## Chapter 76: The Factory Knows No Holidays
A nondescript public carriage rumbled along the road leading out of London. Inside, Agareus sat opposite Arthur, his brow furrowed as he stared at the coffin beside Arthur, his head shaking incessantly.
“Can’t you stop meddling in these trivial matters? Just find a random graveyard and bury her. You’re actually going to step into a church, a place you’ve never been in your life, just to hold a funeral ceremony?”
Arthur remained unfazed by Agareus’s provocation. He lit his pipe, took a puff, and let out a sigh of relief as the smoke billowed around him.
“I’ve been to places far more absurd than a church in my life. This is nothing special.”
The Red Devil pointed a finger at him, his eyes wide with exasperation. “Arthur, get this straight, I’m not complimenting you!”
Arthur leaned his hand against the window, gazing at the countryside in the distance. He seemed indifferent to the conversation with Agareus.
“Is that so?”
Agareus’s voice rose with frustration. “You seem awfully smug, don’t you? You’re a damn failure, what’s there to be smug about? You’ve turned a heroic epic into a farce, don’t you feel ashamed? Don’t you feel remorse? Are you even interested in taking the stage anymore?”
Arthur spoke calmly. “Agareus, don’t get yourself worked up. You’re right about everything, but I don’t think my life is some heroic epic.”
The Red Devil, enraged, threw the parchment roll he was holding, reverting to his old self with his pitchfork in hand.
He held the pitchfork to Arthur’s throat, demanding, “You’re denying my arguments, but admitting I’m right? Is it your mind that’s gone haywire, or mine?”
Arthur raised both hands, mimicking a French gesture as he spoke. “Hold on, let me finish. While I don’t think my life is an epic, I do agree that it’s become a farce.
But Agareus, do you know the difference between a comedy and a farce?”
Agareus frowned, deep in thought. “Where does it lie?”
Arthur replied, “The difference lies in the fact that a farce is inherently closer to tragedy than comedy.”
“Oh, my dear Arthur.”
The Red Devil tossed the pitchfork out the window, a smile spreading across his face as he placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.
“You’re finally starting to reflect on your mistakes. Your life has become a tragedy, don’t you intend to change anything? I’ve seen so much tragedy in my years as a devil, you should listen to someone who’s been there, it’ll help you avoid repeating the same mistakes.”
Arthur gently shook his head. “Why do you think humans will listen? Do you know why humans progress? Humans progress because the next generation refuses to listen to the previous one.
So, even if life is a tragedy, I’ll play it out with joy. Even if life is a dream, I’ll savor it, never losing the passion and pleasure of the dream.
Speaking of which, Agareus, your devilish life seems even more tragic than mine. Why do you think I should listen to you?
I was a police inspector at 20, what were you doing at 20? I think you should be listening to me.”
“Hey! Arthur, you bloody…”
The Red Devil slammed his fist on the seat, one eye bigger than the other as he glared at Arthur. “Don’t think being a police inspector makes you special. It’s only because I’m not in hell right now. If I was still in hell, you wouldn’t dare talk to me like that. I’d tear you apart!”
Perhaps overcome with anger, Agareus let loose a torrent of words. “Besides, you think priests would perform a funeral ceremony for a dissected body? If they were willing to do that, the archbishops in the House of Lords wouldn’t be so worked up over an ‘Anatomy Act.’
If I remember correctly, that ‘Anatomy Act’ drafted in 1828 was rejected by the archbishops several times, wasn’t it?”
Arthur nodded. “Of course I know the bishops and most priests are unwilling to pray for the dissected dead, but that doesn’t mean all priests are unwilling.”
“Don’t you ever go to religious services? You don’t even know a priest, where are you going to find some bizarre priest willing to hold a funeral for a dissected body?”
Arthur shook his head. “I do know a priest, and only one. But if even he’s unwilling to perform a funeral for the dissected, then there probably isn’t another cleric in all of England willing to do it.”
Agareus frowned, lost in thought. Suddenly, a spark of inspiration lit up his mind. He covered his mouth with his hand.
“You’re talking about that madman?”
Arthur shook his head. “He’s not a madman, he’s just an Oxford priest who agrees with Paine.”
…
Oxford University, St. Mary’s Church.
Father Newman sat in a pew, lost in thought.
Since his return from London, he had often fallen into this state of contemplation, so much so that he lost track of time. He felt like he had only sat for a moment, but before he knew it, dusk had settled.
He pondered for a while, then felt something amiss. He reached out, searching for the notes he had brought with him.
But he couldn’t find anything. Newman furrowed his brow and looked to his side, where a familiar figure sat.
Newman opened his mouth in surprise, but before he could make sense of it, he saw the small, milky white coffin lying beside Arthur.
“Mr. Hastings? Are you planning to convert to the Church of England?”
Arthur leaned back in his chair, his head bowed. “Mr. Newman, let’s not talk about anything else right now. I need a quiet, undisturbed burial site, and I need a funeral that will allow the deceased to get as close to God as possible.”
Newman glanced at Arthur, then knelt down and gently moved the coffin aside. He only looked inside for a moment, then closed his eyes in pain.
“What in the world happened? Such a young child, why would…”
Arthur said nothing, simply pulling out a newspaper from his pocket and handing it over.
Newman quickly scanned the headline. As he read further, his hand trembled.
Then, Newman let out a long sigh. Almost without thinking, he agreed.
“Very well, Mr. Hastings. What about the little girl’s family? I’ll discuss the procedures for embalming, farewell, service, and burial with them as best I can. When are they available to come?”
Arthur fell silent for a moment, unsure how to explain the situation to Newman.
“They… probably can’t come. You can consider me the little girl’s family.”
Newman was taken aback. “Why?”
Arthur spoke calmly. “Because the factory knows no holidays.”
(End of Chapter)