Have I Got A Beautiful Final Resting Place For You?
by Saul Greenblatt
Jake Gold, a senior citizen, left his apartment and went to the park where he often sat on the park bench. He sat down, folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head up. “Ah, warm. Nice warm.”
After a few moments, Al, another senior, puffed on his cigar as he walked briskly to the bench and flopped down, startling Jake. “Jake, boychick, how's by you?”
Jake gasped and coughed, and Al threw his cigar down and stepped on it. “Jake, boychick, y' gotta check with your doctor about that cough. Maybe you stopped smoking too late. Remember Sam Stern? He stopped smoking when he was forty-five, and when he hit sixty-five, boom, no more lungs. I liked Sam. I was glad he went quick. People y' like shouldn't suffer.”
Jake continued to cough. “I... never... smoked.”
“Sure y' did, Jake.”
“I never smoked.”
“Sure y' did.”
“No... I didn't,” he yelled and coughed.
“You lived in New York, right?”
“Yeah. New York.”
“Air pollution. Bad in New York. If you lived in New York and you breathed, you smoked.”
“I lived in Brooklyn?”
“Same thing.”
“I moved to Flushing from Brooklyn?”
“Flushing's in the north. The weatherman says the jet stream goes north. Nobody should live in Flushing. But don’t worry, Jake, you're old; you'll go quick. Then again, you should ask your doctor about a lung transplant. Hmm. I wonder if an old guy like you can get a lung transplant. Probably not. They figure it's not worth it, cause you're gonna kick soon. No point in wasting a good pair of lungs on an old schlimazel. Right?”
“Al, don’t you have to be someplace other than here?”
“No.” Al slapped Jake on his knee. “I’m here because I like you, boychick.”
Jake gasped and grabbed his knee.
“Jake, my old friend, what's wrong with your knee?”
“You hit me right on my artheritis.”
“You ought to see a doctor about that, Jake. On second thought, don't bother. There isn't much they can do about artheritis. They can rip out the old knee and give you a new one. You'll never know you got a phoney knee until you walk. They ripped Milton Goldstein's knee out and put a phoney one in, and he says the pain is terrible, but only when he walks.”
“What does he do about the pain?”
“Nothing.”
“They didn't give him pills for the pain?”
“Sure, they gave him pills for the pain, but he doesn’t take them.”
“Why not?”
“He likes the pain. It's the only thing he has to complain about. If he doesn't have anything to complain about, he sulks. The pain makes him happy. So, what were we talking about? Oh, yeah. Your artheritis and your lungs. Yeah. You should ask your doctor if he can get you some new lungs and a new knee. You know, Jake, I didn't know you were so sick.”
“Al, when I came to the park, I was feeling pretty good. I had a little heartburn, but then I always have a little heartburn.”
“Jake, boychick. I'm sorry you're feeling so lousy. Maybe it's all in your head. Maybe you should see a head shrinker. You could be manny compressive or repulsive, you know. You probably could use a couple shots of Prozac.”
“First I need a new body, and now I'm losing my mind!”
“Now, that's a good sign, Jake. Fifty percent of the battle is won when you know you're losing your mind.”
“I'm not losing my mind!” Jake yelled.
“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Bad sign, Jake, bad. The first thing they tell you is, you got to admit when you're losing your mind. You got to admit when you got a problem.”
“Al, you're my problem.”
“Bad sign, Jake, bad. You know you have a problem when you blame other people for your problems. Bad, Jake, bad.”
“Why are you doing this to me? You have me believing my joints have to be replaced, and I should be passing my golden years in a rubber room.”
“Me, Jake? You're imagining things. You're my friend. I'm just concerned about you, that's all. I'm concerned about your health. I want you to feel good, and I don't want you to be a nut.”
“I need this! When I retired, Mendel's Kosher Foods gave me a pension, a gold watch, and a life-time supply of Mendel's kosher corned beef, but they didn't say they were giving me a smart-mouth to make my life miserable. Al, why do you like to pick on me? All I ask for is a little peace and quiet. Instead, I get you.”
“And when you got me, you got a good friend. Why, you're my dearest, oldest, very closest friend.”
“What are you talking about, Al? We've known each other for one month.”
“Well, I feel like I've known you since you moved here.”
“You have. I moved here a month ago.”
