He blinked twice and nodded again.

“Last chance,” I said.

He exhaled loudly in frustration. Okay, so he was really sure.

“All right.” I swallowed and began. “After they put the…person…into the coffin, they put pieces of clay onto their face. One piece over each eye and one on the mouth, three pieces.”

His eyes went really wide and his mouth formed an O.

Then he reached into his pocket for his phone.

“Before you ask,” I said, “I’m not totally sure why. Something symbolic. But I do know it has to be plain clay—pieces from the painted ones aren’t right.” I quickly added, “Even though the ones you picked out were really nice.”

He tapped at his phone and then turned it toward me.

Have you seen how they do it?

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ve never done a tahara—that’s the name for the special ceremony they do to get the person ready for the funeral. They have to say a bunch of prayers and do everything in a very specific way and order.”

He nodded and then looked down at his phone for a long moment. I wondered if he was glad he hadn’t seen his parents in their coffins. Or maybe he wished he had. Dad says everyone is different—some people want to see, others don’t. I wasn’t sure yet which side I was on.

I was afraid to ask Oren though.

Suddenly he started typing again.

So do you think that’s where “potty mouth” comes from? I giggled and then covered it up with a cough. I didn’t mean to laugh—we were talking about serious stuff! But I’d been surprised—that was not at all what I’d expected him to ask.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Probably not.” When I looked up at him, he was smiling. “Oh, I get it,” I said, rolling my eyes. “That was a joke.”

His grin got wider.

This was what I’d meant when I told the rabbi Oren seemed fine. But he still wasn’t talking. It was so weird.

“Funny,” I said. “Anyway, now you know.”

Thank you.

“You’re welcome.”

His smile disappeared.

But I want to know more.

I sighed. “You’re sure? The clay pots are nothing. It gets weirder. Scary even.”

You promised.

“I know,” I said. “But I want to make sure.”

I’m sure. I want to see it all.

Did he though?

Did I?

Sixteen

I didn’t speak for nearly ten minutes. After I’d promised again that I would take Oren to the funeral home to show him around, I didn’t know what to say. Finally, though, as we got closer to the ice cream place, the silence became unbearable.

“So how do you like living with your uncle?” Not my best, but it wasn’t like he was coming up with sparkling conversation.

He shrugged.

“He seems pretty nice,” I said.

He nodded.

“Were you close before the…um…before?” I asked, even though I knew they hadn’t been.

This time he shook his head.

“You knew him though, right?” I asked. “He wasn’t a total stranger, was he?”