Almost no one tried to be polite, let alone mournful. Drinking spritzer and devouring beans and sausages, the gathered population seemed unable to detach themselves from the everyday stupid atmosphere, from everyday behavior even for two hours to send off the deceased properly. And the deceased...was not a particularly good person but he was not particularly bad either. Having worked in a library his entire working life - and he did not have a particularly large number of friends. It seemed that no one even noticed him.
Considering that one of the deceased's favorite books was "The Invisible Man" by H.G. Wells - then we could also engage in a brief amateur and completely pointless psychoanalysis about the projection of the characteristics of one's life onto the tastes and attitudes that a person has...but this blog is not the appropriate place for such a thing since he himself is invisible in virtual spaces. The librarian somehow noticed that book on the shelves more often than the others and always wiped the dust and moisture off it. Maybe he was glad that someone had once remembered to write a book about invisible people, who are a significant minority in the world. The exact number is unknown, but there are certainly more of them than those who identify as Brazilians, let's say.
And it all started so naively.
The snow, which fell for 79 minutes, was enough for the dilapidated roof of the library to collapse under the weight of all 16 cm that had fallen so far. The librarian was alone on duty and as such turned out to be the only victim of this unfortunate set of circumstances. A beam hit him on the head, bleeding and sending him sprawling on the floor. The doctor who came to certify the death and sign the death certificate, scratching his butt and sniffing at brandy, searched his pockets for a pen. From them came the light of day a telephone bill, a party card, a shopping list and a key chain with an erect penis. A pen was not even a cure.
But that was the least of the problems and a pen was quickly found in the ruins of the library. And where is the stamp? To get a stamp, one still had to go to the hospital and the road was frozen. After a three-hour ordeal, the doctor finally reached the hospital and officially declared the librarian deceased. As far as the state was concerned, the librarian was deceased.
The coffin had already been lowered and the people were nervously looking at their watches and their mobile phones, wondering how much longer they would have to stand in the cold. As an old bachelor, the librarian was not particularly careful about his wardrobe. Without a woman's hand in the house, he knew how to sew an extra pocket on his coat or trousers himself, for every new gadget that came out on the market.
And one such, namely a cheap Chinese smartphone, will play a dramatic role in this bizarre story. In this world, there are always people who are not informed about someone's death, so some such person somewhere dialed the librarian's number at that moment. Suddenly, the sounds of the ringtone of the legendary hip-hop artist Vanilla Ice began to echo from the coffin, "Ice, ice baby, taradam taradam taradam tam tam Ice, ice baby". The crowd, unaccustomed to such situations, began to panic and run around, some fell into the unforeseen holes for the coffins, some hid behind the marble memorial plaques, and others were frozen in place.
Then, another sound spread through the air, the sound of hitting wood. The librarian, however, despite the insistence of the state authorities to declare him a corpse, was not dead. To the sounds of MC Hammer, the librarian was taken out by the sober gravediggers who opened the shroud. Recovering himself, he began to look around in disbelief, trying to understand how he had ended up in a hole and what all those crosses and heavens with distorted faces around him meant. "Finally, a day to remember!" - the optimistic side of the ex-deceased's brain called out.
"Kent touch dis, na na na na, tadam, tadaaam, kent touch dis."
(Roger Mortis, (147)
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