One day I stopped by my house between a funeral and a graveside internment. I never have liked to follow the policemen in those funeral processions. I left immediately after the service and dropped by my house. I checked the mail, got something to eat and drink, and then decided to go to the cemetery. I figured I had plenty of time. As I came near to the cemetery I saw that a line of cars had already moved in and gathered around a body. I was late.
I sped my pace, parked my car, and ran to the graveside, naturally in a reverent way. I walked to the head of the casket, steadied myself, and looked out on the crowd. I didn’t know anyone. It suddenly occurred to me that I was at the wrong funeral.
I lowered my head and made my way to the car as quickly and reverently as I could. As I left I could hear people say, "Who was that masked man?"