“I think he was brilliant. And, sometimes, that can be mistaken for insanity.”

Sol frowned.

“I assume the media have come and gone,” I said.

“For the most part,” Sol replied. “A couple of television stations doing specials on the aging have called about coming up.” He glanced around his office. “We’ve been busy tidying up.”

“That should give you a chance to put in a good word about the treatment of old people,” I suggested.

“Yes, I suppose.”

“I know that Avrum was concerned about it,” I added, baiting him. “He talked about it a lot, when I visited.”

Sol fingered the file before him for a moment, thumbing the papers like a deck of cards, and then he lifted his eyes to me and said, “Mr. Feldman was well cared for.”

“I’m sure he was. Are his affairs in order?”

Sol shifted in his chair. He pulled a sheet from an envelope and pretended to examine it.

“There’s no outstanding bill, if that’s what you mean. Apparently, Mr. Feldman invested well in his younger years, and, of course, if his estate wishes to make a contribution to the Home, it would be greatly appreciated.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “I’ll have to study his accounts. We seldom discussed his financial condition. I have no idea what he was worth, if anything.”

“Ummmm,” Sol murmured. He again leaned back into his chair. I could hear the wood of the chair creaking. The features of his face gathered in discomfort. “You do understand, Mr. Murphy, that Mr. Feldman’s request for cremation was absolutely against Jewish law. In fact, to many, it would be considered a sacrilege.”

“Yes, I know. I tried to dissuade him a few years ago, when he first mentioned it to me. I disagreed with his decision, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“Why did he do it?” Sol asked earnestly. “I’m not orthodox, but I find it very difficult to understand such a decision.”

I remembered the day that Avrum had told me in a spilling of anger and passion why he had chosen cremation. His last relative, a cousin, had been cremated in Treblinka, in Hitler’s fiery purging of the Jews. Cremation was to be Avrum’s gesture of grief, his last ceremony of honor to an extinct family.

“Do you know?” Sol asked again.

I did not want to share Avrum’s celebration of death with Sol Walkman, like gossips talking about strangers.

“No, I don’t,” I lied. “It was his wish.”

“I see,” Sol said heavily. “One other thing, Mr. Murphy, and this is rather delicate. It indicates in our records that Mr. Feldman wanted you to conduct his kaddish. That’s not permitted, you understand. There will be no kaddish, since he had no relatives.”