Among the Dead (20 page)

‘In what way?' she said.

‘Where do we go next? What are we supposed to do now?'

‘I've given your name to the county coroner's office. They'll be calling you as soon as they can. I'm sorry, Frank, but you'll have to identify the body. I'm sorry, I mean the bodies.'

‘Is there anything left of them?' asked Frank.

‘Don't think about that,' she said.

‘I can't help it. It's a natural thing to think about. Do you know?'

‘I don't, no.'

‘She won't answer the question,' said Lowell. ‘She doesn't want to say anything that could cause you more distress, so you could sue.'

‘As a matter of fact, Mr Gale, that's exactly right.' And then she turned and went back to her desk.

‘You dick,' said Frank.

‘Fuck her,' said Lowell, in a way that sounded more like a command than a curse.

The copper-haired woman looked up from her eggs and waved to Frank and Lowell. Lowell led Frank to her table.

‘I'm Brenda Cohn,' she said, ‘and this is Geoffrey. We have lost our Danny, and his new bride, Angela. They were married last Sunday. I guess we're still in the anger stage of all this. We weren't in denial very long.'

‘I lost my wife and daughter,' said Frank.

‘We heard. We're terribly sorry. You're the fellow who missed the plane.'

‘Does everyone know?' asked Lowell, but his belligerence was under control. Frank thought that only he knew the meanness inside the question.

‘I think so,' said Geoffrey. He seemed less a ruined man than on the night of the crash, when defeat was so much a part of him that the crash loomed over him as only the most recent attack on his life, or the necessary conclusion to a series of disasters. ‘It's going to be hard for you.'

‘It's hard for all of us,' said Frank.

‘But for you,' said Geoffrey. ‘We'll have a little privacy. But for you, no. You'll never have privacy. This is going to stick with you, for ever.'

‘I hope not,' said Frank.

‘Yes,' said Brenda. ‘For the rest of your life you'll be the man who missed two twenty-one. You'll be marked by this. It won't be easy for you to remarry.'

Frank expected Lowell to jump in, but he stayed silent. Frank looked to him for support.

‘That makes sense,' said Lowell.

‘Why?' asked Frank, knowing this was the wrong question, because it brought him into their game.

‘Because you'll be cursed,' said Geoffrey. ‘Every time a woman who loves you leaves for anything, any trip, she'll worry about her safety. She'll worry that she'll be the second wife to die. Your wife, she was your first wife?'

‘Yes,' said Frank.

‘And if she gets on a plane without you,' said Brenda, not finishing the sentence. The implication was there: if she gets on a plane without you, she'll be sure to remember how you were widowed.

‘But only if she gets on a plane without me when I was supposed
to be on the plane,' said Frank. ‘Don't forget, I didn't not take the plane, I missed the plane. A million people don't take a flight that their wives or husbands are on. That happens every day. But this was different. I didn't not take the flight. That's normal. I missed the plane. I was late to the airport. How many people miss a flight their families are on, and then the plane crashes? How many people? You can't say that happens all the time.'

‘I don't know,' said Brenda. ‘You might be right. That's an interesting opinion.'

‘Why were you late?' asked Geoffrey.

‘Traffic,' said Frank.

‘We dropped them off at the airport,' said Brenda, ‘and the traffic wasn't that bad. Which way were you coming from?'

‘I don't know.'

‘Of course you know,' said Geoffrey. ‘Everyone knows the direction they're coming from.'

‘Hollywood,' said Frank. ‘I had lunch with a friend, and then I was running a little late.'

‘Your friend saved your life,' said Brenda.

‘Who was it?' asked Lowell.

‘Actually my insurance agent.'

‘What insurance agent?' asked Lowell. ‘Jack Ney?' Jack Ney was Mary's boss.

‘No,' said Frank. This was going to be a bad lie, but it was too late to stop. A name spilled out of his mouth. ‘Mark Sifka.'

‘Is he with Jack Ney?' He meant: does he handle the company's insurance? ‘Is he ours?'

‘No, mine.'

‘What. Car, life?'

‘Not car. House and stuff. Life.'

‘I thought you used Jack's office for that. Why'd you stop?'

‘I don't know. This guy kept calling. I don't know. I met him at a party.'

