Chapter 3: The Funeral

Men dressed in black suits flooded the mortuary. The place was not designed to accommodate so many people at once. Going in and out both became a laborious endeavor. In the main chamber was a small casket, surrounded by flowers, and in front of it was a photo of a brown haired boy who resembled his father so much, decorated at the upper corners with black stripes, displaying the identity of the corpse within. The boy was none other than Saito Hikari. Whispers of vacuous condolences filled the chamber. As much as the death of the boy was a tragic occurrence, to none was the occasion personal. let us be honest here: if some stranger came in to say goodbye to the dead with copious amount of sympathy, crying his eyes out all the way, then that would be a most suspicious and unseemly sight. The person would be quickly found out to be having some sort of mental illness, chronically suffering from mind consuming delusions, and authorities would take him away. When a person died, only a handful gave genuine lamentations, for such was the difficulty of acquiring and maintaining truly meaningful relationships in one's life in this world. Then why did so many people come?

The funeral is for the living, not for the dead. The dead knows not who comes and goes to honor him, nor can he taste anything that is offered on the altar. He no longer demands, for the breath has left his nostrils. Even if the dead is left in the field as a food for the dogs, and his body torn apart, and the leftovers pecked clean by the birds of the air, he does not protest. His blood might testify to the circumstances of his unjust death, but even the punishment of perpetrators is for the living, not for the dead, for the incarceration is designed to prevent further harm, not to undo the harm. Just as the time cannot be rewound, the death cannot be undone. So it was clear that all these visitors came, despite the inconveniences, and spew out remarks of soulless compassion, because they were compelled that this was somehow beneficial to them. Sometimes the benefit was as small as not making an enemy, as was exactly the case here. The majority of the visitors were Scilab workers whose interests were tied to the decisions Dr. Yuichiro made daily. They all came to show their face to Yuichiro because others came to do so.

The logic is a simple game theory. If no one comes to show his face, then no one is in trouble. Will Dr. Yuichiro make an enemy out of the entire Scilab personnels for not showing respect to his tragedy? If one or even a handful show up, then the others are in trouble. Dr. Yuichiro will remember the few (he will not be able to help himself) as his true allies who were with him through the darkest hour, and they will become the first in the list of next round of promotions. If most show up but few, who are without proper excuses, do not show up, then those who did not come will be in trouble. Of course, Dr. Yuichiro does not remember all people in Scilab nor is his personality petty and vengeful as to hold grudge against those few. It is the lower ranking officers, who know them, and with questionable work ethics, will never write a recommendation for them. They can kiss goodbye to their careers. If all show up, then no enemies are made at the expense of Dr. Yuichiro's annoyance and surprise.

Indeed, Dr. Yuichiro never had a plan to make an event out of his son's funeral. This was to be a personal moment of memorial. He did not even send out invitations to his closest allies. He loved his son too much to make it into anything political. Had he intended, then he would not have chosen a mortuary so small and private. Yet the information was leaked somewhere, and before Yuichiro could make corrections, the flood of men came, along with delivery after deliveries of flowers. Yuichiro now felt mildly disgusted at men, all of them, who were so quick and eager to make everything into a part of their little game. The stuffy air polluted the room and the entire affair became a bad imitation of a hydrolic press. From time to time he was compelled to turn around and check his wife and the remaining son in the fears of losing them in the crowd. Small Netto would surely be crushed and injured should he be lost in this torrent of men. Thankfully, both were staying at the corner and Haruka was shielding him. Yuichiro did his best to make empty promises to visitors saying that he would remember their visitations and considerations, just so he could repel them in a timely manner. It was a total chaos.

Had it been four hours? Maybe six? Around 10 P.M., the number of men was visibly reduced, but the work was far from done. Around 11 P.M., there was finally some breathing room, and Haruka took a sit with Netto on her laps to rest her weary knees. Her son was visibly exhausted simply from witnessing the pandemonium. Yuichiro's face was becoming darker from the fatigue; a sign that his liver was not keeping up with the workload. His neck was parched and voice was starting to crack. He was sure to have trouble speaking tomorrow from the delayed inflammation of his larynx stemming from over-use. Heck, he wished that he did not speak at all for the next few days.

