Authors: William Goldman
“
Something was in my brain besides my brain,
”
Edith said.
“
All, all my carefully built-up defenses, gone. Invaded. In the
middle of my brain. It was like a child was thinking inside me— a child that
knew
me—and hated me so—all my failings burst out, all the bad things I
’
d done in my life, all those scars and guilts were ripped free and loose inside and I spun around, tried to get to it, tried to make it stop, but it kept on getting worse, it was as if all your sins and evils were bursting free and tormenting you, and
enjoying tormenting you
—and I knew I had to do something because it was as if you were being tortured by a sadist, by an ultimate sadist, only that sadist was you, and
whatever steps you have to take to make it stop
”
—now she looked at her bandaged arms—
“
you take them.
”
During the outburst Sally could see the cost in energy, and she said nothing when Edith was done, just leaned forward, smoothed Edith
’
s lovely reddish hair. When Edith was asleep again, she kept on for a while, then contented herself holding Edith
’
s hand.
Sally was exhausted too, and when the night nurse whispered the room across the hall was vacant and wouldn
’
t she feel better with a decent night
’
s rest, Sally felt genuinely grateful. She had more trouble getting to sleep than she thought, considering how whipped she was. Edith
’
s phrase kept recurring, making her wonder.
“
Something was inside my brain besides my brain …
”
What the fuck could it be, Sally wondered.
Whatever it was, it returned in the hours before dawn.
Edith
’
s long-time wish for cremation was, of course, honored. And she
’
d also wanted just the family to gather in the living room of the Beekman Place place for a really good glass of champagne and Phillip was unable to function much so Sally bought a magnum of Roederer Cristal from Sherry-Lehmann and maybe they would have gotten through it—it would have been awful but they might have made the moment work, if Edith
’
s mother, old Mrs. Mazursky, hadn
’
t chosen to invite the rabbi of her congregation.
She didn
’
t tell anyone she
’
d done it, and until he arrived, she contented herself moving around the room, from Phillip to Sally to the daughters, Abigail, Caroline, and Kate, saying that Edith was a bubble of a child.
“
Your mother was a bubble of a child,
”
she said to the children.
“
My daughter was a bubble of a child,
”
she said to poor, dazed Phillip.
Sally, anxious to avoid her turn, went to the large picture window and stared out; ordinarily it was one of the premier views of
the city, but since Edith had chosen to drown in that same East River that flowed so beautifully by, the view, at least for now, possessed sorrows.
Sally turned sharply from it, hoisted the magnum from the nearby table, filled her glass, put the bottle down, drained her glass, lifted the bottle back up, filled the glass again. It was while she was intent on this that she heard the words,
“
Oh thank God, come in, Rabbi.
”
Stunned, Sally looked as the chubby old woman went to the tall man in the doorway. He was impeccably coiffed, Sally watched as he smiled a perfect smile of sympathy, and as she watched she wondered did she hate him more for how he
looked
that he was there.
“
I
’
ve asked Rabbi Korngold to say a few words,
”
Mrs. Ma
zursky said.
Sally watched as Phillip, dear thing that he was, tried to stop the festivities before they rolled.
“
I don
’
t remember Edith having requested
…
”
he began.
“
I hadn
’
t intended
…
”
he tried again.
I wish I was family, Sally thought. But she wasn
’
t, she told herself. And her job was to shut up.
In a deep, controlled voice, Rabbi Korngold said something in Hebrew.
At least Sally assumed it was Hebrew. Probably a prayer. Getting her mind off the situation, she studied Phillip, washed up and slumping, Lincolnesque no more. And the three daughters: Kate, angry at her mother
’
s betrayal, Abby, angry but still more stunned, Caroline, forlorn but fighting not to give in to tears.
“
Edith Mazursky Holtzman,
”
Rabbi Korngold said, his voice growing deeper as he repeated the name.
“
Edith
…
Mazursky
…
Holtzman … a flower plucked before her springtime.
”
Now Caroline had lost her fight, was weeping.
“
What can we say of Edith Mazursky Holtzman … what can we capture in mere words of her joyous spirit; how can we encapsulate a spirit as wide as the horizon … ?
”
He looked at the girls now.
“
Who but you can know the greatness of your loss?
”
There went Abby.
Kate was still fighting the good fight.
The rabbi turned toward Kate now.
“
You must not sorrow because you are alone. You are not alone. You have your memories and they are gold.
”
Kate began to sob. She ran to her weeping father, buried her
head. Mrs. Mazursky had been in tears since the rabbi had cleared his throat.
