212
PARTISAN REVIEW
and relatives. Carefully he chose his shirt, tie , and cuff links. He
prepared breakfast - not out of hunger, but to avoid a drawn ap–
pearance. He brewed strong coffee , added much sugar. Large flakes
of snow were falling outside and although it was the dead of winter,
a fly suddenly appeared. For a while it buzzed against the win–
dowpane, then landed near some crystals of spilled sugar. It did not
eat but seemed to ponder over them. From time to time it entangled
its back feet, then straightened them out again . Finally, it landed on
the brim of a saucer of leftover black
coff~e
and gazed into it as if into
an abyss. Perhaps, he had a sudden thought, the fly is Bessie .
He'd have to hurry. He wanted to see her alone , with no one
looking on. The funeral parlor was not far from his house, but he
took a taxi to avoid coming in from the cold with a red nose . Soon he
was standing at the little window which connected the dead to the
living.
"Fourth floor," the same girl told him.
He rode up on the elevator. The funeral parlor was deserted,
an emptiness that would soon be overrun by a crowd . He stopped
before a door with mottled milkglass panels , which held a card bear–
ing Bessie's name and the hour of her funeral . It seemed to him that,
in some eerie fashion, Bessie had become an official with her own of–
fice and office hours. He pushed open the door and saw her coffin
with a part of its lid removed. From the ceiling a colored lamp cast a
pale light, which mixed with the daylight filtering through the
stained-glass windows. He was alone with Bessie .
Her face was covered by a square piece of gauze . She seemed
almost alive, only lovelier, a perfect portrait painted by a master
who wished to protect it from the dust. She seemed to smile, the
smile of someone about to wake up, who savors the last few
moments of stolen sleep. Her hair was combed up in a net, her
throat bound in a white collar like a nun's . Did she recognize him
from under her closed lids? His heart pounded like a trip-hammer
and his temples pulsated . Outwardly he remained placid, but he
knew that he could not endure this tension long. He did a forbidden
thing, hesitantly lifting up the gauze. He imagined that Bessie was
aware of his gazing at her with enchantment and trepidation . He
had uncovered her face like a bridegroom at the unveiling of the
bride. Then he replaced the gauze, as if she was something sacred
and forbidden to be looked at. Thus as a boy he used to steal a
glimpse when the kohanim blessed the congregation.
Presently he heard footsteps, and another person opened the
