Prayers for the Living by Alan Cheuse Page A

toward the west. The street below, throbbing beneath his eye, the street beating like a heart— thunka-tunk, thunka-tunk, calling up to him, saying, want me? Want me?
    It happened then. Again. It happened first as a speck in the sky, first a speck, then a bird swooping up and then swerving around, and stooping down toward the neighborhood, past the higher roofs, toward our roof, the pigeon from on high, swerving in toward him, fixing its eye on him as it floated past, and opening its beak to say, You want to be both rich and blessed? as it sailed past on its broad, white wings untouched by city soot.
    â€œI d-do,” stuttered Manny to himself aloud.
    Follow me then, the bird said, turning around and swinging by the western side of the roof again, then swooping up over his head and swinging past the sun, making a shadow as it swerved past the sun, and then down again, toward the south side, and around again, where it feathered its wings and landed atop the coop.
    You want? it asked him.
    He knew the voice. He fell to his knees.
    â€œI want.”
    Then, I say, follow me, it told him, cocking its head first to one side, then the other.
    â€œWhere?” Manny asked.
    Where? the voice said. Where? Watch!
    And now the other birds inside the coop fluttered their wings all at once, all together, like a chorus line waving arms, legs, and then like an orchestra behind a solo singer the birds commenced to coo and gurgle and bleat and bleep and blutter-bluster, birdlike, birdlike, but loud, louder than he had ever heard, and the purewhite bird, who spoke with his father’s voice, gave a flutter, gave a shudder, and pushed itself off into the air from the roof of the coop, soaring higher, higher toward the west. And soon it was no more than a moving object as large as his hand, and then as small as his thumbnail, and then as tiny as a dot on a clean white piece of paper, and then it was gone.
    My Manny lingered awhile on the roof before he realized that he was still on his knees, kneeling. So then he arose and walked slowly toward the door, and he descended slowly the height of the entire building, down the flight after flight of steps to the street, and he met his friend Arnie on his way out of the building, and Arnie took one look at him and bumped up against the side of the hall.
    â€œOh, my God!” he said and nearly dropped his clarinet case.
    That night, I was stirring the soup, and in the door comes Manny, his hair turned almost completely white.

    â€œT HAT ’ S HOW HE got his white?”
    â€œThat’s how. White as snow from that day on. Except for the little dark streak down one side. They missed that part.”
    â€œThey?”
    â€œYou know. Whatever. The way it turned. It turned all over except for that little streak.”
    â€œIt looks very becoming. I always thought that.”
    â€œIt makes him look distinguished now. But at sixteen it didn’t seem that way. I worried he might be upset.”
    â€œYou took him to a doctor?”
    â€œWhy should I have done that? He wasn’t sick. He was scared. His hair changed. This doesn’t happen every day, but it doesn’t mean he’s a sick person. In fact, after this happened he seemed to me a lot happier. ‘Mama,’ he said, ‘I have made up my mind. I’m going to the Union of All Hebrews. I’m going to get myself a good education and I don’t care what name anybody puts on it.’”
    â€œA smart boy.”
    â€œHe was always a smart boy. He was always smart. But I worried, you know, I always worried about just how smart he was.”
    â€œLadies?”
    â€œOh, you surprised me. You sneaked up so quiet I didn’t even suspect.”
    â€œMore coffee, ladies?”
    â€œMore coffee, of course. Mrs. Pinsker?”
    â€œFor me, sure, I’ll have coffee, thank you, yes.”
    The waitress stepped back from the table.
    â€œI don’t need it. Already I’ve got a