Here I Am by Jonathan Safran Foer(104)

A body is only a body. But before he was a body, he was an embodiment. And that, at least for Jacob, was why not: his grandfather’s body couldn’t be only a body.

For how long could this continue?

Irv argued that they should just buy a plot in Judean Gardens, as close to the rest of the family as possible, and get on with death already. Jacob insisted they wait until things cleared up in Israel and then fulfill Isaac’s unambiguous wish for his eternal resting place.

“And what if that takes a couple of months?”

“Then we’ll owe the funeral home that much more rent.”

“And if things never clear up?”

“Then we’ll remember how lucky we were to have this as the biggest of our problems.”





WHAT DO THE CHILDREN KNOW?


Julia wanted to rehearse the conversation with the kids. Jacob could have argued that it was unnecessary right then, as they weren’t going to have the actual conversation until after the bar mitzvah and burial dust had cleared. But he agreed, hoping that Julia’s ears would hear what her mouth said. And more, he interpreted her desire to rehearse as a desire to role-play—an acknowledgment that she wasn’t sure. Just as she interpreted his willingness to rehearse as a sign that he was, in fact, ready to move forward with the end.

“?‘We need to talk about something’?” Julia suggested.

Jacob considered that for a moment, and countered: “?‘We need to have a family conversation’?”

“Why is that better?”

“It reaffirms that we’re a family.”

“But we don’t have family conversations. It’ll tip them off that something’s wrong.”

“Something is wrong.”

“The entire point we’re trying to convey with this conversation is that nothing is wrong. Something is different.”

“Not even Benjy will buy that.”

“But I don’t even have money—” Benjy said.

“Benjy?”

“—to buy something.”

“What’s going on, love?”

“What would you wish?”

“What’s that, baby?”

“In school, Mr. Schneiderman asked us what we would wish, and he took our wishes to the Wailing Wall, because he was going to Israel for vacation. I think I made the wrong wish.”

“What did you wish for?” Jacob asked.

“I can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”

“What do you think you should have wished for?”

“I can’t tell you, in case I change my wish.”

“If sharing them means they can’t come true, why are you asking us to tell you our wishes?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, then turned and walked out of the living room.

They waited until they heard his footsteps vanishing up the staircase before continuing.

“And anyway,” Julia said, in a quieter voice than before, “we want to make them feel safe, and then build to the change.”

“?‘Can you guys come into the living room for a minute?’ Like that?”

“Not the kitchen?”

“I think here.”

“And then what,” Julia said, “we tell them to sit down?”

“Yeah, that’s going to be a tip-off, too.”

“We could just wait until we’re all in the car at some point.”

“That could work.”

“But then we can’t face them.”

“Except in the rearview mirror.”

“An unfortunate symbol.”

That made Jacob laugh. She was trying to be funny. There was a kindness in her effort. If this were real, Julia would never make a joke.

“During dinner?” Julia suggested.

“That would first require explaining why we’re eating dinner together.”

“We eat dinner together all the time.”

“We briefly assemble at the table occasionally.”

“What’s for dinner?” Max asked, tumbling into the room exactly like Kramer, despite never having seen Seinfeld.

Julia gave Jacob a look he’d seen a million times in a million contexts: What do the children know? What did Sam know when, two years ago, he walked into the room while they were having sex—missionary and under a sheet and without filthy talk, thank goodness. When Max picked up the phone while Jacob was angrily interrogating Julia’s gynecologist about the benignness of a benign lump—what did he hear? When Benjy walked into their kitchen blow-up and said, “Epitome”—what did he know?

“We were just talking about dinner,” Jacob said.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You heard?”

“I thought you were calling us for dinner.”

“It’s only four thirty.”

“I thought—”

“You’re hungry?”

“What’s for dinner?”

“What’s that have to do with your hunger?” Jacob asked.

“Just wondering.”

“Lasagna and some veggie or another,” Julia said.

“Plain lasagna?”

“Spinach.”