Stalwart Love

Stalwart Love

In a little town where there was often little news, the death of the wealthy, clandestine-philanthropist, Adelina, spread like wildfire. It became the talk of the town, some sick form of entertainment. Some were sad. Some were surprised, shocked even. Others were apathetic. The majority were happy, and, a very few, were sympathetic.

Marcelo was devastated and appalled. He hated, he couldn’t stand, the way the townsfolk were treating the death of his faithful and trusted friend like gossip. In the quaint downtown businesses, at the edge of town factories, in barbershops, salons, cafes, taverns, or simply in line at the grocery store, it seemed as if everyone had a negative opinion or word to say about Adelina. Marcelo couldn’t understand this, for he knew how well his friend treated and helped the townsfolk, often anonymously. What he absolutely could not understand was how these negative opinions were being spoken so soon after Adelina’s death.

“She had a pure heart. She was rough around the edges and rattled a few feathers, but that was because she was honest, told her truth, and never minced her words, or sugar-coated anything.” Marcelo says to a stray dog who recently stopped in front of him, licking her chops, hoping he had something for her to eat. As Marcelo fumed with anger, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a piece of bread and fed it to the dog. Marcelo, 15 years Adelina’s junior, had respected her straightforwardness. He had loved how she never minced her words. He had truly, deeply, loved Adelina. Not in a romantic way, but it was a deep, stalwart love that shone bright and burned hard.

Marcelo was disgusted that Adelina’s body wasn’t even cold, yet the townsfolk were so bold in their vitriol towards her. The funeral was to be held in a few days and Marcelo definitely had his misgivings about how it would turn out. For his part, he had prepared a heartfelt, tender, eulogy that, he believed, illuminated the wonderful traits and good qualities of his dear friend.

Everyone in the town disregarded Marcelo’s protests against their loose lips with hateful quips. They were certain that he had only tolerated Adelina because she had made him the sole heir of her estate. Marcelo was to inherit everything she owned. And, Adelina owned an exorbitant amount of land, property, money, jewelry, heirlooms, and such.

Margot, Marcelo’s ex-wife, was even suspicious of Marcelo. “I wouldn’t put it past him to have poisoned Adelina just for her fortune,” she was saying salaciously to Ishmael, the barkeep at the town’s tavern. “I doubt it. Marcelo doesn’t strike me as the murdering type. Plus, the medical examiner has officially ruled it an accident.” Margot bit her lip, shook her head in disagreement and continued on, “That doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. How, how he could keep company with that witch Adelina is beyond me. The only thing that would make any sort of sense is that he was in it for the money.” Ishmael replied solemnly, gravely, “Adelina was not a witch. She was a complicated, loud, opinionated woman with a good heart and pure soul.” Margot rolled her eyes and retorted, “Ha! That’s a laugh. Anyway, I can’t wait for the funeral. I look forward to the wake. It’s bound to be a spectacle. Nothing ever happens in this town so everyone will be in attendance.”

Time passed by slowly in the bucolic town. However, the day of the funeral came astonishingly quickly. As predicted, the whole town, minus the children, packed the church to witness Adelina’s funeral and wake. There was an almost incessant murmuring from the crowd. Some had brought liquor in flasks and were taking discreet sips. Others were, still, continuing their recently procured hobby of badmouthing Adelina. The townsfolk were whispering fabricated stories about how she kidnapped and ate children, luring them with candy into her mansion. Others were denying that it were she who had donated and contributed to the funds for the poor, hungry and needy. Brazenly discrediting, and disputing, what was fact and common knowledge in order to belittle the no longer living altruist.

It seemed that only Ishmael and Marcelo were mourning. Both sitting with heads hung low, attempting to ignore the busybodies and their fictitious stories. Finally, the event commenced. Some prayers were recited. Some hymns were sung. Then the priest, feeble and weak, unperturbed, as if were simply a routine occurrence, gave his standard one-size-fits-all sermon and Marcelo read his eulogy. It was so heartfelt and sincere that nearly everybody, even Margot, had tears in their eyes. At least for the initial portion of his eulogy. At the very ending Marcelo criticized, chastised, and condemned the majority of those in attendance.

“Those who rejected beautiful Adelina in her lifetime, those who spoke ill of her once she died, those jealous, selfish miscreants that came here today just to see a scene, to view my dear friend’s deceased body for their own twisted amusement. You, you know who you are, and you should be ashamed of yourselves. For Adelina would never act in your likeness. She would have paid for the expenses of your funerals and burials, then sent flowers to your loved ones.”

The tears dried at record speed, those touched by Marcelo’s prior words, at once, turned angry, bitter, and began yelling. Merrily causing the scene they had all been hoping for. The priest, like a judge with a gavel, banged on his pulpit with an incense holder and demanded everybody be quiet or at once leave. Unable to be quiet, especially the ones that had been surreptitiously drinking, they got up unceremoniously and stomped loudly out of the church. Standing in the streets making a ruckus until they became tired and bored and decided to leave. Returning to the warmth and comfort of their modest homes. Feeling pleased by their disorderly disturbance at an event that was meant to be a holy, peaceful remembrance and farewell to their noble neighbor and benefactor.

After it was all over, Marcelo, through his tears of mourning said aloud, to the sky, “Jealousy and envy are awful maladies, a terrible disease. They turn steadfast, moral, kind beings into hateful, disturbed, vile individuals.” For he knew, that Adelina had been nothing but decent, caring, and loving to the townsfolk, donating her money and her time to better their lives. He knew that her detractors appreciated and benefited from Adelina’s wealth, but were too proud to be thankful or grateful.

Marcelo, still in his suit and tie, sitting on the steps of the church all alone, vowed to carry on the legacy of giving just like his dead friend did. Even if it meant becoming the town’s most hated, loathed, inhabitant. For that is what Adelina would have wanted and expected from him. Momentarily, looking at the stars, he swears he can hear Adelina thanking him for his everlasting support, loyalty, and love. He smiles.