‘Whose party?' asked Lowell. Frank thought Brenda Cohn suspected something in his reluctance to answer.

‘You don't know them, friends of Anna's.' Now I am using Anna as an alibi for my mistress. This is out of control.

‘Whatever,' said Lowell. Frank thought that he had threatened Lowell with the possibility of independence by finding his own insurance agent, without asking for permission or advice. It had never occurred to Frank before that Lowell needed him too.

‘Did you buy life insurance from him at lunch?' asked Geoffrey.

‘Not then. A while ago.'

‘Wouldn't that have been something?' said Geoffrey. ‘Although it wouldn't have been in effect when the plane crashed.'

Throughout this, Brenda watched Frank, but he couldn't tell what she was thinking. He thought a stranger might have thought she hated him, the way she looked at him so impatiently. The stranger would have thought that Brenda was keeping a running tab of his errors, and everything he said was wrong.

‘Mark Sifka,' said Lowell. ‘And you had lunch with him.' Meaning: If s not like you, Frank, to have lunch with an insurance agent, since you are a snob and can't see past someone's job as easily as I can, you can't appreciate a good salesman as well as I do. And since insurance salesmen are so reviled in the culture, it is not likely that you, Frank Gale, would talk to one for any time longer than it took to buy the minimum amount of insurance he was selling, suspicious of his rates, and merciless in not wanting to give the salesman any moment of joy, thinking that his happiness, his satisfaction with the sale, would only mean that he had triumphed over another sucker. ‘So this Sifka, he knew you were going to Mexico. He knew what time you were leaving.'

‘I guess so,' said Frank.

‘If he reads the papers,' said Brenda, ‘he thinks you're dead.'

T should call him,' said Frank. This was perfect, the excuse he needed to leave the table.

‘Did he insure your wife and daughter?' asked Geoffrey.

‘Yes,' said Frank. He didn't know what else to say, and the stupidity of the lie crashed around him, like an airplane on fire.

Geoffrey matched his wife's hard, unpleasant, study of him. ‘You better call him. He's preparing the settlement on the claim. He's probably waiting for someone in the family to call him. He insured you too.'

‘Yes, we had a lot of insurance with him. I did.'

‘You better call him,' said Brenda. ‘Maybe your brother should call him.'

‘That's a good idea,' said Lowell.

‘Why?' asked Frank.

Brenda kept her stare. ‘Because if you call him, he'll think if s a ghost.'

‘Even if he doesn't believe in ghosts,' said Geoffrey.

‘People get heart attacks that way,' said Brenda.

‘What's his number?' asked Lowell. He took a pen from his jacket, and then a little notebook he always carried.

‘I don't know,' said Frank. ‘I'll call him, I think I should.'

‘You don't need to,' said Lowell.

‘Let your brother call,' said Brenda. ‘It would be a blessing, for your friend to hear about this from your brother. Then you could call him. You could even be in the room with him.'

‘That's a great idea,' said Lowell. The issue of Mark Sifka was clearly his first relief from the catastrophe in three days, he had a focus for his anger that did not call out for more anger, but for compassion, and at the same time gave him the privilege of belonging to the heart of the story, to be a part of the disaster. ‘Let's go upstairs.'

‘Can I ask one question?' said Brenda.

Frank said yes.

‘How much were they insured for?'

‘That's kind of a personal question,' said Frank.

‘Listen,' said Lowell, ‘we're all going through this together, it may help them to know.'

‘My wife was insured for one million dollars. I was insured for two million. The baby wasn't insured at all.'

‘Of course not,' said Brenda.

‘Well,' said Frank, trying to stop all of this.

Geoffrey offered his hand. Frank took it, and held on. ‘You know/ said Geoffrey, ‘I have to say you seem a little ahead of yourself.'

‘How so?' asked Frank.

‘I think you've raced a little too quickly from anger into depression. Maybe you need to go back to denial for a bit. After the period where you tell yourself it isn't true, you get really mad. I think you need to be really mad at the airline, at God, at everything.'

‘Maybe,' said Frank. He thought this might be true and, thinking back, could not recall any real anger yet. So perhaps he was still denying.