“Details. All I want you should do is think of me as your friend. We retirees have to help each other get through our golden years. You know, those great times we have to look forward to because we don't have to work anymore. I'm just trying to help you enjoy life while you're waiting to kick.”
“Al, you're not helping me. All you do is pick on me.”
“Who's picking?”
“You are. And I'm tired of it. I'm tired of your sarcastic, insulting, mashooqana sense of humour.”
“Jake, my friend, my dear, good friend, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Please, believe me. You do believe me, don't you, my friend?”
“No.”
“Jake, I... I... I don't know what to say. I've been mean and terrible to a life-long friend.”
“Al, we just went through this. We've only known each other for a month.”
“Jake, I really just want to be your friend, and as your friend, I want to help you. I'm just offering constructive criticism. You have to learn to take constructive criticism.”
“Why do I have to learn to take constructive criticism?”
“So you'll know what you have to do to improve.”
“Improve what?”
“There it is, Jake. You think you don't have to improve. That's your problem, Jake.”
“Al, I'm retired. I don't have to improve. I just want to sit in the sun.”
“Jake, with that attitude, you'll be senile before you know it. Your mind, Jake, your mind. You need to keep on top of things. You need to keep your mind sharp.”
“Al, I don't need my mind anymore, I'm retired.”
“Jake, are you telling me you don't care if you become a carrot?”
“Al, as long as I can sit in the sun, I don't care if I become a radish.”
“Jake, my dear old friend. You can't mean that.”
“I do.”
“Jake. It won't be long before your wife's gefilte fish will be able to think faster than you do. Is that what you want?”
“Al, I told you ten thousand times: I'm not married.”
“All right. My wife's gefilte fish will be able to think faster than you. First, it will make you sick like you wouldn't believe, and then...”
“Al, why are you trying to make me crazy?”
“Because I'm your friend. Jake, look around. What do you see?”
Jake looked around. “I see people.”
“What are they doing?”
“They're sitting in the nice, warm sun, not being bothered by you.”
“Jake, no jokes. Look close. What are they doing?”
“They're just sitting.”
“Look close, Jake. They're not moving, are they?”
“Some of them are moving; some of them aren't. They must be asleep.”
“Jake, some of those people haven't moved for three days.”
“Three days? It couldn't be.”
“Look. There's Mr. Feldman. He's leaning on his cane. He was sitting like that yesterday and the day before yesterday. Mr. Feldman has become a carrot, Jake. Do you want to end up like Mr. Feldman?”
“Al, am I becoming Mr. Feldman? Am I becoming a carrot? Al, what should I do?”
“Now, you're asking the right question.”
“Good, good. What's the answer?”
“I don't know.”
“What? You don't know? I was sitting here enjoying the sun, and you come along and tell me I should improve. So, I ask you what I should do, and you say you don't know? Al, go home.”
“All I know is what's wrong with people. Any time you want, I can tell you what's wrong with you. That's easy, 'cause there's so much wrong with you. What to do about it? That's hard. So, Jake, you want to play a little shuffleboard?”
“Al, you're a nut. You should be locked up.”
“Jake, my friend, what did I ever do to you to deserve such, such... Jake, I'm hurt.”
“You're hurt? You're hurt? Al, you're absolutely amazing.”
“Y' know, that's what a lot of people say. I guess if my best friend thinks so, it must be true.” Al looked over his shoulder. “Speaking of wives, what do you think of Mrs. Miller?”
“Who's Mrs. Miller?”
“There's Mrs. Miller,” he said, pointing. “She's looking at Mr. Feldman. She's probably wondering if he's dead.”
“Yeah, I see her.”
“That's all you have to say, Jake? Look at her. She's gorgeous. She's not a day over 50, and she's a widow.”
“And?”
“And??? And??? Jake, what's wrong with you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Urges, Jake, urges.”
“What urges?”
“‘What urges?’ he asks. The urges you got when you were bar-mitzvahed. The urges you get when you become a man. You know, man urges. I know you're old, Jake, but you're not that old.”
“I don't get urges, Al, I'm retired.”
“You don't get urges?” he said, and looked at Jake for a few seconds. “Prostrate trouble, Jake?”
“My prostrate is fine, Al.”
“Jake, you're not...”
“Not what, Al?”
“You know.”
“Know what?”
“You're not one of those... you know.”
“Know what, already?”
“You know, someone who's happy.”
“Happy?”