The tired brain of Yuichiro readily created an invasive thought: why was everyone saying "I'm sorry for your loss" when most of them probably did not even know that Yuichiro had a son named Saito until earlier today? They were not sorry at all-why would they? They were all dogs and hyenas, looking for breadcrumbs on his table to fall, so they could lick at his feet. He might have lost the supermajority support in the Scilab council with his investment in the netnavi project, but he still comfortably commanded 45% of the votes. Whatever proposal he made, a concession here and there, a revision or two of the terms and wordings, a bit of extra funding to correct departments, and he could swing enough of the moderates to pass it. They all wanted a part of him, a part of his attention, a part of his power. The moment he revealed any weakness, they would all turn around and bite him in the neck. Perhaps comparing them to dogs was an insult to the loyal race of canines that served mankind for more than a millennia. Less than dogs they were, all evil, all useless, all idiots!

Yuichiro could hear a commotion outside. What began only as a minor disturbance continued to grow in magnitude. He checked the clock. It was now around midnight. Who could have come at such a late hour yet compel others to pay their respects and provoke frenzied greetings? Yuichiro already knew the answer: it was them, the sin of his father, Tadashi, and also partly his sin, for he inherited them.

Them
The pigs

The pigs, that was how Yuichiro called them informally with utmost contempt. They were the old men who hailed from the times of Tadashi Hikari, coworkers of his father who stayed loyal to the bloodline and supported him unanimously at all times. They were the bedrock of his political power, the foundation of his prestiege, the most respected scientists, the living legends!

Currently the most useless group of men in the Scilab.

See, some of them might have worked in the same lab as Tadashi Hikari. Some of them might have made some crucial contributions. There might have been a time when they were young, ambitious, and fresh, with a daring vision to change the world for the better, eradicating the corrupt, protecting the weak, guiding the oppressed. Now, they were nothing but the husks of former selves, forever basking in the past glory of Tadashi. It had been over a decade since any of them made any meaningful addition to the academia. Whatever paper they published nowadays were works offered as sacrifices, either voluntarily or involuntarily, from their subordinates, and the contents were inconsequential to Yuichiro's agenda. They continued to claim a substantial sum of resources from the Scilab budget, and almost all of it went straight into their bottomless pockets. Their labs were caricatures, empty save the bare minimum of equipments to pretend they were working. Their fruitless idleness had been a public secret for some time. Public, for all knew, and secret, for no one dared to speak it out aloud.

They were the cancer of the society

Yuichiro had been pouring his heart and mind to transform Scilab for the better, especially on the culture of work ethics. He wanted to make a place where people were promoted by merit, not by alliances. Yet, no matter how many exemplary demonstrations he made, all his efforts had been in vain, precisely due to these old men. What was the point in working hard, when some cash here and there could secure a recommendation from an influential figure? They used Yuichiro as their shield, and in this way he became an accomplice to their crimes. As humiliating as it was, he had no option but to bear it. He was too smart and ambitious for his own good. He understood perfectly that he would quickly become inconsequential without their support despite his excellence, for what he needed was political power more than some international recognition.

They had to be purged

But the time was not now. If the heads started to roll before he had amassed substantial like-minded young scientists as his supporters, the chances of establishing a new order in the aftermath were nihil. Dr. Regal, son of Dr. Wily, was a prime candidate who would not hesitate to exploit opportunities that arose from such disorder. That gloomy man of impenetrable mind had been silent and obedient so far, never standing in Dr. Yuichiro's way, but Yuichiro refused to believe that the man was so different from his father, Wily. At any rate, the hasty purge would be akin to stabbing himself in the leg. They were still his power base. He had to be patient, bidding for the moment of his aristeia.

