Witz полностью

Who, a boy, when was He born, He’s survived, how, no one else did, hymn, who am I, who are you…what’s the name, beautiful, Benjamin…nu, no problem, no problem whatsoever, I’m glad to, send Him on down, fine, that sounds great…make sure you lock everything up…do you know if they’ve left a will…guess I’ll have to find a new lawyer…Christ, just give me a call when you get here — then, we’ll talk about severance. Despite that he hadn’t known until presently of his SonSon’s existence, PopPop’s more than willing to assume responsibility, legal if not especially otherwise, for Him whose bris, which though never needed would never happen, PopPop wasn’t invited to, though he would’ve loved to attend or to’ve sent regrets only, an opportunity to stiff the parents on a gift, a check paid to the order of the happily bouncy, as he’d estranged himself from the family, or them from him: the flamboyant, wristflaunted homosexuality not as much the issue as an unwillingness to appreciate, or even respect, an observant life for his son — now Israel then John, according to some accounts, though others hold Jim, which was James. Affiliated’s one thing, nothing too aberrant about that, we don’t have a say in the matter, I am that I am, but observant, God…and then to think he’s presently dead, John Israel my boy, that he’d died for it, of it and me, what a messy martyrdom, from the rebirth that is conversion, who would’ve thought, that one’s blood could be changed by just a prayer, a bath of the glands and a — why’d he have to go get himself switched?

I myself had that surgery, but…

After they brunch on all that’s left in the basement fridge, leftovers intended last night — even suckling the sponges used to wipedown, then leaving the dishes, utensils, and plasticware stacked in the sink for either Adela or nobody, or else herself upon a successful return — Wanda piles Him into the landrover, Hanna’s: meaty black, chromed, and with the power of hundreds of machined horses, its loin of trunk slash backseat packed to obstruct the windows and mirrors with three changes of clothing in a garmentbag (Israel’s clothes, which Benjamin could only hope to ooze into, even if elasticized, Him, them or both, leave the bottommost button undone), and one outsized piece of luggage Ima & Aba had only ever taken with them once, to Palestein, early in the marriage, monogrammed HI and filled with assorted mementos mori nestled alongside a thermos of the juice of the grape. Photographs, birthcertificate, a fountainpen stuffed in a stocking. Wanda horseshoes out of the drive, onto the street, toward the risen sun then south, toward the Gatekeeper’s not yet beset with the blare of sirens (sweeps had begun in the cities, Developments would deal with their own until reserves could get themselves mobilized). As they approach the hut, Wanda begs an indulgence with a smile betraying, her nerve, nerves, her lips and caffeinatedly browned fallen teeth, the heart of the withered Keeper, too, who as if inspired by miracle or only listless, secularly depressed, raises the guardrail and lets her pass with Him hidingly pushed down to the floor of the landrover, to tongue at the mats, for crumbs of loose change.

Many hold this landroving a violation of the Sabbath and if so, what of it: mass death leaving only one infant survivor must satisfy the minimum requirement of an emergency. A situation, most rabbis would rule, to be immensely forgiven. The two of them sealed in together with climate heat Hi, radio locked on the frequency of the news with the volume knobbed way up past conversation, a hand gloves the wheel, the other grips a beverageless beverage holder as if to stay grounded. Out of Joysey, Turnpike south to I-95—the moment they hit the Florida stateline, smash, a dent past the weeping sign, Welcome To — The Sunshine State — No-Fault Divorce—it’s all weather…a snowflake, the ineffable first that falls that night into morning — Sunday, the day after the day that was Xmas — the first that’d fallen in Florida in the lifespan of anyone’s memory, stars their windshield, melts, trickles away into speed. As tradition, as unique and as fragile.