"Let us touch the dying, the poor, the lonely and the unwanted according to the graces we have received and let us not be ashamed or slow to do the humble work."
~~Mother Teresa
37th Ymiden 716[/center]
Faith had told Jamal of her meeting with people over the last few trials and he had sat with her and discussed them in detail. He insisted on every detail, asking her of her thoughts and feelings at each one. And when she had talked with him of the 'university' and how she felt when she heard that she could not attend talks by experts, philosophers and so on, a deep frown had settled on his face. "It is expected, you are weak. We will spend tomorrow strengthening you and then continue your training" he had said. That lesson had turned into two trials of her being subjected to his best teachings on humility and remembering her place, lessons which she understood the need for and welcomed, at least at this point in her life.
But this trial, he had given her another task to remind her of who she was and what her job was. What her life was. The address was in Lowtown, the area of Andaris where the poorest, diseased and most desperate lived. And in this particular house, he told her, there was a corpse that she was to tend to, prepare and wrap. He had placed the chain around her neck with a glint of pleasure in his eyes, a more open slave marking than he usually had her wear, and he had instructed her to tie back her long black hair, so that her two brands showed, clearly visible. He knew the family of the deceased, he had told her, so she was to obey them unless anything they instructed her to do was something she knew he would not wish of her. She had quietly, carefully gathered together her supplies and requested permission to leave.
And here she was. Lowtown. Faith walked slowly and carefully, trying to keep herself to the side of the streets and alleys, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Her clothing didn't help that, she knew, but it was what Jamal told her to wear, and so she wore it. He did it to remind her of her place, and that was his right, so she did not feel put out by it, just uncomfortable with the fact that her shoulders were bare causing her to feel exposed. She found the address in question and she looked at it dispassionately. It was a small, run down and cramped building in a large, run down and cramped area. She knocked on the door and it was answered by a woman who was probably in her late twenties, but looked to be a lot older. Faith bowed and spoke in her usual hushed tone. ”Jamal sent me, mistress?” she said and the woman nodded, stepping aside. The house was far too small for the number of people in it, but although it was clean, Faith noticed, the place was reeking of vomit and urine. The woman motioned to the coffin in the corner, barely more than a rough box and she spoke, not unkindly “My father. He didn’t die easy and he needs preparing.” Faith nodded her head and started to move towards him ”Yes, mistress. May I please have some water? A bucket would be best” she requested and the woman who had not given her a name nodded and pointed out in the direction of the street “It’s there. There are buckets out the back and his death clothes are on the bed. I’m going out, get the stench out of the house or there’ll be hell to pay” she instructed and Faith bowed her head ”Yes, mistress” she replied quietly and meekly. She said no more and instead got on with her work. Carefully and meticulously she put her things down on the table, laying out the implements, pots and jars that she had brought from the shop. Then, she collected the buckets from out the back and made her way to well. It was back breaking work lowering the buckets, hauling them back up, but it was work that she was well used to so she simply got on with it.
Then there was the body and the first thing that she had to do was to clear away the detritus and debris from the throes of death that this man had undergone. ”I’m going to clean you first” she whispered to the corpse. She whispered to them all, telling them what she was doing or about to do so that they would know, should part of them not yet have been claimed by Famula. So, she stripped away his clothes by the simple expedient of cutting them down the back. They were far too soiled to be of any good, so she put them in one of the bags that she had brought. They had an incinerator in the back of the shop, for items like this. Before, though, she checked his pockets and put the contents of them on the table. She worked calmly and quietly, even though the smell was awful, she had experienced worse and her training had involved this sort of thing. She sealed the bag and put it out the back, away from the room.
So, then it was on to cleaning the body itself and after whispering ”That’s better, isn’t it? Those clothes are gone now, I’m going to make you clean. Don’t worry, there’s nothing to worry about any more, and I’ve done this lots of time. Here we go” Talking to him in whispered tones, Faith slowly and meticulously washed him. She carefully combed his hair, then washed it clean and combed it again. Because his hair was dark, she put a drop of vinegar into the wash in order to make his hair shine. When he was fully clean, she put the dirty rags into another bag and she went and collected two more buckets of water. One of these she brought into the house and left near the coffin, but the other she took out the back with a ragged towel that she had brought. Because now, she was covered with the inevitable stains and so on from what she had cleaned. That was of no consequence to her individually, but it would make preparing the body much more difficult. So she stood, slowly lifting the bucket of water over her head. Jamal would ask about this, she was sure, so she lifted it as well as she was able, her arms shaking with pain and exertion as she held the bucket above her head, forcing herself to feel the pain of that for a full minute before she tipped the ice cold water over herself. Then she dried herself off sufficiently and she got back to work.
Now, it was about preparing the body and applying the make-up. ”Because you are dead, your skin has changed. It is natural and normal and should not upset people, but it does. So I am going to apply this ointment to you first, then I will apply a silky paste that will make your skin colour more normal. That’s a kindness to the living” she gently stroked his hair as she spoke to him, then got about the job she had described. As her client was a man she selected the perfumed ointment that she had prepared, using the allspice and caraway mixture, which gave a masculine and subtle fragrance. She dabbed that on shoulders, wrists, buttocks and behind the knees and added some to the tips of two toes. Then, it was on to the make-up that she had brought. That required her to stand on a stool and lean over him. She did not wish to make him appear at all made up, but instead to look more like he was asleep. ”Here we go. It feels wet to the skin, but dries quickly, I promise you” and she started to apply it, carefully attending to the shape of his face, using the fine brush that Jamal used for this sort of job. She didn’t apply blush to his face, because she used the silken foundation with the colour which told of a lifetime outdoors; there were plenty of clues to that, the boots in scullery, the work clothes he had been wearing and the heavy coat. So, she worked, slowly and meticulously.
Finally, in terms of the body itself, it was time to dress him and that she did with a quick confidence, whispering to him what she was doing. Putting a shirt on to a dead man was impossible, as she had quickly learnt and instead she did what Jamal had taught her. She cut the shirt down the middle of the back, then she put each side on him. She buttoned up the front, gently and reverently, then turned him over and sewed up the back of the shirt. As she laid him back in his casket, she smiled to him ”You look just fine. We are nearly done, I promise you” and she got out the white cotton that she was going to use for the lining. That was a fairly quick job, sewing him in to the casket, leaving his face and his hands, folded one atop the other, as the only two parts of him visible. Before she put the final stitches, though, she moved to the pots and pulled out one, containing a dark silver-blue liquid. She didn’t know what that liquid was, Jamal had not told her. But she dipped her finger into it, reverently and she touched her finger to the dead man’s eyes ”May Famula be the sight these eyes see next, as She collects your soul” then his lips ”Sing and rejoice, for then you have seen She Who Sees All, beggar and prince, all fall into Her lantern” and then his heart, ”May your heart know peace at the sight of Famula, rejoicing at the sight of Her, for you have lived your life true to your place. Rest now” she whispered and then sewed up the last stitches.
With the work on the corpse finished, Faith cleared away carefully and meticulously. She scrubbed the floors and was doing that when the woman came home. The man’s daughter said nothing, but moved over to look at her father. She stood there for a long moment and then turned to Faith and nodded “Get out” she commanded. Faith obeyed and carried the bags home, where she washed the towels and rags and burnt the soiled clothing. Jamal asked for her recounting of the task, and she gave him an honest accounting.