The doors to the chamber opened and five men entered the funeral grounds. One of them, the smallest one who looked like a shriveled shrimp, was in a wheelchair. As if it was a requirement of joining their secret club, all of them had seborrheic keratosis on their heads. Their hairs were sparse but excessively oiled and combed-a desperate attempt to hide their terminal stage androgenic alopecia. Their faces appeared greasy, glittering under the white LED light of the ceiling, and they smelled like bromine gas. Overall, they appeared unclean, diseased, and unseemly. They came to Yuichiro with the most repulsive, fabricated smiles on their faces. Even Haruka noticed the fictitious nature of their greetings and her stomach churned with disgust. To Yuichiro, it was not his first time enduring their presence. He donned his mask of respect and friendliness, and proceeded to shake hands with each. Yuichiro simultaneously checked the door and realized no other pigs were to be found.

'Five? Five? Out of all?'

The moment Saito's funeral became a public sight, all of them should have come and showed their solidarity with him, notwithstanding how unstable it might be. But only five? They were surely sending him a message; such cowardly coyotes they were-could not even put their intentions in words due to the fear of some kind of backlash. Nevertheless, the message was clearly conveyed to Yuichiro. He had been curtailing resources alotted to them here and there, eroding their power one article at a time, preventing them from keeping their promises to their clientele. The process had been so gradual, so slow, and methodical, that they so far failed to mount a meaningful counterattack. The purpose was not to completely remove them. No, their fame and support were too valuable to lose at the moment. Yuichiro rather was seeking to destablize them just enough, so that in the future he could replace them without any repurcussions. Only five of them visiting was them trying to show Yuichiro that they were aware of the schism developing, and that they would not tolerate his sabotage forever. Sending only five as a representative was a tactile threat that they were ready to abandon Yuichiro in the next round of votes.

The one in the wheelchair was the pig whom Yuichiro found particularly loathsome. Yuichiro doubted this man had more than 5 more years of life left, and this was a highly optimistic projection. Astonishingly, this shriveled shrimp of a man was the oldest and greediest of all the pigs. He tried to amass wealth and influence at every opportunity even in such a decayed physical state-it was as if he planned to live forever. Was it not natural for old men to retire and pave way for the next generation? Was it not common sense that a man, when his hairs grayed, learned to accept both his successes and failures, and left his legacy for others, content that his life was not wasted?

"Ah, what a pleasure to see you alive and well! So, let us cut to the chase and speak plainly. When are you coming back? Of course, we understand that last few weeks have been most difficult for you, and we would not be so unreasonable to not give you a few days' vacation after the loss of your son, eh..."

One of them who looked more like a moldy and wrinkled cheese pizza than a proper human being opened the conversation. Yuichiro noted how this Dr...well, his name is not even worth mentioning. Let us call him Dr. Mold. Yuichiro noted how this Dr. Mold did not even have a decency to offer a customary condolence, nor was he aware of the name of the deceased.

"Saito. Saito Hikari."

"Yes, precisely that. But please keep in mind the budget committee is due next wednesday, and we are on the review list. We need your..."

'help. Say help, you bastard. You need my help.'

"...opinion on the matter."

'The gall! To come here and then demand straight away my submission?'

Yuichiro had zero intention of going back to Scilab until the review was over. His absence was to give the board his implicit consent that the budget cut could proceed as planned.

"My sincerest apologies. I do no think I will be able to make any meaningful contributions in my current state. Since the passing away of my son, I have been most distracted. See, the family needs some time together as well. If you need anything, please contact Meijin; he will act as my deputy in my absence."

Dr. Mold was not ready for the rejection. He was not convinced before at what his peers said and did not believe Yuichiro was actually sabotaging them in the most insidious ways. Now he saw that the sayings had been true all along, but what choice did he have? His position had been untenably precarious recently. He made some foolish decisions some time ago, and all his political credibility were spent on covering resultant scandals. He only had some flirtations with his secretary and another scientist lady who was under him, and he sweared that it was they who seduced him in the first place. What was the big deal? Was not everyone doing this also? He lost many allies because of this incident. His small brain quickly tried to find a way to persuade Yuichiro. He would not be reduced into inconsequential existence like this.

