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DON ZACHARIA
up from frig repairs is the deli. Call him and ask him to deliver-–
oh God--how much--at least--oh God--at least one hundred
pounds CCL and more rye bread."
"If
he doesn't use it," someone else said, "he can always
freeze
it."
"Hi yuh, Noel. How yuh doin'?"
"What's CCL?"
"I think, Noel, people should start leaving so the people who
are waiting outside could start coming in. I think there should be a
time limit o n how long certain people should stay. I think that
people who really knew you and
J
should be all owed to stay, but
the others should o nl y stay for five minutes so the other people
could come in."
"There is no flow," a tall rangy girl whom I had never seen in
my life said.
"What's CCL?" They loo ked at me unfamiliarly. Could it be
that
I
was in the wrong house? "What's eCL?"
"Chopped chicken liver."
"Oh."
In the dining room a great many people were paying atten–
tion to Loie. She seemed to be having a fine time. Someone was
doing a magic trick for her.
"Noel, did you eat something?"
"Yes. I just had a sturgeon and lox and CCL triple decker
with onion and lettuce and a glass of milk."
"Do you want something else?"
"No thank you."
"Now which hand is the nickel in Loie?"
She seemed puzzled. It was a pretty sophisticated trick to be
showing a three-year-old. "Hi," she said to me.
"Hi. "
"Mommy's dead."
Someone shut the radio off. The toilet flushed. The dog
barked and wouldn't stop. "Yes," I said, "Mommy's dead."
"Which hand is the nickel in, Loie?"
"Neither," she said.
I went outside and spoke to Susan who was swinging on the
swmg.
