And they put forth an ill report to the Israelites of the land that they had scouted saying “The land through which we passed to scout is a land that consumes those who dwell in it, and all the people whom we saw in it are men of huge measure.“

Sh'lach Numbers 13-1

It has taken me over twenty-one years before I was finally allowed inside my father’s brownstone in Fort Greene, Brooklyn, and now only because I’m here to sit shiva for him in the days after his death. The entire city has been shaken by last week’s attack on the World Trade Center. Ash still floats in the air. It carries a dirty oily smell. I wear sunglasses everywhere and even at night to help keep the dirt out of my eyes. Eventually we’ll learn that the attack came from a man living in a cave on the other side of the world, sent as a message to America that we are not welcome over there.

The rehab of the house seems relatively modest, improving only the worst of what I first saw. The iron railings leading up the stoop are the same ones, but they’ve been sanded of their rust and repainted a glossy black. The windows looking out on the street all appear to have been replaced.  They’re double-paned, surrounded by brown vinyl frames, with neither the rot nor the character of the wooden frames that Michael and I saw the first time we visited.

I reach the top of the stoop leading to the front door. Michael opens it up, gives me a hug, and invites me in. “Well, this is it! Would you like the grand tour?”

“Where’s your place?”

“I basically have an apartment on the third floor. Dad lived on the second floor until he became ill, and then I made living quarters for him on the first floor. It was bad enough any time he needed to leave and he’d have to climb the front steps. Back when we lived in an apartment building, at least we had elevators to take you where you needed to go.”

I stand in a strategic spot, in the center of the staircase, and look up the space between the handrails, past all four stories in the house, to the very roof.  I had been curious for two decades as to what the place looked like inside, and now I see a crazy mix of luxury and everyday mess. The brownstone must be over a hundred years old. The wood inside all has a warm patina, but the decorating is just built out of my father’s tchotchkes, collected over the course of a lifetime. Most chairs in the living room are just metal folding chairs except for my father’s familiar, overstuffed chair in front of the television, the same one he had when we lived in a Beach Haven apartment. My current home in Tenafly is modern and spacious, but it was created on an architectural assembly line.

I hear an unexpected woman’s voice. “Hi there! Are you Brad?”

She’s a skinny flat-chested woman, obviously a little younger than Michael, with straight mousy brown hair that drops to her waist.  She has her hand over her mouth, but I can see from her eyes that she’s smiling with a little caution. When she finally brings her hand out to extend it, I realize that she’s covering up a noticeable overbite.

“I am indeed the older brother Brad.”

“Melissa. I’m the fiancée that hopefully Michael has told you about.” He hasn’t. “Michael proposed just two weeks ago. I’m so sorry about your father. We could see it coming and Michael told me he wanted something good in his life before… you know.”

“Tell him it’s about time.”

She smiled again, this time not hiding her teeth. “Why don’t you tell him yourself?” and then she gave a little squeak as Michael, who had been standing behind her, put his hand on her shoulder.

Michael takes me around the home, showing me various details, as Melissa follows along and tells little stories she associates with each room. I find myself tuning them out and visualizing what this house could look like with a combination of its history and my money and taste that could take it to its full potential.

“Michael, did you ever think that dad would hold out to the very end and refuse to ever let me inside?”

“The way he put it, it was all your decision. If you had your way, he’d have never bought this. We’d all still be living in Beach Haven, and so why should you ever be here? Why would you even WANT to be here? You were afraid of the place.”

“I was afraid of the neighborhood. The people here threatened us. I’m sure you remember.”

“They didn’t threaten us. They were just acting tough. They smelled your fear.”

“And once you bought the place and started renovating, they opened their arms? I remember those days, and you were the one who lived through them. I remember you telling me that your windows were broken twice, you got mugged, what, three times in the first two years?”

“You need to be a fighter. Dad respected fighters. When the fight-or-flight instinct kicked in, you chose to flee. Have you seen the neighborhood now? Half of this could have been yours too. Remember that bodega where I bought the bunch of grapes? They sell imported cheeses now.”

