They Dragged Them through the Streets: A Novel

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142 A At Jay’s funeral I was Ford’s girlfriend, that was my part. F didn’t talk to me, but we stood next to each other. The grandparents kept looking at my bare legs. I’d thought it was too hot for stockings, but their eyes were worse. I could feel the sweat on my back, drops along my legs one by one. The heels of my pumps stuck in the yard. I gathered armfuls of plates, trying not to tip the sandwich ends and white juice of potato salad back toward me. I filled garbage bags. Once F reached over and pulled my dress off the small of my back to unstick it. Sara arrived and hugged us each a long time. She walked over the yard to shake the hands of the relatives. She had worn sensible shoes. Five or six men from Jay’s unit had come. They stood close together and cried more than I’d expected. What did I know? But I’d never pictured them crying. The sun was hot and the back of one man’s neck was burning. Another man rubbed up 143 and down one arm with his hand, a strange nervous gesture. A civilian gesture, I thought, he couldn’t have done it when in gear. I took them a tray of lemonade. They thanked me in turn. How are those shoes working for you? one said, eyeing my heels as I wobbled. I shook my head and smiled, then wondered if that was the wrong response. I started walking away, then turned back. Would you like chairs? I offered. F was sitting on the tree stump. There were some folding chairs out, but the older relatives were sitting in them. We’re fine, one guy said. There’s more, I said, We could bring them out for everybody . So two of them followed me into the house, down the stairs into the basement. We took the chairs out, me two at a time, them four. The metal slicked up in my palm and slid; I had to keep hitching the chairs up with each hip. You got those? one of the men said, putting his chairs down, reaching around me to open the door. Yes, thanks, I said. But I didn’t, they were slipping again. Here, he said, and took a handkerchief out of his pocket, offered it to me. I looked at it for a second. To wipe your hands with, he said, and the chairs, get the sweat off. Right, I said, and smiled again, then wondered again if I should have. I rubbed the handkerchief across my palm, between the fingers. Maybe it helped. He was watching me, a little smile. How did you know Jay? he said. 144 I went to school with his brother, I said. The smart one? he said. That’s what Jay always said, his brother was supersmart. He can be, I said. We were standing in the doorway, he was still holding open the door. Were you in touch? I asked, I mean, you and Jay— He shook his head. I didn’t know him that well, I said, I don’t think I ever even saw him sober. Funny, I don’t think I ever saw him drunk, he said. He patted me on the shoulder as if I were younger than I was. ...