“Yeah, a happy person. A man who doesn't get urges when he looks at Mrs. Miller. You know, a man who's happy.”
“You mean gay.”
“Gay, happy, what's the difference?”
“No, Al, I'm not gay.”
“Then where did your urges go?”
“My urges are right where they always were.”
“But what about Mrs. Miller? Your urges should get urges when you look at Mrs. Miller. Are you sure you're not happy?”
“Gay, Al, gay. And it so happens I'm keeping company with a very nice lady.”
“Jake, Jake, Jake. You old so-and-so. You're getting married. Jake, I’m hurt. You’re getting married, and you didn't invite me to the wedding. Jake, I'm your oldest and dearest friend. Jake, I'm hurt.”
“Al, I'm not getting married.”
“Jake, you're in love. When you're in love, you get married, and you invite your best friend to the wedding.”
“Who said I was in love?”
“All right, so maybe you're not in love. But you're old. You could kick any time. Do you want to spend your last days alone?”
“Al, a person doesn't rush into marriage.”
“Jake, when you're as close to kicking as you are, you rush.”
“I'm not planning to kick for a while.”
“Jake, you don't plan to kick. You got to remember, you're old. Any morning, you could wake up dead.”
“Do you have to keep saying I'm old?”
“Should I say you're young?”
“The point is, you make it sound like I have two minutes to live.”
“I'm sorry, Jake. I will never again remind you that you're old. If it makes you happy to stick your head in the sand like a camel, then so be it. So, when's the wedding?”
“Al, marriage hasn't even been mentioned. We're just enjoying each other's company. That's all.”
“Fine. I understand. I won't say another word about it.”
Al sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “Nice. Nice, nice, nice. Y' know, I'm glad I moved to Florida. I like it here. But y' know, sometimes I miss New York. The hustle and bustle of the city that never sleeps. Don't you miss the city that never sleeps, Jake?”
“No. The city that never sleeps always kept me awake. New York is for insomniites.”
“I thought insomniites lived in Pennsylvania. Anyway, think about New York. New York is alive. There's always something happening. Don't you miss that? Don't you miss knowing that you could go out any time of the night and get a corned beef sandwich?”
“Don't you mean do I miss knowing I could go out any time of the night and get mugged?”
“All right. So New York has a little crime problem.”
“Little? In New York, you don't have to wait 'till it's dark to get mugged. You can get mugged at McDonald's while you're having breakfast.”
“All right, so New York has a big crime problem. But there are all those good things about New York. Like the weather. You have to admit that you can get pretty tired of Florida's weather. Just one boring season.”
“Oh, yeah. I really miss the snow and slush. I especially enjoyed trying to find a parking space in New York during a snowstorm.”
“So, the winters in New York are a little... uncomfortable. But, in New York, did you ever have to worry about sunstroke?”
“Of course not. In New York, the sun couldn't get through the pollution. Here, you get fresh air. In New York, you get fresh pollution every day.”
“So, living here is so great? Here, you have a lot of old people who should be driving wheelchairs instead of cars. When you walk across the street, you have to run for your life because someone who can't see over the steering wheel is driving on the sidewalk.”
“Okay, so here, a few retired citizens are a menace. In New York, every driver is a menace. In New York, it's open season on pedestrians 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.”
“So, you think life here is so wonderful. Did you ever hear about a New Yorker being eaten by an alligator? Here, it happens all the time. Just yesterday, it happened here.”
“I know. I heard.”
“See?”
“See what? The alligator ate a New Yorker who was running away from the police. New York should send all its muggers here. Alligators need a lot of protein.”
“Well, you have to admit that New York has more excitement, more life.”
“I'm retired. I don't need life.”
Al looked around. “I guess you're not the only one who feels like that. This park looks like St. Peter's waiting room. Just look around. How can so many people just sit and do nothing for so long?”
“Al, you don't know how to relax. You have to learn to relax.”
“Relax? Around here, relaxing means you're in a coma.”
“Your problem is you don't appreciate retirement.”
“That's ridiculous. Of course, I appreciate retirement. I couldn't wait to retire. What makes you think I don't appreciate retirement?”
“Because you have a full-time job.”
“All right. So I don't like retirement. I can't help it.”
“So, what's the sin? So, you have to keep busy. What kind of job do you have?”
