Norse myths his parents had bought for him when he was still much too little to understand them, the illustrated children’s Bible stories, The Boy’s Book of Poems. Adam smiled at the memory of his grandfather reading those to him before bed: “A Man’s A Man For A’ That,” “Invictus,” “Gunga Din” . . . Adam always thought of them as The Manly Poems. He opened the book to “Death Be Not Proud,” and as he read the words, he could almost hear them recited in his grandfather’s voice, strong and low and reverent. Adam put the book into his bag. The bookcase was filled with treasures: King Arthur stories, a bunch of science fiction and fantasy, a semi-scholarly book of Irish myths and folklore that Adam had tried and failed to read when he was a teenager. He took that one, too.
Adam went to the living room. His grandmother’s beloved books had been given away long before, and Adam still had quite a few of them. The top shelf of her bookcase was filled with photos now. Adam, Danny, and Henry were all well represented. The next two shelves now held videos. On the bottom there was a shelf of old-time detective stories by Spillane, Hammett, and Chandler. Those had been his grandfather’s. Adam smiled. When he was a kid, before his grandmother died, his grandfather sometimes went around the house narrating his life like a noir detective . . .”As soon as my wife came out of the bathroom, I knew she was trouble. She wore pink fuzzy slippers and a robe that barely covered her knees. I took one look at the expression on her face and I realized right away that I had forgotten to take out the garbage . . .”
At the end of the bottom shelf was an ancient prayer book, all in Hebrew, that Adam’s great grandfather had brought with him from Ukraine. Adam’s grandfather would never have used it. He rebelled against his orthodox family when he was very young, and he never learned much Hebrew. When Adam saw the book, even before he picked it up, a wave of memories flooded over him. He used to sit on the floor, just staring at the shapes of the letters, wondering what mysteries they could reveal to someone who knew how to read the magical writing. He remembered the feel of the soft, worn leather binding and the smell of the pages. That book might have been the single biggest reason Adam later studied Hebrew, though he had rarely opened it since he had learned enough to read it. Adam took the prayer book from the shelf. The binding was loose. He would have to have it redone. He felt something hard and lumpy inside the front cover and when he opened the book, an audiocassette fell out of it. He picked it up off the floor. It was labeled “Adam.”
“What’s this?” he asked out loud. He wondered it if might be a practice tape for his bar mitzvah or some songs he’d recorded from the radio when he was ten years old. His grandfather’s cassette player was on top of the bookshelf. Adam popped the tape in and pressed play.
He jumped at the sound of his grandfather’s weary voice. He had never expected to hear that voice again. “Adam,” the voice said, “it’s me.” Adam’s knees felt weak. He sat down.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about dying, Adam,” the old voice continued in a low rumble, “and I’m embarrassed to admit that I’m afraid. Not of dying. My life has been . . . well, there’s been a lot of good and a lot of bad and I never thought I’d last forever . . . I’ve been pretty sick for a while now. The doctors say I have advanced heart disease and they aren’t sure how much time I have left. I asked about surgery, but . . . anyway, I didn’t say anything. You should be living your life, not worrying about an old man.” There was a pause. Adam’s grandfather cleared his throat. “I’m afraid because there are some things I should have told you, things you should know.” He paused again. “I hope you don’t think I’m a coward, Adam. I’ve never thought of myself as a fearful man. I have to admit I don’t like it. But here I am talking into a machine instead of calling you on the phone.” The voice paused. “I love you, Adam. That’s not news, I hope. I’ve always been able to tell you that, thank God. But I wanted you to hear it from me again, for the last time, I guess. Your grandma and your mom and dad loved you too, you know. So much . . .” The voice grew thick and choked for a moment. “We haven’t talked much about them in a long, long time. It’s still very painful. But I wanted to say that straight off.”
Adam stopped the cassette player. It was too much to take in all at once. His mind flew back to the tablet they had found in Tel Arad. “Come to me, Healers,” he thought, but he didn’t feel ready for this. He hadn’t invited this visitation. He walked to the kitchen and washed his face. He took his time drinking a glass of water before returning to the living room.
Adam held his breath as he pushed play again. The voice was distorted for a fraction of a second before the tape got up to speed. “I never told you, Adam, that your parents’ marriage had problems.” Adam swallowed hard. “Your mom was a terrific person. I really liked her from the very beginning, but she and your father were never very compatible. They argued all the time. It wasn’t like how your grandma and I used to argue almost for fun. They really had trouble getting along. They even separated for a few months. You were less than two years old. While they were separated, your father made some choices he wasn’t very proud of. There’s no easy way to say it. He had a brief affair with Marsha Blumberg. Danny’s mom. They had dated in high school. She had been married for a few years, too, and they were also having trouble. They ended things and your father went back to your mother and Marsha stayed with her husband, but when Danny was born, your father strongly suspected that he was his son. I don’t think he told your mother. I told him he shouldn’t. Marsha never said anything, and I didn’t think either marriage could take the shock, anyway. I wanted you to grow up in an intact family. Danny too.”
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