“Me too. Why did you have it instead of Sid or the immediate family?”
“Always working, aren’t you?”
“Curiosity’s not confined to business hours. I just wondered. You don’t have to answer.” I bit into a black olive and found it had no taste to it. Debbie was rolling her glass between her long-fingered hands.
“Well, to be honest, Sid as the older brother should have had it at his place, but his place is the apartment that he rents as a convenience. In practice he lives with Pia Morley. Have you met her yet? I should think you’d get along. You know that Sid’s mother and father are dead. Over there’s a brother of my former father-in-law and next to him are the brother and sister of their mother. Did you imagine that Nathan’s death would tempt Larry home for the funeral?”
“The thought flickered in my mind, but it didn’t last. I can see why Ruth didn’t have it at her place.”
“Yes, that would have been something to see. It’s not a huge family, and most of it out-of-town and getting on in years. Is that your mother and father talking to my father, the man eating the piece of honeycake?”
“Right. I haven’t had any honeycake yet. You have all the traditional things.”
“Not my doing at all. You know that at a shiva things just arrive. I don’t even know who sent most of this stuff. It will be like this all week. Sid’s already put on his slippers.”
“Isn’t that a little awkward for you?”
“Not in the least. He won’t actually be staying here. Pia doesn’t understand about our ancient customs. She once saw a mezuza by somebody’s front door and remarked that she thought it was ‘cute.’ But I’ve tried to do what I could. I’ve covered the mirrors. But I hope nobody looks too closely in my fridge. There are some necessities of life that I won’t give up. And I’ll be damned if I’ll cover up the paintings. There are too many of them for one thing, and what a farce that would be considering what poor Nathan was.”
“I liked the work I saw in his studio.”
“Oh, he was going to be wonderful. I don’t want to think about it. Do you think you can get through traffic and get me a Scotch with a little water, Mr. Cooperman?” I nodded and tried braving the crowd. She wasn’t hard to take, Debbie, when she stopped sniping for a minute. The crowd thinned out as I got farther away from the food table. The bar was nearly deserted.
“Benny, this is a fine way to spend your afternoon!” It was my mother. I hadn’t seen her dressed up in a Paris Star suit for many months. One thing about Ma: she always knew when and whether a lady should wear a hat. I never saw her caught out. It must be radar or something. “I mean, Benny, did you even know young Nathan?”
“Ma, this week the Gellers’ troubles are my troubles. I’m sorry for their loss, and I only had a cup of coffee for breakfast. Have you tried the turkey yet?”
“You go around half starved, Benny”
“What about I come over for dinner tonight?”
“I think your father’s got a meeting.”
“Well, it’ll just be the two of us.”
“Benny, have some more of the turkey and I’ll see you Friday night as usual. At my age I don’t need first-of-the-week surprises. Guess Who’s Coming to Supper with Sidney Poitier I don’t need and you I can wait for.”
She disengaged herself from me and began talking to one of the older Gellers. The last I saw of her that afternoon was when I caught a fleeting glimpse of her in a corner conversation with the man from The New York Times.
Sid Geller was standing at the makeshift bar. I asked the young man in a white coat and yarmulka to pour a Scotch for Debbie. Sid leaned over to me smiling sadly, “You can walk out of here, Cooperman, and go run up the flagpole at the Collegiate. I don’t want to see you standing there gorging yourself, you understand?”
“I wasn’t planning to spend the night. Mr. Geller. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a drink for your former wife.” I didn’t rub it in about it being her house and not his. I didn’t want to find myself rediscovering the world through the ice-bucket. Debbie had the house, Sid had the mortgage, I guessed. I don’t think that gave him special privileges. But he had at least seventy pounds on me, and it was his brother we’d just buried, so I shut up and carried the glass back to Debbie.
“You’re getting friendly with my ex,” she said, nodding her thanks for the drink. “He doesn’t often get along that well with people of your sort.”
“Well, I’m more than usually cunning for my sort,” I said. “When are they holding the minyan?”
“Just before dark. Isn’t that the normal thing?” She looked just the least bit confused. “The rabbi’s coming to start things off; or so I was told. I don’t see him.”
“It’s not half-past four yet. It won’t be dark for hours.”
“You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking of. This hasn’t been one of my best weekends, Mr. Cooperman. There were a lot of decisions that had to be made, and I ended up making them.”
“What about Sid?”
“My dear ex-husband was unreachable for the first day and then he was inconsolable, which is another way of being out of reach. Oh, Ruth helped, and so did Aunt Hazel in Toronto. But the feeling I’ll take to my grave is that I did it all myself.”
“It couldn’t have come at a worse time,” I said. It sounded all right to me, but she shot me a warning with her eyes. I started to back away, but she grabbed my elbow and stopped me. It was a mimed apology, and I let her hang on my arm and lead me over to meet the senior relatives sitting on the treasury bench of this gathering with refilled paper plates balanced on their knees. I met the uncles and aunt. I met Morris Kaufman, Debbie and Ruth’s father. I explained twice that I had no connection with medicine or Toronto General Hospital. I wonder if my brother Sam is telephoned in the middle of the night by people wanting their wayward spouses followed. I should wear a medical alert bracelet saying that I’m not Sam under any circumstances.
Before I left, I thought I’d have another shot at Sid. He had been joined by Pia Morley and Glenn Bagot had arrived to bolster Sid’s side of the room. They were being eyed by the aunt and the uncles. Bagot looked like he had dressed for the Toronto Stock Exchange not a shiva on Francis Street in Grantham. You couldn’t fault an item he was wearing, but it was all wrong, like a surgical mask at a wedding. Bagot got my eye before I reached Sid. Something struck him as mildly amusing.
“Well, Mr. Cooperman, the athletic Mr. Cooperman. Will you have a drink with me? I think you’ll remember Pia?” I bobbed my head twice and watched what the lad in white put in my drink. Another trip in the trunk of a car and I’d be ready for the rubber room for good.
“I don’t have any time for you,” Sid glowered at me over the rim of his glass. He’d been putting a lot of rye between himself and his grief.
“Oh, Benny’s all right,” said Bagot. “He won’t misbehave in Debbie’s house.” Pia hadn’t said anything. She was wearing flamboyant mourning: black satin, black crepe, black nylons. I wondered if she’d had her Audi painted for the occasion.
“Poor Nate,” said Sid. “If Label knew about it, he’d be here. We are brothers after all. He wouldn’t care that …” Here he snapped his fingers perhaps more noisily than he’d intended. “ … for the consequences. And him,” he wasn’t pointing at Staziak, “him, with the gall to come in here and eat our food.”
“Steady on, Sid. He’s just going. Aren’t you, Mr. Cooperman?”
“You have paid all the respects you intend to pay, haven’t you, Mr. C?” Pia looked very fetching even when adding her vote for rejection. I couldn’t do anything but leave after that. I took a look at the newly arrived cold cuts they were standing in front of, and beat my retreat for the door.