An 'Undertaking Betty' Ficlet

There are cases in each undertaker's life, when they are overwhelmed by the burden of their job.
When the pain of the mourners - especially the closest family - becomes so deep, so concentrated, that it's almost palpable.
Such is the death of a young child.
Sometimes, if the child had some lethal or painful disease, one could find solace in the thought that it had been spared further suffering.
But most often you just can't bear it, that the poor child wasn't allowed to grow up, live its life, discover the world, learn new things, make new friends....or fall in love.

Love. Betty.
Boris thightly closed his eyes for a moment and hung his head as he took of his frockcoat. He felt incredibly tired. Too saddened by the funeral. And still his thoughts came back to circling around Mrs. Betty Rhys-Jones, just like they had for the last 30 years.
"I'm pathetic...", the undertaker whispered to the black and white tomcat watching him with unjudging eyes.
Shoulders slumbed, Boris went into the kitchen and hesitated. He didn't feel hungry at all. He even wondered whether he would ever feel any appetite again.
Of course, those thoughts would pass. Sooner or later he would have to leave that particular human tragedy behind, otherwise he couldn't be doing his job. "Detach yourself from the human side, my boy. Forget they were living, loving, laughing and crying beings at all. Do your job and don't brood over it...", his father had told him whenever a shadow of sadness had darkened the big brown eyes of his son.
"It's easier said than done, dad. Even after years of practice...", Boris said with a sigh as he took a peek into the ice box, "But I'm sure you've known that all too well yourself."
Between frozen peas and bits of meat and poultry, a brightly colored paper cup caught his eye. Boris reached into the ice box, brows furrowed in irritation, and retreaved a big cup of chocolate ice cream. He didn't remember buying it, but didn't care too much either. With a shrug he closed the lid and, taking a spoon out of a drawer on his way, went to his bedroom.
The soft ringing of the cat's bell followed him.
In the bedroom, he carelessly kicked off his polished black shoes and sat on the bed, back against the headboard, legs outstreched - instantly Fred jumped onto the bed and curled himself up next to Boris. "Ok. Just this once..., because I think I do need a bit of company today."
Carefully Boris took off the lid of the paper cup and took a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.
It was a miracle.
As soon as the taste of chocolate touched his tongue, his muscles seemed to uncoil, loosen up from the tension they had been held in all day.
For a while Boris managed to eat without getting caught up in thoughts about death, coffins, funerals and sorrow; and finally relaxed a bit, leaning back into a cushion.
And while the cold of the ice cream made him shiver a bit, happier thoughts started to warm his heart.
Thoughts of Mrs. Rhys-Jones.
Betty.
He was sure she knew nothing of his love for her. A love that had started so many years ago, it made him a fool to anyone's eyes who knew about it.
But that didn't matter, because noone knew about the shy undertaker's secret love for the Councellor's wife anyway.
Like noone knew about his talent as a dancer.
Boris gave a bitter laugh, "Well, wouldn't that be some gossip?" Fred looked up at him and twitched his tail as an answer.
With a deep sigh that seemed to bring a sudden end to Boris' self-pity, he rose off the bed and set the ice cream aside. He still had to clean up the shop and lock the doors for the night.

There are some things you need to learn to be a good undertaker. Empathy. Being discreet. Modesty. Professionalism. Patience.
Boris was a good undertaker - all his clients so far have been very satisfied with his work - and he was above all, a modest and very patient man.
So, while he wiped the floor of his workshop, he thought about Mrs. Betty Rhys-Jones, just like all those 30 years since he had first fallen in love with her at the dance, and felt today's grim gray sorrow fall off of his heart for good.
Sooner or later he might even leave behind his foolish, unreturned love for Betty.
Or never at all.
But Boris didn't mind. As pityful as it was, his thoughts about Betty warmed his heart during those many lonely days, when he had no other company but his cat and cold corpses.