Chapter 77: No Vacation at the Factory
Chapter 77 No Vacation at the Factory
On the road leading out of the city in London, there traveled an unimpressive public carriage.
Agareth sat on the opposite side of the carriage, frowning at Arthur and the coffin beside him, unable to stop shaking his head.
“Can you just stay out of this shit all day long and just find a random cemetery to bury her in. Just to give her a funeral service, you’re actually going to step into a church you’ve never been to in your life?”
Arthur, unresponsive to Agareth’s provocation, lit his pipe and took a sip, the smoke screen appearing as a relief.
“I’ve been to more ridiculous places than churches in my life, it’s really no big deal.”
The Red Devil pointed at him and glared, “Arthur, please get this straight, I’m not giving you a compliment!”
Arthur had one hand pinned to the window as he surveyed the view of the fields in the distance, looking a little rambunctious about his conversation with Agareth.
“Is it?”
Agares exasperatedly said, “You kid seem to be very godly, huh? You’re a fucking loser, what’s so great about you! Don’t you feel ashamed that you’ve turned a heroic epic into such a farce? Don’t you feel remorseful? Do you still want to go on stage or not?”
Arthur said lightly, “Agareth, don’t get angry yet. You’re actually right about everything, but I don’t see my life as some heroic epic drama.”
The red devil was so angry that he threw the roll of parchment he was holding in his hand, and the pitchfork that used to be in his hand at all times made him change back.
He held the pitchfork against Arthur’s throat and forced the question, “You kid denies all my arguments, but admits that I’m right about everything? Is it you that’s out of your mind, or is it me?”
Arthur held up both hands and spoke in the Frenchman’s pose, “Hold your horses until I finish. While I don’t think my life is an epic drama, I do agree that my life has turned into a farce.
But, Agareth, do you know what the difference is between comedy and farce?”
Agareth frowned in contemplation, “Where?”
Arthur said, “The difference between the two lies in the fact that farce is closer in nature to tragedy than comedy.”
“Wow! My dear Arthur.”
The Red Devil threw his pitchfork out the window as he laughed with relief on Arthur’s shoulder.
“You are finally beginning to reflect on your mistakes. Life has turned into a tragedy, aren’t you going to change anything? I’ve been a devil for so many years, I’ve seen too many tragedies, you need to listen more to the words of people like me who have been there, so that you can avoid tragedies from repeating themselves.”
Arthur gently shook his head, “Why do you think humans will listen? Do you know why humans have progressed? The reason why humans have progressed is because the next generation doesn’t listen to the previous generation.
Therefore, even if life is a tragedy, I will happily play it out. Even if life is a dream, I have to do it with flavor and not lose the mood and fun of the dream.
That said, Agares, your devilish career seems to be even more tragic than mine, so why do you think I should listen to you?
I was already a police inspector when I was 20, what were you doing when you were 20? I think you should have listened to me more often.”
“Hey! Arthur, fuck you!”
The Red Devil slammed the seat in anger, one eye big and one small, glaring at Arthur and cursing, “Don’t you think you’re something just because you’re a police inspector, that’s just because I’m not in hell right now, if you dared to talk to me like that when I’m still in hell, I’d have to tear you apart alive!”
Perhaps angry, Agareth said, “Besides, do you think the priests would perform a funeral ceremony for a dissected corpse? If they were willing to do that, then the Archbishops of the House of Lords wouldn’t have to fight over an Anatomy Bill.
If I remember correctly, that Anatomy Act, drawn up in 1828, was rejected by the Archbishops several times in a row, wasn’t it?”
Arthur nodded, “Of course I know that the bishops and most of the priests are reluctant to pray for the dead in autopsies, but that doesn’t mean that all priests are reluctant.” “I thought you never attended religious services? You don’t even know a single priest, where are you going to find the odd priest willing to perform funerals for the dissected dead?”
Arthur shook his head, “I still know one priest, and only that one. But if even he isn’t willing to hold a funeral for the dissected, then I’m afraid I won’t be able to find a second cleric in all of England willing to do so.”
The Red Devil frowned and thought for a while, then suddenly, a flash of light flashed within his mind and the Red Devil covered his mouth.
“Are you talking about that madman?”
Arthur shook his head, “He’s not a madman, he’s just an Oxford priest who identifies with Penn.”
……
Oxford University, St. Mary’s Church.
Rev. Newman was sitting in the pews in a quiet daze.
Ever since he had returned from London he had often fallen into this state of long examination, so that he could not even feel the passage of time, and he clearly felt that he had only been sitting for a little while, but in an instant it was dusk.
He pondered this for a while, and then felt that something was wrong, so he reached out and explored towards his side, trying to feel for those reading notes he had brought with him.
But he touched them but got nothing, and Newman frowned as he looked to his side, where a familiar figure sat.
Newman’s mouth opened in surprise, but before he realized what was going on, he saw the small cream-colored coffin lying next to Arthur again.
“Mr. Hastings? Are you planning to convert to the state religion?”
Arthur leaned back in his chair and hung his head low, “Mr. Newman, let’s not get into the rest of it, I need a quiet, undisturbed graveyard, and a funeral that will bring the dead as close to God as possible.”
Newman glanced at Arthur, then knelt down and gently moved the coffin, he just looked at one side of the inside and instantly closed his eyes in agony.
“What the hell is going on here? Such a small child, why would ……”
Arthur didn’t say anything, just took out a newspaper from his arms and handed it over.
Newman quickly skimmed the newspaper’s headlines, and as he read on, his hands could be seen shaking.
Newman then let out a long sigh, and he barely even thought before he opened his mouth to oblige.
“Well, Mr. Hastings, what about the little girl’s family? The coffin, the farewell, the service, the burial, I’ll discuss these procedures with them as best I can to get it right, when are they free to come over?”
Arthur was silent for a moment, he wasn’t sure what to tell Newman about this.
“They …… may not be able to come, you just think of me as this little girl’s family.”
Newman was stunned, “Why?”
Arthur calmly said, “Because the factory doesn’t have breaks for vacation.”
(End of chapter)