Lila watched and talked nervously, as though she were participating in an act of desecration. Why did he choose a sidewalk bench as his resting place? she demanded. Why didn’t he have his ashes scattered across the stage of the Metropolitan Opera House if he was so damned obsessed with opera? How could I seriously honor the ravings of a man who obviously was loony? And how could I possibly blame Carolyn for being upset each time I left home to escape to the Catskills if the reason was to visit Avrum?

“I’m having a really hard time with this, Bobo. I think you need help when this is over. You need to talk to someone qualified to lead you out of this pile of bullshit you’ve been wading in for all these years.”

I paused in the digging. “Look, Lila, why don’t you go inside and I’ll be finished in a few minutes.”

“I’ve stayed for this much of it, I’ll see the rest,” she declared. “God knows, you may need a character witness when they try to commit you for such absurdity.”

I finished the digging and took the box from the bench and opened it. The ashes were inside in a plastic zip-seal bag. Lila peeked over my shoulder.

“Oh, shit, it’s a sandwich bag,” she moaned.

“I think it’s just an example of keeping up with the times,” I said.

I started to open the bag.

“How do you know it’s him?” Lila said. “Maybe it’s nothing but cigar ashes. Maybe they sold his body to some medical school, or something.”

“It’s him.”

“Wait, wait,” Lila whispered. She moved quickly around to the front of the bench and knelt beside me and fanned open the bottom of her skirt, shielding against the breeze.

“What’re you doing?” I asked.

“Christ, Bobo, you don’t want ashes blowing all over the place, do you? Now, get it over with.”

I poured the ashes into the hole and watched them slowly settle, as Avrum had settled into his place on the bench. I whispered, “There goes Avrum.”

“What?” asked Lila.

“Nothing,” I said.

I gently pulled the dirt over the hole and covered it and packed it down with my hands, and then I stood and Lila stood with me. She tried to strike a mourner’s pose. After a moment, she whispered, “Is that it?”

I nodded.

“Don’t you think you should say something?”

“I did.”

“You did? What?”

“I said, ‘There goes Avrum.’ ”

“Jesus, Bobo…”

The girl on the bicycle rode away, her garish orange scarf fluttering in the wind.