like now, when
relationships are the subject of bestsellers and every little intimacy or state
of mind gets its own talk show slot.
"If you're interested in doing any research,"
Frank said, "just tell John. And the young guy who keeps the old files at
the newspaper now is a good friend of ours, too. We buried three of his
grandparents. He'll give you all the help you need."
"I don't think it's a good idea at all," Rose
said, as she did every time the subject of investigating Al's death came up.
"If Al really was in some kind of trouble when he died, it could be
dangerous to start poking into it. Besides, Gloria's here to start a new life,
not to dig up the old one."
As if on cue from the old life, the phone rang. Peter was
calling to remind me that I was scheduled to give a talk in his Italian class
the next morning. We'd worked out a monthly series of sessions on the contributions
of Italians and Italian Americans to science and technology. I'd give a
technical presentation in English, and the students would write follow-up
papers in Italian on the person's life and times. Not wanting to be tied to
chronological order, I'd planned to start with Enrico Fermi and how he achieved
the first sustained nuclear chain reaction in 1942.
Once that was settled, Peter invited me to a dinner-dance at
Wonderland Ballroom on Saturday night, sponsored by Saint Anthony's Knights of
Columbus. I told him I wanted to be available to the Bensen murder
investigation, and couldn't make plans.
"I'm not happy with this new career of yours,"
Peter said. "I hope this cop isn't putting you in any danger."
Something in his tone said "possessive" to me, and
I responded a little too harshly.
"I'm not doing it to make you happy, Peter," I
said. "I'll see you about seven forty-five in the morning. I'll need an
overhead projector."
Rose and Frank were perusing my coffee table museum books,
but I could tell that they'd followed the gist of my conversation.
"I think Peter's been waiting for Gloria since
1962," Frank said to Rose when I returned to the seating area.
"Well, that's his problem," Rose said.
I decided I didn't need to enter into this conversation even
if it was about me. We gathered our jackets and purses and I ended up having my
second meal of the day at Russo's. There wasn't a lot of choice in our
immediate neighborhood, and none of us felt like driving too far.
~~~~
I asked Frank to drop me off a few blocks before the
mortuary so I could take advantage of the perfect weather. I'd been through the
toughest part of the year, the hot, muggy summers, and felt that this was a
just reward. There was enough of an east wind to carry the smell of salt air
inland and I took a deep breath to catch a whiff of the Atlantic Ocean. I
walked at a brisk pace for me, through quiet streets, past rows of one- and
two-story houses interspersed with neighborhood markets, repair shops, and
cleaners. No California-style strip malls, at least not in this part of Revere.
Every time I passed a video store or nail salon, I tried to remember what had
been in that spot when I was a child.
I'd already prepared my Fermi talk, but I still had to
decide whether to include his flight from Italy with his Jewish wife. Enrico
and Laura Fermi went legitimately to Sweden to receive his Nobel Prize, but
then to America to avoid her persecution. As I walked, I tried to think of a
way to relate the experience to a generation that probably hadn't even heard
the word holocaust.
I got home feeling clear-headed and ready for bed. I took a
quick look at my e-mail and paper mail and settled on what I'd wear to class,
and then to the police station, knowing I wouldn't have time to come home in
between.
As I got into bed with a stack of transparencies for one
last look at the radioactive decay scheme I'd drawn for my Fermi talk, my phone
rang.
A man's voice, but not one I expected.
"This is Ralph Leder," he said. "I want you
to know I wasn't pleased with what you were implying
relationships are the subject of bestsellers and every little intimacy or state
of mind gets its own talk show slot.
"If you're interested in doing any research,"
Frank said, "just tell John. And the young guy who keeps the old files at
the newspaper now is a good friend of ours, too. We buried three of his
grandparents. He'll give you all the help you need."
"I don't think it's a good idea at all," Rose
said, as she did every time the subject of investigating Al's death came up.
"If Al really was in some kind of trouble when he died, it could be
dangerous to start poking into it. Besides, Gloria's here to start a new life,
not to dig up the old one."
As if on cue from the old life, the phone rang. Peter was
calling to remind me that I was scheduled to give a talk in his Italian class
the next morning. We'd worked out a monthly series of sessions on the contributions
of Italians and Italian Americans to science and technology. I'd give a
technical presentation in English, and the students would write follow-up
papers in Italian on the person's life and times. Not wanting to be tied to
chronological order, I'd planned to start with Enrico Fermi and how he achieved
the first sustained nuclear chain reaction in 1942.
Once that was settled, Peter invited me to a dinner-dance at
Wonderland Ballroom on Saturday night, sponsored by Saint Anthony's Knights of
Columbus. I told him I wanted to be available to the Bensen murder
investigation, and couldn't make plans.
"I'm not happy with this new career of yours,"
Peter said. "I hope this cop isn't putting you in any danger."
Something in his tone said "possessive" to me, and
I responded a little too harshly.
"I'm not doing it to make you happy, Peter," I
said. "I'll see you about seven forty-five in the morning. I'll need an
overhead projector."
Rose and Frank were perusing my coffee table museum books,
but I could tell that they'd followed the gist of my conversation.
"I think Peter's been waiting for Gloria since
1962," Frank said to Rose when I returned to the seating area.
"Well, that's his problem," Rose said.
I decided I didn't need to enter into this conversation even
if it was about me. We gathered our jackets and purses and I ended up having my
second meal of the day at Russo's. There wasn't a lot of choice in our
immediate neighborhood, and none of us felt like driving too far.
~~~~
I asked Frank to drop me off a few blocks before the
mortuary so I could take advantage of the perfect weather. I'd been through the
toughest part of the year, the hot, muggy summers, and felt that this was a
just reward. There was enough of an east wind to carry the smell of salt air
inland and I took a deep breath to catch a whiff of the Atlantic Ocean. I
walked at a brisk pace for me, through quiet streets, past rows of one- and
two-story houses interspersed with neighborhood markets, repair shops, and
cleaners. No California-style strip malls, at least not in this part of Revere.
Every time I passed a video store or nail salon, I tried to remember what had
been in that spot when I was a child.
I'd already prepared my Fermi talk, but I still had to
decide whether to include his flight from Italy with his Jewish wife. Enrico
and Laura Fermi went legitimately to Sweden to receive his Nobel Prize, but
then to America to avoid her persecution. As I walked, I tried to think of a
way to relate the experience to a generation that probably hadn't even heard
the word holocaust.
I got home feeling clear-headed and ready for bed. I took a
quick look at my e-mail and paper mail and settled on what I'd wear to class,
and then to the police station, knowing I wouldn't have time to come home in
between.
As I got into bed with a stack of transparencies for one
last look at the radioactive decay scheme I'd drawn for my Fermi talk, my phone
rang.
A man's voice, but not one I expected.
"This is Ralph Leder," he said. "I want you
to know I wasn't pleased with what you were implying
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