*
Mrs. Zack had clocked fifty seven, but looked twice older than her age. The many days of young womanhood and its joys had vanished. It was time be old. There was time for everything. The aging process was slowly creeping in . The wrinkles, the weakness, the slow-walk was setting in. Nothing could bring in the old order. She had toiled to put to good use all her children by her first lover but she was failing. She was totally mixed up in her priorities and her troubles. As a mother to many children who were all males, it was the prize she had to pay to make them know that the death of their father was a big blow to her. She bore the perpetual hatred between her sons. They had been in different footing, never wanting to see her happy. Though their paternity was forcing them to remain in one family, they could hardly stay together. They had been divided and shared different goals, believes and aspirations.
Her marriage to Mr. Ribadau stood to usher in a ray of hope, when it all began, but do not know that the man had gathered a storm and created his funeral while he was still alive. For sure, he had become nearly untouchable and unbreakable under the shadow of Mr. President, never thinking, never believing that his death could come so soon in the most painful manner.
 His death was at worst the second beaten to her. Like many others, she believed the news to be a sizzling gossip, which had characterized the system. But the assassination was carried out right in his own house. She had been tricked out to the Tower by Mr. presidents wife, confusing her for an appointment with wives of the newly elected officers, to help her get a firm hold of her. She had the feelings that such invitation was unusual when her husband had come back from his trip abroad. When the news over the television confirmed the incident, she broke into tears. She now knew why she had been tricked out. The memories which were brief about the last moment of Mr. President came to her mind.
 Already her many friends were by her side, consoling her and pampering her to guard herself.
  At the break of the news, she asked to be allowed to go home to see the body of her husband before he could be interned according to Islamic rite. She had been beaten twice in this life. Death of two men who she had known from the days of her young womanhood. She got to the house with group of women and the new first lady, the lonely house where many Muslims had gathered with Mr. President for the last respect. There was outcry, pouring of grief and bitterness from the many persons standing. They all knelt reverently in an attitude of prayer before Allah receiving all due attention from him. Muslims do not show up with needless talk and lavishes in the event of death. They were simple-minded and contented. Anything as a covering could go. The believe was that it was a time for true submission to God, a gradual transition from the earth to the heaven with Allah for eternity. So, the ritual had continued long before she burst in. She was only permitted to be a witness. The body was carefully washed and wrapped in five white gleaning clothes; his pilgrimage garments.  Some camphor and other sweet-smelling stuff was placed on the bier, the friends and relations of the deceased walked behind the bier in silent homage. 
Now was the final stage of the great man’s life. The journey to the land of the dead. The body was washed and placed in a white sheet. Because he was a Muslim, he was only placed on the catalogue briefly in respect to the religious tradition before he was interned.  Then the four men, who were direct family descendants, approached the large room as the Islamic rites for the dead demands.  To carry a bier is considered a very meritorious act, and four of the relations, relieving each other in turn, bear it on their shoulders. Muslims allow no delay for carrying their dead to the place of interment, and necessarily attend the funeral on foot. Custom demands that it should all be carried that way. When the body has been lowered in the grave each person takes up a clod and pronouncing over it a verse of the Koran placed it gently over the corpse. When the grave was completely filled in, two stones were kept over it on the ends and two plants were planted. Then Fatima, the opening chapter of the Koran, was read. Many people now cried openly and expressed deep cut at heart for the loss.