Whether the sun’s journey is beginning or ending,
I follow its course with an indifferent gaze;
In cloudy sky, or in brilliant azure, it may set or rise,
What matters the sun? I expect nothing from days.
“Dear friends, we are gathered here today to accompany my wife to her final resting place ...”
Thomas took advantage of the speech to look for his father. Raymond was sitting in the third row, his eyes focused on the altar, visibly moved.
As Mr. Bartel’s speech was drawing to a close, Thomas checked the schedule. He put away the first piece of sheet music and was surprised when he saw the second behind it.
“Huh. Vivaldi’sGloriaon the piano?”
Remembering that his instrument was more like a synthesizer than a Steinway, he pushed the “Violins” button, curious to hear the result. He was not disappointed. The chords he played on the keyboard set an ensemble of violins playing different parts in perfect harmony. Thomas delivered a spirited rendition, perfectly mastering the piece’s jolting rhythm. Right when the choir would have made its entrance, the guests stood up and started singing, “Gloria, Gloria, Gloria,Gloria in excelsis Deo,” as if they’d done it a thousand times before.
Hearing them, Thomas played even more enthusiastically. He felt like he was conducting an orchestra—one of his longest-held dreams—and the result was so magnificent that, at the end of the piece, the entire audience applauded. Out of habit, he stood up from his bench and bowed respectfully, despite Mr. Bartel’s angry scowl.
Next, one of Camille’s oldest friends came to the front to say a few words. He spoke of her in tender, admiring, even humorous terms and said that he was convinced she was watching them from “up there.”
Thomas stopped listening as he placed the third piece on his stand. He froze upon reading the first measures. He quickly made a small gesture in Manon’s direction, then a series of larger gestures to get her attention.
“I think the pianist is calling you,” a guest whispered loudly.
Manon waved back, then realized Thomas actually needed her. As Camille’s friend continued his speech, she got up discreetly and joined Thomas.
“I think there must be a mistake for the next piece ...”
“No, not at all. This is exactly what we planned.”
Thomas looked back to the sheet music. “‘Stayin’ Alive’? Really?”
“Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to warn you. Mom wanted her funeral to be full of joy, like she was. Like the second-line parades in New Orleans with the brass bands, where the music carries you off to another world. Or like another life, in which all your dreams come true. Mom wasn’t a big fan of jazz, but she loved disco music. I know the choice is a little unorthodox. My father didn’t want to do it, but I insisted, and her friends backed me up, so he gave in. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. And you’re playing great—bravo. It’s been perfect.”
When Manon returned to her place, Thomas—who, until that point, had been focused on the music—belatedly noticed that the guests had removed their everyday coats, revealing the surprising, retro-style outfits they’d worn underneath.
A woman in the second row was wearing a 1970s jumpsuit; her neighbor was dressed in green bell-bottoms. Further down the row sat a guy in an orange shirt with a huge collar, paired with bright-blue pants and leg warmers. To the left, Thomas saw a woman in a bell-sleeve hippie dress and, behind her, a man in a silver shirt under a plaid suit jacket. A few rows back, a man wore a ruffled top with silver sequins. A pair of neon leggings jutted out into the center aisle. Scattered around the room were gold gloves, huge thick-rimmed glasses, sequined ties, bright fedoras, and shiny baseball caps. It was like Halloween.
“What were you saying earlier? Oh yes, that we weren’t going to a surprise party,” his father joked, sitting on the altar.
The disco ball started spinning in the center of the dome, projecting its shimmering lights on the walls and stained-glass windows. The urns in the glass cabinets sparkled as it turned.
Thomas shook his head in amazement. “When she said Dignity Memorial had a wide selection of services, she wasn’t kidding,” he said.
But he was there to replace the organist and play whatever songs Manon had requested, so that’s exactly what he did. He was surprisedone more time, however, when the guests pushed back their chairs and started dancing to “YMCA.”
Mr. Bartel danced, too, and even Raymond joined the crowd, swinging his hips as his son looked on, astounded. His father winked back gleefully.
The ambiance was unbelievable. Thomas played song after song from the sheet music in front of him: “Let’s All Chant,” “Just an Illusion,” “Hang On in There Baby,” “Ring My Bell,” “Don’t Leave Me This Way,” “Heaven Must Have Sent You,” “I’m So Excited,” and—the big finale—“I Will Survive.”
Then, when they’d reached the end, the guests gathered before the altar, across from the urn, and applauded loudly as they all threw their hats, scarves, and caps high into the air.
13
The party was over, and the guests were leaving the mausoleum, on their way to a reception hall with a full buffet. As they exited, Thomas took his time putting the sheet music in order, eager to be alone.
Raymond was waiting outside. He’d claimed that this was so he could be a lookout, but the truth was, he was afraid his nerves would cause him to mess up their mission, and he didn’t want to watch his son do the very thing that he had asked him to do.
