Ilona Martonfi is Montreal poet and writer.

QUIET

“ Stop! ” she said to the man “ Stop! ” I heard it from my window I listened to them I heard a young woman being battered I ran to the window but couldn ’ t see her which apartment which floor where did her screams come from everyone in our building on our street heard he shoved and pummelled, smashed and hit we heard him beat the woman “ Stop! ” she said “ Stop! ” then there was silence a week later, I still run to the window on my downtown street all is quiet

Verhoeve Funeral Home

Tillsonburg, Ontario

One Day Visitation

Prayer and Family 7-9 PM

Martonfi Magda

“ Mother bought the pink sweater set herself, ” says blind sister Eva, in the chapel.

“ I can ’ t recognize my mother, ” I tell Sister Erna from Los Angeles. “ Mom ’ s hair is wavy and she wears makeup. I’ ll tell Hector, the undertaker, to comb her hair. ”

“ It ’ s our hairdresser who did it, ” Hector says. “ We didn ’ t have a photo of your mother. ”

“ Exiled into our sinful body …” prays Father Charette from the Hungarian church. He is French Canadian. The priest from Courtland St. Ladislaus parish died. And they are waiting for another priest to arrive from Budapest.

After the prayers, the undertaker starts to comb Mother ’ s hair. I stand beside the oak casket with the white eyelet lining: Twelve white roses and baby ’ s breath tied with a white ribbon decorate the wooden lid. Hector rips Mother ’ s lacquered hair right off the scalp. He tears out a grey gnarl and throws it on the carpet beside the coffin.

“ Can I do it? ” offers Eva ’ s daughter, Angie. She combs her grandmother ’ s hair in soft gentle strokes. Afterwards, she washes her hands. Fingers still wet she continues to flatten Mom ’ s hair. “ Now that ’ s my little Oma, ” she smiles. Her large brown eyes stay serious.

“ I want to tell you about Nutella, ” Eva jokes in a front pew. “ Mother was craving for chocolate. She ate Nutella in her room with a knife and she took insulin. ”

“ That ’ s Pavarotti singing, the big fat one, ” I blurt out. (Suddenly, I remember, I used to call my little sister Eva, “ Fatty. “ )

“ Ave Maria, Ave Maria, ” floats from my nephew ’ s boom box.

“ When she goes to the crematorium, the casket gets burned with Mother, ” Eva says to her husband. “ The wooden cross can ’ t be burned with her. They provide a hearse to the church, tomorrow. ”

“Either way, the coffin is going to rot in the earth or gets burned,” Alphonso says with an Italian accent.

©Ilona Martonfi