activists—bleh. Ladies in my church actually help poor people; my mom and Levi held signs downtown. Well, Levi’s daughter … Devon’s sister …” He dropped to a squat and laughed hard. He rolled his forehead back and forth on his knees. He stood, breathed. “It’s just nerves. I’m trying to remain … okay, Levi’s daughter is buried in a mausoleum in the campus cemetery, which, if you don’t know, is a problem. Levi’s a Jew. Mausoleum burial goes against Jewish law. Levi’s hippy wife left him five years ago—she left when he went back to being a Jew, after their daughter died—and for a while there he wanted to rebury her. He talked to my mom about it. I remember him being miserable at our kitchen table after the divorce. I listened from my bedroom, sometimes from the hall. They talked a lot about it for, like, weeks. He kept saying that his wife wouldn’t let him move her body, but that God’s law was greater. But he was pissed. I was only twelve, but I knew even then that it had nothing to do with God’s law and everything to do with fighting with this bitch he hated. He just wanted to mess with his wife. Want proof? After she moved back east the issue went away.
“As far as I know, the blizzard girl is still in that mausoleum, feeling pretty unkosher, I bet. Levi is shunning pork and going to temple while his daughter rots up there outside of God’s law. And he’s dictating rules to me? He kicks me out of my club for breaking one fucking rule, while he’s breaking the rite of burial. That’s crazy. It’s insane! By the way, as a Catholic I admire Judaism a lot. I have so much respect for it, in fact, that I think somebody ought to save that girl from her family.”
Martin took too much into his mouth then, his cheeks ballooning. He bent over and spilled some onto the mattress, liquor dripping from his chin.
“I’m going to save her,” he said. “I’m going to rescue her from that place, because it’s the right thing to do. I should have done it a long time ago.”
The wind lashed whorls of rain against them. His words swept through Lyle’s head like a storm of crows. As though somebody nearby were listening, he whispered, “So, you’d steal the kid’s bones?”
“No. I’m not stealing anything. I’m not in this for personal gain. I’m doing this out of morality.”
“You’d bury them in a Jewish graveyard or something? You’d touch them, with your hands?”
“It’s only Americans who can’t deal with bones. Monks in France used to collect each other’s skulls. And Cézanne—ever seen pictures of his studio? Skulls all over the place. Also, Michelangelo. He dug up bodies and dissected them. I think he was the one.” He raised his chin. “Did I tell you I’m an artist? A painter.”
He was serious. He wanted to rob a grave.
“You don’t think she’s at peace?” Lyle’s voice was shaky and nasal. He coughed hard twice, to make his voice right. “Was she Jewish when she died, when she was put in the mausoleum?”
“Levi was her father.”
“But she wasn’t Jewish when she was buried, right?”
“You can’t stop being a Jew. No—this girl was born a Jew, and she died a Jew.”
“But Levi seems like a nice guy.”
“Yes, he seems very nice, very gentlemanly. But who’s the guy behind that? A man who used his daughter as a pawn against his wife, then abandoned her to hell when she wasn’t useful anymore. This isn’t a Jewish town—Levi can hide here. You know what would happen to him in Chicago? Brooklyn? There would be people calling for justice. I’m with the Jews, I support them—Jews and Catholics are old school. I care about the laws of religion. What if Levi had shot her? We’d call the cops. And not just because it’s against the law, but because it’s wrong. To a Jew, what Levi has done is a crime.”
Lyle took thoughtful sips. Maybe it was wrong to bury her in a mausoleum, but she was there now, so maybe she ought to stay.
“Do you really care about this girl?” Lyle asked.
“Would I be considering this if I didn’t?”
“It’s not just because you’re mad at Levi and Devon?”
“That’s part of it. A small part, I’ll admit it. But what pisses me off more is that he doesn’t care about a little girl! His own child! Mostly, I want to save her from eternal darkness. Even if I’m not a Jew. You’re supposed to take care of people when they die, to take care of your family. It’s important. The ceremony, the burial—it all has to be just right. You don’t just slop them someplace. It ruins their memory, it disrespects their life.”
Lyle blinked at him hard, as if he could see him clearly in the dark. “You’re right. I think that, too.”
“Sure I’m right. If we still care about people in this world.”
Martin didn’t seem like a teenager, with his baldness and double chin, his talk of art and religion, his worry and concern for a little girl who died so long ago.
“By the way,” Martin said, “did you know Devon said you’re a ridiculous redneck? He said his dad said so too. They say the same things.” He paused. “You know where I’m from? Grants Pass, Oregon. Home of the Cavemen. There’s actually a statue of a caveman, downtown.”
“Sounds like where I’m from. Marshal, home of the Savages.” He was pleased his friend was willing to own up to where he was from. Martin was no redneck.
“Let’s walk,” Martin said. Lyle hopped onto the loading dock and stepped aside for him to lead, and they continued up the street. The air howled around them. Gutter water hissed on a crossroad. Martin produced his BB pistol and shot ahead of them at nothing.
On the next block a street lamp burned. “I missed one.” He shot five times and the lamp darkened. “I forgot, I should have left that one burning. I’ll be more generous next time.” It seemed they were leaving the conversation on the loading dock behind them. Lyle was relieved, though he still felt giddy. It mixed nicely with the booze.
“You want to blow something up?” Lyle said. “I have pipe bombs and duct tape.”
“I used to play with those. How many do you have?”
“Three.”
“They’re noisy—that’s the problem. But maybe we’ll think of something,” he said. “I told Devon I shot out these lights, but he refuses to check my work—he’s jealous.”
“Let’s shoot out some more. I have an hour before I meet Rosa.”
“Rosa?” he said. “Little Rosa? Immature, superficial, slutty Rosa?”
All at once Lyle felt defensive of her and worried Martin knew something that he didn’t. “She’s all right,” he said.
Martin seemed to walk faster now. “I only date extremely bright girls who are also traditional. Hard to find. That’s why it didn’t work out between me and her sister.”
“Rosa’s just a kid. It doesn’t matter.”
“You’re welcome to her, my friend. So you’ll be hanging out with her all the time, huh?”
“No. Once in a while.”
“Well, now that Dimitrious is done with her, somebody else might as well climb on. You know him, the black guy?”
“She’s not with him anymore, is she?”
“Who knows.”
“I don’t think she is.”
“Not that she’d tell you.” He drank. “Dimitrious is friends with Devon—you know what that means: they share each other, all around. They have their main partner, but it’s okay to sleep with the rest of the group. Boys on boys, girls on girls—whatever.” He slapped Lyle on the back. “I hope you know what you’re looking at.”
Lyle made a disgusted noise. He’d never heard