A Viking funeral in miniature

We gathered at a beachfront house Tuesday at sunset to give our friend Tim what he had requested: a Viking funeral. R had told Tim he doubted anyone had a boat they'd be willing to set afire, but I believe our solution would have given Tim a good laugh.


The morning of the memorial there was some confusion over who would bring the ashes, since we couldn't reach the person who had retrieved them from Hermosillo, and he had said he wouldn't be coming, that he had already said his goodbyes to Tim. We were relieved when he delivered the little box.


It was a clear, balmy evening, perfect for setting off to sea. D had brought a little boat made from the wide, flat material removed from  palm tree trunks, about three feet long, with its ends tied into points to make a canoe. We watched her empty a white cotton bag into the boat and looked at the ashes, remembering his gaptooth grin under his big straw hat, his lanky six-feet-plus now reduced to less than a kilo of substance. We arranged white crysanthemums and purple bouganvillea around the ashes and lit a little candle in the middle.  Someone had brought a poem Tim had written and M read it tearfully. Then we carried the boat down to the water in a little procession. No singing, no praying or chanting. Someone piped up, "Who's got the lighter fluid?"


The beach there is a shelf of rock, an interesting array of tidepools but not the sort of place you'd take off your shoes. We gathered next to the water where someone read the Tennyson poem for Tim, and then K doused the boat and its contents with lighter fluid and set it on fire, while the rest of us murmured cautions. Then K lifted the boat and carried it waist-deep into the water while we threw blossoms into the water behind him. When he first let it go, it seemed to stall in the water, and he called back, "He doesn't want to go." Then it caught some current and began floating away. Someone bemoaned the fact that she'd forgotten her camera, and someone else said she thought it might not have been appropriate to take pictures.


Poetry and a few stray tears aside, it was an unsentimental farewell, the kind where Tim would probably have felt right at home. We stood a long time watching the little boat, its fire flickering as the sun set. Then we trooped back up to the house for dinner and tres leche cake.