probably responsible for the whole
But before he could get started with that, he got a telephone call, which Grelich didn’t prevent him from answering.
“Ritchie Castleman here,” he said.
Mr. Castleman? I am Edward Simonson. Mr. Mayer has recently hired me to run the lab. I am a graduate of CCNY, fully accredited and certified. I worked for two years at the Zeitgeist Institute in Zurich. If you want—”
Grelich said, “What is this?”
“This is Mr. Grelich speaking now?”
“Yes, it is. What do you want?”
“I am authorized by Mr. Mayer to tell you that if you wish to return to the lab, we assure you that the operation and removal will be properly conducted at this time, and at no cost to you.”
“You’ll make sure I die this time?” Grelich said.
“Well... Yes, that was your original intention in coming to MMT, was it not?”
“That was then and now is now.”
“Does that mean you’ve changed your mind?”
“I’m thinking it through again,” Grelich said. “Look, we’re not interested right now. We have a few matters to sort out first. We’ll get back to you.”
Grelich hung up. Ritchie was glad Grelich hadn’t immediately accepted this offer to correct his bungled suicide. He didn’t want to see Grelich die. But he wasn’t too happy that he was going to have to continue sharing a body with a near stranger.
Grelich said to Ritchie, “We need to find out what went wrong.”
“Of course,” Ritchie said.
The telephone rang again. This time Grelich picked it up.
Mr. Castleman?” a female voice asked.
“This is Grelich.”
“Mr. Grelich, this is Rachel Christiansen. I’m the regular receptionist at the MMT Company. I wanted to call and apologize for what I have done to you—not on purpose, I assure you—I never imagined—”
“What did happen?” Ritchie broke in.
“It’s such a complicated story I really think we should meet—that is, if you have the time... “
“I got the time!” Ritchie said. “Where? When?”
“There’s a sort of coffee shop near where I live. That’s in The Bronx, or maybe it’s upper Manhattan—I’m new in the city and I only know how to get to work and back.”
“What’s the place called?”
“The Brown something or other. Cow? Sheep? I’m not sure. I never go in there. It looks—shady.”
“Address?”
“Let me see, I get on the subway at 167th Street and Jerome Avenue, and the Brown whatever it is is two blocks downtown from the entrance, that would be at 165th Street, on the east side of Jerome Avenue. Unless it’s two blocks uptown—forgive me, I’m usually much more together than this—but recent events—”
“I know,” Ritchie said. “I understand. Look, we’ll get a cab. Probably take half an hour to get to you in the Bronx. Is that OK?”
“Certainly, Mr. Castleman. It’s the least I owe you. Though I’m not sure the place is entirely savory—”
“How bad can a coffee shop be?” Grelich broke in. “We’ll be there.”
Grelich hung up the phone.
“I was going to ask for her home address and telephone number,” Ritchie said.
“Don’t complicate matters, she’ll be there.”
The taxi ride was a trip in itself, and not without its own share of humor and pathos. But it doesn’t bear on our story, so we skip it, mentioning only that they found the Brune Vache on 166th Street and Jerome Avenue, and left a Cuban taxi driver wondering why a well-dressed guy like Ritchie was going to a place that was known to serve the worst coffee in the five boroughs. Must be Mafia-related, the driver decided.
Rachel Christiansen was inside, at a table near the door, a cup of tea in front of her. The place was dark, and nearly empty. Rachel was an over-weight, sweet-faced woman in her late twenties. Her face was framed in fluffy light brown hair. She stood up when Castleman walked in.
“Mr. Castleman? I am Rachel Christiansen. I am so sorry for what happened. Believe me, I had no idea... “
“What happened?” Ritchie asked.
“Well, I can only guess. It might be something else entirely.”
“Just tell me what you think.”
“Well, as I said, I really don’t know. But Nathan was very conflicted about the work he had been hired to do. Or would be doing. You were his first subject. But the very idea of taking a human life—even with the consent of the owner of that life—seemed to him sacrilegious.”
“So what was he doing in the job?” Ritchie asked.
“Well, at the start he didn’t really know it would involve taking a human life. I mean, he knew but I guess he blocked that part out. He needed the job so. He had just arrived here from San Antonio, Texas, to attend Rabbi Tomasi’s Torah studies class. Rabbi Tomasi also came from San Antonio. I believe he knows Nathan’s parents.”
“Was Nathan studying for the rabbinate?” Grelich asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Did he want to become a rabbi?”
“I would prefer he answer that himself,” Rachel said. “It is a little personal. And anyhow, I don’t really know. I think he had been planning to, but was having second thoughts. He came to one of our meetings, you know, and asked our pastor some questions.”
“Meetings?” Grelich asked.
“At the International Circle of Christian Friendship of Fort Wayne, Indiana, which has a branch here on 173rd Street.”
“What sort of questions did he ask?” Ritchie asked.
“They had to do with the proper relations between God and man in our secular age. Obviously, our pastor didn’t approve of murder.”
“Suicide is not exactly murder,” Grelich said.
“Murder of the self is still murder,” Rachel said. “And it’s still a sin, even if Mr. Nietzsche did approve of it.”
“How did Nietzsche get into this?” Grelich asked.
“Nathan was always quoting him. And Camus.”
“Aha!” Grelich said. “He must have been quoting the Camus who says that whether or not to suicide is the only real question.”
“That must have been the one,” Rachel said.
“And he talked about an old Greek. Sissy-something?”
“Sisyphus?” Grelich guessed.
“This Nathan sounds like a man after my own heart,” Grelich said.
“Do you really think so, Mr. Castleman?” Rachel asked, her disapproving attitude evident.
“This is Grelich speaking,” Grelich said. “I’m here, too, due to your boyfriends’ change of heart or failure of nerve or whatever it was.”
“This is so bewildering,” Rachel said. “You’re the one with the deeper voice?”
“Yes, and the imaginary
“I scarcely know... One time he talked about the moneychangers in the temple. I think he was referring to Mr. Mayer. Anyhow, he didn’t approve.”
“Money changers have to earn a living, too,” Grelich said.
“Let’s not get off the subject,” Ritchie said. “Rachel, why do you think you’re responsible?”
