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the rain dotted her back coat, falling from a sullen sky. she was dressed simply but elegantly. he would not have abided anything less. the funeral had just ended. mourners clumped together in groups around his grave. there had never been a more eclectic group. most wore the traditional black but a few were dressed more outrageously. there was a man in explorer garb there, a woman dressed in what seemed to be a costume for the opera, a few women in kimonos and a woman in a short red dress. there was not a tear shed. even his wife, the sixth and final one, was calm and clear eyed.

she was looking at the woman in the red dress with disdain, her nose wrinkled in disgust. the woman, of course, had been his latest lover. she was an actress in cheap movie. the woman's eyes were vacant as she stared into the grave. she did not see the wife bristling and then making her way over. the wife fell on the woman with a hissed curse and the two fought. it was mildly entertaining. the other wives in attendance looked over with interest but did not enter the fray.

the explorer looked over and sighed. she had heard that he had gone to africa with the now dead man. it had been long agao and he was now very old. arthritis had made his hands into claws. beside him the woman in the opera dress stood sedately. she held a compact in one hand and was touching up her makeup. she had been the dead man's most famous lover. as for myself. i meant nothing to him. i had been a fling during a particularly slow period.