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“Aaron, his name is Aaron here.”
“Funny, at work he was known as Solomon.”
“Aaron Solomon; Solomon was his second name.” Miriam offered the man a chair, upon which he sat with perfect grace.
“I am sorry for your loss. It must have been quite a shock—”
“Forgive me, Mr. O’Brien, but you have disturbed me at work. Is there a problem with Aaron’s estate or something? Because I thought it was all clear-cut.”
“Oh it is, it is. Aaron’s company shares will naturally become yours and his pension also. No, that isn’t why I am here, Mrs. Gluckstein.” He stared down at his perfect black leather gloves. “No, I’m here because our department is missing a file.”
At this he met Miriam’s gaze for the first time since she had entered the room. There was absolutely no emotion in his stare. A tremble swept through her body.
“What has this to do with Aaron?”
“I believe he may have taken it home with him the night before he died.”
“He mentioned nothing and I certainly haven’t seen a file about the house.”
For years afterward, Miriam would ask herself why she had lied at that moment. It was the first deceit of her life. Dismayed, she stood there, her words finite and, it seemed to her, slightly repugnant. Later she would surmise that it was Aaron’s spirit guiding her and, perhaps, the kind of animal instinct that enables a man to cross a deserted road a second before a speeding car screeches around the corner. Mr. O’Brien stepped toward her. Something about him made her feel like a rabbit caught in the gaze of a predator.
“You have to understand, Mrs. Gluckstein, how important this file is to the company. Its loss could have a devastating impact. We know how loyal Aaron was to Safecom; he was, in fact, one of our most loyal employees. That is why we have assumed up until now that the misappropriation of the file was accidental. This assumption could change, with very unpleasant consequences for the settlement of Aaron’s estate.”
“Are you threatening me,
Mr. O’Brien?”
“A righteous woman such as yourself? Don’t be ridiculous. I am just making the gentle suggestion that you look for, find, and return this file unopened as soon as possible. Otherwise I can’t promise that someone else won’t take over this inquiry, someone far less sympathetic.”
“What inquiry?”
“Good day to you, Mrs. Gluckstein.” He tipped his hat and left.
Claiming a migraine Miriam excused herself to her fellow staff and rushed back home.
The bedroom windows were still covered over and the room was dark. Miriam switched on the desk lamp and looked around. Nothing seemed amiss. She had cleared out Aaron’s desk after the shiva and had found nothing strange; just the usual collection of odds and ends that defined a man’s life: an old bar mitzvah photo with his father, several lotto tickets curled up with a rubber band, a thousand staples and unused paper clips, a rubber stamp from work, and an unsent love poem to herself. His shocking verse had made her weep, then laugh, but there was no sign of a stolen file.
She sat at the desk, remembering her last conversation with Aaron about the ethics of the individual acting for the greater good. Had he been trying to tell her something about his situation at work? A deluge of memories came to her: Aaron coming back one evening from work uncharacteristically harassed and aggressive, shutting off from her when she tried to ask what was wrong; her waking in the middle of the night to find Aaron sitting outside in their small courtyard, staring up at the stars in just his pajamas. Had he been troubled by something? Had O’Brien been threatening him in some way? Had this been a contributing factor to his heart attack? The thought made her shiver.
A sudden breeze slipped under the door, chilling her ankles, and the room seemed to give a little sigh. With a thud the file finally fell out from the back of the cabinet onto the carpet. Astonished, Miriam picked it up.
An hour later she closed the file and, shaking from head to toe, rushed to the bathroom where she splashed cold water onto her face. Her immediate impulse was to burn the file and rid herself of the responsibility of such a document. What was Aaron thinking? He must have stumbled upon it by accident, she rationalized; she couldn’t imagine that he had sought out such information willingly. Not Aaron. But then why was he frightened? As a religious man, having found such information he would have felt morally obliged to…do what? She stared into the mirror: she’d lost more weight over the past week and the nights of exhaustion showed, making her look like a haunted child.
What will I do now, she wondered, remembering Mr. O’Brien’s blank eyes. Picking up the file, she hid it at the very back of the last drawer in the filing cabinet. What she needed was time to plan.
Later that same evening the two women were interrupted at their meal by the front doorbell chiming the HaTikvah. Myra froze, a spoonful of chicken soup held to her mouth.
“He’s early. The kabbalist is early.”
Miriam checked the huge clock on the wall. “Only by twenty minutes.”
“Twenty minutes, twenty minutes—that’s a lifetime in some insects’ lives.” Myra threw down her spoon. Undaunted, the doorbell continued playing the Israeli national anthem.
“You want I should let him in?” Miriam asked, worried about the neighbors.
Guessing her fears, Myra sighed deeply. “Don’t worry, I told the Fleischmanns he’s your brother visiting from Chicago. I suppose we can’t let the ignorant primitive freeze.”
Miriam waved her finger at her mother-in-law.
