The Collected Stories

approached the coffin. If she burst out crying, he would be nearby to comfort her. She showed no special emotion, and he decided to leave her with her sister, but it occurred to him that she might be afraid to stay alone with a corpse, even her own sister’s.
    After a few moments, she turned and said, “Yes, it’s her.”
    “I expect you flew in from California,” Max Greitzer said, just to say something.
    “From California?”
    “Your sister was once close to me. She often spoke about you. My name is Max Greitzer.”
    The woman stood silent and seemed to ponder his words. Then she said, “You’re mistaken.”
    “Mistaken? You aren’t her sister, Bella?”
    “Don’t you know that Max Greitzer died? There was an obituary in the newspapers.”
    Max Greitzer tried to smile. “Probably another Max Greitzer.” The moment he uttered these words, he grasped the truth: he and Liza were both dead—the woman who spoke to him was not Bella but Liza herself. He now realized that if he were still alive he would be shaken with grief. Only someone on the other side of life could accept with such indifference the death of a person he had once loved. Was what he was experiencing the immortality of the soul, he wondered. If he were able, he would laugh now, but the illusion of body had vanished; he and Liza no longer had material substance. Yet they were both present. Without a voice he asked, “Is this possible?”
    He heard Liza answer in her smart style, “If it is so, it must be possible.” She added, “For your information, your body is lying here too.”
    “How did it happen? I went to sleep last night a healthy man.”
    “It wasn’t last night and you were not healthy. A degree of amnesia seems to accompany this process. It happened to me a day ago and therefore—”
    “I had a heart attack?”
    “Perhaps.”
    “What happened to
you
?” he asked.
    “With me, everything takes a long time. How did you hear about me, anyway?” she added.
    “I thought I was lying in bed. Fifteen minutes to eight, the telephone rang and a woman told me about you. She refused to give her name.”
    “Fifteen minutes to eight, your body was already here. Do you want to go look at yourself? I’ve seen you. You are in number 5. They made a
krasavetz
out of you.”
    He hadn’t heard anyone say
krasavetz
for years. It meant a beautiful man. Liza had been born in Russia and she often used this word.
    “No. I’m not curious.”
    In the chapel it was quiet. A clean-shaven rabbi with curly hair and a gaudy tie made a speech about Liza. “She was an intellectual woman in the best sense of the word,” he said. “When she came to America, she worked all day in a shop and at night she attended college, graduating with high honors. She had bad luck and many things in her life went awry, but she remained a lady of high integrity.”
    “I never met that man. How could he know about me?” Liza asked.
    “Your relatives hired him and gave him the information,” Greitzer said.
    “I hate these professional compliments.”
    “Who’s the fellow with the gray mustache on the first bench?” Max Greitzer asked.
    Liza uttered something like a laugh. “My has-been husband.”
    “You were married? I heard only that you had a lover.”
    “I tried everything, with no success whatsoever.”
    “Where would you like to go?” Max Greitzer asked.
    “Perhaps to your service.”
    “Absolutely not.”
    “What state of being is this?” Liza asked. “I see everything. I recognize everyone. There is my Aunt Reizl. Right behind her is my Cousin Becky. I once introduced you to her.”
    “Yes, true.”
    “The chapel is half empty. From the way I acted toward others in such circumstances, it is what I deserve. I’m sure that for you the chapel will be packed. Do you want to wait and see?”
    “I haven’t the slightest desire to find out.”
    The rabbi had finished his eulogy and a cantor recited “God Full of Mercy.” His chanting was more like crying and Liza said, “My own father wouldn’t have gone into such lamentations.”
    “Paid tears.”
    “I’ve had enough of it,” Liza said. “Let’s go.”
    They floated from the funeral parlor to the street. There, six limousines were lined up behind the hearse. One of the chauffeurs was eating a banana.
    “Is this what they call death?” Liza asked. “It’s the same city, the same streets, the same stores. I seem the same, too.”
    “Yes, but without a body.”
    “What am I