Melissa adds, “We can’t afford half the things they sell here these days. We once went shopping in that cheese store. I could buy two pounds of cheddar at Key Food for what they charge for a teensy slice of something that smells like puke. To be honest, sometimes this house gives me the willies.”

“C’mon, M’liss. It’s a beautiful old house, and I fixed it up over the years with my father. Think of the history.”

“You said it. OLD house. Where you have to go up three flights every time you want to take a pee.”

Now all I can think of is the need to check out this notorious cheese store. Which is crazy because – how often do I even buy cheese? I couldn’t imagine Miriam and the kids wanting to live here, much less sharing a four-story house with the rest of the family. But I admit it. Tenafly is a giant hospice where you spend decades of your life preparing to die with as little pain as possible.

All dad wanted us to do was to find a place we might be able to move into someday.

---

“I don’t know what we’re doing here. This is just another dumb idea of dad’s,” I told my younger brother Michael. The train ride along the F line was familiar, but we had to switch for just one stop onto the G, letting us out at Hoyt-Schermerhorn. When we got on the G train, Michael and I were the only white kids in the entire car, and now we were out on the sidewalk, a couple of yahoos walking around lost with a map, a catalog, and targets on our backs. Pretty much everyone we passed on the street was black, and they’d look at us with a combination of pity and amusement.  I knew exactly what we were doing here, but now that we were in the middle of it, the idea seemed to be insane. We were looking for a home that our family could buy, renovate, and move into.  But there was a catch. It had to be dirt cheap so that we could afford it.

This was nineteen seventy-nine. I was twenty-two; Michael was nineteen. Dad sent us on this expedition here because he worked six days a week trying to support the three of us, and on Sundays he was tired. He just wanted to relax with a couple of Rheingolds and a game of baseball – especially if there was a Mets or Dodgers game on.

“Shut up Brad and let’s just do what dad asked us to do. Do you want to sleep on the sofa in a little one-bedroom apartment for the rest of your life?”

“What I want to do is get a job and move out,” I told him.

“Well hurry up then. But remember what dad says. ‘When you rent, your money just goes down the toilet.’”

“I eat food and it goes down the toilet. Should I stop eating?”

“Look, when you own a home, it’s yours forever.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, you sound like dad and you don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Dad had given us a yellow catalog of homes that the city wanted to sell at cut-rate prices, with the condition that people would renovate, move in, and stabilize the neighborhood. We’d all worked together last weekend to circle the places that looked most promising. They were usually row houses with nice cement stoops, and sometimes even fancy molding around the front doors and windows. But they were all sad. Windows were broken or they had iron accordion gates over them to keep burglars out. Michael and I created a plan the day before. We looked at the houses that we’d circled, then we’d put a little red circle on our map to show the places we planned to visit today. In each circle we put a number from one to five indicating how attractive they were – a combination of how much they cost, how good the photo looked, and how many square feet. Then we drew a line through all the houses and created the path we’d take to view the houses in person.

But the process was depressing. Each house we’d pass, including the ‘fives,’ were really ‘ones’ in disguise. If a place was big and cheap, we’d walk up to it to discover that everything around it was totally dilapidated.

“Let’s go around the block and check this one out,” Michael suggested.

“But it’s not even on the list.”

“What the hell, it’s close and it’s probably no worse than anything we’ve seen so far.”

We made a little detour onto a smaller street to see if maybe we could find some hidden treasure. “Hey, not all that bad!” Michael assured me. “This might be an actual ‘three’.”

It was a tiny skinny little brownstone that looked as though each floor was smaller than our apartment. Iron railings that led up the front steps had scales of peeling black paint and rust. But the front looked solid, the windows were intact, and it went up for four stories. In theory, everyone could have their own little apartment on his own little floor, which was great if you didn’t mind climbing steps.

“YOU BOYS LOST?”

Oh my god! Some guy came from behind us and scared the crap out of us. He was a black guy, probably around our dad’s age, fifty-five or so, but he was more fit and more gray, and he had more wrinkles in his cheeks. “I don’t know what you doin’ here, but you obviously ain’t from around here.”

Michael stepped up. “We’re looking to buy a home.”

