languages, spoke French and German as wellâand was vain about it. Out of the corner of his eye, Matt saw Lydia whisper in Samâs ear and wring the handkerchief she held in both hands, and he thought it was sad that they werenât able to understand the eulogy. But as Daniel spoke and got into it, Matt found he didnât mind. The actual words might have destroyed him. Instead, he heard a Jewish man speaking the language of Jewish prayer. It was weird: Speaking Hebrew, Daniel seemed somehow more authoritative. More masculine, evenâthe microphone took his everyday tenor and wove it in rich, colored strands. He gripped the sides of the podium. His mouth moved in ways Matt had never seen before, his lips and tongue making all the consonants juicy. His language was leaving the mundane world of the queer everyday, and elevating itself to the universal. Matt looked on, enthralled, conscious in a tiny part of his mind that he was idealizing his partnerâs speech, that it was, after all, coming from the same mouth that kissed him and sucked him. But watching Daniel, he felt proud to belong to him.
There were tears, and the honks and sniffles of people blowing their noses. The baby had fallen asleep on his Israeli grandmotherâs shoulder. He heard Daniel say in Hebrew, âI love you, Joelââ Ani ohev otcha , words he had taught Matt long ago, and uttered from time to time when they were in bed, after sex or right before falling asleep. He whispered a few last broken words, and stepped down. He looked over the crowd, blind and disoriented; Matt stood so Daniel could see him, and he stumbled over to his seat.
He sat beside Matt with his face in his hands, sobbing freely. In the swing of crying, heâd picked up the rhythm of marathon crying rather than sprinting, his sobs low and regular and inconsolable. A box of Kleenex was passed their way, and Matt fed tissues to Daniel, and took the used ones off his lap, laying them on the floor between his own feet. The air was chilly, but damp with body heat. Up on the podium, Sam was sighing into the microphone, making a shuddery crackling sound. He was saying that Joel had never hurt anyone, that he had many Arab friends and colleagues, that he didnât deserve to be claimed by this terrible conflict. âWhat kind of person,â he pondered, âblows himself up in order to harm innocent people?â
Matt bit his lip and looked down at the floor. Sam was gripping the podium and looking out into the sea of mourners as though waiting for a reply. He spoke, Matt thought, as if he was the first person to ponder this problem. As if the fact that heâa wealthy and powerful American manâdidnât understand was supposed to mean that nobody could, that it was utterly unfathomable. Sam sighed heavily and shook his head. âI just donât get it,â he said. âI just donât get it.â
Matt shifted. A rancor was rising in him that he wanted to shake off. Have some respect , he told himself furiously. The man was mourning his son, talking about his death the best way he knew how; he had no right to criticize him. Mattâs ruminations were interrupted by a squeeze of his hand. Daniel was cutting his eyes toward him. His mind tumbled rapidly over the meaning of this communication, and his spirit lifted a little.
It seemed to have been agreed upon in advance that Malka would not speak. And at the last moment, Lydia didnât rise to the podium either; her arm grew rigid against Samâs hand, and a look of terror came over her face. âI canât,â she whispered. Yaakov spoke, in a manner so dazed that Matt wished several times that someone would do him a favor and lead him away from the podium. His head and lips sagged like a stroke victimâs; it was hard to tell when heâd finished, he trailed off so many times. Finally, he sighed and turned away, walking in the wrong direction; a man jumped to
There were tears, and the honks and sniffles of people blowing their noses. The baby had fallen asleep on his Israeli grandmotherâs shoulder. He heard Daniel say in Hebrew, âI love you, Joelââ Ani ohev otcha , words he had taught Matt long ago, and uttered from time to time when they were in bed, after sex or right before falling asleep. He whispered a few last broken words, and stepped down. He looked over the crowd, blind and disoriented; Matt stood so Daniel could see him, and he stumbled over to his seat.
He sat beside Matt with his face in his hands, sobbing freely. In the swing of crying, heâd picked up the rhythm of marathon crying rather than sprinting, his sobs low and regular and inconsolable. A box of Kleenex was passed their way, and Matt fed tissues to Daniel, and took the used ones off his lap, laying them on the floor between his own feet. The air was chilly, but damp with body heat. Up on the podium, Sam was sighing into the microphone, making a shuddery crackling sound. He was saying that Joel had never hurt anyone, that he had many Arab friends and colleagues, that he didnât deserve to be claimed by this terrible conflict. âWhat kind of person,â he pondered, âblows himself up in order to harm innocent people?â
Matt bit his lip and looked down at the floor. Sam was gripping the podium and looking out into the sea of mourners as though waiting for a reply. He spoke, Matt thought, as if he was the first person to ponder this problem. As if the fact that heâa wealthy and powerful American manâdidnât understand was supposed to mean that nobody could, that it was utterly unfathomable. Sam sighed heavily and shook his head. âI just donât get it,â he said. âI just donât get it.â
Matt shifted. A rancor was rising in him that he wanted to shake off. Have some respect , he told himself furiously. The man was mourning his son, talking about his death the best way he knew how; he had no right to criticize him. Mattâs ruminations were interrupted by a squeeze of his hand. Daniel was cutting his eyes toward him. His mind tumbled rapidly over the meaning of this communication, and his spirit lifted a little.
It seemed to have been agreed upon in advance that Malka would not speak. And at the last moment, Lydia didnât rise to the podium either; her arm grew rigid against Samâs hand, and a look of terror came over her face. âI canât,â she whispered. Yaakov spoke, in a manner so dazed that Matt wished several times that someone would do him a favor and lead him away from the podium. His head and lips sagged like a stroke victimâs; it was hard to tell when heâd finished, he trailed off so many times. Finally, he sighed and turned away, walking in the wrong direction; a man jumped to
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