The small house filled with cigarette smoke, with the heavy smell of Polish cooking, with the squeals of children. I edged my way past one aunt who said she expected me to help wash up since I hadn’t handled any of the preparation. I had vowed that I would not say anything over the baked meats beyond “Yes,” “No,” and “I don’t know,” but it was getting harder.

Then Grandma Wojcik, eighty-two, fat, dressed in shiny black, grabbed my arm in a policeman’s grip. She looked at me with a rheumy blue eye. Breathing onions, she said, “The girls are talking about Bernard.”

The girls were the aunts, of course.

“They’re saying he was in trouble down at the elevator. They’re saying he threw himself under the ship so he wouldn’t be arrested.”

“Who’s telling you that?” I demanded.

“Helen. And Sarah. Cheryl says Pete says he just jumped in the water when no one was looking. No Wojcik ever killed himself. But the Warshawskis … Those Jews. I warned Marie over and over.”

I pried her fingers from my arm. The smoke and noise and the sour cabbage smell were filling my brain. I put my head down to look her in the eyes, started to say something rude, then thought better of it. I fought my way through the smog, tripping over babies, and found the men hovering around a table filled with sausages and sauerkraut in one corner. If their minds had been as full as their stomachs they could have saved America.

“Who are you telling that Boom Boom jumped off the wharf? And how the hell do you know, anyway?”

Cheryl’s husband Pete looked at me with stupid blue eyes. “Hey, don’t lose your pants, Vic. I heard it down at the dock.”

“What trouble was he in at the elevator? Grandma Wojcik says you’re telling everyone he was in trouble down there.”

Pete shifted a glass of beer from one hand to the other. “It’s just talk, Vic. He didn’t get along with his boss. Someone said he stole some papers. I don’t believe it. Boom Boom didn’t need to steal.”

My eyes fogged and I felt my head buzzing. “It’s not true, goddamn you! Boom Boom never did anything cheap in his life, even when he was poor.”

The others stared at me uneasily. “Take it easy, Vic,” one said. “We all liked Boom Boom. Pete said he didn’t believe it. Don’t get so wild over it.”

He was right. What was I doing, anyway, starting a scene at the funeral? I shook my head, like a dog coming out of water, and pushed back through the crowd to the living room. I made my way past a Bleeding Heart of Mary tastefully adorning the front door and went out into the chilly spring air.