The man laughed. “You serious? Here? Why you want to live here? Most people want to get away from here. That why so many of these places vacant. And boys like you? You wouldn’t last five minutes. Why not find a nice place with people like youselves? Boys like you can live places where they won’t sell to folks like me. You got choices!”

I explained. “We’re sent here by our dad. He’s looking for a place we can afford. The city is selling these places really cheap. The places you’re thinking we should live we can’t afford.”

“Let me see.” The man took the catalog and map from us and squinted carefully at them. He turned each page with care, comparing the catalog picture with the location on the map.

“I know these places. You can’t afford these either. I mean… you can AFFORD them maybe, but you sure as hell don’t want to live there. These are the worst of the worst. The folks in the neighborhood, they’d use you for little toys, like a cat plays with a ball. You boys entered this street from the west? Come walk with me east. I show you.”

We continued in the same direction as we’d been walking to get to this new house in the catalog. Some of the houses we passed were vacant. Some had life going on. There was a stoop with about five muscular guys, all about Michael’s age, sitting on it, watching us as we walked past.

“WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?” one of them called out.

“Let’s get moving,” I told Michael.

“Don’t you worry about them as long as you with me,” the man told us. But that loud kid started walking up to us.

“I think you lost. I KNOW you lost. I think you should make a U-turn and go back the same way you came.”

“Leave these boys alone,” the man told him. “They with me. I’ll have them out of here before the sweat rolls off your nose and onto the street.”

“Why they with you, Maurice? You bring them here?”

“It’s like you say. They lost. I’m just showing them WHY they lost.”

The four other guys started walking up to us. “Somebody here for trouble?” the tallest of them shouted at his friend.

“I got this,” the guy closest to us said. But they kept coming until they had surrounded us.

“Look, we’re just walking through and this man, Maurice, is helping us to find the subway.”

“It’s back where you came from,” the tall guy said as he pointed in that direction. “The way you going is just houses and stores. Most of the stores are shut down, and the ones that are open don’t sell anything you want anyway.”

That’s when Michael went crazy. “We’re here because we’re looking to buy a house in the neighborhood. We were sent by our father because this is a place he thought we could afford.”

The tall guy gave Michael a quick swat on the head that I could hear. Michael twisted his head around in a flinch of pain.

The kid who approached us first spoke up. “That true, Maurice? Did you know that?”

“That what they told me. I was showing them why it’s not so good an idea.” That broke all the kids up in laughter, which seemed so much fun I almost wanted to join in on the joke, even though I knew they were laughing at us.

The first kid gave Maurice an angry look and then spoke to Michael. “That the house you want to buy?” Michael nodded. I was amazed at how he stood his ground. He was going to get us both killed. Heck, he might even get Maurice killed. “You guys do whatever the fuck you want today. Walk around. Enjoy what you see. Let Maurice take you anywhere. You cool. Then whatever plans you might have, I’ll give you one word of advice. Don’t. Do we understand each other?”

I nodded. I looked to Michael and prayed I’d see him nodding too. But he wouldn’t buckle.

“We understand,” he said.

“Then have a nice day.” He turned around, gestured to his friends, and they all worked their way back to the stoop. I watched them watching us, waiting for a moment when they might go back to their regular business.

Maurice kept walking us in the direction we started out. We got into a commercial area of the block. It was just the way the guys described. Maybe one out of three of the storefronts were totally closed down. There was a little fruit stand with racks out on the sidewalk, selling grapes and apples. A shriveled woman standing nearby gave us a very welcoming smile, gesturing for us to check it all out and buy something. Michael went over, picked up a huge bunch of red grapes, and paid her for it.

“Why did you do that?” I asked him.

“Have you ever seen such grapes? They’re huge! Nothing like we get at the supermarket!” He tossed one in the air and caught it in his mouth.  “And so sweet it’s like eating candy, only fresh!”

“So we should move here because they have good grapes?”

Maurice interrupted. “Let’s keep walking. I promised those boys I’d get you out of here, and I keep my promises.”

He escorted us to the end of the block, as we passed a kind of general store that seemed to sell everything from toys and candy to school supplies to hair spray to stuff for the kitchen. When we got to the corner, Maurice told us the best way to go around and get back to the subway station.

“It was really nice meeting you sir, Maurice,” I told him. “You probably saved our lives.”

