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know . . .”
    “That is absolutely out of the question, Mazie,” Norman said. “You can see what condition Mrs. Pressman is in.”
    “Same as me,” Mazie said, “sad and sick.” She put down her suitcase and helped Sandy drape the sheet over the mirror. “I don’t know just when I’ll be back, Mrs. Pressman . . . maybe three or four days . . . after the weekend. I just don’t know.”
    “Maybe you didn’t hear me, Mazie,” Norm said, raising his voice, “but there’s no way you can have time off now. Who’s going to take care of the children?”
    “Take care of them yourself, Mr. Pressman.”
    “If you go, you can kiss this job good-bye!”
    “Norman!” Sandy came alive. “What are you saying? Mazie loved the president! If she wants to go to his funeral . . .”
    “It’s just an excuse, Sandy, can’t you see that? Every goddamned fucking excuse.”
    “I won’t tolerate no language like that,” Mazie said. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Pressman, but I can’t work for no Communist!”
    She picked up Jen, who was in her infant seat, and carried her down the hall to her room. Bucky followed, wailing, “Mazie . . . Mazie . . .” Sandy followed too. Mazie put the baby into her crib and kissed both children. “Good-bye, sugars, you be good for your mommy, hear?” Then she grabbed her suitcase and marched out the front door. “Goodbye, Mrs. Pressman. I’m really sorry.”
    “Oh, Mazie,” Sandy cried, “I don’t know what we’re going to do without you.” She closed the door, trying to keep out the chill night air, and said to Norman, “I can’t believe you did that. I’ll never forgive you. Mazie was wonderful.” She brushed past him and went to the bedroom. Suddenly she felt very tired. She had to lie down. To contemplate. How did Jackie feel at this moment? A widow, with two young children. And Caroline used to parade around in her pumps, interrupting his meetings . . .
    The phone rang. Norman picked it up. “Yes, Lew, how are you? . . . Well, certainly, we were just about to call you . . . No night to celebrate, that’s for sure . . . Yes, that’s right, Sandy feels especially close to Jackie, always has. I can hear Hannah crying . . . yes, same here, they’re very emotional . . . You too, another time. Uh huh . . . Bye . . .” He hung up. “That was Lew.”
    “Hypocrite!”
    “That’s the thanks I get for covering for your emotional immaturity?”
    “Mommy, I’m hungry,” Bucky called.
    “Just a minute,” Norman called back. “Mommy’s coming.” He whispered, “Your children are starving. Will you quit this idiot act and take care of them?”
    But Sandy wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t speak, and Norman, unable to cope with the situation, frantic at the idea of feeding the kids supper by himself, and convinced that Sandy was really going off the deep end, phoned Gordon, as if Gordon could look into Sandy’s head the way he could look into her cunt. Gordon advised two aspirin and a good night’s sleep.
    And then, while millions of TV viewers, including Sandy and Norman, watched Jack Ruby shoot Lee Harvey Oswald, the call came from the highway patrol. Sandy’s father, Ivan Schaedel, had had a flat tire on the Pulaski Skyway. Mona had sat on the hood of the car, shooing away cars with her scarf, as Ivan attempted to change the tire. But he never finished. He was smashed by a Juniper Moving Van and killed instantly.
    And then the shiveh began in earnest.

5
    L AST D ECEMBER while Sandy was recuperating in Jamaica, Norman was making a name for himself as athlete of the century. He’d jump out of bed at six, jog around the grounds of La Carousella for half an hour, perform Royal Canadian Air Force exercises for twenty minutes, swim a dozen laps, play eighteen holes of golf, rush out to the new court for doubles, followed by singles, followed by mixed doubles, and before dinner, while the others were napping, he was back in the pool, holding