The temperature of the car was just right, now. His head sank into his chest . . . . . . a funeral . . . big funeral, the church so full of people, people I ain’t seen in years, people I ain’t seen since I was a boy, people who was old men when I was born, people who died before I was born and who exist only in my mind, the church is First Baptist, but not the new one with the new carpet and fine cushioned pews and right white walls and a piano, the old one with bare wood floors and no ceiling, just rafters up over us, dusty and cobwebby like a barn, Jesus was born in a barn, and people dressed fine but old timey, in bright colors, greens and reds and oranges and blues, no blacks, no veils, nobody’s crying but nobody’s smiling neither, everybody’s just quiet, quiet, and I believe I hear water, gurgling, gurgling, but I don’t see nothing, maybe it’s Jordan? I see a coffin, it’s new and pretty, a brassy copper-brown color, shiny, with silver rails, shiny, and the cushions and cloth and pillows and veils are a mellow light brown that match the coffin nice, I see me, there, in the coffin, my face is drawn and dark and old, I look black as coal, I’m chalky about the face, my lips are too drawn, too tight, my eyes seem to bulge behind those lids, my cheekbones they stick out too much, too much, like an Indian’s, I’m in the coffin looking out, out, flowers all about, bright fluffy mums and lilacs, lavender and roses, red and yellow, and lilies, white, but they don’t smell, all I smell is a smell like incense, and I suspect it’s frankincense and myrrh, but I never smelt frankincense nor myrrh, but I know, I know it’s frankincense and myrrh, I know it, and I’m looking out at all the people, all the people looking in, Reverend Barden is there and Reverend Hensen who was before him and Reverend Thomas who was before him, and Reverend Fitzhugh who was before him and Jimmy who is now, and there is Ruth and her old husband Jethro and my sister Jonnie Mae and her husband William and their children Rachel and Rose and Rebecca and Ruthester and Lester, but they ain’t crying none and there’s Sammy and Horace and Retha, Aretha? Retha, no, and we’re all outside now, the water is gurgling, trickle, trickle, still don’t see it, this ain’t the right cemetery, too many trees to be the Cross-Davis place, and I still smell the frankincense and myrrh, and hear that trickle, trickle, trickle in my ears, and Jimmy and Hezekiah Barden come to preach but they saying different things, Jimmy is preaching a wedding, if any man should see why these two should not be united let him speak now or forever hold his peace, and Reverend Barden is preaching a Christmas service, and they were in the same country shepherds abiding in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night, and lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them, and they were sore afraid, and the angel said unto them, fear not, for behold I bring you good tidings of great joy, and a rat, a great big red-eyed hungry-looking thing, moves at my feet, and I try to holler, but nobody hears me, or nobody pays attention, and the choir stops, and Retha walks up to the coffin and crushes a yellow mum in my face, and I can’t feel one petal, not one, but I can feel the rat crawling up, up my leg, Retha, oh, Retha, stop them, honey, please get me out of here, Lord, Lord, please, and she steps back, she ain’t smiling, she ain’t crying, Sammy and Horace come to close the lid, stop, boys, stop, let me out of here, now, l ain’t playing, can’t you see that rat? You’re both dead anyway, you’re dead Sammy, and you’re dead Horace, and you’re dead, too, Retha, don’t let me be dead too, not yet, not with these two preachers who don’t know what’s what, they look at me, but they don’t hear me, they lower the lid, dead men burying a live man, the lid coming down, please Lord, don’t, click. Nothing but water and gurgling and that damn rat crawling up, up