swear to you, Michele. I’ll fix it.”
But he never did.
Alle was seventeen when he was fired, his disgrace reported in every media outlet around the world. Unfortunately, patching up his relationship with his daughter had not seemed a high priority at the time. A mistake? Oh, yeah. Big time. But that was eight years of hindsight talking and there was no way to jam that toothpaste back in the tube.
He could do something now, though.
He could get her free of Zachariah Simon.
He’d signed the papers. Tomorrow he’d appear at the cemetery and make sure she was okay.
After that?
Finish what he’d started?
He rubbed his tired eyes with shaking hands and glanced at his watch. 2:15 P.M . Outside was quiet. Most of the people who’d lived in his parents’ neighborhood while he was growing up were either gone or dead. Trees that had then been saplings now towered over everything. He’d noticed driving in that the block remained in good repair. Time had been kind to this place.
Why had it been so tough on him?
He made a decision.
He wasn’t going to die today.
Maybe tomorrow, but not today.
Instead, it was time to do something he should have done long ago.
———
A LLE ENTERED THE C AFÉ R AHOFER, A PLACE SHE’D DISCOVERED A couple of weeks ago, not far from her Viennese apartment. She’d showered and changed, dressed in tan chinos, a sweater, and flat-soled shoes. She was feeling a bit better and wondered what had happened in Florida, but assumed her father had cooperated since Rócha had made no further contact. They were all scheduled to meet again tomorrow, at 4:00 P.M ., back where the video had originated, there while the grave was being opened, ready if needed for another show.
She did not like the idea of exhuming her grandfather. He’d beena dear man who’d loved her unconditionally. He was the blood father she’d never had, and his death still affected her. She always hoped her conversion to Judaism compensated, at least a little, for the pain her father had caused him. Despite all that happened, his granddaughter still became a Jew.
“Did your grandfather leave any papers or instructions to you that may have seemed unusual?” Zachariah asked her
.
She’d never spoken of it before, but it seemed okay, now, after three years, to discuss it with him. “He told me to bury a packet with him.”
“Describe it.”
She used her hands to outline something about afoot square. “It was one of those sealed vacuum bags sold for storage on television. It was thin and light.”
“Could you see anything through the bag?”
She shook her head. “I paid no attention to it. He left written instructions, as his estate representative, to make sure the packet was placed in his coffin. I did that myself, laying it on his chest, just before the lid was closed.”
“That had to be difficult.”
“I cried the whole time.”
She recalled how Zachariah had held her hand and they’d prayed for Abiram Sagan. She adhered to the Jewish belief that soul and body would eventually be reunited. That meant the body had to be honored. Custom required someone to attend to the deceased, closing the eyes and mouth, covering the face, lighting candles.
And she’d done all that.
A late-blooming cancer had stolen her grandfather quickly. But at least he hadn’t suffered. The Torah commanded that a body must not go unburied overnight, and she’d made sure that her grandfather had been interred before sunset. She’d also not embalmed him, dressing him in a simple linen shroud inside a plain wooden coffin. She’d heard him say many times,
“Wealthy or poor, nothing should distinguish us at death.”
She’d even kept a window open where she sat with him, awaiting burial, so his soul could easily escape. She’d then followed all four stages of mourning, including
avelut
. Dutifully, she’d abstained from parties, celebrations, and all forms of entertainment for a full twelve months.
Her grandfather would have
But he never did.
Alle was seventeen when he was fired, his disgrace reported in every media outlet around the world. Unfortunately, patching up his relationship with his daughter had not seemed a high priority at the time. A mistake? Oh, yeah. Big time. But that was eight years of hindsight talking and there was no way to jam that toothpaste back in the tube.
He could do something now, though.
He could get her free of Zachariah Simon.
He’d signed the papers. Tomorrow he’d appear at the cemetery and make sure she was okay.
After that?
Finish what he’d started?
He rubbed his tired eyes with shaking hands and glanced at his watch. 2:15 P.M . Outside was quiet. Most of the people who’d lived in his parents’ neighborhood while he was growing up were either gone or dead. Trees that had then been saplings now towered over everything. He’d noticed driving in that the block remained in good repair. Time had been kind to this place.
Why had it been so tough on him?
He made a decision.
He wasn’t going to die today.
Maybe tomorrow, but not today.
Instead, it was time to do something he should have done long ago.
———
A LLE ENTERED THE C AFÉ R AHOFER, A PLACE SHE’D DISCOVERED A couple of weeks ago, not far from her Viennese apartment. She’d showered and changed, dressed in tan chinos, a sweater, and flat-soled shoes. She was feeling a bit better and wondered what had happened in Florida, but assumed her father had cooperated since Rócha had made no further contact. They were all scheduled to meet again tomorrow, at 4:00 P.M ., back where the video had originated, there while the grave was being opened, ready if needed for another show.
She did not like the idea of exhuming her grandfather. He’d beena dear man who’d loved her unconditionally. He was the blood father she’d never had, and his death still affected her. She always hoped her conversion to Judaism compensated, at least a little, for the pain her father had caused him. Despite all that happened, his granddaughter still became a Jew.
“Did your grandfather leave any papers or instructions to you that may have seemed unusual?” Zachariah asked her
.
She’d never spoken of it before, but it seemed okay, now, after three years, to discuss it with him. “He told me to bury a packet with him.”
“Describe it.”
She used her hands to outline something about afoot square. “It was one of those sealed vacuum bags sold for storage on television. It was thin and light.”
“Could you see anything through the bag?”
She shook her head. “I paid no attention to it. He left written instructions, as his estate representative, to make sure the packet was placed in his coffin. I did that myself, laying it on his chest, just before the lid was closed.”
“That had to be difficult.”
“I cried the whole time.”
She recalled how Zachariah had held her hand and they’d prayed for Abiram Sagan. She adhered to the Jewish belief that soul and body would eventually be reunited. That meant the body had to be honored. Custom required someone to attend to the deceased, closing the eyes and mouth, covering the face, lighting candles.
And she’d done all that.
A late-blooming cancer had stolen her grandfather quickly. But at least he hadn’t suffered. The Torah commanded that a body must not go unburied overnight, and she’d made sure that her grandfather had been interred before sunset. She’d also not embalmed him, dressing him in a simple linen shroud inside a plain wooden coffin. She’d heard him say many times,
“Wealthy or poor, nothing should distinguish us at death.”
She’d even kept a window open where she sat with him, awaiting burial, so his soul could easily escape. She’d then followed all four stages of mourning, including
avelut
. Dutifully, she’d abstained from parties, celebrations, and all forms of entertainment for a full twelve months.
Her grandfather would have
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