“Yeah. He even has bible verses to back up his claims.”
“I’m sure he does. But Danny?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s never going to happen.”
“Roger that,” I say.
We clink bottles, something guys usually only do in beer commercials.
Then we drink and think in silence.
Until it’s time for our second beer.
Then we drink and think some more.
Arnold Rosen’s funeral takes place early Sunday morning at the Grossman amp; Mehringer funeral home’s memorial chapel.
Ceepak, Rita, Ceepak’s mom, and I go to pay our last respects.
Grossman amp; Mehringer’s is located on Sea Breeze Drive, just about a block from the Salty Dog Deli, which, I’m told, caters a lot of the post-funeral receptions for those utilizing the services of the funeral home. Probably because the owner, Saul, makes the best Reuben sandwiches in the state, even though Saul once told me they’re not kosher.
“It’s corned beef, Swiss cheese, and sauerkraut on toasted rye bread,” he said. “The combination of Swiss cheese, a milk product, with corned beef, a meat product, violates the rules for kosher food.”
“So if you eat one, you’re going to hell?”
“No. Because Jews don’t believe in hell.”
And then he told me that a forgiving and compassionate God would never create such a thing as Hell to punish souls for all eternity.
“Except maybe Hitler.”
Saul’s a very interesting guy. Makes good sandwiches, too.
Ceepak and I pick up our disposable yarmulkes in the lobby and head into the funeral chapel. Stained-glass windows filled with jagged geometric shapes filter and color the beams of morning sunshine streaming into the room.
I notice Christine sitting all alone in the last row of chairs. I think about going over to sit with her, but she warns me off with a subtle shake of her head.
“Oops. It’s Sunday,” I hear Mrs. Ceepak whisper to her son. “Does this count as going to church?”
“I don’t believe so, mother. However, I am not that conversant with all the rules and regulations of the modern day Roman Catholic church.”