realize, local economic engines are purchasing ad time in the movie theatres. The film of their commercials is on a continuous loop, and so the ads are shown several times prior to the start of each movie. This happens twice a day, more frequently on weekends, seven days a week. The price for reaching captive movie audiences represents excellent value for local entrepreneurs, especially when compared to television, radio and print advertising.”

Derrick spoke first. “And so you are going to advertise your funeral parlor…”

“Emporium”

“Beg pardon?”

“Emporium, sir.” Sampler’s is a funeral emporium.”

“Sorry. Emporium, then,” John quickly interjects seeing Derrick winding up his anger.

“Thank you,” replies Mr. Sampler. “Indeed, advertising about the final leg of ones journey through life is what we in the trade consider to be a valid part of our consumer education. As you are discovering, there is much to consider; burial is not a simple matter of lowering the deceased into a grave. There needs be much knowledge and careful consideration given. Sampler’s commercials are designed to educate, and thus be of help to the bereaved during an emotionally distraught time.”

“The end result of said education for the bereaved being that you ultimately lower the deceased into a grave,” said Derrick. “Isn’t that the point Mr. Sampler?

“It is a rather crude representation, yes.”

“And just how do we enter your more refined representation?”

The answer dawns on him at the same time it dawns on John. Perhaps it is Mr. Sampler’s move toward their father’s body that provides the flash of insight.

“You actually want our dad to be in your commercial?” This is the first thing that they have said or thought in unison.

“I know what you are thinking” said Mr. Sampler, “but I assure you that this is not ghoulish. Avant-garde, perhaps, but tastefully avant-garde.”

The brothers are momentarily stunned. Mr. Sampler takes the opportunity to continue. “First of all, your father will be dressed in a new black suit, and a fine one at that. Sampler’s Emporium provides the finest for our Shining Reality family members. As well, he will rest in a Luxo Eternal casket. Ice on the set during filming will ensure that the hot klieg lights do not, shall we say, ‘disturb’ his rest.”

“Why our father?” asks Derrick

“Mostly because he is such a fine, distinguished looking gentleman. His rugged appearance and white beard look as though he could live forever…” At this the voice momentarily sputters before recovering, “…which I’m sure he will do, in the world beyond, But for those of us still tarrying here, your father’s image will reassure them, give them hope and confidence. He will do good deeds even while departing.” Mr. Sampler addresses those last remarks mostly to John, having decided that he would likely be more sympathetic to this line of argument than would Derrick.

“While at the same time,” Mr. Sampler’s head now tilts almost imperceptibly towards Derrick, “your father will be paid for his performance as set out contractually, all legal and binding. Few people have the opportunity to earn money posthumously; this is truly a wonderful demonstration of the possibilities of free enterprise, one which I’m sure you can appreciate.”

In fact, Derrick isn’t at all sure about this particular application of capitalism, but he is sure that the head has nodded even a little more in his direction.

“So he gets the suit and the casket? Is that right?”

A small, discreet nod from Mr. Sampler.

***

After a reasonable period of mourning, the brothers were beginning to go out again. A quiet dinner here, a ballgame there, and then one Saturday they decided to see the blockbuster hit, “Cast-Off.” In anticipation of a crowded Saturday night, they arrived at the Kolorama Theatres half an hour early, bought popcorn and cola, then hurried to theatre 13 to find good seats. Derrick led the way, ten rows up and halfway into the row, once again claiming that this was where you got the best view and the cleanest sound. John cared only that whomever ended up sitting behind him would not talk or kick his seatback during the movie.

In the half-light, they made themselves comfortable and began munching the popcorn. By the time the movie started, the bag would likely be empty: they would snack through the previews and the coming attractions, through the corporate advertisements and public announcements, through the movie trivia and the local messages.

As usual, Derrick and John found something on which to disagree; this time it was the government’s suggested revisions to the Children’s Welfare Act. They were just entering phase two of the argument when a vaguely familiar voice from the direction of the screen intruded on their consciousness.