“Ah, nah. But throw away that stupid catalog and definitely don’t buy that house. Probably don’t buy any of them, but definitely not that one. Not now. Good luck boys. And try to find somewhere nice to live. Like I said. You got choices.”

We all shook hands and made our way back to the G train. Just one stop on the G, and we could transfer back to the F and make our way back home to Neptune Avenue.

“Back so soon?” When dad arrived home, he seemed happier to see us than he’d looked in a long while. “I was wondering if I’d get home before you, but here you are. It’s a scorcher today.” He apologized as he explained he wanted to get into fresh clothes and then go over our expedition with us.  Soon he had changed out of his uniform and was in a light tan shirt, looking around the living room. “So, let’s have a look at the catalog and see what you kids found that seems promising.”

“Nothing seems promising,” I told him. “I had no idea that the neighborhood would be like that. It’s run down and disgusting and we almost got ourselves killed.”

“What are you talking about? I told you it’s not going to be like here. I told you it would be mostly Negro. It’s a relatively poor neighborhood. That’s why the city wants people like us to move in so that we can build It up.”

“But dad, they don’t want us there. They threatened us. If we moved there, there’s a bunch of guys who looked like they’d kill us.”

Dad turned to my brother. “Is that true, Michael? People there threatened you?”

“We met a nice older guy who showed us around. Then there was a group of kids, maybe my age, who told us not to move in.”

“And what did you do?”

“Nothing. We walked away and they left us alone.”

“What houses seemed good? Anything at all?”

Michael went over and picked up the catalog from the kitchen, folded it back, and showed dad the last place we visited along with a couple of others.  “Most of them were crappy, but take a look at these…”

“MICHAEL, WE ARE NOT WELCOME THERE! DAD, THIS WHOLE PROJECT IS A TERRIBLE IDEA! IF WE MOVE IN THEY WILL KILL US!”

My father turned to me with burning eyes and a frown that put more fear into me than anything I’d experienced today. For a split second it looked like he was raising his hand to hit me, almost exactly the way one of those kids swatted Michael on the head.  Then he stepped back.

“Bradley, I did not send you to Fort Greene to tell me that we’re not going there. I sent you to find the best houses you could. Whether we move there is my decision, and if we can afford it, then that’s what we’re doing. Do you understand me?”

“I’m not getting myself killed so that we can live in a tenement.”

“It won’t be a tenement when we get finished with it. It will be beautiful. It will be a home. But I guess it won’t be your home.”

“I guess it won’t.”

Michael butt in. “I’m willing to move there.”

“That’s my son! Listen, boys, when your mother died, it was very tough on me. I have to work six days a week to keep our head above water and get you to take care of yourselves.  But I’ve done better than that. I put away money every week to build a better life for us. Now that time has come, and nobody is going to take that away. Not from me, and not from Michael if he’s willing. If you haven’t got the balls to take chances and create something, Brad, then you can stay behind.”

“Dad I’m trying to be realistic. Come down! Go to Fort Greene with us and see what the place looks like! See the people there!”

“I know the people there. They’re Negroes. Big deal. I drive into every neighborhood in Brooklyn. Some of the store owners are Negroes. I deliver the groceries for them the same way I do for any of the white store owners or for any of the bigger supermarkets.”

“Did you ever actually walk around Fort Greene?”

“That’s what I sent you there for!”

“And I’m telling you that we shouldn’t move there!”

“I didn’t ask you whether we should move there. I asked you to find me a good house that we could move into. Your brother found three good homes, I trust him, and I’m going to place a bid. Brad, are you in or are you out?”

“I think both of you are crazy.”

“Fine. When Michael and I move to Fort Greene, you can take over the lease here in Beach Haven.”

---

The Fort Greene brownstone ironically began to breathe with life as it filled with mourners for my father.  It’s funny how even a sad occasion like death can be the source of comfort once a lot of people gather together for a common purpose. Perhaps it might have been different if I had more than minimal contact with dad once he moved out and left me behind.  I had arrived early because I only needed to take the subway from my office downtown, but Miriam had to drive in with Natalie and Allan from New Jersey, and they were among the last to arrive.

