House of Ghosts
Page 37
Elaine served Joe with divorce papers three days after the World Trade Center was destroyed on September 11, 2001. Irreconcilable differences were the stated grounds. He instructed Mel Katz to make a deal with the plaintiff’s attorney, a hard nosed feminist lesbian from a powerhouse firm in Newark—split their assets including the proceeds from the sale of the Wychwood colonial. Joe had one demand, he wanted his Explorer returned. The counter offer—three quarters of the bank accounts, half of his pension, three quarters of the house, and a new car— the desert was hard on vehicles—and by the way, Elaine was being magnanimous, he could keep his underwear.
“This must be the place,” he said, parking at the end of a line of vehicles. They would have to walk a hundred yards to the festivities. “I can’t believe this day has finally arrived.”
“I’m proud of what you’ve accomplished,” Kim said.
“I never imagined it would take so long to get him home.” What Joe thought would be a process of a few months, turned into a year and a half of frustration. While sympathetic, the Air Force dragged its collective feet, fearful of making re-interning WWII airmen a national obsession. “If it weren’t for Driscoll,” he winced, saying the special agent’s name, “nothing would’ve happened. The bastard is owed a lot of favors.”
The Polish Government was more than pleased to facilitate the paperwork after Driscoll’s contact in the Pentagon pushed the clearance for exhumations through channels. Jake located a cousin of Vinnie’s who supplied a blood sample to verify his remains. Finding next of kin for the other eight crewmen of the Brooklyn Avenger proved a daunting task for the Air Force.
It was necessary to walk on the graves closest to the road as another funeral procession made its way on the narrow lane. “I didn’t think you were going to make it,” Jake, in a short sleeve Hawaiian shirt, said, squeezing Joe about the shoulders. Bending over, he gave the diminutive Kim a kiss on the cheek.
“It took forever to get here from Princeton,” Joe said, rubbing his left arm where Jake applied his vice-like grip. After the sale of the Westfield colonial, Joe moved to Kim’s farmhouse in Princeton that had been in her family for three generations.
Ten elderly men huddled beneath the canopy erected over the grave, taking respite from the blazing sun. All but two were in sport clothes. Excavated earth was piled atop a blue tarpaulin spanning four adjacent plots. Jake called to a couple in conversation four headstones away, “Alex and Rebecca, I want you to meet Lieutenant Henderson and his wife Kim.” He turned back to Joe and Kim. “Sarah is in the car, she needs the air conditioning. Phyllis is keeping her company.”
Joe felt sweat running down his back. Wearing a navy suit in ninety plus degrees made zero sense, but Kim’s “look” when he put on his white U.S. Open golf shirt and beige khakis persuaded the change. He couldn’t understand how the woman wasn’t melting in her demure, black tailored suit. From his jacket he snuck a peek at the photos of Alex and Rebecca. The man heading his way was the spitting image of Paul—thin, average height, and had his smile. Rebecca, a good four inches taller than her husband, moved haltingly toward Uncle Jake.
“We can’t thank you enough,” Alex said, pumping Joe’s hand. “My uncle sings your praises.”
“Your uncle exaggerates,” Joe said, jabbing Jake in the stomach. Rebecca offered a pained smile. Joe tried not to stare, searching for a resemblance for Preston. The nose was familiar, but…
Four uniformed cemetery workers blocked entry to within two hundred feet of the gravesite with yellow caution tape strung between metal rods pounded into the ground. Joe had enough experience with “wiseguys” to know that the muscle-men weren’t members of Local 365 of the Service Employees Union.
The funeral director signaled Jake. “It’s time,” Jake said, giving the thumbs up in return. “Alex, get your mother and Phyllis.”
Alex hustled off to a silver Lexus parked behind the hearse. “You knew my father,” Rebecca said with a dazed look. Without another word, she drifted away.
“She looks strung out,” Joe said, shaking his head.
“Am I missing something?” Kim asked sharply.
“I’ll explain later,” Joe answered. He removed his suit jacket, slinging it over his shoulder.
“When old wounds re-open…,” Jake started to explain. “Rebecca is a fine woman. She’ll need some time.”
Phyllis supported her mother as they painstakingly made the hundred feet journey to the grave. One of the elderly men waved to Jake. “That’s Sheldon Abramowitz, our rabbi,” Jake said. “The last chapter is about to be written.”
“I imagined him either an attorney or a labor organizer, not a rabbi,” Joe said with amusement.
“With the way he ran his mouth, I never thought he’d make it to the age of twenty-five,” Jake chuckled. “Working with the survivors of the death camps changed him. When he got out of the service, he made the decision to go into the rabbinate.” He walked toward the hearse where Alex and six of the geriatrics waited.
“Let’s get under the awning,” Joe said, moving to the Rothstein/Greenbaum family plot. Kim crunched close to her husband to avoid stepping on the final resting place of Sarah’s cousin Minnah.
Sarah, shorter than the five-two Kim, was bent over with a dowager’s hump. Joe helped ease her onto a metal folding chair. “It’s like a dream,” she said in a tired voice, running a hand through her simply coiffed gray, almost white, hair.
