The Young Lions

"How much?" Noah shouted.

"Do you wish the remains in a plain cardboard box or in a silver-plated urn?"

"A plain cardboard box."

"The cheapest price I can quote you, my dear friend" – the voice on the other end suddenly became large and coherent – "is seventy-six dollars and fifty cents."

"That will be an additional five cents for five minutes," the operator's voice broke in.

"All right." Noah put another nickel into the box and the operator said, "Thank you." Noah said, "All right. Seventy-six dollars and fifty cents." Somehow he would get it together.

"The day after tomorrow. In the afternoon." That would give him time to go downtown on January 2nd and sell the camera and the other things. "The address is the Sea View Hotel. Do you know where that is?"

"Yes," the drunken voice said, "yes, indeedy. The Sea View Hotel. I will send a man around tomorrow and you can sign the contract…"

"Okay," Noah said, sweating, preparing to hang up.

"One more thing, my dear man," the voice went on. "One more thing. The last rites."

"What about the last rites?"

"What religion does the deceased profess?"

Jacob had professed no religion, but Noah didn't think he had to tell the man that. "He was a Jew."

"Oh." There was silence for a moment on the wire and then Noah heard the woman's voice say, gayly and drunkenly, "Come on, George, le's have another little drink."

"I regret," the man said, "that we are not equipped to perform funeral services on Hebrews."

"What's the difference?" Noah shouted. "He wasn't religious. He doesn't need any ceremonies."

"Impossible," the voice said thickly, but with dignity. "We do not cater to Hebrews. I'm sure you can find many others… many others who are equipped to cremate Hebrews."

" But Dr Fishbourne recommended you," Noah shouted, insanely. He felt as though he couldn't go through all this again with another undertaker, and he felt trapped and baffled. "You're in the undertaking business, aren't you?"

"My condolences to you, my dear man," the voice said, "in your hour of grief, but we ca

Noah heard a scuffle at the other end of the wire and the woman's voice say, "Let me talk to him, Georgie." Then the woman got on the phone. "Listen," she said loudly, her voice brassy and whisky-rich, "why don't you quit? We're busy here. You heard what Georgie said. He don't burn Kikes. Happy New Year." And she hung up.

Noah's hands were trembling and he felt the sweat coming out on his skin. He put the receiver back on the hook with difficulty. He opened the door of the booth and walked slowly towards the door, past the jukebox, which was playing a jazz version of Loch Lomond, past the group of blonde and drunk and sailors at the bar. The blonde smiled at him and said, "What's the matter, Big Boy? Wasn't she home?"

Noah hardly heard her. He walked slowly, feeling weak and tired, towards the unoccupied end of the bar near the door and sat on a stool.

"Whisky," he said. When it came, he drank it straight and ordered another. The two drinks had an immediate, surging effect on him, blurring the outlines of the room, blurring the music and the other people in the bar into softer and more agreeable forms, and when the blonde, in her tight, flowered, yellow dress with red shoes and a little hat with a purple veil, came down the bar towards him, swaying her full hips exaggeratedly, he gri

"There," the blonde said, touching his arm softly, "there, that's better."

"Happy New Year," Noah said.

"Honey…" The blonde sat down on the stool next him, jiggling her tightly girdled buttocks on the red leatherette seat, rubbing her knee against him. "Honey, I'm in trouble, and I looked around the bar and I decided you were the one man in the room I could depend on. Orange Blossom," she said to the bartender, who had padded up to where she was sitting. "In time of trouble," she went on, holding Noah's arm at the elbow, looking earnestly at him through her veil, her small, blue, mascara'd eyes inviting and serious, "in time of trouble I like Italian men. They have more character. They're excitable, but they're sympathetic. And, to tell you the truth, Honey, I like an excitable man. Show me a man who doesn't get excited and I'll show you a man who couldn't make a woman happy for ten minutes a year. There are two things I look for in a man. A sympathetic character and full lips."

"What?" Noah asked, dazed.

"Full lips," the blonde said earnestly. "My name is Georgia, Honey; what's yours?"

"Ronald Beaverbrook," Noah said. "And I have to tell you… I'm not an Italian."

"Oh." The woman looked disappointed and she drank half her Orange Blossom in one smooth gulp. "I could have sworn. What are you, Ronald?"

"An Indian," Noah said. "A Sioux Indian."

"Even so," the woman said, "I bet you can make a woman very happy."

"Have a drink," Noah said.

"Honey," the woman called to the bartender. "Two Orange Blossoms. Double, Honey." She turned back to Noah. "I like Indians, too," she said. "The one thing I don't like is ordinary Americans. They don't know how to use a woman properly. On and off and bang, and on their way home to their wives. Honey," she said, finishing her first drink, "Honey, why don't you go over to those two boys in blue and tell them you're taking me home? Take a beer bottle with you, in case they give you an argument."

"Did you come with them?" Noah asked. He was feeling very light-headed now, remote and amused, and he caressed the woman's hand lightly and smiled into her eyes as he talked. Her hands were calloused and worn and she was ashamed of them.

"It comes from working in the laundry," she said sadly.

"Don't ever work in a laundry, Honey."

"Okay," said Noah.

"I came with that one." With a gesture of her head, the veil fluttering in the green and purple light of the jukebox, she indicated the drunk with his head on the bar. "Knocked out of the box in the first i

The bartender put down their drinks and the woman took out a ten-dollar bill and gave it to him. "This is on me," she said.

"This is a poor lonely boy on New Year's Eve."

"You don't have to pay for me," Noah said.

"To us, Honey." She raised the glass three inches from his face, and looked over it, through her veil, melting and coquettish.

"What's money for, Honey, if it isn't for the use of your friends?"

They drank and the woman put her hand on his leg and caressed his knee. "You're terribly stringy, Honey," she said.

"We'll have to do something about that. Let's get out of here. I don't like this place any more. Let's go up to my little apartment. I got a bottle of Four Roses, just for you and me, and we can have our own private little celebration. Kiss me once, Honey." She leaned over again and closed her eyes determinedly. Noah kissed her. Her lips were soft and there was a taste of raspberry from her lipstick, along with the onion and gin. "I can't wait, Honey." She got down off the stool, quite steady, and took his arm, and they walked, carrying their drinks, to the rear of the bar.

The two sailors watched them coming. They were very young and there was a puzzled, disappointed look on their faces.

"Be careful of my friend," the woman warned them. "He's a Sioux Indian." She kissed Noah's neck behind the ear. "I'll be right out, Honey," she said. "I'm going to freshen up, so you'll love me." She giggled and squeezed his hand moistly and, still holding her glass, walked, with her exaggerated, mincing gait, the flowers dancing over her girdled rear, into the ladies' room.