“I can’t believe that your father was so mean to not let you set foot in the place a single time while he was alive,” my wife told me.

“Let’s not speak ill of the dead. Not today. It doesn’t matter.”

“It’s a shame. Your father was supposed to renovate it, but he only put it on life support. It’s like they got everything backward. Instead of cleaning up and exposing the classical details, they painted over them.  Oh my god, they even painted the fireplace and I’ll bet that’s real mahogany peeking out. But some of these walls are wretched and should have been torn down. The layout isn’t quaint; it’s archaic.”

“Hey, I hear that there’s an imported cheese store down the block.”

“Since when do you eat imported cheese? If you want, we can go shopping afterwards.”

Dad’s younger brother Morris shows up. I haven’t seen him since around the time I last saw dad. I become a little dizzy looking into his face, using his round head and thick lips as a template to imagine how my father must have aged in these past years. He gives me a dainty hug, but clamps my hand painfully when he shakes it. “Your father told me that you could have lived here, but you turned him down. I drove around the neighborhood looking for parking. It’s a nice place. I would have thought that you’d like this more than Jersey”

“You needed to see it when we first scoped it out.”

“So what? Nice people like you move in, you change it. I heard that there were dozens of homes they were selling.  You couldn’t see the change at the time?”

“Look, Morry, even I lived here, I’d have had to move out once I married Miriam. You can’t have three families living together. We’d drive each other crazy. And the schools..”

“Right. The schools. No one wants to send their kid to a New York school. And private schools are a fortune. But your kids should be going to college soon, no?”

“My father left the house to Michael. He’s lived in it all this time. He built it with dad. He deserves it.”

But all through the services for my father, I kept looking around at the house. The floors were mostly covered in cheap carpets, but I could see that the boards underneath were real quality, maybe maple, only hidden behind layers of wax and whatever. The clutter I had seen on each of the levels that Michael showed me could be cleared away and brightened. It was mostly dad’s garbage anyway.

After services, as the guests were leaving, I told Miriam that I wanted to stay awhile and then I’d cab it back home. Eventually, Melissa went on a three-flight excursion to take a pee. It was just Michael and myself again. “How is your money situation?”

“I’m driving the same truck dad used to when we were growing up. It’s a struggle, but I’m never hungry. And once Melissa moves in, she’s an admin and makes a decent living, we’ll have two incomes, at least for a while until we have children.”

“It doesn’t sound like your fiancée is looking forward to living here. Now this is just, you know, a concept of an idea of a possible proposal, but hear me out. Suppose I bought you out. Total arm’s length transaction with an appraiser. My kids are leaving and I can tell that Miriam is itching to work her magic on this place. You can take a big wad of cash and start a real life with Melissa. I can show you places in Jersey, that are twice the size, half the cost, and good for raising children if that’s what you want.”

“You can’t buy this house. The only way to live in this house is to conquer it. That’s what dad and I did. We stood up to the intimidation. We stood up to the rot and the water damage and the spider webs and the rust and the dust, and we took it over and made it into our home for the past twenty years.  The best you could do was to say that we were crazy.”

“At that time, I think you were crazy. Now things have changed and you can turn your chutzpah into money.”

Michael rolled up his sleeve and ran his fingers from his palm, past his elbow joint, up to his bicep, across a map of scars. “That’s from when an unfinished two by four scraped half my skin away as I tried helping our men to lift lumber to the top floor.  And on my back, if you care to see it, is a bruise from when some former resident of the neighborhood smashed me with a baseball bat one night and broke my shoulder. My body is in this house and this house is in my body. Please don’t come to me two days after our father dies and tell me that it’s something I can just turn into cash, like my old comic collection. If dad could hear you, he’d jump out of his grave, run down here, and throw you out on the street. He made it very clear to me that you were never to live here.”

“Dad’s gone. You’re the man of the house now. Don’t let dad’s anger with me keep you from living a better life. This place still needs a lot of work and a good deal of money that my job on Wall Street can handle. That sweat you put in here can buy your family a good home and a better standard of living. Don’t make yourself miserable by serving dad’s ghost.”

