The Young Lions

Noah felt a clot of emotion jammed in his throat. He had the wild notion that if he opened his mouth he would laugh, and that his father would die on peal after peal of his son's laughter.

"Noah," Jacob asked querulously, "are you writing this down?"

"Yes, Father." Somehow Noah managed to say it.

"It is true," Jacob went on in his calm, dictating voice, "that you are the oldest son and you were constantly giving advice. But now, oldest and youngest do not have the same meaning. I have travelled considerably, and I think maybe you can profit from some advice from me. It is important to remember how to behave as a Jew. There are many people in the world, and they are becoming more numerous, who are full of envy. They look at a Jew and say, 'Look at his table ma

He took a deep breath and was silent for a long time. He didn't seem to move on his bed and Noah looked uneasily over at him to make sure he was still alive.

"Dear brother," Jacob said, finally, his voice broken and hoarse, and unrecognizable, "everything I have told you is a lie. I have led a miserable life and I have cheated everyone and I drove my wife to her death and I have only one son and I have no hope for him and I am bankrupt and everything you have told me would happen to me has happened to me…"

His voice stopped. He choked and tried to say something else, and then he died.

Noah touched his father's chest, searching for the beating of his heart. The skin was wrinkled and the bones of his chest were sharp and frail. The stillness under the parched, flaked skin and the naked bone was final.

Noah folded his father's hands on his chest, and closed the staring eyes, because he had seen people doing that in the movies. Jacob's mouth was open, with a realistic, alive expression, as though he were on the verge of speech, but Noah didn't know what to do about that, so he left it alone. As he looked down at his father's dead face, Noah realized that he felt relieved. It was over now. The demanding, imperious voice was quiet. There would be no more gestures.

Noah walked around the room, flatly taking inventory of the things of value in it. There wasn't much. Two shabby, rather flashy double-breasted suits, a leather-bound edition of the King James Bible, a silver frame with a photograph of Noah, aged seven and on a Shetland pony, a small box with a pair of cufflinks and a tiepin, made of nickel and glass, a tattered, red manila envelope with a string tied round it. Noah opened the envelope and took out the papers: twenty shares of stock in a radio-manufacturing corporation that had gone into bankruptcy in 1927.

There was a cardboard box on the bottom of the cupboard. Inside, carefully wrapped in soft fla

He went to the door and looked back. In the mean rays of the single lamp, his father looked forlorn and in pain on the bed. Noah turned the light off and went out.

He walked slowly down the street. The air and the slight exercise felt good after the week in the cramped room, and he breathed deeply, feeling his lungs fill, feeling young and healthy, listening to the soft muffled tap of his heels on the glistening sidewalks. The sea air smelt strange and clean in the deserted night, and he walked in the direction of the beach, the tang of salt getting stronger and stronger as he approached the cliff that loomed over the ocean.

Through the murk came the sound of music, echoing and fading, suddenly growing stronger, with tricks of the wind. Noah walked towards it, and as he got to the corner, he saw that the music came from a bar across the street. People were going in and out under a sign that said, NO EXTRA CHARGE FOR THE HOLIDAY BRING THE NEW YEAR IN AT O'DAYS.

The tune changed on the jukebox inside and a woman's low voice sang, "Night and day you are the one, Only you beneath the moon and under the sun," her voice dominating the empty, damp night with powerful, well-modulated passion.

Noah crossed the street, opened the door and went in. Two sailors and a blonde were at the other end of the bar, looking down at a drunk with his head on the mahogany. The bartender glanced up when Noah came in.

"Have you got a telephone?" Noah asked.

"Back there." The bartender motioned towards the rear of the room. Noah started towards the booth.

"Be polite, boys," the blonde was saying to the sailors as Noah passed. "Rub his neck with ice."

She smiled widely at Noah, her face green with the reflection from the jukebox. Noah nodded to her and stepped into the telephone booth. He took out a card that the doctor had given him. On it was the telephone number of a twenty-four-hour-a-day undertaker.

Noah dialled the number. He held the receiver to his ear, listening to the insistent buzzing in the earpiece, thinking of the phone on the dark, shiny desk, under the single shaded light in the mortuary office, ringing the New Year in. He was about to hang up when he heard a voice at the other end of the wire.

"Hello," the voice said, somehow vague and remote. "Grady Mortuary."

"I would like to inquire," Noah said, "about a funeral. My father just died."

"What is the name of the party?"

"What I wanted to know," said Noah, "is the range of prices. I haven't very much money and…"

"I will have to know the name of the party," the voice said, very official.

"Ackerman."

"Waterfield," said the thick voice on the other end. "First name, please…" and then, in a whisper, "Gladys, stop it! Gladys!" Then back into the phone, with the hint of a smothered laugh, "First name, please."

"Ackerman," said Noah. "Ackerman."

"Is that the first name?"

"No," said Noah. "That's the last name. The first name is Jacob."

"I wish," said the voice, with alcoholic dignity, "you would talk more clearly."

"What I want to know," said Noah loudly, "is what you charge for cremation."

"Cremation. Yes," the voice said, "we supply that service to those parties who wish it."

"What is the price?" Noah asked.

"How many coaches?"

"What?"

"How many coaches to the services?" the voice asked, saying "shervishes". "How many guests and relatives will there be?"

"One," said Noah. "There will be one guest and relative."

Night and Day came to an end with a crash and Noah couldn't hear what the man on the other end of the wire said.

"I want it to be as reasonable as possible," Noah said, desperately. "I don't have much money."

"I shee, I shee," the man at the Mortuary said. "One question, if I may. Does the deceased have any insurance?"

"No," said Noah.

"Then it will have to be cash, you understand. In advance, you understand."