DEAD MEN IN TOWN. Part 1.

The evening rush was on. I found a parking space about five hundred yards away from my favorite restaurant and started walking along the crowded pavement.

“Excuse me, sir,” someone said from behind.

Turning around I saw a middle-aged person who quickly caught up with me. “Have they opened the Neptune?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Good,” the man sounded pleased. “Do you happen to know how the place is?”

“Nice ambiance, tasty food, clean liquor. Prices are a bit steep though.”

“Well,” the stranger responded, “there’s always a premium on quality.”

“True,” I agreed.

The man followed me into the bar and seeing the crowd, said, “There’s no place to sit.”

“I’ve a reservation,” I responded without thinking. I went to Neptune occasionally and did some problem solving over dinner and three whiskies. Tonight’s agenda was the one million rupees I still had to raise as part of the promoter’s equity for my ambitious biotechnology project.

“If no one is joining you may I use your table?” the stranger requested.

I couldn’t say no. After we settled down my new found companion said, “You’re right. The atmosphere’s good. They were planning to open by Independence Day when I died.”

“Oh,” I whispered absentmindedly, looking for a bearer. All of them were busy. Finally, one carrying a tray of drinks noticed. He smiled and nodded.

When I turned to the chap sitting opposite, something clicked inside my brain. “What did you say?” I asked.

“Sorry it slipped out. I said when I died -”

“You mean that you are a ghost?”

“Not technically. Ghosts are shapeless spirits. Don’t you see that I’m bearing a body? It would be more appropriate to say that I’m a dead man.”

May be he was putting me on. Nevertheless I took out my handkerchief and wiped off sweat that had appeared suddenly on my forehead and neck.

“Don’t be frightened,” Dean Man said. “We’re quite harmless compared to many of the living.”

Perhaps. But I was counting my options. There was none, really. If I left he might accompany me. I would rather be at a known place with real people than outside on the street with a dead man, friendly or otherwise.

The waiter came. That was a relief till he asked me, “Sir, are you all right?”

“Looks as though,” the being sitting across the table said, laughing, “he saw a ghost.”

I gave him a dirty look and told the bearer, “Get me vodka on rocks. Double large.” If the chap was surprised at the change from my usual he didn’t show it and turned to Dead Man who ordered, “Grand Old Parr. Large. Cold water, no ice.”

The ‘fellow’ has taste, I thought.

“Sorry, sir,” the waiter apologized. “We’ve no premium Scotch.”

“Red Label?”

“Yes sir.”

“I’ll be signing. Koottil Bank account. Joseph Koottil Jr.”

“Very well, sir.”

When we were alone Dead Man explained, “That’s my elder son. Can easily duplicate his signature. In fact I taught him to sign. He hardly visits this place.”

At least his bill won’t be dumped on me, I thought with a sense of relief.

“Might have heard of us if you stay in Cochin. Fourth generation bank. Low-key operation, but fairly big and high tech. I advanced a bridge loan to the group that owns this place.”

I knew of the bank. It was in the short-list of possible financiers for my project.

Dead Man obviously noticed my continued silence. “Don’t be so concerned,” he said. “Everyday people come across entities like me without realizing it. If I hadn’t inadvertently blurted out my status, you wouldn’t have known.”

That was true. But the problem was that I knew.

“There are,” Dead Man said, “others like me around. From St. Patrick’s cemetery alone – that’s where I am buried – three of us are out tonight.”

Unconsciously I looked around the bar. Everybody seemed to be living human beings like me.

Drinks arrived and I took a gulp. My companion sipped his whiskey and said, “I’m on pins and needles.”

I looked at him questioningly.

“Sneaked out without permission. The cemetery supervisor may be on the prowl. If caught I’ve had it.”

Warmed with vodka I asked, “Why, what would happen?”

“We’re allowed only two outings per year – Christmas and Easter. First offence attracts cancellation of the privilege for five years. For repeat, the ban would be sine die.” He laughed suddenly and added, “Imagine a dead man using that phrase!”

I didn’t find it amusing. “Why don’t you,” I asked, “return quickly before getting caught?”

He shook his head and answered, “No way. I want to celebrate my birthday.”

“Oh, well, happy birthday,” I wished him, feeling rather stupid.

“Thank you. By the way, the drinks are on me.”

I ignored that and asked, “Shouldn’t you be visiting your family?”

“Thought of that. But the problem is that if they forgot my birthday I would feel bad. If they celebrate also I would feel bad.”

I finished my drink and ordered another. Dead Man followed suit and continued, “There are other problems as well. I can visit the family only as a spirit. That’s faster of course. But to do that now I’ll have to go back to the cemetery and return this body. Then I can’t drink. Spirits can’t have spirits!” He laughed, rather sadly.

“You mean that even when you sneak out they give you a body?”

“That’s how it’s programmed. It’s not case sensitive. Anyone who is leaving is offered a clothed carcass. Take it or leave it.”

“Not one’s own body?”

“No, I think that’s reserved for the Resurrection. This is from top of the stack. It goes by size. I think they are sterilized, micro-shrunk and stored. Some process blows them to actual size before issuing.”

After a couple of minutes Dead Man said wistfully, “I would have been sixty today!”

The body he was sporting didn’t look that old. But then the program matched only the size and not the age.

He had turned around, studying the crowd. “Oh, no,” he exclaimed suddenly and looked at me. “He’s here.”

To be continued shortly.

Click on title for part 2.