“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “my name is Sol Walkman, and I am the director of the Highmount Home for Retired Citizens. I want to thank you for attending this special occasion honoring Avrum Feldman, who, for many years, was a resident with us. I admit that having a memorial service is, well, a bit unusual for us, but it’s something that I gladly endorse.

“It was Mr. Feldman’s wish that this service be conducted by a man whose friendship was as bonding to him as that of a son, and I am now pleased to introduce that man: Mr. Madison Lee Murphy, who also happens to be one of the most admired artists out of the South.” He turned to me. “Mr. Murphy.”

Sol stepped away from the podium and I rose and walked to it, holding the book of poems. The beam of lights for the video camera was blinding. I could not see the faces of those people sitting in front of me, only the stilled silhouettes of their bodies.

I said to the silhouettes, “I have never done this kind of thing and I confess to you that I don’t know if there is a protocol for such services. But, for those of you who knew Avrum Feldman, you will understand that protocol would probably be out of place anyway. I will emphasize this is not a religious service. It is meant simply to acknowledge that Avrum lived among us and that he was, in many ways, a very unique man.

“I am going to do two things. I am going to read you his favorite poem, and then I am going to tell you a story that Avrum swore he had never told anyone but me. It is about Amelita Galli-Curci.”

I heard a quiet murmuring in the crowd.

“But before I do anything, I want to recognize a contribution by one of your fine local artists, Mr. Sammy Merritt. He has graciously permitted us to display a piece of sculpture that he has dedicated to Avrum Feldman’s memory, a piece that he calls Old Man.” I squinted into the lights. “Sammy, where are you?”

Sammy stopped forward and waved. The lights swiveled toward him. He was smiling happily. A mild scattering of applause rippled across the crowd.

“Please feel free to stop by where Mr. Merritt is standing and view his work when the service is over,” I suggested.

The lights turned back to me.