Pariah

as no surprise that the guinea bastard had shown nary a jot of sympathy or respect. At least his faygeleh friend had paid his respects, even if it was just lip service. What did come as a surprise was that the first to arrive was Mona, who’d made no sign of comprehension when Abe had mentioned news of his wife’s passing to the girl. On this occasion her customary black wardrobe seemed apt, as did the unheard-of absence of headphones.

“Mona,” Abe said, ushering her into his parlor. “Thank you for coming.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, but it didn’t sound unsympathetic. It was just her way.

“Can I, um, do you want a drink of something? Water? Juice? Seltzer?” Abe felt funny offering her provisions she’d furnished, but what else could he do?

“No, thanks.” Mona scratched an ear, no doubt feeling naked without her earphones. A few moments of silence passed, Abe standing there at a double loss, Mona looking at her feet.

“You know,” Abe said, “I was the only one in the building who had to fight his way home through the first-what would you call it-outbreak of the zombies? It’s true. The rest were home or nearby, but I was at work when it really began to hit the fan. Like you know, it spread like wildfire, but I managed to get home, all the way from the garment district to here. That’s three miles, give or take. I couldn’t leave Ruthie to deal with this alone. Oy, did she sound scared. Well, of course she did. She wasn’t an easy woman, but I loved her. Maybe I didn’t show it enough, especially lately, but I did.”

“Uh-huh.”

Mona sniffed loudly, and for a moment Abe thought this moment of human-scale tragedy had reached her, that she was moved. But no. It was just plain old congestion. She removed her backpack and opened a side pocket. “Uh, can I get that water?”

“Certainly, dear.” Dear? Abe blinked a few times as he walked into the kitchen to pour her a glass of water. Dear? Though she looked nothing like his daughters, save for the color of her hair, Mona put him in mind of them. Miriam and Hannah, his brunette beauties, having gotten his coloring, not Ruth’s. Abe returned to the parlor and handed Mona the glass, which she accepted with a simple nod. Into her mouth she dropped two caplets, washing them down with the room-temperature liquid.

“Allergies?” Abe prompted.

“No.”

“You, uh, ever encounter any other survivors out there in your travels? Any other enclaves like ours?”

“No.”

Her monosyllabic response hung in the air like a vague but disquieting smell until it was dispersed by the arrival of Ellen, Alan, and Karl, then Dabney and, shockingly, the faygeleh. Conventional condolences were expressed, handshakes exchanged as well as a couple of hugs and a peck on the cheek from Ellen. Considering he knew Ruth wasn’t exactly well loved-or even liked-it was an excellent turnout. She’d have been pleased. After pleasantries and so forth they adjourned to the bedroom and Abe fished out the little prayer pamphlet. Looking a trifle embarrassed, Abe put on his reading glasses and cleared his throat. He’d never liked orating before a group.

“Okay. Thank you all for coming. I know I said that already, but thank you again, anyway. It would have meant a lot to Ruth. Okay.” He cleared his throat again. “Okay, so I’m going to read this little prayer, even though I don’t go in for all this nonsense. Okay. I should skip the editorializing. Sorry. And to Ruthie I say sorry, too. I can’t do it in Hebrew. I don’t remember how.” Abe smoothed the codex and again cleared his throat. Sweat was pouring off him, his suit darkening further in the pits and back-like it mattered. “Okay…

“May His great name grow exalted and sanctified in the world that He created as He willed. May He give reign to His kingship and cause His salvation to sprout, and bring near His Messiah in your lifetimes and in your days, and in the lifetimes of the entire family of Israel, swiftly and soon. Amen.

“May His great name be blessed forever and ever. Blessed, praised, glorified, exalted, extolled, mighty, upraised, and lauded be the name of the holy one, Blessed is He beyond any blessing and song, praise and consolation that are uttered in the world. Amen.”

What a load of horseshit, Abe thought amid a chorus of hushed amens. So be it.

“Listen, there’s all kinds of nonsense you’re supposed to do for Jewish funerals, but let’s face it, we’re not equipped and I’ve done what I can. None of that malarkey means anything anymore anyway. I’d rather eulogize Ruth in my head than aloud. It’s too tough. You people never got to know Ruthie at her best. Quite the opposite, to be frank. But trust me, Ruthie was a sweet lady, way back when. She was a beauty, too, and a good mother. Maybe a little overbearing, but good. Anyway, there’s supposed to be a procession and all that rigmarole, but forget it. I don’t even remember which is supposed to come first. The tent of prayer. The rending ritual. Without a cemetery to orient me I’m at a loss.”

“So what do you want us to do, Abe?” Dabney asked. Maybe because he was the second oldest in the room he had some sense of the absurdity, as well as solemnity, of the situation.

“I just want Ruthie’s body removed from the premises. I know burial’s out. Same for cremation. So, all I ask is dispose of it in as dignified a manner as you can. But I don’t want to see. I’d rather lie to myself that she got what she deserved.”

“Okay, Abe. You got it.”

Abe sat on the upholstered bench before Ruth’s vanity and watched as Dabney and Alan lifted the enshrouded corpse of his wife of forty-eight years. Five minutes later, they cast her from the roof of the northernmost building like a perished sailor at sea. That roof dropped to another roof, rather than the street, so her body would remain unmolested, to decompose in peace.

Hunched over Ruth’s vanity Abe held his head in his hands, the grief beginning to hit him and take hold. All her powders and liniments, her tinctures and paraphernalia neatly arranged on the low table reminded him of the great pains she’d taken to look attractive for him before it all went south. His nose ran but his eyes remained dry. He sniffled and kneaded his scalp. Wife, children, grandkids-all gone. He snorted back the snot and clenched his eyes shut.

“Allergies?” came a soft, female voice.

Abe started, nearly toppling from the bench. He thought he was alone, but there stood Mona in the doorway, clutching her childish bag.

“What?” Abe said.

“Allergies? Your nose.”

“No, not allergies. Just plain old anguish,” Abe said, adding with a touch of sarcasm, “You got anything for that?”

Rather than look insulted or display any recognizable emotion, Mona opened her bag and rummaged through it. “Valium. Prozac. Paxil. Zoloft. Wellbutrin. Parnate. Nardil. Effexor.”

Not five words in a row from this girl in the last month and now this checklist of multisyllabic antidepressants. Abe wiped his nose with a tissue and stared at Mona as she crouched by the door, still foraging in her cartoon backpack. The backpack reminded Abe of the baby snowsuits. The more he looked at her the more she reminded Abe of his granddaughter. Danielle hadn’t been as phlegmatic, but she took her job as a teenager seriously and was as sullen and uncommunicative as possible. Abe missed her.

“You take much of that stuff?” Abe asked.

“Not much.”

“What constitutes ‘not much’?”

“Enough. You want?”

“Yeah, I guess I’ll try some of that Zoloft.”

“Takes awhile.”

“How long?”

“Couple weeks.”

“And the others?”

“Couple weeks. Maybe more.”

“Never mind, then. I’ll just deal with it.”

“Valium’s quick.”

“Okay, I’ll go with that.”