Disce, Puer, Virtutem Ex Me Verumque Laborem, Fortunatem Ex Aliis
 
 

BYERS:

To quote one of my all-time heroes, Han Solo from 'Star Wars,' I have a bad feeling about this.

I always wanted to be Han Solo from the time I was fourteen. He was everything I wasn't-fearless, rugged, daring. He could take his bucket of bolts across the galaxy, wheezing and crumbling, and still outrun everyone else with their shiny hardware and neatly uniformed armies.

Plus, were I Han Solo right now, my princess and I could simply get the hell out of here and do something simple and fun, like save the galaxy.

On the other hand, Han was always there for Skywalker, no matter what...and while Langly makes a pretty unlikely Luke Skywalker, I owe him no less. (That hair always makes me think of Chewbacca, and if anyone ever reveals this to him, I shall be forced to mortally wound you with my blaster).

Frohike as R2D2? Even worse. I shouldn't be having these thoughts right now, but somehow, they creep in unbidden.

Such as thoughts of Susanne still manage to work their way into my brain, at times when I least expect them-and frequently, when they're most unwelcome.

John Fitzgerald Byers as Han Solo? Forget it.

More like C3PO.

And I always found the protocol droid to be SO annoying.

Juliet takes my arm, asks me what I'm thinking. I blush.

She whispers that I'm so naughty.

Did I mention that I thought it might blow the home viewers away if we made out in the back of the church?

I'd better not say anything about that.

She might be game.
 

Langly, as a member of the immediate family, is entitled to be down front with Joan's children.

He is informed by one of the ushers that he may be down in front, but not his wife.

He's almost purple with rage, but Allison says she'll stay in back with us, this isn't the time or place to make an issue of it.

Personally, I think it's exactly the time and place to make an issue of it...but I'm the same guy who wants to titillate the home viewing audience.

Frohike takes his arm, tells him perhaps it would be best if he stayed with us. Joan would understand.

And there will be fewer injuries if he does. Langly's not a violent person by nature, but stress him out too heavily, and he will react...and he's big and strong enough to hold his own in most fights.

I think this is why I avoid physical altercation. I know I'll lose. I consider this to be a blessing, because the worst I've ever walked out of a bar with is a terrific hangover, whereas Langly has walked out (crawled, in some instances) bleeding and bruised from time to time in the past. To his credit, though, he virtually never instigates these altercations; he's reactive rather than proactive in that regard.

To be fair, I can't make the same claim, but the only person I've ever punched out is Mulder, and only when I was drunk (and he was drunker than I was), and only when he deserved it. And we're still talking, so it obviously hasn't become an ongoing thing.

I don't know why I get these terrible thoughts in situations where I'm supposed to be sober and attentive. I notice that when I am in stressful situations, these types of off-the-wall notions tend to fly about my brain in random patterns. If my dissertation advisor had known what I was REALLY thinking during my oral defense, there is no way I would have ever been awarded my doctorate.

Looks like it's showtime.
 

FROHIKE:

We're bringing up the rear, all of us, including Langly, who should rightfully be in front, but has chosen not to, as his wife was not permitted to join him there.

They have not brought Miranda. Miranda specifically requested that she be excused; ever since her father's funeral, she has found them far too difficult to manage. And I think Langly and Allison have some idea what this will entail, and I think they were wise to allow her to attend school and live her young life, rather than become embroiled in this brouhaha.

Miranda loved this woman who was not even her blood relative, but she adopted her as aunt, and treated her with the privilege and respect due someone in that position during her lifetime. How many of us can say the same about individuals we have come to bury?

I think Michael and Kelly are here out of respect for Langly, not because of any special closeness they shared with Joan, and also for Jo, who is seated to my right. Jo did share her life with Joan, and this has been a horribly taxing experience for her.

There will be a luncheon of sorts later on. My intent, and Jo's, is to get as drunk as possible, feel as miserable as possible, get it out of our systems, and go on.

If we can.

This being a fundamentalist church, the opening of the services are very different from what I grew up with. There is something sobering and settling about the words 'In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.' But this opens with loud prayers, amplified singing, and a certain splashiness befitting more a Busby Berkeley musical than a tribute to the dead.

Of course, a tribute here may not be what they have in mind.

Prayer here is most public, and most vocal. While there are prayers said by the congregation in the liturgy, I feel ill at ease with this; I consider prayer, if you must engage in it, to be a private ritual. And Jo, a religious woman if there ever was one, agrees. Her face is implacable, but her distaste for the ostentatiousness of it all is tangible.

