“Tapped my glass with a spoon—‘May I have your attention, please? I want to tell you something you’re not going to believe, but it’s the honest-to-God truth, every word.’ ”
“Karen, come on.”
“Come on where? Goddamn it, I’m not going to play your game. I’m not in the fucking Mafia or whatever you don’t call it. What do you expect me to do?”
“Keep it down a little, all right? I understand how you feel.”
“Like hell you do.”
“Yes, I do.” Grossi nodding patiently. “Listen to me a minute. I acknowledge his wish, I’m thinking, Jesus Christ, nobody ever wanted something like this before. I try to remember. Maybe a long time ago, I don’t know.”
“But it doesn’t matter, because you do whateverhe says.” Karen holding on, refusing to let go. “He tells you to kill somebody—what’s the difference?”
“Karen”—the tired voice—“what is that? You think it’s a big thing? Maybe sometimes it is, but there’s a reason for everything. The man has a reason, I don’t have to ask him why.”
She leaned close to the table. “I told you why. Because he has this thing in his head about paying back.”
“Listen to me and let me finish,” Grossi said. “Even when I don’t want anything to do with it, I have to satisfy my conscience I’ve done something, I’ve acknowledged, I’ve gone through the motions. You understand? Then I say to myself, okay, that’s all you can do. You can’t watch her the rest of your life. I say to myself, did he mean that long? Forever? I answer no, of course not. I get a heart attack, cancer, I’m gone. Who continues the agreement? Jimmy Capotorto? Well, if I tell him to, but what does he care? He’s got enough to think about. So how can it be forever? I say, Frank wanted to teach her a lesson. All right, there’s the lesson. Did she learn it? I don’t know. Like a teacher—did the student learn it? What can the teacher do? So, I say, it’s up to her, she knows what’s going on. She knows his wish, stay away from men even after his death. Does she want to honor his wish? I say to myself, not to you, not toanybody else, only to myself. Maybe it should be up to her now. Something between her and her husband.”
There was a silence.
“You have more to do than keep watch on me,” Karen said.
Grossi nodded.
“Assign the bonds over and let’s stop all this.”
“I have to think about it a little more.”
“But you will keep Roland away from me.”
“Don’t worry about Roland.”
She sat quietly, aware of sounds, voices around her. She waited, wanting to be sure. Ed Grossi touched the cottage cheese again with his spoon, then put the spoon down and picked up his napkin.
“I won’t have to go to court then,” Karen said.
“No, you won’t have to go to court, if you give me time, let me be sure in my mind it’s all right.”
“Thank you,” Karen said.
Maguire’s body, arms raised, a piece of fish in each hand, formed a Y. He stood on the footrung of an aluminum pole that dug into his groin, the pole extending from a platform on a slight angle, so that Maguire’s fish-offerings were held some fifteen feet above the surface of the Flying Dolphin Show tank.
He said to the mothers and fathers and children lining the cement rail, “Okay . . . now this doublehand-feeding can be a little tricky, considering the height”—looking up—“ and the wind conditions today. The dolphins could collide in midair, with a combined weight of”—serious, almost grim—“nine hundred pounds. And you know who’s gonna be under them if they do. Yours truly, standing up here trying to look cool. Okay . . . here they come. Bonnie on my right, Pebbles on my left—”
Or was it the other way around?
The pair of dolphin rose glistening wet-gray in the sunlight, took the fish from his hands and peeled off, arching back into the water.
“And they got it! How about that, fifteen feet in the air. Wasn’t that great? Let’s
“Karen, come on.”
“Come on where? Goddamn it, I’m not going to play your game. I’m not in the fucking Mafia or whatever you don’t call it. What do you expect me to do?”
“Keep it down a little, all right? I understand how you feel.”
“Like hell you do.”
“Yes, I do.” Grossi nodding patiently. “Listen to me a minute. I acknowledge his wish, I’m thinking, Jesus Christ, nobody ever wanted something like this before. I try to remember. Maybe a long time ago, I don’t know.”
“But it doesn’t matter, because you do whateverhe says.” Karen holding on, refusing to let go. “He tells you to kill somebody—what’s the difference?”
“Karen”—the tired voice—“what is that? You think it’s a big thing? Maybe sometimes it is, but there’s a reason for everything. The man has a reason, I don’t have to ask him why.”
She leaned close to the table. “I told you why. Because he has this thing in his head about paying back.”
“Listen to me and let me finish,” Grossi said. “Even when I don’t want anything to do with it, I have to satisfy my conscience I’ve done something, I’ve acknowledged, I’ve gone through the motions. You understand? Then I say to myself, okay, that’s all you can do. You can’t watch her the rest of your life. I say to myself, did he mean that long? Forever? I answer no, of course not. I get a heart attack, cancer, I’m gone. Who continues the agreement? Jimmy Capotorto? Well, if I tell him to, but what does he care? He’s got enough to think about. So how can it be forever? I say, Frank wanted to teach her a lesson. All right, there’s the lesson. Did she learn it? I don’t know. Like a teacher—did the student learn it? What can the teacher do? So, I say, it’s up to her, she knows what’s going on. She knows his wish, stay away from men even after his death. Does she want to honor his wish? I say to myself, not to you, not toanybody else, only to myself. Maybe it should be up to her now. Something between her and her husband.”
There was a silence.
“You have more to do than keep watch on me,” Karen said.
Grossi nodded.
“Assign the bonds over and let’s stop all this.”
“I have to think about it a little more.”
“But you will keep Roland away from me.”
“Don’t worry about Roland.”
She sat quietly, aware of sounds, voices around her. She waited, wanting to be sure. Ed Grossi touched the cottage cheese again with his spoon, then put the spoon down and picked up his napkin.
“I won’t have to go to court then,” Karen said.
“No, you won’t have to go to court, if you give me time, let me be sure in my mind it’s all right.”
“Thank you,” Karen said.
Maguire’s body, arms raised, a piece of fish in each hand, formed a Y. He stood on the footrung of an aluminum pole that dug into his groin, the pole extending from a platform on a slight angle, so that Maguire’s fish-offerings were held some fifteen feet above the surface of the Flying Dolphin Show tank.
He said to the mothers and fathers and children lining the cement rail, “Okay . . . now this doublehand-feeding can be a little tricky, considering the height”—looking up—“ and the wind conditions today. The dolphins could collide in midair, with a combined weight of”—serious, almost grim—“nine hundred pounds. And you know who’s gonna be under them if they do. Yours truly, standing up here trying to look cool. Okay . . . here they come. Bonnie on my right, Pebbles on my left—”
Or was it the other way around?
The pair of dolphin rose glistening wet-gray in the sunlight, took the fish from his hands and peeled off, arching back into the water.
“And they got it! How about that, fifteen feet in the air. Wasn’t that great? Let’s
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