Funeral Dodger – Short Story

He refused to die.
He’s even attended his own ‘funeral’ twice since he turned 99 to the chagrin of the villagers, the awe of the doctors and the excitement of his drinking colleagues. He wouldn’t be rid of his compulsive drinking habit, wouldn’t stop smoking that sixty something year old pipe, wouldn’t be cured of an infectious tuberculosis, and die, he just
wouldn’t die.
Papi’s personality is picturesquely ascetic. I swear, I’ll die when I want He’ll say: ‘That Man is diabolical’ the villages will say. When
anything dies papi is immediately accused, yet there’s no evidence to prove he is guilty. ‘In heaven there’s no beer, come here take your share, have no fear’.
He’ll say and boast of his medals and soldiering heroics overseas although popular gossip maintain he never fired a bullet at all those peace keeping operations. ‘I remember when I was a soldier, I rem…’ He’ll chant as he savors gulps from his Methuselah aged gourd. The owls hooted a million times, his wine was poisoned, papi only grew stronger, healthier, his drinking appetite, even kosher!

…. He took ill a week to his hundredth birthday, Five days
later the doctors confirmed he has finally joined his ancestors, this time for real, for good! The villagers bribed the undertakers with a huge sum of money, they also gave them a special iroko stump bathed in lethal deadly charms. ‘Hit him on the head twice if he wakes up’ They conspired.
…When they arrived the following morning amidst hypocritical
mourning, on the floor laid the undertakers and the iroko stump, bathed in fresh blood and on the coffin sat a bemused papi asking for his pipe. ‘In heaven there’s no beer, come here take your share… ‘
He refused to die, for the umpteenth time. 🙂

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