Chapter 12
Their fourth lunch was at a slightly upscale Korean restaurant that Simon had heard was superb.
There were tablecloths and linen napkins and an atmosphere that was more subdued than some of their previous dives.
So far they had tasted Greece, Thailand, and Afghanistan, and, though Netty was thoroughly enjoying their lunches, she was not impressed with the wide variety of cuisine.
Also, she seemed perfectly willing to allow Simon to pay for all the lunches, which he did while bitching only to himself.
Lunch was part of his grand seduction scheme.
She dutifully looked over the menu, thoroughly overwhelmed by it.
Simon took charge again and ordered traditional dishes of mandu, a pan-fried dumping filled with chopped pork; japchae noodles, thin see-through noodles with sliced mushrooms, carrots, and spinach; and, everyone’s favorite, Korean fried chicken, made even crunchier after first being rolled in rice flour.
Simon made sure the waiter understood that they wanted the tamest version of the chicken.
The spiciest was talked about around town.
During the second lunch, Eleanor had made it clear that she did not drink alcohol, so no wine. She encouraged Simon to have a glass if he wanted, but he rarely drank at lunch. Booze made the afternoons sluggish.
When the waiter was gone, Simon decided to get to the point. “We have not discussed your arrangements, have we?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, when Mr. Korsak died suddenly, who stepped up and made the important decisions about his funeral and burial?”
“Oh my.” Her eyes were moist and she looked away. “Is it really time for that?”
“I’m afraid so. As the executor of your will, and in the absence of any family members, I’ll have to make those decisions. Unless, of course, you want someone else to do so.”
“Oh no, Simon. I’m trusting you to do it.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your trust, Netty.”
“Which funeral home?”
“Cupit & Moke, downtown. I guess they’re still around.”
“Oh, they’re both dead, but their families run the funeral home. Mind if I take a look at the policy?”
“Why? I’m not even sure if I can find it. Wasn’t planning on needing it anytime soon.” She cackled at her humor and Simon obliged with a fake laugh. He said, “And your plot is next to Harry’s?”
“That’s right. Out in Eternal Springs, the cemetery. Nicest one around. I go visit once a month and take some flowers. Well, not every month, but most of the time.”
“And the plot is paid for?”
“Oh yes, as far as I know. Haven’t seen a bill in forever.”
“I’m assuming the policy covers the standard mortuary services, casket, and so on.”
“I’m sure it does. Harry’s casket was so handsome, made of oak, had to pay extra.”
“Again, I’d like to see the policy,” Simon said. “There’s a trend nowadays away from traditional burials. Many of my clients are choosing cremation. Have you heard of this?”
“I may have read something. Dottie Watson from the poker club passed two years ago and they cremated her, stuck her in a wall in a mausoleum. We thought her family was just trying to save some money.”
“My wife and I have chosen cremation,” Simon said. “It’s easier, quicker, and much cheaper. Plus, it protects the environment. Think of the millions of people who’ve died and been embalmed and now those chemicals are leaking into the drinking water. It’s a looming environmental disaster.”
Eleanor was about to take a sip of water and she froze, then set down her glass. Shocked, she said, “I never thought about that.”
“It’s true. When a person dies, the morticians fill the body with all manner of chemicals, like formaldehyde, phenol, methanol, and glycerin, to preserve things only until the funeral.
It’s ridiculous, really. About a million gallons of chemicals go into the ground each year.
Over time, as the body decomposes, the chemicals start leaking out, regardless of what type of casket is used. ”
“Well, I never…” Her voice trailed off.
“Cremation is the way to go and it’s definitely the trend, at least in this country. I’ll send you some magazine articles.”
“No casket, nothing like that?”
“Nothing like that. Your ashes are put in a cremation urn and it’s buried in a mausoleum or a columbarium.”
“A what?”
“Columbarium. It’s a structure that holds cremation urns.”
With thoughts of decaying remains hanging in the air, the mandu arrived on a platter. They were small, round rice dumplings that smelled delicious. Netty said, “Let’s change the subject.”
“Good idea.”
Simon could do a passable job with chopsticks but Eleanor was too inexperienced.
He suggested they stick to forks and she readily agreed.
The eight small dumplings disappeared in minutes, just as the noodles and fried chicken were served.
Eleanor had been lukewarm to the kabobs from Afghanistan and the spicy egg rolls from Thailand, but she devoured the crunchy fried chicken.
And, in Simon’s opinion, she needed to eat.
She was looking thin and frail, not sickly, but she could add a few pounds.
The waiter was a young Korean American kid with a Jersey accent. As he cleared the table Simon asked, “What’s a delicious, authentic dessert?”
“Coming right up,” he said, with confidence. “Coffee?”
“Of course.”
Eleanor asked for spiced tea.
Five minutes later he was back with small plate of sesame honey bars. Eleanor took a bite of one, turned up her nose, and sipped tea.
Simon asked, “Were we finished with the conversation about your arrangements?”
“I don’t know. Were we? I’m not sure about this cremation thing. Could I still be buried next to Harry? He and I never talked much about resting peacefully in the same plot, side by side.” Her eyes watered again.
Simon listened with a smile. He knew for certain that he and Paula would not spend eternity anywhere near each other. He said, “I’m sure you can be placed next to Harry.”
She said, “But there won’t be a casket or anything. Just a little vase or box or—”
“An urn. A cremation urn. There are thousands to choose from. It’s a much simpler way to go and also cheaper.”
“Well, let me think about it.”
“There’s no rush, Netty.”
“I certainly hope not,” she said with a laugh that was too loud.