‘Let's go,' said Lowell.

In the elevator Frank had a clear vision of what to do. When they got to the room, he called information in Los Angeles, and asked for, and spelled, Mark Sifka. There was only one Sifka, an M. Sifka. That was Mary, of course. He then made up a number
and wrote it down on the hotel's memo pad. He gave it to Lowell. Lowell dialled the number.

Someone answered, and Lowell asked for Mark Sifka. Lowell then said, ‘Are you sure?' And then he read the number that he had dialled. He had dialled correctly. He thanked the person and hung up. ‘I got a wrong number.'

‘I don't know,' said Frank. ‘We'll call him later.'

‘No,' said Lowell, dialling again. Then he said, ‘Yes, I'd like the number for Mark Sifka, please. In Los Angeles, or West Long Angeles.' After a moment he was told, as Frank knew, that there was only one M. Sifka. ‘That's it.'

This time he dialled again, and this time when the phone was answered he said, ‘Is Mark Sifka there?' There was a pause. Frank couldn't hear the other's voice. ‘I'm sorry,' said Lowell, I called information for Mark Sifka, and they gave me this number. I'm sorry to bother you.' He hung up. Then he dialled again. He looked at Frank while he waited for someone to answer.

‘What happened?' asked Frank.

‘The wrong Sifka. I'm calling Karen.' Karen was Frank's secretary. ‘She'll have the number in your address book.'

‘I don't think so,' said Frank. ‘I just met him, I mean we just started doing business together. I don't think I ever gave her the number.'

‘Jesus, Frank.' Meaning: what kind of a businessman are you? Meaning: is this chaos, this disorganization, typical of how you run things when I am not around? Can I trust you?

‘Sifka's not going to do anything with his company's money until someone files a claim.'

Lowell moved away from the phone. Frank was safe. Then the phone rang. Frank rushed for it, in case Mary Sifka had found him. He didn't want Lowell to ask who was calling, and hear her last name.

‘Hello,' said Frank.

‘May I speak to Frank Gale?'

‘Who's calling?'

‘This is Ron Godfrey.'

‘What is this about?' asked Frank.

‘Is this Mr Gale?' Neither would give anything away.

T need to know what this is about?'

‘I was calling to tell him how terribly sorry I am for him.'

‘Are you with the airline or the coroner's office?'

‘I'm with the Los
Angeles Times
, the San Diego bureau. I wanted to talk to Frank Gale.'

‘Yes.'

‘Is this Mr Gale?'

‘Yes.'

‘I just wanted to tell you how terribly sorry I am for your great loss.' It was interesting to Frank, this new perspective, to be in the centre of things, and see how human everyone was, how much trouble they had saying what they meant, how they lied to protect themselves from the shame they felt at the things they did in order to survive. Here was a reporter, a man doing his job, and his job called for him to speak to the victims of cruel fate. And he was repeating himself, because it hurt him to violate the victim's privacy, but he persisted, because that was the nature of his job. Frank thought of sad-eyed Republicans, and how they live in Olympian distance from the mob, which gives them greater knowledge of the mob. And if knowledge is power, to know the mob is to control the mob, and so Frank would be able to control this reporter. Frank would become a Republican.

‘Yes,' said Frank, again. Lowell asked him who it was. Frank covered the mouthpiece and whispered, ‘Newspaper.'

‘You know that you were listed as having been on the plane.'

He waited five seconds, which is a long time to be silent on the phone. ‘Yes.' Leave him hanging.

‘We understand that you just missed the plane. That they took your ticket downstairs, but they made a mistake, and you were at the gate as the plane was pulling away.'

Another five seconds. He counted to himself, and then just made a sound. ‘Mmm-hmmm.' Frank didn't even have to say anything now.

‘I should call back,' said Ron Godfrey. Whatever he had expected, this wasn't it. He was probably used to hysteria, someone to whom he could offer comfort. But Frank would accept none from him.

Another long wait. ‘Yes,' said Frank.

‘Maybe there's someone in the family I can talk to,' said Godfrey.

‘No, my family is dead.' He said this quickly, without hesitation. Then he held his hand over the phone, because he wanted to let out the laugh that was building inside of him. He wanted to cackle into the phone.