Monday, 23 April 2012
Somebody's husband, somebody's son
Some folks don't like overpowering fragrances. They find them unsettling. Therein lies my olfactory secret. Attar of Ruby could be lavender, camomile or eucalyptus, or a blend of these and other essentials, but none is distinguishable. Like Grenouille's distillation of innocence in Suskind's Perfume, this balm is subliminal. People sense it and feel relaxed, subdued, ready for the otherworld of sleep.
I don't use this precious ointment for all of my guests, only for the restless. Those who arrive with a carpetbag full of life's woes. It works well, too, for those you wouldn't want to share a roof with. The murderous, abusive, adulterous and light fingered. As Tom Russell says, From the death rows of prison to the soup kitchen door, each soul is an equal in the eyes of the Lord.
Everyone rests in peace together, safe in sure knowledge that those who would harm are neutralised by my attentions. Light and gentle, I rub my magic across the chest, back and shoulders of each, virtuous and evil alike. They're all reunited here in innocence, at Ruby's Chapel of Rest and Funeral Home.
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