Though the entire operation’s unnecessary — as they’d discover upon arrival at the house at the address he’d memorized. Apple. Threethreethree. Though that’d never stopped him before, the lack of necessity of a paying procedure — why they’d hired him, whoever They ever were. Hello, speaking, no, that’d be my brother, yes, who’s calling, fine. Hanna and Israel’d asked their rabbi, also a dear family friend, Rabbi Sternstern his name was, who was dead, his own family, too, his wife and their eight kinder or nine who could keep count and his name, those and the wives and husbands of those kinder of his who were married as well, then their kinder those who’d had them along with everyone else, just last night: in dark socks sausagestuffed, with foothair and varicose veins, Rabbi Sternstern collapsed cold at the edge of his bed packing his bag for the morning, promising himself and his wife who was in bed herself though asleep that this’d be his last bris, the last circumcision he’d ever attempt and after retiring and not working as a circumciser, a mohel, for an entire year due to his nerves and an almost anesthetical fogging (instead outsourcing all the work in his synagogue to a young mohel imported from Teaneck who’d had a family young and large to support and old med school loans to pay down), but that he had to do this last operation himself, with his own two liveredly shaky, deliriously wrinkled hands because of the family, because of Hanna and Israel especially whom he’d converted himself, Israel, and their girls the twelve of them he’d studied with and the mazel that after all those prayers in his office and with the consultation of the doctor his brother-inlaw he’d recommended the parents had finally birthed a thirteenth, a son; how he’d said he’d live to officiate at the boy’s barmitzvah, too, a wedding, why not a funeral; how he died in a fall to the floor grasping and tugging the sheets and the bed’s blanket with him and so turning his wife over in her sleep and her death to fall herself off the edge of the bed, over her side, what’d been her side forever since ineligible, unmarriageable girlhood, to lie atop his body as if in embrace. Terrible, in that he would’ve done it for free, would’ve refused Israel inevitably attempting to pay him an envelope and its personal check or with cash and how Israel would’ve insisted, then he would insist himself and again and again no and then yes, then they’d drink to the health and prosperity of everyone gathered who were to be gathered together now only in death, which is the circumcision by angels of the essence that is divine in us all — like the pluck of a harp, the bris of the winged and glowing foreskin known as the soul.
