The burial of Avrum’s ashes had been observed with mild curiosity by the hand-holding couples of the Dutch Reformed church strolling the narrow sidewalks of Pine Hill. Lila’s lie about searching for a water main had been murmured among the guests and was sufficient to prevent questions, though I was an unlikely looking maintenance man. Lila had a response prepared if anyone inquired, however. “I’ll tell them you’re a politician tired of my bitching,” she said. “That’s exactly what you look like.”

We went back into the Inn, to the dining room, and after scrubbing her hands thoroughly, Lila poured coffee for us. She seemed pleased that she had helped me dispose of the ashes, even if Avrum’s choice of what to do with his body repulsed her.

“When I die, Bobo, I don’t want to get near fire, not even a cigarette lighter. I want to be pumped full of wax and sealed in an airtight tomb. A thousand years from now, I want somebody to find me and go ape-shit over how gorgeous I was.”

“I’ll see to it,” I promised.

“Maybe, by then, they’ll be able to fit me with some spare parts and get my motor running again.”

“I don’t think that’s what’s meant by eternal life,” I said.

“Eternal? I wasn’t talking eternal, Bobo. I was talking second chance.”

“I may be wrong, but I think that’s something you have to do by yourself,” I told her.

She gazed at me over the rim of the coffee cup she held to her lips. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?” she said pointedly.

“I’m sure there’s a message in that, but I’ll think about it later,” I said. “I need another favor.”

“What?”

“I need to borrow a few things.”

“Borrow what?”

“I wish you wouldn’t ask. I wish you’d just trust me.”

Lila leaned dramatically back against her chair. Her great breasts pushed against her blouse. “All right, Bobo. Take whatever you want. You know where everything is, anyway.”

“Merci,” I said.

“And don’t try that on me. The one thing Southerners can’t do is speak French.”

In my room, I took the envelope containing Avrum’s instructions for his last rite from my briefcase and read again from it: Take the candlesticks and place her picture against them and set out the music sheet and the necklace, as I have shown you.…

I opened the mahogany box and removed the candlesticks and put the white candles into them, and then I placed the candlesticks on the night table beside the bed and I leaned Amelita Galli-Curci’s photograph against them. I placed the sheet of music in front of the photograph and then I laid the necklace of costume jewelry over the sheet of music. I read her signature. It had been hurriedly scribbled across the sheet, like a lashing whip.