“I sell cemetery plots. I figure around here, I can make a fortune. All I have to do is keep my eyes open, and as soon as I see someone who looks like he's gonna kick, I rush over to him with the papers and show him where to sign. Nothing to it. And if you could use a few extra dollars, Fannie's Final Resting Place is always looking for a few good, retired people. All you have to do is say the word, and you got a nice job.”
“Why retired people?”
“Fannie prefers retired people because we, so to speak, have our finger on the pulse, or no pulse, if that should be the case, of future customers. So, what do you say?”
“Nah. I don’t want a job.”
“Then could I interest you in a beautiful spot by a palm tree and...”
“No. I already have a final resting place. It's in New York. I bought it before I retired and came here.”
“New York? But, Jake, it's so cold in New York.”
“You think chopped liver knows it's chopped liver? When I'm in my final resting place, I don't think the cold will bother me.”
“But New York is so crowded, Jake.”
“Good. I won't get lonely.”
“But New York is full of crazies. They turn over tombstones and...”
“I'll be dead. What'll I know?”
“Okay. If you want your final resting place to be in a polluted, cold, crime-ridden city that never sleeps, then okay.”
“Al, go sell final resting places. And in the meantime, while you're running around trying to get our fellow retirees to sign on the dotted line before rigor mortis sets in, I'm going to sit and enjoy the sun.”
“We got company, Jake. Here comes Izzy.”
Another senior citizen, Izzy, came to the bench. He wore a hat, gloves, sun glasses, and a long coat, which was buttoned to his neck.
“So, how’s by you, Izzy?” Jake asked.
“You know me, I don't complain,” he whined. “How's by you, boys?”
“Good, Izzy, good,” they said.
“What do you mean, good?”
“You don't understand 'good', Izzy?” Jake said.
“Good, you couldn't be. Look at you.”
Jake and Al looked at each other.
“Okay, we looked. Now what?”
“You didn't see? The violet rays from the oyzone are all over you. You should worry. You want you should get melons on your skin? It's very sunny, like tropical. Violets are falling from the oyzone in buckets. You could get melons. And I see nobody is wearing sunglasses. You should be wearing sunglasses.”
“I don't need sunglasses,” Jake said.
“Everybody needs sunglasses.”
“I don't need sunglasses, Izzy,” Jake said.
“Everybody needs sunglasses.”
“Enough, Izzy, I don't need sunglasses.”
“Uh, Izzy, by any chance, do you have an extra pair of sunglasses I can borrow for today?” Al asked.
“Here is a smart boy. It just so happens,” Izzy said, and took several pairs of sunglasses from his pocket and gave a pair to Al, who put them on.
“Here, Jake, you, too. Put these on.”
“Izzy, you're giving me a headache.”
“Jake, the violets from the oyzone will give you more than a headache.”
“Izzy, you're a nag. I told you, I like the sun. It's warm. It feels good.”
“Of course, it feels good. It feels good until it's too late. It's a trap. It sneaks up on you while you're sitting and not looking, and then... boom, melons all over your body. You better cover up. You both should cover up, like me.”
“I don't have to cover up. I put sunblock all over. I'm protected,” Jake said.
“Me, too,” Al said. “And if you used sunblock, Izzy, you wouldn't have to dress like it's winter in New York. You must be cooked like my wife's chicken. Boiled to death.”
“To tell the truth, I feel like a boiled chicken. But I'm killing two chickens with one blintz, as they say. I'm keeping the violets from the oyzone from falling on my skin and I'm losing weight. My doctor says I should lose weight.”
“Izzy, if you stay in this heat dressed like that, you'll evaporate,” Jake said.
“So, I'm a little warm, but better a little warm than I should get melons from the violets that fall from the oyzone. When you get melons on your skin, you should start looking for a final resting place.”
“Izzy, speaking of a final resting place...” Al said.
“Izzy, y' should know something. It's melonites, not melons.”
“Izzy, speaking of final resting pl...”
“Melonites? I thought they were people who live in Pennsylvania who drive horses. But, no matter. If you don't want melons, you should be like me and worry.”
“Izzy, speaking of final resting... Oh, never mind.”
“Here comes Reuben. Let’s ask him what he thinks about melons.”
Reuben, another senior citizen, joined the others on the bench. A cable hung from his ear to a control on his belt. “Hello, boys, what's up?”
“You mean what's down,” Izzy said.
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘You mean what's down?’” Al said loudly.
“Huh?”