Byers and Juliet are focused, sober, and respectful, in spite of what they must be thinking. Byers is far removed from the nominally Episcopalian background of his young years; Juliet was raised in the Catholic tradition, but I sense her involvement with it is limited. This is a strange, foreign set of circumstances for them to be dealing with, far removed from their dignified, reserved upbringings (although it's obvious from meeting the two Drs. Parker that they are possessed of far more warmth than anyone in the Byers clan).

And for Allison and Langly, this has to be wrenching. Langly has lost a sister he dearly loves and has only had with him again for a brief time. And for his wife, she is definitely not well-regarded here; I'm certain it was her religious orientation that barred her from joining her husband in his rightful place. She keeps her arm over Langly's shoulder, and every now and again, I see him lean against her head, as if to reassure himself that he is not alone in this.

I don't like the way she looks today. A pale woman to start with, she looks like a corpse, her stark white skin against her black sweater and skirt. I say this because to me, she looks ill, and it's not the cast of morning sickness. I suspect she is having more difficulties with this pregnancy than she has confided in any of us, including Langly. And knowing her, she'll say nothing, as not to upset Langly more than he already is, which, admittedly, is substantial.

Mulder is ever the observer, watching the behavior of all around him, probing, analyzing, drawing patterns. He will have the entire crowd profiled before we ever get to the cemetery.   The only breaks that occur in his concentration are that every so often, he will flash a big grin and a peace sign at the TV cameras which clutter this place. Scully will smack him lightly, but he will divert himself in this manner over and over again.

And the person sitting at the end of the row of our entourage is Walter Skinner. I have to say I'm surprised to see him here. His only explanation was that at one time, he was acquainted with Joan.

Acquainted, my ass. That look on his face said it all.

Oh, he was acquainted, all right. As in knowing her in the Biblical sense...

Frohike, stop it. You have no basis for this assumption. You're nervous and bored and you don't want to be here, and you're letting your mind travel.

Still, my curiosity has gotten the better of me...now I'm wondering...

Frohike, go home and visit the cyberbabes later. You'll be glad you did.

I'm supposed to be listening, and I'm not. Concentrate, you idiot.

I'm concentrating, just not on the words of the pastor, who is mouthing empty platitudes about the wages of sin being death, about how only Jesus Christ can provide that eternal peace and salvation, and how Joan is in a much better place now...

Bullshit she's in a better place. My ass.

She's in whatever place all those kids I helped bury in 'Nam are...and that's no place to be.

Langly squeezes Allison's hands so tight I swear he's going to break the bones.

I am grateful he has Allison. If this were to happen, and she were not in his life...I don't know. I don't even want to contemplate the possibilities.

She will keep him alive. It's what she does best. Sometimes I swear that when they got together, it was as if by opening her mouth and kissing him, she breathed life into him.

Right now he looks as if he could use some artificial respiration.

The preacher here drones on and on...I hate these people. I hate their self-righteousness. I hate their pious posturing, their pretense at love and forgiveness. They don't love Joan, nor do they forgive her anything...all of their Scriptural quoting has barbed edges on it, smacking of vengeance and self-satisfaction.

I can't wait to hear Michael's opinion of all this when it's over. And he'll have one. Believe me. I'll be treated to hours of his bombast, of his own variety. And then there'll be the witty and scathing commentary of Byers, which I look forward to simply because it will help me laugh and put things in perspective.

Which I'm having a very hard time doing as Roy Renshaw ascends to the pulpit.

He speaks of the times when Joan was a loving wife, a doting mother, a devoted teacher of special education, a true woman of God...but then he speaks of her falling away from the flock, influenced by the Jewish-run media conspiracy that threatens to take us all to hell and by those with tainted blood.

And I see Langly wince, and hear a loud moan, as if stifling a sob. Allison holds on to him; I see her grimace as if in pain.

I've seen that grimace before...it's that of a laboring woman.

She may not be miscarrying yet, but it has become clear to me that it's inevitable.

This baby will not survive.

Please don't let it be today, I pray. Please don't take away my boy's hope today. Let it be another day, when he can deal with it.

Listening to Roy Renshaw is truly painful. What I suspected would happen, is happening.

Joan is being held up as an example of what will happen if you fall from grace, as they define it.

I've got to get Langly out of here. He's almost purple with apoplexy. Allison murmurs to him, strokes his hair, and that's the only thing, I swear, that's keeping him from exploding from his seat.

That, and Byers keeping a soft hand on his other arm.

Finally, after misinterpreting a number of Scriptures from the New Testament, Roy Renshaw steps down. I breathe a sigh of relief.

Shouldn't have spoken so soon. The next person to take the microphone is Chris Renshaw, her son. I'm praying this will be a tribute to his mother from a loving son, but somehow, I doubt it.

And unfortunately, my doubts are not unrecognized. If his father's diatribe was one of smoothly concealed spleen, then his is ragged, vengeful, and makes no attempt to hide his anger and disgust.