Joe kissed her hand. He received perfunctory nods of recognition from the other attendees. It wasn’t necessary to ask their connection to the deceased. They were Faction members. Canes and walkers were now their weapons. The unnamed man in the black suit turned, wearing the collar of a Catholic priest.
With the opening of the rear door of the hearse by the funeral director, Jake and Alex slid a plain pine casket out on the Cadillac’s rolling mechanism. The six pall bearers took hold of the traditional vessel for Orthodox Jewish burial. With nothing but bones, the octogenarians had little trouble carrying it to the gravesite and placing on the lowering device. Rabbi Abramowitz didn’t move.
Joe did a double take. A wood cross was affixed to the casket’s lid. Younger than the Faction members, the priest stepped to the grave. “Non inters injudicium servo tu.” He cleared his throat. “May you deserve to escape the avenging judgment, who, whilst he lived, was marked with the seal of the holy trinity.
“O God, we humbly present our prayers to thee for the soul of Vincent Sapienza, beseeching thee not to deliver it into the hands of the enemy, nor to forget it for ever, but to command thy holy angels to receive it, and to bear it to paradise, that as it has believed and hoped in thee it may be delivered from the pains of hell and inherit eternal life through Christ our Lord. Amen.”
“Amen,” was said collectively.
“We are all soldiers of God,” he intoned, anointing the casket with Holy water. “All of us fight the good fight of life, and Vincent gave his life so others he didn’t know might survive.”
”The casket was lowered. Jake led the pall bearers back to the hearse. Sheldon Abramowitz shook hands with the priest. “Act two,” Joe whispered into Kim’s ear. “Jake is full of surprises. I can only imagine how he pulled off burying a Catholic in a Jewish cemetery.”
Jake and Alex inched the second pine casket to the edge of hearse’s bumper. Straightening their aged backs, the Faction brothers snapped to attention as Paul’s remains were delivered into their hands. The procession proceeded back to the gravesite, this time at a snail’s pace.
Sheldon began to chant, “El maley rachamim shochen bam’romim hamtzey menuchah nechonah al kanfey haschechinah bema’alot kedoshim ute’horim kezohar harakia me’irim umazhirim lenishmat. Shehalach le’olamo ba’avur shekol beney hamishpachah, yedidim umakirim mitpalelim le’iluy nishmatobegan eden tehey menuchato lachen ba’al harachamim yastireyhubeseter kenafav le’olamim. Veyitzror bitzror hachayim et nismato. Adonai hu nachalato. Veyanuach beshalom al mishkavo venomar, amein.”
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br /> “Amen,” Joe and the others answered.
“God full of mercy who dwells on high, grant perfect rest on the wings of your divine presence in the lofty heights of the holy and pure who shine as the brightness of the heavens, to the soul of Pinchas ben Avram who has gone to his eternal rest as all his family and friends pray for the elevation of his soul. His resting place shall be in the Garden of Eden. Therefore, the Master of mercy will care for him under the protection of his wings for all time and bind his soul in the bond of everlasting life. God is his inheritance and he will rest in peace and let us say, amen.”
Sheldon placed his hand on the casket. “Welcome home my friend.” Tears rolled down his face. “Yeetgadal v’ yeetkadash sh’mey rabbah. B’almah dee v’rah kheer’utey. V’ yamleekh malkhutei, b’chahyeykhohn, uv’ yohmeykhohn. Uv’chahyei d’chohl beyt yisrael, ba’agalah u’veez’man kareev, v’eemru amein.
“Glorified and sanctified be God’s great name throughout the world which he has created according to his will. May he establish his kingdom in your lifetime and during your days, and within the life of the entire house of Israel, speedily and soon, and say, amen.”
There was a muted response. The sound of noses being blown filled the air. The supporting straps were released. Paul’s casket slowly descended. A dull thud was heard as pine met pine. One by one, the Faction members dropped shovels of earth into the grave. Jake wrapped his arms around Joe. “We’re going back to the old neighborhood and have a bite at Katz’s.” He wiped his eyes. “We’ll be honored if you and Kim attend the last meeting of the Faction.”
Kim finished wiping her eyes with a tissue. “Let me have it,” Joe said, “Despite what they say, I’m human. I need to blow my nose.”
“Lieutenant Henderson, I want to apologize,” Dave Cohen said.
Joe wiped his nose, crumpled the tissue, and placed it in his pant pocket. “You owe me six and a quarter for the eggs and coffee.”
House of Ghosts
on the web…
Learn more about author Lawrence Kaplan and Detective Joe Henderson on the web.
LAWRENCE KAPLAN, Author
Contact the author, keep up to date with press coverage for House Of Ghosts, and learn where to meet Larry Kaplan in person. There’s a Forum where you can talk with fellow readers about House Of Ghosts and explore the history behind the story.
http://www.lawrencekaplanauthor.com
JOE HENDERSON, Detective (Retired)
We persuaded Detective Joe Henderson to post his own web site. Which was quite a challenge for a fictional character! If you enjoy Joe Henderson, this is where you can get more of his observations about life and love, and you’ll discover why he really doesn’t like author Kaplan very much at all. You can even buy a Joe Henderson mug or t-shirt.
http://joehendersondetective.com
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