Ben lives in the Cincinnati, OH area with his family and dogs, where he is currently working on more stories which may or may not ever see the light of day.
Find him online at www.benyoungstories.co
THE CONTINUED ADVENTURES OF TROCAR & PORTI-BOY
by
Ben Young
The Embalmer liked to inform surviving family members that a graveyard and a cemetery were not the same thing.
He would tell them, “Each of these terms has a specific meaning, a distinct purpose.”
He would tell them, “While both refer to burial grounds, a graveyard is located onsite with a church, while a cemetery is not.”
He tended to give this clarification while wheeling the decedent’s body out of their sight. He’d found that loved ones dislike watching the preparation.
Just outside the room where he stood was a freshly dug grave, the moon hanging high above it, lichen growing silently on tilted headstones with faraway dates. Few people visited this graveyard anymore.
Back when he could run his own mortuary business, in a building he owned, working under the moonlight wasn’t something he did unless there was a need, but in time he had adapted to these small and dark hours. While he was adapting, he’d also developed a very mobile operation, forced to move often to continue plying his trade.
They ordered him to stop, but could they truly expect a master to abandon his art?
He admired the current decedent—another female—on his makeshift table as a breeze found its way through holes in the abandoned chapel’s roof, whispering through cracks in its walls. Like Michaelangelo sensing a sculpture trapped inside shapeless marble, he conjured a finish-line image of her in the casket.
The Embalmer liked to inform surviving family members of the difference between a casket and a coffin.
He would tell them, “Coffins have six sides and detached lids.”
He would tell them, “Caskets are rectangular and have hinged lids.”
It tended to surprise them that coffins were still in use, thinking they fit better in old vampire movies or those seasonal Halloween stores.
His true skill lay in creating the illusion of life within the deceased. The trick was all in the skin pigment and moisture levels, and mastery came at a cost when developing it further had required unsanctioned research. But he was confident in his genius and its value, even if others didn’t agree. So, he studied that one critical moment between life and death, seeking to understand how the human body changes so much in a single instant, and then working to reverse that change, if only in appearance. He’d even developed his own specialized mixture of preservatives.
They took away his license, but did they expect that to stop him?
This decedent’s face held some bruising and her hair would need attention. But overall, it should be a quick and easy preparation for someone of his skill level.
First, he would displace all her blood, exchanging it for a precise mixture of chemicals to keep her body from decomposing, while also restoring her skin’s pre-death pigmentation and hue. To accomplish this, he would use two primary pieces of equipment.
One was a simple machine that resembled an oversized blender, two feet tall and one foot across, bearing the ridiculous name of “Porti-Boy.” That name had stuck in the Embalmer’s mind like a splinter since he’d first heard it, causing an involuntary raising of his shoulders whenever he spoke it, a detached internal scoff each time he thought it. Despite its absurd name, the Porti-Boy was a straightforward and effective gadget, and as transportable as the name implied.
On its top was a clear tank, which he filled with a few pints of his proprietary mixture. On its base were two knobs, which controlled the flow and pressure as the machine pumped the bright orange fluid through a transparent vinyl tube, into the carotid artery, forcing blood out through the jugular vein so it collected in a giant rubber bladder next to the body.
The other tool, called a “Trocar,” was little more than a massive steel needle (nearly three feet long, hollow, half the width of a garden hose, with a sharpened tip), and used to drain other fluids from the decedent’s body. Not the fluids most laypeople were familiar with, like sweat, saliva, urine, bile. Not even the lesser-known fluids which a body produced to aid in its own decomposition, called putrescine and cadaverine.
He would insert the trocar deep, puncturing skin and fat and muscle, swirling it inside various cavities, where it would act as a drain, removing softer body parts that had liquefied after death (usually the eyes and testicles, sometimes other organs, too). Then he’d place caps over the empty eye sockets to prepare for the viewing.
The Embalmer liked to educate surviving family members on the differences between a wake, a visitation, and a viewing.
He would tell them, “They each serve a related, but slightly different, purpose.”
He would tell them, “Which one befits dear departed so-and-so depends mainly on your religious beliefs and family preference.”
They tended to respond by asking his opinion, and invariably he would pick viewing, so they could admire his work.
Still envisioning his latest masterpiece in her future casket, he reached for the trocar and Porti-Boy on a counter to his left.
The Embalmer thought (far from the first time), When you put them together, it sounds like an ironic superhero pairing.
Never fear, citizens! Trocar and Porti-Boy are here!
After making an incision on the right side of her throat, he used a small hook to raise the carotid artery and jugular vein, pulling them out from the cavity, and tying them in place with string. Then he snipped them each open with a pair of surgical scissors and attached the clear vinyl tubing to the artery.
He turned on the Porti-Boy, watched the fluid reach her exposed artery.
The decedent opened her eyes and screamed.
Once more, Trocar sprang into action.