Ashes

The reason why all kinds of people visit the headland in all seasons.

ASHES

 

“Where are we going to throw the ashes?” Cora asked her mother Rachel.

“I’m not sure that’s the correct way to talk about your late father’s remains. Perhaps it should be returning what was a body to nature,” Rachel said to her children.

The mother and her children had been driving for many hours, when they had finally reached the spot where Luke, Rachel’s husband and father to their three children, Cora, Harrison, and Lester, had designated as his final resting place. In his youth, Luke had spent some time in a small coastal village in Galicia, Spain with friends. He had always declared that it had been the happiest time of his life. His wife and children had often heard of the place that he had fallen in love with. He had wanted to die there, or be buried there, or be cremated there, and his ashes scattered into the sea.

Luke’s ashes were in a box bearing a label with a picture of a cross on it, and below it his name and age. The wind was gusty, the sky a picture of scudding clouds chasing each other across the blue surface. The effect caused was that in one moment everything was lit by the sun and the next it was cloudy and grey and everything was in shade. The family got out of the car carefully, and walked over to the headland. Rachel carried the box of ashes in her hands.

“We have to make sure that the ashes don’t blow into our faces. The last thing we want is to be covered with bits of Dad,” Lester the youngest member of the family said.

They all stood facing the sea, their coats and trousers flapping against their legs. The widow opened the box and shook out the ashes - out into the wind - which carried them out - to the sea.

“Thank goodness that’s over,” Harrison said, taking hold of his mother’s arm.

The widow got into the car in silence. After all those years she suddenly felt light and airy, that by freeing his last remains into the elements she was free herself at last.

 

Months later in high summer, the headland was the background for picnics, walks, and cycle rides, and those who preferred to try and climb it. Tourism was well-favoured, as there was always wind, even on the hottest days. The sky was an interminable blue canopy that blended into an even darker sea. At that particular spot an ancient footpath existed, and those who were in the know directed their feet to it and thence to the beach lying directly below. The perfect breeze created strong enough waves on the sea for those who wanted to windsurf, or surf, and was welcomed by the sunbathers. The headland remained solid and unmoved by all that took place. It became a shelter from the burning sun for those lying on the beach below.

A campervan accompanied by ten motorcycles and several cars was seen nearing the headland they didn’t arrive silently. The young men who were travelling inside the campervan got out carrying musical instruments. They were soon followed by the motorcyclists and the car passengers. They stood on the headland and began playing strident music. Although there was the slight wind, it wasn’t strong enough to muffle the sound of the instruments as they were all connected to amplifiers. After giving out what appeared to be a rendition of various pieces, they all drew together to the edge, and they began shouting out a name no one could understand. Two of them carrying a box, stretched out their arms and scattered the ashes into the air. As the ashes were drawn away from them, they played a short piece to finish the small ceremony. Then they turned their backs, and got back into the vehicles, and drove off.

Down on the beach some of the sunbathers felt something gritty falling onto their bodies. They looked up, but there was nothing and nobody to be seen. The mere fact that the dust was grey bothered some of them. Those who hadn’t been affected told them, “Looks like you’re covered in ash.” Without thinking twice those ash-covered victims ran into the sea to get cleaned up. Then they went under the showers installed on the beach to make sure they were clean.

What would the friends of the dead musician have said? Those who had appeared and performed on the headland in homage to their late mate were too busy getting drunk to have given the incident a second thought. They had done their duty, and as far as they were concerned the matter was over and done with. For those on the beach it was another inexplicable moment on their holiday.

 

The hospital entrance was busy with the healed leaving, and those waiting to be healed or cured trying to get in. The swing doors moved backwards and forwards without a pause. In the car park private cars and ambulances were in competition to see which one would be able to get closest to the main entrance without having to get out of their vehicle and find a porter with a wheeled bed. Maurice had had several strokes, some major some minor, over the past ten years. Now, the one that had sent him rigid seemed to be the definitive one. Deandra, Maurice’s daughter, and spoilt into the bargain, wasn’t feeling at all happy about the recent stroke. The previous one was supposed to have sent her father to the graveyard, but to everyone’s surprise Maurice had survived, and until the night before, had been in pretty good health. Deandra had called an ambulance, informing them that it would be impossible for her and her son, Graham, to lift her father into the car. The ambulance had arrived at the house where the unfortunate family lived, and after the paramedic had rushed through a superficial check up, Maurice was placed inside the vehicle and taken to the hospital. Deandra didn’t accompany her father in the ambulance, but decided to follow by car, as she wasn’t convinced by Graham’s driving capabilities to let him go by himself. They were lucky to get a good parking space with a short distance to walk to the entrance. Good job, thought Graham, as he knew his mother’s nerves were not ideal for any kind of contretemps with anything that resembled authority. Deandra was the only authority she accepted and recognized.

The receptionist inside the entrance hall looked up as the trio of Maurice, Deandra, and Graham entered. The porters took charge of the bed and wheeled it into an empty room. “Madam, may I have the gentleman’s details, please?”

Deandra was getting crosser and crosser, her morning had been upset by her father’s stroke. “You must have all his details, he has been here more than once over the last ten years. If you look for his name on your computer you’ll find his details sure enough.”

The receptionist said nothing and started looking up Maurice’s details on her computer. “You’re right, the information re your father is here. Do you think you could fill me in on the latest episode he has had, please.”

Deandra was not really mollified, but thought she should show willing, just in case it was a false alarm, and her father wasn’t as bad as he appeared to be. “My father was all right till last night, when he complained of feeling unwell. He didn’t exactly say what was wrong, but he began to make a tremendous fuss. I decided to wait till the morning just in case he was exaggerating. This morning he looked pretty awful, and so I’ve brought him in.”