“The bonds of family,” it soothed, “extend love beyond our earthly demise.” Conversation stopped as Derrick and John swiveled in their seats to face front. There indeed was the face of Mr. Sampler, writ large on the sixty-foot screen. “At Sampler’s Emporium, we help you to express that special love.”

The camera panned away from Mr. Sampler, revealing the bullet-grey platinum of a Luxo Eternal casket. The brothers stopped eating their popcorn, the refillable bag sliding unnoticed from John’s hand to the floor.

“It can’t be …” John began.

Mounted on a boom the camera rose several feet, giving an overview of Sampler’s “…funereal chamber, where one can spend reflective moments with the family member embarking on their voyage to a shining new reality.” The camera rose still higher, and now the audience clearly saw the topside view of the Luxo. Yes, there lay father, distinguished white beard neatly trimmed, brand new Carovali suit, black of course, and just as Mr. Sampler had predicted, father looked good, having a certain star quality, a “gravitas,” as Sampler had said.

John grimaced as the someone who sat down behind him sharply banged the back of his seat.

“Nice looking dead guy,” came a female voice from behind. “Do you think he’s real or a dummy?” she asked her date.

“What do you mean a dummy?” John turned around to face the woman. “And by the way, are you going to bang the back of my chair through the whole damn movie?”

“What’s it to you, buddy?” The boyfriend now was leaning forward.

“I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to her.”

“Really? Well, now you’re talking to me?”

“You know,” John said, People think that guys like you are defending their girlfriend’s honour, but they’re not. You’re only defending your own.”

“If you’re so smart, how come you don’t know what she meant asking if the stiff is real?”

“The stiff?” John began to rise despite the boyfriend’s bulging neck muscles.

“Isn’t this some sort of role reversal?” Derrick asked his brother, pressing John’s elbow to the arm of the seat and half rising in his stead.

“Tell me what you think about the…stiff…as you put it,” Derrick growled, flexing his own, rather substantial muscles.

“That ain’t no stiff, eh,” the boyfriend whined as if to explain to his girlfriend. “C’mon, you think they’d use a real dead guy? It’s like a wax figure. Like that Madame Tussaud museum.

John now produced a crisp $100.00 bill from his wallet. “This says that the…’stiff’…is not a ‘man of wax, if I may quote Shakespeare. This says that the…’stiff’…is very real and recently deceased.”

The boyfriend could only raise $80.00. “Honey. Lend me twenty bucks, will you?”

With the two hundred dollars in the hand of a neutral third party seated next to John, the boyfriend smirked, “So, how you gonna’ prove that it’s a real stiff?”

Derrick and John both reached into their pockets, removed their wallets, removed from their wallets several pictures of their father, very much alive at the time, and very real, dressed in a black suit, the old one of course, and the distinguished white beard very evident.

***

“I never knew that the short “i” in that one syllable slang word for biological waste matter could be sounded for such a long period of time,” John said, taking the money from the neutral neighbour.

“And please,” he turned to the woman, “try not to kick the back of the chair.”

Derrick faced John. “You were right about the suit. I was wrong. All of this has made me realize that it’s time for us to bury the hatchet, as they say.”

“As who says?”

“Don’t start, John. I figure before we end up stiffs ourselves, let’s be brothers.”

“A compelling argument, Derrick.” The brothers shook hands, John giving half the money to Derrick. “One more thing,” John added. “I stipulated in my will that I want a new burial suit. You might want to think about that, or who knows what you might end up wearing to your own ‘shining new reality.”

“Amen to that.” Derrick pocketed the bills, then turned back to the screen where the advertisement for Sampler’s Emporium had looped around and their father was making his second appearance of the night. Derrick nodded in respect, tilting both head and cola towards the image. “Here’s looking at you, dad.”

“Amen to that,” John said.