David Bezmozgis - The Free World

— I suppose, Alec said. I still have to tell my family.

As they left the room, Alec glanced at the little Jew mumbling his stream of gibberish.

— What’s he doing?

— He stays with the body all night. So it’s never alone.

— Is that necessary?

— Does it bother you?

— I don’t know.

— It’s a Jewish custom. You want him to go away?

— It doesn’t matter.

— It’s his job. He’s paid for it.

— Then leave him, Alec said.

Alec caught a nine o’clock train out of Rome. He arrived in Ladispoli after ten and walked the dark, empty streets to his family’s house. He saw the world with the clarity conferred by the knowledge of death. He saw everything as it truly was. Every mundane thing existed in terms of death. Everything was tinged by this tragic impermanence.

The lights were on when Alec came to the house. He knocked on the door and heard exclamations and frantic scrambling. He felt the imminence of what was to come. The door would soon open and he would have to look into his mother’s eyes and speak the words so that they entered irrevocably into the world. He felt his intransitive physical bulk on the doorstep. Somehow the fate of his life had designated him for this.

The door was thrown open and he saw his mother — her anxious, haggard expression. Pressed up behind her were Rosa and the boys, followed by Karl, who took Alec’s meaning from across the room. For an instant, his mother was confused, distracted by Alec’s mutilated face.

— My God, what did you do to your eye?

— An accident. It’s nothing.

Then his mother seemed to remember what was uppermost in her mind. She asked nervously, as if fending off the knowledge, Alec, you’re alone? Where is Papa?

Alec managed only to slowly say Mama before she interrupted him, her eyes gaping with terror, and pleaded, What happened, Alec? Where is your father?

On the train and walking the dark streets of Ladispoli he had silently practiced the words. Now he opened his mouth and they tumbled out: Papa is gone.

His mother wailed, Oi, Syomachka! as if something had cracked inside her. Rosa drew her close and the two of them wept into each other’s neck. The boys, bewildered, also started to cry. Karl said, Come, let’s go inside, and they all trailed into the house, Alec shutting the door behind them.

They settled in the living room, where Samuil had spent so much of his time writing his secret memoirs.

— It’s my fault, his mother bemoaned, looking up from her anguish. I should have never let him go by himself.

— It isn’t your fault, Emma Borisovna, Rosa responded. She looked bitterly at Alec and added, It was because of your slut that your father went off to Rome. If not for that, he would still be alive!

— Don’t say that! his mother snapped. Don’t say that to him! He’s not to blame. Syoma went to help him. He was a father concerned for his son.

That night Alec slept on the floor of the living room. Karl stayed in the bedroom with the boys, and Rosa slept in his mother’s bed so that she would not have to be by herself. Before she joined his mother, Alec heard Rosa soothing the boys with a lullaby. The lullaby she sang was familiar, though not because he recalled anyone ever singing it to him.

The half moon shines above our roof

Evening stands at our yard

For little birds and for little children

The time has come now to sleep

In the morning you’ll wake

and the bright sun will rise above you again

Sleep little sparrow

Sleep little son

Sleep my dear little chime.

Alec lay on the floor and listened to her sing. He could not have said precisely why he was so moved. The words and the melody pierced his heart and he lay on the floor and quietly wept.

In the morning they scurried to make arrangements for the funeral. Karl went to coordinate with the rabbi and Rosa deposited the boys at a friend’s apartment. Alec was left alone with his mother. He watched her comb fastidiously through the house collecting the stray items his father had left behind: his reading glasses, his slippers, a newspaper he had been reading. When she finished, she looked at Alec dolefully and he waited for her to say something more about what had sent his father to Rome.

— Will you call Polina? Emma asked.

— I don’t think I can, Alec said.

She studied him for a moment, with a wisdom for which he seldom credited her, and didn’t insist further. Instead she sent him to Club Kadima to find Josef Roidman. He was his father’s friend, and she believed that he would want to attend the funeral.

Alec found Roidman at Club Kadima, sitting alone with a newspaper. He apologized for disturbing him and asked if he remembered who he was.

— What’s to remember? Roidman said merrily. But for the eye, you’re the spitting image of your father.

Alec told him that his father had died.

— It can’t be, Roidman said.

— The funeral is today. I am here to see if you wish to come.

— Vey, vey , the old man said and shook his head despondently.

Roidman gathered himself up and hobbled for the exit.

— I am not properly dressed to pay my respects. Is there time enough for me to go home?

Alec accompanied the old man to his apartment, where he put on a cap and the same blazer with the medals Alec had seen him wearing the day of the pope’s coronation.

Karl secured transport to ferry them all to the cemetery. Despite it having been repainted, Alec nevertheless recognized it as Lyova’s old Volkswagen van. Piled inside were all the members of his family — minus the boys — along with Josef Roidman, the rabbi, and six other Jewish men: three of the rabbi’s bearded adjutants, as well as two idle Russian pensioners and one teenage boy, whom the rabbi had recruited with the promise of a break from their routine and a complimentary meal.

The rabbi directed them to the cemetery and Karl turned off Via Tiburina at Piazzale delle Crociate, where an iron gate stood ajar. They followed a paved road into the grounds. The road, lined with cypress trees, stretched deep into the cemetery and curved away at a high mausoleum wall. Not far from the entrance, at the edge of the road, was a black hearse with a uniformed driver. The rabbi directed Karl to park the van in front of the hearse. The rabbi exchanged a few words with the hearse’s driver and then gestured for everyone to follow him to the graveside. Even without the rabbi’s instruction, everyone had already noticed the mound of freshly turned earth with a simple pine coffin beside it. At the sight of the coffin, Alec heard his mother and Rosa begin to whimper and to call his father’s name. He and Karl lagged some distance behind, at the tail of the procession. Alec looked at his brother to see how he was taking all of this. Karl’s face was grim and brooding.

— You’re a fool, you know that? Karl said.

Alec didn’t think he had anything to say in his own defense.

— You can’t tell when you’re climbing into a nest of vipers?

— I thought it would all come out differently.

— Fool, Karl said with disgust.

He halted and peered up at the sky, as if he could no longer bring himself to look at Alec.

— They’ll go to Germany. They can be smuggled in. I’m sure they’ll prosper. There’s plenty of opportunity. Let them be the Germans’ problem.

His brother went ahead to join the others and Alec followed.

At the graveside, added to their number were two young Italian groundskeepers who indicated how the coffin needed to be lifted and positioned onto the straps. Karl and Alec both stepped forward to take up the coffin, but the rabbi stopped them.

— Immediate kin do not lift the body.