Books
The funeral seekers
by Savea Sano Malifa
A short story by Savea Sano Malifa
Every morning at six thirty, Lepopoi Malovale’s alarm clock buzzes and wakes him up. He shifts on his bed still half asleep, reaches over the table near the bed and flicks his transistor on.
The radio cackles to life and almost immediately the local news is on the air.
Lepopoi always makes sure he times his clock to miss the prayer at six. So that when the radio is on, the prayer is finished. He doesn’t care about prayers any more. He used to listen in the past, but every time the request for forgiveness was made, something painful twisted in his stomach. So he stopped. That was years ago.
Now there’s no more pain when he wakes in the morning. Including Sunday. But on Sunday mornings, he never wakes up. That’s his day of rest.
Unlike most people, Lepopoi thinks of himself as a practical fellow who doesn’t believe in blessings of a divine nature. So he ignores churches on Sundays and works when he has to.
A self-made man, he enjoys the idea that he’s an entrepreneur. He is what is generally known as a professional funeral seeker. In other words, he makes his living from dead people. And since the culture encourages unlimited largesse at important people’s funerals, funeral seeking is a lucrative business.
That’s why Lepopoi’s best friend is his transistor. It gives him the news of funerals and their updates every morning. Any other news he doesn’t listen to. But he doesn’t miss a word of a funeral announcement.
He takes in all the details coming through. Is it a man or a woman? A paramount chief or an orator? What village and when? Are customs and traditions being observed? Who are the next of kin? Are they rich or poor? Are relatives coming from abroad?
All this information gives him a quick idea of the size of the funeral up ahead. And more importantly, how much he can expect to get from it. If it’s a paramount chief, his funeral is bound to be a lavish affair. It’s where egos are inflated, rational thinking stops, nothing is spared. This is when nobility is judged not by how one has lived, but by how he has died. With lavish feasting, big money and fine mats to be given away. An orator’s, in comparison, would not be quite as promising.
In his young days, Lepopoi got a job with the Public Works digging drains. He dropped that because he was allergic to the sun, he told his foreman. Then once he took his matai title Lepopoi, he went funeral seeking full-time. He has not once regretted it.
Now Lepopoi is so successful that he owns two pickups and a taxi. He keeps the new pickup locked up in the garage, hires a driver to work the taxi, and drives the older pickup himself to funerals.
Every village has its handful of professional funeral seekers. They live off the juices of the dead. If God decided no one would die for a whole year, Samoa’s funeral seekers and their families would either die or become destitute.
But that thought never enters their minds.
In Lepopoi’s village, all matai want to emulate him. They want to be resourceful and bold like him.
But Lepopoi is not a fool. He enjoys being boss and doesn’t want any threat from anyone.
He likes his next-door neighbour, though, whom he finds harmless enough.
Moso Aikalo also lives alone and doesn’t bother anyone. He doesn’t talk much, which Lepopoi cherishes most of all. He likes the idea that Moso listens to him. Besides, Moso walks with a limp, which gives him the personality of a weakling wanting to be loved.
So one day when Lepopoi asks Moso if he wants to come along to a funeral, Moso says why not. And from then on, they’ve been going to funerals together all the time. Now they’ve become almost inseparable. And people have started whispering if they were normal. Because wherever Lepopoi goes, Moso follows.
Several funerals later, Lepopoi notices that Moso has learned the trade well and is becoming less dependent on him. That pleases him. It also pleases him that he still has not sensed any threat from his neighbour. So every morning when the radio announces a funeral, Lepopoi would turn around on his bed, pull up the blind on the window, and call across the yard:
“Moso!”
“I hear you, Lepopoi!” comes Moso’s instant reply.
“There’s a funeral today! Get ready!”
“Alright. Give me a few minutes!”
“Don’t keep me waiting! Time waits for no man!”
In a few minutes, they’re in the pickup and on their way.
The way it works is simple. All you need to take with you is a piece of coconut frond, and patience, which all funeral seekers have plenty of.
On arrival, the first thing you do is look for the house where the other funeral seekers are congregated. There are usually up to a hundred of them if it’s an orator’s funeral, and a lot more if it’s a paramount chief’s.
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