The receptionist worked away on her keyboard, till she had finished Deandra’s declaration. “I’ll just go and hand this in to the doctor attending your father, and then I’ll return. Please take a seat, and remember that he’s in the best hands.”

Deandra and Graham watched the receptionist walk down the corridor. “What d’you think will happen to Granddad, Mum?”

Deandra turned her head and said, “He’ll probably die.” There didn’t seem to be much remorse on her face.

“Does he have to die?” Graham asked.

Deandra stared at her only child, and said, “What’s the matter with you? Does your brain no longer function? Eventually all of us on this earth are condemned to die, or did it never occur to you?”

“I know that, Mum, but I hope he’ll carry on a bit longer. I love Granddad.”

“Yes, I know you do. He’s the only father you’ve ever known.” For one moment, Deandra was reminded of the husband who had abandoned the two of them, when Graham was only six months old.

The door was opened by the receptionist who said, “Your father is now in a single person’s room, and resting. You may see him if you’d like to, but he’s been sedated, so he’ll be unable to speak.”

“He doesn’t say much anyway, so I don’t suppose he’s going to become all over chatty now,” Deandra said.

Mother and son followed the receptionist’s instructions, and were soon outside the door of Maurice’s room. Deandra gently pushed the door open and they both walked in. Maurice was smothered with tubes plugged into all parts of his body. “I see they’re looking after you, Dad,” Deandra said.

There was, of course, no response from the figure on the bed, that was so still he looked already dead. On one wall there were monitors which showed the present state of the patient. Deandra felt unready for what might become a certainty, but her natural forceful character soon took over. “We can’t do anything here, so we’d better get home. Come on Graham,” she said, catching hold of her son’s arm.

Graham pushed his mother’s hand away, and said, “I’m not going home without him. I’m staying here to see what happens.”

“Can’t you see what’s going to happen?” Deandra said in a frantic tone of voice.

“No, I can’t see anything yet. I want to stay with him. He’s always been there for us, so we owe it to him.”

Deandra knew that Graham was right, but didn’t want to admit it. “I’ll go home and tend to everything in the house. When I’m finished, I’ll come back and you can go home and have a sleep and a shower and something to eat before returning here. How’s that for a deal?”

Graham said, “Sounds fine to me. I’ll ring you if things change.”

Deandra left the hospital and drove home, with mixed feelings.

 

Two weeks later Maurice gave up the fight and died in his sleep. Deandra had to make a song and dance about the care of the body and where to have the funeral ceremony. When all the possibilities had been researched, she decided to have her late father’s body cremated. The ceremony itself didn’t attract many mourners, as nearly all of those who had known Maurice in life were already dead and buried, or on their way to the hereafter. Graham was not at all happy at seeing his grandfather’s coffin disappear behind the curtains on its way to be incinerated. He stared at his mother and wondered whether she would regret not having a grave to visit. On second thoughts, he decided that she had never regretted anything. Deandra had organized a small cocktail for the mourners who had come from different areas to attend Maurice’s funeral.

 

That evening Graham asked his mother, “What are you going to do with the ashes?”

Deandra was putting away the black suit and coat she had worn, and said, “This weekend we’re flying to Spain, to scatter his ashes from a headland that he liked so much. Don’t you remember it? He took you there quite a few times when you were a little boy?”

“That sounds a bit of an exaggeration, going all that way just to scatter his ashes.”

“The idea isn’t mine, but his. Apparently it all forms part of the instructions for his funeral that he left with his lawyer. I can’t say I fancy going there at this time of the year.”

 

The weekend when Deandra and Graham went to the headland, the wind was too strong for the mother and son to scatter the ashes successfully from the headland, so chose to go down to the beach by the footpath. Down on the beach the wind didn’t seem any weaker. The two mourners stood on the beach staring at the churning waves without coming to a decision. Maurice had stated that he wanted his ashes scattered from the headland, in other words into the sea. The said sea was just a few short steps away from them, so Deandra, her impatience getting the better of her, moved forward saying, “I can’t wait any longer,” and opened the box of ashes. The contents of the box went flying out of it, and to their dismay was blown into a corner where the previous ashes had accumulated, thanks to the ever- present wind. Graham turned his face away in sadness. Deandra took hold of his arm and dragged him up the footpath. They had travelled all that way for nothing.

 

Every New Year’s Day on the headland, there were always people celebrating in one form or other. The headland covered in snow was a wondrous sight to see. The sea below was white and grey, there weren’t any other colours. There hadn’t been any tipping of ashes for ages, due to the fact that it was far too windy to make the climb up, and once up on the top of the headland, the risk of being blown off down onto the beach and into the stormy sea was evident.

There were always some who were determined to carry out an offering of some kind. Under the shelter of the cliff, there was a group of young women who, as part of a religious ritual, had lit a fire and were busy in keeping it going, and at the same time were throwing scented woods and pine branches onto it. The air in that small space was that of a bygone ritual that even they were not aware of, only that they had got together because they enjoyed it. The little dogs they had brought with them for the ceremony were running around, stirring in the corner.

The young women would never know how their ritual for the New Year had sanctified the ashes accidentally blown there.

They never heard the sound of a small aircraft above the noise of the wind and waves, nor saw the plane plunge into the sea.

 

That night on the news the accident was mentioned, that inside the aircraft a family had been carrying the ashes of their father to be thrown into the sea from the headland. The pilot hadn’t taken into account the adverse weather conditions. However, the ashes arrived at their rightful destination in the sea.

 

The headland didn’t suffer from the news of the accident. It is still the sight for those willing to make the climb and scatter the ashes of a loved one into the sea. If the wind lets them.

 

The rocks are covered in solidified ash, and no one has ever asked why?