“If I really cared about serving dad’s ghost, you wouldn’t be standing here. Dad did not even want me to let you into the house. Forget about buying it. Not even let you inside. I’m ignoring him because you wanted to pay your respects, and this is the only right place to hold the shiva services. I’m going to continue to ignore him and let you know that you’re welcome to visit us here any time.”

We heard a female voice. “Is something wrong?” It was Melissa.

I had to restrain my desire to put everything out on the table and try to engage Melissa as an ally. It would probably backfire. But it was so tempting. “Michael and I were discussing the differences between Brooklyn and New Jersey.”

“And what did you agree on?”

“I don’t think we agreed on anything.”

“How is that even possible? They’re nothing like each other. The last time I want to New Jersey it was clean. You’re so lucky to be living there.”

“Well, it has its… I don’t know that I’d call it charm, but it has its advantages and disadvantages. I know my brother and once you move in, he’ll make this comfortable. You know the saying, ‘Happy Wife, Happy Life’” I tried to give Michael a meaningful look. He returned a meaningful look that said ‘Just shut the hell up.’ “Michael, just do this much. Get an honest number from an honest broker. Add one hundred because you’re my brother. Then call me.”

“This isn’t about numbers.”

“I’ve been on Wall Street long enough to know that EVERYTHING is about numbers. Add two hundred. Michael, don’t get me into a bidding war with myself. Melissa, I’m starting to think that your fiancée should join me downtown and become a bond trader.”

“God no. I’ve worked with some of those people and… well I’m sure you’re different than most of them.”

“Not really.”

Michael added, “I’m glad you were the one to say that.”

That’s when the doorbell rang – a nice old-fashioned ‘ding-dong’ to match the spirit of the building. Michael went up to the front and welcomed in a fit black man in his thirties, a little over six feet tall, with a trim beard. “I saw from my window a whole train of people leaving here a little while ago looking like they were dressed for a funeral. If it’s your father’s time, I just wanted to drop by to pay my respects.”

The two guys hugged and then Michael brought the man inside to the ground floor where we were standing. “Cesar, you know Melissa, and actually, you also kind of know my brother Brad.”

I looked at the man a little dumbfounded, wondering what Michael was getting at. The man looked at me with equal confusion until his face opened up with a gigantic smile. “Oh my God, you’re Michael’s brother. I’m the guy who smacked Michael in the head when the two of you first came snooping around. Your brother tells me that I scared you more than I scared him. Your brother is tough. Your father is… was tough. I don’t know who’s badder.”

I looked at the man and tried to imagine how the menacing teenager who once served to drive me away had evolved into the person who stood before me. He had the same efficient build. His beard certainly gave him a touch of sophistication that was entirely missing in his former self. More than anything, I think his eyes had changed. Their anger had been traded in for a sense of comfort. He looked more comfortable than I often get to be.

“What happened to your friends?” I asked.

“They renters. They moved up to Bed-Stuy where it’s still affordable. They were assholes anyway. I’d say I don’t have anything in common with them, but we were all assholes. I made good for myself. I manage the Target Downtown Brooklyn, make good money, take care of my family. But my parents owned our house, and when they passed away, too young, I stayed. So, believe it or not, your brother and I have been neighbors all these years. I know, I didn’t want him here, but he a good man. He knows what he wants and he fights for it.”

It seemed impossible to see this man, Cesar, standing in what had become my family’s house. I remember how after the incident on the street, I had revenge fantasies of smacking that kid in the head not with my fingers but with my fist, or something worse. It was for the pain he’d inflicted on my brother, and, worse, for the fear he’d inflicted on me. Now, here he was, buddying it up with Michael, praising his chutzpah, and coming to honor our dad.  It was as though the universe was some great geometric snowflake seen through a kaleidoscope. Someone had twisted it around and the same pieces had fallen into a new unrecognizable pattern.

Then I remembered the guy who helped me and Michael out when we were lost and surrounded. If Cesar would be here, then there was probably only an obvious reason why that guy wasn’t. “Do you remember a guy in the neighborhood, my father’s age…”

Cesar gave a little chuckle at the naiveté of my question. “You mean Maurice? He long gone. He talked the people at Target into giving me my break. I owe him my life more than you probably think you owe him. He got to know your father real well. Sundays your father would sit out on the stoop; Maurice would come by, and those two would be talking till it got dark. Then after I started at Target, he got into bad shape with all kinds of cancer. He’d keep telling us the doctors say he got three months to live. Three months go by, and now he’s got three more months to live. He kept it up that way for two years until one day he disappears and your father finds him at the hospital unconscious.”

