The invitation said "Celebration of Life" which KEV-7 interpreted literally, and this was the first mistake.
The second mistake was the hat. Viktor had explained that funerals required dark clothing and a solemn demeanor. KEV-7 owned one hat — a bright yellow construction helmet it had found in the warehouse and adopted as formal wear because on Kepler-442b, headgear communicated rank, and yellow communicated "still learning, approach with patience."
The third mistake was the speech.
KEV-7 had been asked to say a few words. It had prepared remarks.
KEV-7 stood at the podium. Its hands were flat on the wood. The helmet was heavy. The borrowed body, in a suit Viktor had lent it, felt like a costume inside a costume. The church was full. Viktor was in the third row making a face that meant: keep it short, keep it normal, do not mention Kepler-442b.
"Dona Marta purchased fourteen travel guides in the eight months I knew her," KEV-7 began. "She was particularly interested in Mongolia, which she described as 'flat in a way that suggests God ran out of ideas.' This was, I believe, a joke. On my planet, flatness is a compliment. I told her this. She said: 'Your planet sounds like my marriage.' This was also a joke. I did not understand it until later, when Viktor explained that human marriages are not topographical."
A sound from the congregation. Not crying. The other sound. The one that came from the same place as crying but went in the opposite direction.
"Dona Marta will be missed," KEV-7 continued, consulting its notes. "This is the part where I am supposed to pause for tears." It paused. It looked up. "I do not produce tears. On Kepler-442b, grief is expressed through a frequency that causes nearby glass to vibrate. I will not do this in a church. The windows are stained and appear to be historically significant."
The sound again. Louder now. Viktor had his face in his hands, which KEV-7 interpreted as profound grief until it noticed that Viktor's shoulders were shaking in a rhythm that did not correspond to any grief frequency KEV-7 had catalogued.
"In conclusion," KEV-7 said, "Dona Marta was the only human who, upon learning that I was not from this planet, asked not where I was from but whether the coffee there was any good. I told her it was not. She said: 'Then you're staying.' She was correct. I am staying. She was correct about most things. She was incorrect about Mongolia, which is not flat. I have checked."
KEV-7 stepped down from the podium. The church was making the sound that is not crying. Mariana, who was sitting in the back row because she attended all funerals in the neighborhood as a form of civic duty, leaned to Petra and whispered: "That was the most beautiful eulogy I have ever heard."
"He doesn't know it was beautiful," Petra whispered back.
"That," said Mariana, "is why it was."
Outside, afterward, in the courtyard, KEV-7 removed the yellow helmet and held it at its side. A woman it did not recognize approached and said: "Thank you. She would have loved that."
"She would have corrected my facts about Mongolia," KEV-7 said.
"Yes," the woman said. "That too."
The sun was warm. The courtyard smelled of coffee and flowers. KEV-7 stood in the sun and felt the warmth enter its borrowed body and understood, for the first time, that grief and laughter were the same frequency played at different speeds.
On Kepler-442b, they had known this. On Earth, it appeared to be a surprise.
KEV-7 put the helmet back on. It walked to the bakery. Petra had saved it a croissant.