All in the name of the Lord.

I'm worried that Langly will race down the aisles and pop him, but instead, he just bursts into tears. Which in my mind, is even worse.

Allison is trying to get him to go outside with her, but he won't move. He's insisting on staying. Why, I don't know. I'm ready to leave myself. I've heard enough venom disguised as faith here to carry me into the next millenium.

"Who is this asshole?" Mulder whispers to me.

"Her son. Langly's nephew."   I whisper back.

"Shit, even I thought Langly had better taste than that," he muses. "You realize that kid is psychotic, don't you?"

Well, I don't know. He's certainly not what I would consider well-grounded...but Mulder is known to be extreme in his judgments.

"And he's gay," Mulder adds, grinning in a fashion I consider to be inappropriate in this setting.

Scully has been intent on the sign language interpreter the whole time-Allison has mentioned that there is a large fundamentalist contingent in the deaf community, and most of the televangelists employ signers. She's shaking her head and frowning. She taps her husband.

"Mulder, I don't know...am I just suddenly misinterpreting the signs, or is this testimony not what one would ordinarily hears at a funeral?"

He signs a reply to her, which I can only read part of, but it's something to the effect of, you're not misinterpreting anything, and yes, these people are vile.

And the testimony drags on...people from the congregation who knew Joan, claimed to have loved her, and lament her fall from the ways of God...

This is malicious.

A Mass of the Resurrection takes roughly an hour. We've been here for two and a quarter hours...this has to end soon...I notice Michael and Kelly fidgeting restlessly, Michael looking disgusted.

If I pray for anything right now, it's for this to be over.

And fifteen minutes later, although it seemed more like fifteen hours, my prayers are answered.

We gather outside.

But not before Byers and Juliet make it a point to get in line with one of the TV cameras, and treat the home viewing audience to a French kiss.

I bet the ratings just went up.
 

"I can't believe it. A funeral, and they're still begging for money!" Allison is disgusted.

"Hey, Ally, d'ya hear the part about the Jewish media conspiracy?" Mulder asks her, waggling his eyebrows.

"I heard it," she groans. "If you find it, please let me know. I'd love to be part of the group that takes over the world."

Langly, still holding on to Allison, turns to me. "Frohike, you guys wanna go ahead to the cemetery...I can't do this. I can't be with these assholes." He's sobbing silently, choking out the words thickly and slowly.

I consider this. I have no desire to be part of this any longer, and I very much doubt anyone in our entourage does.

"What do you think?" Byers turns to me. Once again, I am the father figure, expected to make a decision.

So I do.

"I think...we should head for Maryland. And go to Mitch's."

This is met with approval by everyone.

I notice then that there is a very large, silent figure standing near us but not with us.

Walter Skinner.

I don't know what his presence signifies, but I can guess.

I ask him to join us.

He accepts.
 

We are greeted at Mitch's by Genie, Mitch's mother. I'm very fond of Genie; she is a very unique woman. She calls herself a Christian, and she means it.

"Who's that writing? John the Revelator..." she greets us singing an old gospel tune, a cappella, clapping her hands to keep rhythm. She does not seem surprised to see us, but then, she never does.

"...Wrote the book of the seven seas," she directs us to a table. It's early in the day, Mitch's is uncrowded. She brings beers for everyone except Allison and Kelly, who are served club soda with limes.

You don't argue with Genie.

Particularly when she brings me a chaser of J&B.

She goes over to Langly and gives him a bear hug, and he actually accepts it from her. She says she's sorry about his sister.

"Somebody call her?" he asks when she leaves again, mystified.

I shake my head. "This is Genie."

He looks up, suddenly knowing. "Oh yeah. Genie." It dawns on him.

I wonder when he met her.

It's quiet at first, but the beer loosens tongues and soon there is conversation and signing again. I feel more at ease than I have all day.

And the beers are consumed quickly, none more quickly than by Jo, who is ordinarily a very moderate drinker. But as she says, she's Irish, and she'll honor Joan in Irish style.

She may have to be carried out of here.

Genie serves lunch, unbidden but welcomed by all, and it's one of her usual cholesterol-laden treats. Even Langly manages a few bites; it's pretty hard to resist when Genie's the cook.

She sits down to talk to me. "How're ya doin', Malvin?" Melvin always comes out sounding like 'Malvin' with her.

"Oh, you know," I shrug.

"Yeah, I do. Rough go. Not getting' easier."

"You could say that."

"Just did." She moves her eyes to Allison and Langly. "Them two? They's havin' a real bad time, ain't they?"

"Well, he did just lose his sister...and Allison's pregnant..."

"And it ain't goin' well. Wish it was, but I don't rightly believe that that babe's ever gonna come to pass. Ya can see it in her face."

