SEIZ& THE DAY
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pointed shoulders, to someone under the canopy of the funeral parlor?
For this was a huge funeral. He looked for his singular face under the
dark, fashionable hat brim. There were two open cars filled with flowers,
and a policeman tried to keep a path open to pedestrians. Right at the
canopy-pole, now wasn't that that damned Tamkin talking away with
a solemn face, gesticulating with an open hand?
"Tamkin!" shouted Wilhelm, pushing forward. But he was pushed
to the side by a policeman clutching his nightstick at both ends, like a
rolling pin. Wilhelm was even further from Tamkin now, and swore
under his breath at the cop who continued to press him back, back,
belly and ribs, saying, "Keep it moving there, please," his face red with
impatient sweat, his brows like red fur. Wilhelm said to him haughtily,
"You shouldn't push people like this."
The policeman, however, was not really to blame. He had been
ordered to keep a way clear. Wilhelm was moved forward by the pres–
sure of the crowd.
He cried, "Tamkin!"
But Tamkin was gone. Or rather, it was he himself who was car–
ried from the street into the chapel. The pressure ended inside where
it was dark and cool. The flow of fan-driven air dried his face, which
he wiped hard with his handkerchief to stop the slight salt itch. He
gave a sigh when he heard the organ notes that stirred and breathed
from the pipes and he saw people in the pews. Men in formal clothes
and black homburgs strode softly back and forth on the cork floor, up
and down the center aisle. The white of the stained glass was like
mother-of-pearl, the blue of the Star of David like velvet ribbon.
"Well," thought Wilhelm, "if that was Tamkin outside I might
as well wait for him here where it's cool. Funny, he never mentioned
he had a funeral to go to, today. But that's just like the guy."
But within a few minutes he had forgotten Tamkin. He stood
along the wall with others and looked toward the coffin and the slow
line that was moving past it, gazing at the face of the dead. Presently
he too was in this line, and slowly, slowly, foot by foot, the beating of
his heart anxious, thick, frightening, but somehow also rich, he neared
the coffin and paused for his turn, and gazed down. He caught his
breath when he looked at the corpse and his face swelled, his eyes
shone, hugely with instant tears.
The dead man was gray-haired. He had two large waves of gray
hair at the front. But he was not old. His face was long, and he had
a bony nose, slightly, delicately twisted. His brows were raised as though
he had sunk into the final thought. Now at last he was with it, after
the end of all distraction, and when his flesh was no longer flesh. And
by this meditative look Wilhelm was so struck that he could not go
away.
In
spite of the tinge of horror, and then the splash of heart–
sickness that he felt, he could not go. He stepped out of line and re–
mained beside the coffin; his eyes filled silently and through his still
tears he studied the man as the line of visitors moved with veiled looks
past the satin coffin toward the standing bank of lilies, lilacs, roses.
With great stifling sorrow, almost admiration, Wilhelm nodded and
