Who's That Man?

The General came back in the afternoon and brought me flowers. Sam and I had done our crying already. I wanted to get this ID thing over with, but I needed time to get used to the idea of Mitch being gone. So we told the General to come back the next day to take me and Sam to the army morgue.

That night, people came to say their condolences. Word got out already. I don’t remember who came, I just remember I didn’t go to bed till late.

The next morning, the General was back. He had an aide with him this time. They walked with me and Sam out the park. Everyone was watching. At the gate, Dean nodded and said, “Hope things work out, Mindy. Good luck.”

We got into the limousine. It was the fanciest car I had ever been in. The aide gave us drinks and food. Gosh, bubbly and orange juice in the morning! And some crescent rolls, real buttery, light and fluffy. They really know how to live, these army guys.

I’m sad that my husband died. But I wasn’t as upset about it as I thought. I mean, Mitch hadn’t really been around the last ten years. I only saw him every six months or so, right? And each time only for a few days. I had my own life going. I hadn’t even seen him for over a year now. I miss the idea of him. Him? Not so much. But I don’t like the idea that I am a widow.

We drove for over three hours. The army head office is outside the capital - it’s a huge place, like a suburb all its own. All along the road, there were barracks and small buildings. Not especially pretty. We finally pulled into a parking lot and walked up to a big building with the national flag all over the place. If you didn’t know this was army headquarters, you’d still suspect the building has something to do with the government.

I was nervous going in. I’ve never seen a dead body before, even though this one is Mitch. The aide took us into a room with big black armchairs. We waited a while, then he and the General came back to take us to the morgue.

Morgues are morgues. No matter if they are in a hospital or in the army building, you still feel creepy knowing you’re going into one. The hallway in the basement had all these doors that were closed. You don’t get an idea of what’s in those rooms, you can’t even peek in a window or nothing.

The aide stopped in front of one of the doors, pulled out a set of keys and opened the door. Yup, it’s the morgue alright. It’s cold inside. He went up to a big drawer, checked the name on the front and pulled it out. I stopped about 10 feet from the drawer.

“Mrs. Batten,” said the aide. “Would you come a bit closer and identify him please.”

Sam put her arm around my waist and we walked up slowly. I couldn’t even look at the body. I was almost right beside it before I turned my head to look. Then I looked and I looked. I looked at him this way and that. I walked around the body and looked from the other side. I bent closer and peered at the face up and down. Sam looked too. She walked around with me and looked. Her eyebrows were cringed in a perplexed way, looking like I felt. The General said,

“Mrs. Batten, is this your husband, Mitchell Batten?”

I look at him, then at the aide. I looked at Sam. I could barely speak. Sam said,

“Have you make a mistake?”

The aide quickly checked the name on the drawer and the papers in his hands. He looked at the body, checked the photograph in his file and said,

“No, m’am, there is no mistake. According to our information, this is Mitchell Batten of Wittle Lake. Mrs. Batten, Is this your husband?”

I said, “No, this is not Mitch. I’ve never seen him in my life.”

The General and the aide huddled in a whisper. Me and Sam formed our own huddle. Then the General turned back to us and said,

“Are you positive, Mrs. Batten? An expired body often doesn’t look as… well, as animated as the man you’re used to. But the facial features are essentially the same.”

“General Glover,” I said, “I don’t expect Mitch to be talking to me telling me that’s his body lying there. I expect he might look a little different. But when you’re dead, you don’t change colour, do you? You don’t suddenly become a difference race soon as you die. This here is a black man. My Mitch is not black.”

The General said, “Mrs. Batten, it’s been a long time since you last saw your husband…”

“What? You think I forgot he’s black or something? This man is not my husband.”

“But all his records and identification show that he is Mitchell Batten.”

“His name may be Mitchell Batten, but he’s not my Mitch.”

The General looked at Sam and said, “Is this man familiar to you?”

“No, I’ve never seen him before. Mitch is white, like you and me, like all of us in this room, not black.”

“Well,” said the General, “Let’s return to my office and we will review all the documents.”