“Reuben, turn up your hearing aid,” Al said, pointing to Reuben's hearing aid.
Reuben turned up his hearing aid. “Okay. Now, who said something?”
“Izzy thinks people get melons from violets that fall through the oyzone.”
“No. I can't go near violets. They make me sneeze and itch,” Reuben said, scratching his arm. “Izzy, every time I see you, you're dressed like you're expecting snow. Izzy, it doesn't snow in Florida.”
“Izzy's afraid of melons,” Jake said loudly.
“Huh?”
“I said,” Jake yelled, “Izzy's afraid of melons.”
“Why? Melons can't hurt you. Unless you eat too much. When I was a kid, I ate too much watermelon, and I got sick. To this day, if I eat a whole watermelon, I get sick.”
“Reuben, Izzy isn't afraid of the melons you eat. He's afraid of melons you get from violets that fall from the oyzone. That's why he wears a coat and a hat and gloves, so he won't get melons,” Al said.
“Izzy can get watermelons at the supermarket just down the street. I like watermelons, but I get sick whenever I eat a whole one, and watermelons have too many seeds. The seeds get under my false teeth. Did you ever try to eat a corned beef sandwich with watermelon seeds under your false teeth? You wouldn't want to do it. Hey, Izzy, it's so warm. You'll get a heatstroke dressed like that. You should be wearing shorts and a T-shirt. You're in Florida. You should be enjoying the sun. If you're afraid of getting melons, all you have to do is wear a hat and sunblock, and you won't get melons.”
“I give up. Sit in the sun and get melons. I'm going home. See you tomorrow, boys, God willing.”
“So, Reuben, how are you feeling?” Al asked.
“Wonderful. Like 25 years.”
“Are you sure?”
“ Whaddaya mean, am I sure? Of course, I'm sure.”
“Can you run around the block in 8 minutes?”
“Are you mashoogee? I couldn't run around the block in 8 hours. Whaddaya think, I'm 25 years old?”
“You said you feel like 25.”
“So, I'm wishing a little.”
“Reuben, stop wishing. You're old. You have to think old.”
“Al, why should I think old?”
“Because you are old. So, Reuben, since you're old, let's talk about something important. Let's talk about life and, and you know...”
“What do I know?”
“Reuben, what comes after life?”
“Magazine?”
“It could, but in this case, it doesn't. Reuben, do you remember Mo Shlimmer?”
“Yeah, I liked Mo.”
“Do you remember what happened to him?”
“Yeah. He was jogging in the park, and his ticker stopped ticking.”
“And do you remember what happened after his ticker stopped ticking?”
“Yeah. He stopped jogging.”
“Then what happened?”
“An ambulance came and took him to the hospital.”
“Did the doctors get his ticker ticking?”
“No. Poor Mo’s ticker never ticked again.”
“Then what happened?”
“I don't know.”
“I'll tell you. His poor wife had to take him home to their tiny, little apartment.”
“She took him home? It would have been better to put him in a final resting place.”
“Of course. But Mo and Mrs. Mo didn't plan. She didn't have a final resting place for Mo, and she wore out her old, bony fingers calling everywhere for a final resting place while Mo was lying on the couch.”
“Is Mo still in his tiny, little apartment?”
“No. She was lucky. She found a place that had a cancellation.”
“How does a dead person cancel his funeral?”
“Who knows? Anyway, finally, they came and took Mo to his final resting place. Do you know what the moral of the story is, Reuben?”
“Don't jog?”
“No. Reuben, the moral of the story is he who waits might not have a final resting place when he needs it. You wouldn't want to kick without having a final resting place ready for you, would you?”
“Of course not. Our apartment is so small, standing up it's crowded.”
“Do you know what a smart person does, Reuben?”
“Live in a big apartment?”
“No. A smart person buys his final resting place before he kicks, so his poor wife won't have to wear out her old, bony fingers calling around trying to find a final resting place.”
“You're right, Al.”
“I knew you'd agree, so I want to tell you about Fannie's Final Resting Place, my employer. And since you're my friend, I can get you a great deal on a beautiful final resting place.”
“What kind of a deal?”
“You take a tour of Fannie's Final Resting Place and you'll get a beautiful, black and white TV.”