"I was thinking the same thing," I say sadly.

"Yeah, well, you knows what they says. Troubles, they comes in threes. They's had two. They's got one more to go. Wish it was gonna be somethin' else." She lights one of her unfiltered Camels and takes a deep drag. "But don't you worry none, Malvin. They's gonna be okay. Something good's gotta come of it all. It's the Lord's way, y'know."

I've heard enough about the ways of the Lord all morning enough to make me vomit...but when it comes from the mouth of this woman, it's different. It's never angry, never malicious.

"Your boy. He's lookin' mighty good." She continues smoking. Allison must be flipping out by now.

"Michael's a good boy...usually."

"He means well, Malvin...he's jus' young, y'know...tryin' to make his way, impress his daddy...not to mention that li'l cutie pie he's so fallen over..."

"I'm well aware of that." I don't think I need to be reminded of how young men act to impress women...been there, done that.

"You jus' keep a firm hand on him, and a lovin' eye, and he's gonna be fine. I tell ya." She stubs her Camel, lights another. "Mulder, he and the missus, they looks good."

"He lost his job not that long ago," I remind her.

"Best thing ever happened to him. 'Cause now he can find what he really wants to be findin'."

I hope so. If he can ever get off diaper detail long enough.

"And what's his face, Byers you say? The quiet one? He's gonna do something today that's gonna surprise hell out of ya's," she grins. "I gots customers comin' in, Mitch's off today, but I'll comes back later and talk to y'all agin before ya heads out."
 

The drunken camraderie seems to be an antidote to the foul taste left in everyone's mouth by this morning's events. There's actually laughter, although there are plenty of tears mixed in, mostly from Langly and Jo. Still, it seems to help. Langly talks about her, when they were young, when she cared for him...I am happy for this, because I am sure in Joan's mind's eye, Langly is still three years old, her cherished infant brother.

Juliet says they need to get back; she took today off, but needs to be back in North Jersey tomorrow morning, and she needs time to sober up.

Byers has tied a few on, not as many as Jo and Langly have, but enough, and he almost knocks the table over as he tries to get up.

"Juliet, if I marry you, will you stay?" He blurts out loudly.

We are all stunned into silence.

Especially Juliet.

"John...are you proposing to me?" Her voice is tentative, hopeful.

"Well...uh...I wasn't going to do it like this! Not here, not like this!" He seems annoyed with himself.

"John, anyplace you say it, however you say it, it's the way it's meant to be. Are you asking me?" She queries him again.

He somewhat awkwardly gets down on one knee. "Juliet Parker, will you marry me?"

We're all shocked...more that he proposed to her in this dive biker bar, after a funeral, in front of all of us...but we are delighted.

And none more than Juliet.

She just about jumps into his arms and yells, "YES!"

We all applaud. I feel the tears well up in my eyes, and looking down the table, I see Allison clinging to her husband, smiling, and her blue eyes bright and wet.

"Wait...I have something for you." He digs in the inside pocket of his suit jacket, and pulls out a small black velvet bag. "I was really going to do this...I wanted to do it in a really romantic restaurant...and make it perfect...but I want you to have this..."

Oh my God. I think he spent a year's salary on that ring. I'm not terribly knowledgeable about jewelry, but I can tell that the band is platinum.

And slips it on her eager finger.

Death, and affirmation of life, in one day. How fitting.

Now if only I could stop crying!
 

LANGLY:

I miss my sister.

I feel like I didn't say goodbye to her right.

But there was no way I was gonna go to the cemetery, listen to those pious frauds, be ignored...

I'm glad Frohike suggested we go to the bar...at least there I could be with people who care about me, and I didn't feel quite so shitty.

But how they treated Ally...there is no way I'm ever gonna forgive that. That's my wife, the woman I love, and now, my only family in the whole goddamn world.

How dare they?

She's lying on the bed, and I'm sitting next to her. She doesn't expect me to say much, which is good, because right now, I can't.

At least there was one good thing today. Watching Byers propose to Juliet...and Juliet saying yes, that was awesome.

I needed that.

If Juliet loves him half as much as Ally loves me, he's one lucky dude.

I think Ally's not feeling so good, but when I ask her, she says she's okay, just real tired.

I ask her to say it.

"Say what, babe?" She looks confused.

"Say Kaddish."

"You think Juliet would have minded?"

"Look, I got no other way to say goodbye...I got no ways of my own. Least I can borrow yours."

She takes one of my hands in both of hers, and they barely cover mine. "Okay."

"'Sides, I like Kaddish. It's about life."

"It is, babe."

And she starts to chant, very quietly...and I say it with her.

When you've got nothing of your own, you appropriate where necessary.

END OF PART 27