Cesar took on a squint and looked me in the eyes. “So now that your father is gone, what are you going to do with your half? You gonna move in?”

“There is no ‘my half’. It’s all going to Michael. Dad never wanted me in this house because I told him not to move the family here. I just learned today that he didn’t want me in here even after he died. I’m not supposed to be here now.”

“Then what you doin’ here now?“

“Same thing you are. Paying my respects. Saying goodbye. Seeing Michael.”

“Take my advice. You want to pay respect to your father? Just leave. That was his request, right? I don’t want to come between you and your brother, if you don’t mind, but I think your father did you a favor by saying not to come here. Where you live now?”

“I’m in Tenafly, New Jersey. It’s a high-end suburb with beautiful houses, but it has no soul.”

“Is what you want soul, or is what you want comfort? Because they rarely exist in the same place.  I know you must have worked hard to get where you are. I can tell you I absolutely killed myself to get where I am. I don’t think I’ve had three comfortable days next to each other since you saw me here with my friends. So never mind fighting your father. Why fight yourself? Listen to your father. Go home. When I first saw you, I told you that you were not welcome here. Guess what? Your father is telling you the same thing. You are not welcome here. I’m not trying to be mean about it. I’m just telling the truth.”

“Cesar, this home deserves better than what Michael can afford to give it. It can be a work of art.”

Michael was listening to all of this impassively. I’m not sure he even cared anymore. But Melissa was beginning to get agitated. “Cesar, if Brad can buy his brother out, he can turn the house into something Michael and I can only dream of. But we can get the money to start something new. Leave Brad alone. Let him work this out with his brother.”

“Look I just came to pay respects to your father. I’m stepping away. I don’t want to mess up anyone’s life. Michael, is there any prayer I can say for the man before I go?”

We went back into the main room on the first floor where we had just conducted our service. Michael went to the stack of prayer books that the rabbi had left behind and flipped through them.

“You’d usually say this for a relative, but we can all say this, just put my father’s name in.” Michael led us in the Yizkor prayer.

May G‑d remember the soul of Joshua Resnick, our teacher, who has gone to his world, because I will – without making a vow – give charity for him. In recompense for this, let his soul be bound up in the bond of life, with the soul of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, Sarah, Rivkah, Rachel and Leah, and with the other righteous men and women in the Garden of Eden. And let us say, Amen.”

We sat silently for at least two minutes. I saw Cesar looking carefully at the words, looking at other prayers in the book.  “Lotta unfamiliar stuff here, except for Psalm 23. I know that one too well.”

Finally, I walked up to Michael and Melissa and sat between them. “I am going to give something in his name that I hope will benefit all of us. I was going to pay two hundred thousand more than this home was worth so that Miriam and I could take it over and breathe new life into it. Well, it already has the life. It just needs the money and expertise. If you will let Miriam share some ideas and work with you, I will contribute the two hundred thousand to your home.  I won’t need to come in here again. This will be for you and the next generation, if you’re willing to accept it.”

I could see that Melissa could barely catch her breath. Michael looked at me as though he didn’t quite recognize me, and indeed he probably didn’t.  I’m not sure I recognized myself, but the words were out and so here we were.”

“I’m not sure what to say, Brad.”

Cesar came and put his arm around me. “He says ‘fuck yes.’” Now honor your father, say goodbye to this place, and let me take you on a little tour of the neighborhood. It hasn’t changed as much as you may think.”

Cesar and I walked down the stoop onto the sidewalk and then crossed over to where I’d first viewed the place more than twenty years ago. I resisted turning around to see it again. We just kept walking toward the fruit stand that had become a cheese shop. The sky above still churned with the gray anger of the World Trade Center attacks, but had cleared enough so that beams of sunlight were visible in the haze. Ash soon flecked my shoulders, but I decided to let them rest there.

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