“We got a colour TV yesterday at Peter's Peaceful Plots. One place gives three plots for the price of two. It makes a nice gift for a single person. Well, gotta go, boys. This afternoon, we're going to get two tickets to Disney World from Lillian's Last Resort for listening to a 90-minute presentation. Y' wanna come along? We can all go to Disney World together.”
“Thanks anyway, Reuben,” they said.
“Okay, boys, see you tomorrow,” he said, and left.
“I'm doing pretty good, Jake. No sales in three weeks.”
“Things will get better, Al. Uh, maybe not. Here comes your wife.”
Goldie, a short, rotund woman, walked quickly to the bench. She was wearing necklaces and rings. “Al, look,” she said, holding her hand close to Al’s face.
“Good, Goldie, you still have all your fingers.”
“Jokes you're making, Al? At a time like this, jokes you're making. Did you hear, Jake? At a time like this, he's making jokes. He's like a stone. No compassion. Look,” she growled and put her hand in front of Al’s face again.
“Now, that's what I call a nice finger. Goldie, you have a nice finger.”
“Are you blind? You call this nice? You call a finger with a broken nail, nice?”
“Aha. Now I see it. You have a broken nail.”
“Yesterday, Sophie did my nails. Just yesterday. Now, look at it, and Sophie's booked for two weeks, but an emergency she said she'll take, and I'm an emergency. Come, Al, drive me to Sophie's House of Beautiful Nails.”
“Me you need to drive you? You know how to drive.”
“Me drive? You expect me to drive in my condition?”
“You're not pregnant, Goldie. You have a broken nail. You'll live.”
“I have one word, Al, just one word.”
“What?
“Wifely duty.”
“Goldie, in your condition, you shouldn't drive. You'll let me drive you. Jake, I'll come back, we'll play a little shuffleboard,” he said, and they left.
Jake folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head up. “Retire. Go to Florida and sit in the sun, they said. You'll have nothing but peace and quiet. Hah.”
After a few moments, Al, another senior, puffed on his cigar as he walked briskly to the bench and flopped down, startling Jake. “Jake, boychick, how's by you?”
Jake gasped and coughed, and Al threw his cigar down and stepped on it. “Jake, boychick, y' gotta check with your doctor about that cough. Maybe you stopped smoking too late. Remember Sam Stern? He stopped smoking when he was forty-five, and when he hit sixty-five, boom, no more lungs. I liked Sam. I was glad he went quick. People y' like shouldn't suffer.”
Jake continued to cough. “I... never... smoked.”
“Sure y' did, Jake.”
“I never smoked.”
“Sure y' did.”
“No... I didn't,” he yelled and coughed.
“You lived in New York, right?”
“Yeah. New York.”
“Air pollution. Bad in New York. If you lived in New York and you breathed, you smoked.”
“I lived in Brooklyn?”
“Same thing.”
“I moved to Flushing from Brooklyn?”
“Flushing's in the north. The weatherman says the jet stream goes north. Nobody should live in Flushing. But don’t worry, Jake, you're old; you'll go quick. Then again, you should ask your doctor about a lung transplant. Hmm. I wonder if an old guy like you can get a lung transplant. Probably not. They figure it's not worth it, cause you're gonna kick soon. No point in wasting a good pair of lungs on an old schlimazel. Right?”
“Al, don’t you have to be someplace other than here?”
“No.” Al slapped Jake on his knee. “I’m here because I like you, boychick.”
Jake gasped and grabbed his knee.
“Jake, my old friend, what's wrong with your knee?”
“You hit me right on my artheritis.”
“You ought to see a doctor about that, Jake. On second thought, don't bother. There isn't much they can do about artheritis. They can rip out the old knee and give you a new one. You'll never know you got a phoney knee until you walk. They ripped Milton Goldstein's knee out and put a phoney one in, and he says the pain is terrible, but only when he walks.”
“What does he do about the pain?”
“Nothing.”
“They didn't give him pills for the pain?”
“Sure, they gave him pills for the pain, but he doesn’t take them.”
“Why not?”
“He likes the pain. It's the only thing he has to complain about. If he doesn't have anything to complain about, he sulks. The pain makes him happy. So, what were we talking about? Oh, yeah. Your artheritis and your lungs. Yeah. You should ask your doctor if he can get you some new lungs and a new knee. You know, Jake, I didn't know you were so sick.”
“Al, when I came to the park, I was feeling pretty good. I had a little heartburn, but then I always have a little heartburn.”