He moved into the center of the room now, spread his long arms, his voice deeper and slower than ever.
“
Yes, they are gold, our memories of Edith Mazursky Holtzman … and gold shines
…
and our memories shine
…
they shine today
…
they will shine tomorrow… they will shine forever…
”
He pointed to Mrs. Mazursky
“
…
daughter memories
…
M
Now to the girls.
“
… mother memories …
”
Last to Phillip.
“
. .. and memories of wife… for she was fully all those things, a daughter, a mother, a wife—
”
“
—and painter!
”
Sally cut in.
“
Now you must stop this.
”
“
What?—
”
He spun toward Sally.
“
She was also a painter.
”
“
A painter, of course.
”
“
No, I don
’
t think you knew that,
”
Sally said.
“
But she was very good, really a remarkable gift and Lord knows where it would have taken her and I suppose it
’
s sad we
’
ll never find out, but lots of things are sad, aren
’
t they, sir.
”
“
Oh yes,
”
Rabbi Korngold said. He looked around now, not quite certain as to what to do next.
Sally was more than certain. Yes she was small and pert and on occasion, demure, but she could also be, on occasion, a tank, and that was the role she played now, moving toward the rabbi, clasping his hand, starting him deftly toward the door.
“
We won
’
t forget your appearance here,
”
Sally told him, hoping it was ambiguous enough.
“
Thank you,
”
the rabbi answered.
“
And if we need you, we
’
ll feel free to contact you.
”
“
My phone is always open,
”
Rabbi Korngold said, which isn
’
t quite what he meant to say, he had meant to say that it was his
door,
of course, that was open, and he wondered if he ought to clarify the thought, but a look at his escort made him decide not to.
Sally stayed in the doorway till he was gone. Then she faced the room. Phillip, still holding Kate, nodded a
“
thank you.
”
Sally looked at them all. Then she said,
“
My beloveds: we are here because Edith chose to desert us. Maybe someday we
’
ll know why
…
”
She crossed to the champagne, drank a glass empty, poured it
back full, sat and stared out at the river. Behind her now, she could hear the tears subsiding.
Sally didn
’
t cry. Ever. Sometimes she wished she could. She sat at a table that was placed by the window and put her chin in her hands, hoping Mrs. Mazursky wouldn
’
t be angry at her for ending the peroration early.
Evidently she wasn
’
t, since not too many minutes later, the old lady was standing beside Sally, saying that Edith was just a bubble of a child.
“
I
’
m sure, Mrs. Mazursky.
”
“
She was, she was. A bubble. Just a bubble of a child.
”
Sally nodded.
Now Mrs. Mazursky leaned close, whispered into Sally
’
s ear.
“
And it was an accident. That.
”
She pointed toward the water.
“
I
’
m positive. It was an accident. Believe me.
”
Sally tried very hard to nod again. But it wasn
’
t easy.
An accident?
Forget it was the middle of the night when Edith drowned. Forget it was February. Forget it was freezing. Forget it was the East River. Forget she was wearing only a hospital gown.
She couldn
’
t swim …
—Billy Boy stood silently on the steps, took a last look at the two women lying below, and wondered what the hell to do now—
—he had meant to go to Hero
’
s, to go to Hero
’
s and get clothes, but that was before he got lucky with the queen of the shop-lifters—
—and before he hit the nosy bitch with the red hair—
—if he went to Hero
’
s now he
’
d go without money, and maybe they were the kind of place that took gold watches and gold bracelets and all the other stuff he
’
d jammed in his pockets, but then again, maybe they weren
’
t. This was in New York, and in Milwaukee there were places that did and in Waukegan there were plenty of places that did but New York you didn
’
t want them laughing at you.
So what he had to do was barter, the gold for some bread, and what he also had to do,
right now,
was get the hell away. He climbed the steps and there were half a dozen people standings clustered so he said,
“
Get the cops, didja for Chrissakes call the cops?
”
and when they shook their heads he exploded,
“
What
’
s wrong with you people, I gotta do
everything?
’
and he pulled his black wool cap down tight around his head and bulled away, calling out
“
Police
”
a few times until he was safe out of sight around the corner which is when he started running—
—running? Are you crazy? You know what they do to guys in New York who run away from crimes? Book
‘
em and throw away the key.
He stopped and took a deep breath. He was—he had to admit it—flustered.
Flustered.
And they were looking at him. AH the people were looking at him. They knew. People from the Apple knew when you
’
d done something, unless you were smart enough
to fake
‘
em, and he was smart enough in Milwaukee and he was a whiz in Waukegan, but New York? He wished then what he always did after a job—