"Oh, Dr. Yuichiro, but what's the loss of a son or two to you? With your gorgeous wife still so young and fresh..."

Dr. Mold studied Haruka with his eyes as he spoke. She looked ripe for taking and delicious to taste. Why did he never get a chance to lie with such a woman? He imagined what she would look like under the clothes, and the result excited him. He decided that after sealing the deal with Yuichiro, he would stop by the club. He knew a girl who looked just like Haruka but only in the body habitus, not the face. It was nothing he could not fix by asking the girl to be served with a mask. He also determined in his heart that before he left the mortuary, he would also have to make an excuse to talk to Haruka. Oh, her hands, how soft and sensitive they appeared!

"...you will make another in no time! We are hard pressed, Yuichiro, please, for the sake of your father..."

The insult was too great and Yuichiro almost lost his temper. He bit his lips. His hands contracted into fists. The nails dug into his palm. Had he gripped a bit harder, surely his hands would've bled. He brought his hands behind his back to hide them. He needed to calm down, lest his voice comes out shaking and he fails to hide his fury. There were too many eyes and ears here. He had to respond in a manner befitting the leader of the majority. At minimum, he had to not generate a rumor of a complete fallout between him and the old guards of Tadashi.

"Please, I understand the urgency of the situation, but there is a time and a place for everything. See, we are mourning here. Perhaps we can talk at a later time?"

'and stop ogling at my Haruka, you filthy pig. I swear one day I will gauge out those tiny eyes from your worthless head, and then pull out your tongue for the sake of Saito.'

"Of course, of course! We can certainly arrange that! Now, before I go-and please excuse the suddenness of this request-let me speak a word with your wife. I see that she is most dejected from this misfortune. Perhaps I can offer her a word of encouragement-"

Yuichiro cut him off. No, this pig was not going anywhere near his dear Haruka.

"No need, sir. She has received guests all day long and is tired. I fear she might faint if she meets someone of your importance. Now, allow me to accompany you to your car. The time is late and the night is still cold. I fear if I keep you here any longer, your health will suffer."

Like an experienced swineherd, Yuichiro lead the five out the door. For now, they seemed to be satisfied with his response. A promise of a meeting in the near future was better than nothing. As for Yuichiro, he would have to come up with some excuses to decline their begging for help. He was also tired, and his ideas were depleted. He decided to postpone the matters to the future himself.

Yuichiro came back to his family after sending those filthy specimens off. He finally had the time to look at the photo of his son. Oh, how cruel was fate to take him, this innocent boy who never sinned in his life, in his youth? Why should he die, while those worst examples of human beings live into old age? Where was fairness? Where was justice?

Haruka came to Yuichiro, who was standing frozen in front of Saito's casket, and put her arms around his right arm. She spoke nothing, She needed not to speak anything. Their bond was such that a firm contact was all that was needed to convey meanings. Yuichiro was comforted. The veil of aimless indignation lifted from his eyes. He still had work to do, not for the world, not for himself, not for his followers, but for Haruka and Netto. May Saito watch him and bless him in all the works that he was about to do, including the blasphemy he was about to commit.

By 2 A.M., everyone was gone and there were no more visitors.

By 6:00 A.M., Saito was cremated with the casket. Netto, who had been tired beyond his normal limits, insisted and attended the proceedings. He burned the moment into his eyes as the casket was moved into the furnace. He remembered the sound of every lick of flame on his brother's body. He embraced with dismay and disbelief when the ashes of his brother, collected and put in the urn, came to him. The urn was in his hands. From dust a man is made, to dust he returns. Saito's face, warmth, speech, they were all no more. He was now reduced to a handful of fine fragments of pulverized bones. All that remained was the memory. Netto whispered to the ashes, so quietly and personally, that even Haruka next to him failed to hear it.

"We are going home, Saito niisan."

Netto did not want to figure out who he would be without Saito.
Now he had to.