“Jake, boychick. I'm sorry you're feeling so lousy. Maybe it's all in your head. Maybe you should see a head shrinker. You could be manny compressive or repulsive, you know. You probably could use a couple shots of Prozac.”
“First I need a new body, and now I'm losing my mind!”
“Now, that's a good sign, Jake. Fifty percent of the battle is won when you know you're losing your mind.”
“I'm not losing my mind!” Jake yelled.
“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Bad sign, Jake, bad. The first thing they tell you is, you got to admit when you're losing your mind. You got to admit when you got a problem.”
“Al, you're my problem.”
“Bad sign, Jake, bad. You know you have a problem when you blame other people for your problems. Bad, Jake, bad.”
“Why are you doing this to me? You have me believing my joints have to be replaced, and I should be passing my golden years in a rubber room.”
“Me, Jake? You're imagining things. You're my friend. I'm just concerned about you, that's all. I'm concerned about your health. I want you to feel good, and I don't want you to be a nut.”
“I need this! When I retired, Mendel's Kosher Foods gave me a pension, a gold watch, and a life-time supply of Mendel's kosher corned beef, but they didn't say they were giving me a smart-mouth to make my life miserable. Al, why do you like to pick on me? All I ask for is a little peace and quiet. Instead, I get you.”
“And when you got me, you got a good friend. Why, you're my dearest, oldest, very closest friend.”
“What are you talking about, Al? We've known each other for one month.”
“Well, I feel like I've known you since you moved here.”
“You have. I moved here a month ago.”
“Details. All I want you should do is think of me as your friend. We retirees have to help each other get through our golden years. You know, those great times we have to look forward to because we don't have to work anymore. I'm just trying to help you enjoy life while you're waiting to kick.”
“Al, you're not helping me. All you do is pick on me.”
“Who's picking?”
“You are. And I'm tired of it. I'm tired of your sarcastic, insulting, mashooqana sense of humour.”
“Jake, my friend, my dear, good friend, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Please, believe me. You do believe me, don't you, my friend?”
“No.”
“Jake, I... I... I don't know what to say. I've been mean and terrible to a life-long friend.”
“Al, we just went through this. We've only known each other for a month.”
“Jake, I really just want to be your friend, and as your friend, I want to help you. I'm just offering constructive criticism. You have to learn to take constructive criticism.”
“Why do I have to learn to take constructive criticism?”
“So you'll know what you have to do to improve.”
“Improve what?”
“There it is, Jake. You think you don't have to improve. That's your problem, Jake.”
“Al, I'm retired. I don't have to improve. I just want to sit in the sun.”
“Jake, with that attitude, you'll be senile before you know it. Your mind, Jake, your mind. You need to keep on top of things. You need to keep your mind sharp.”
“Al, I don't need my mind anymore, I'm retired.”
“Jake, are you telling me you don't care if you become a carrot?”
“Al, as long as I can sit in the sun, I don't care if I become a radish.”
“Jake, my dear old friend. You can't mean that.”
“I do.”
“Jake. It won't be long before your wife's gefilte fish will be able to think faster than you do. Is that what you want?”
“Al, I told you ten thousand times: I'm not married.”
“All right. My wife's gefilte fish will be able to think faster than you. First, it will make you sick like you wouldn't believe, and then...”
“Al, why are you trying to make me crazy?”
“Because I'm your friend. Jake, look around. What do you see?”
Jake looked around. “I see people.”
“What are they doing?”
“They're sitting in the nice, warm sun, not being bothered by you.”
“Jake, no jokes. Look close. What are they doing?”
“They're just sitting.”
“Look close, Jake. They're not moving, are they?”
“Some of them are moving; some of them aren't. They must be asleep.”
“Jake, some of those people haven't moved for three days.”
“Three days? It couldn't be.”
“Look. There's Mr. Feldman. He's leaning on his cane. He was sitting like that yesterday and the day before yesterday. Mr. Feldman has become a carrot, Jake. Do you want to end up like Mr. Feldman?”
“Al, am I becoming Mr. Feldman? Am I becoming a carrot? Al, what should I do?”
“Now, you're asking the right question.”
“Good, good. What's the answer?”
“I don't know.”
“What? You don't know? I was sitting here enjoying the sun, and you come along and tell me I should improve. So, I ask you what I should do, and you say you don't know? Al, go home.”
“All I know is what's wrong with people. Any time you want, I can tell you what's wrong with you. That's easy, 'cause there's so much wrong with you. What to do about it? That's hard. So, Jake, you want to play a little shuffleboard?”
“Al, you're a nut. You should be locked up.”
“Jake, my friend, what did I ever do to you to deserve such, such... Jake, I'm hurt.”
“You're hurt? You're hurt? Al, you're absolutely amazing.”
“Y' know, that's what a lot of people say. I guess if my best friend thinks so, it must be true.” Al looked over his shoulder. “Speaking of wives, what do you think of Mrs. Miller?”
“Who's Mrs. Miller?”
“There's Mrs. Miller,” he said, pointing. “She's looking at Mr. Feldman. She's probably wondering if he's dead.”
“Yeah, I see her.”
“That's all you have to say, Jake? Look at her. She's gorgeous. She's not a day over 50, and she's a widow.”
“And?”
“And??? And??? Jake, what's wrong with you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Urges, Jake, urges.”
“What urges?”
“‘What urges?’ he asks. The urges you got when you were bar-mitzvahed. The urges you get when you become a man. You know, man urges. I know you're old, Jake, but you're not that old.”
“I don't get urges, Al, I'm retired.”
“You don't get urges?” he said, and looked at Jake for a few seconds. “Prostrate trouble, Jake?”
“My prostrate is fine, Al.”
“Jake, you're not...”
“Not what, Al?”
“You know.”
“Know what?”
“You're not one of those... you know.”
“Know what, already?”
“You know, someone who's happy.”
“Happy?”
“Yeah, a happy person. A man who doesn't get urges when he looks at Mrs. Miller. You know, a man who's happy.”
“You mean gay.”
“Gay, happy, what's the difference?”
“No, Al, I'm not gay.”
“Then where did your urges go?”
“My urges are right where they always were.”
“But what about Mrs. Miller? Your urges should get urges when you look at Mrs. Miller. Are you sure you're not happy?”
“Gay, Al, gay. And it so happens I'm keeping company with a very nice lady.”
“Jake, Jake, Jake. You old so-and-so. You're getting married. Jake, I’m hurt. You’re getting married, and you didn't invite me to the wedding. Jake, I'm your oldest and dearest friend. Jake, I'm hurt.”
“Al, I'm not getting married.”
“Jake, you're in love. When you're in love, you get married, and you invite your best friend to the wedding.”
“Who said I was in love?”
“All right, so maybe you're not in love. But you're old. You could kick any time. Do you want to spend your last days alone?”
“Al, a person doesn't rush into marriage.”
“Jake, when you're as close to kicking as you are, you rush.”
“I'm not planning to kick for a while.”
“Jake, you don't plan to kick. You got to remember, you're old. Any morning, you could wake up dead.”
“Do you have to keep saying I'm old?”
“Should I say you're young?”
“The point is, you make it sound like I have two minutes to live.”
“I'm sorry, Jake. I will never again remind you that you're old. If it makes you happy to stick your head in the sand like a camel, then so be it. So, when's the wedding?”
“Al, marriage hasn't even been mentioned. We're just enjoying each other's company. That's all.”
“Fine. I understand. I won't say another word about it.”
Al sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “Nice. Nice, nice, nice. Y' know, I'm glad I moved to Florida. I like it here. But y' know, sometimes I miss New York. The hustle and bustle of the city that never sleeps. Don't you miss the city that never sleeps, Jake?”
“No. The city that never sleeps always kept me awake. New York is for insomniites.”
“I thought insomniites lived in Pennsylvania. Anyway, think about New York. New York is alive. There's always something happening. Don't you miss that? Don't you miss knowing that you could go out any time of the night and get a corned beef sandwich?”
“Don't you mean do I miss knowing I could go out any time of the night and get mugged?”
“All right. So New York has a little crime problem.”
“Little? In New York, you don't have to wait 'till it's dark to get mugged. You can get mugged at McDonald's while you're having breakfast.”
“All right, so New York has a big crime problem. But there are all those good things about New York. Like the weather. You have to admit that you can get pretty tired of Florida's weather. Just one boring season.”
“Oh, yeah. I really miss the snow and slush. I especially enjoyed trying to find a parking space in New York during a snowstorm.”
“So, the winters in New York are a little... uncomfortable. But, in New York, did you ever have to worry about sunstroke?”
“Of course not. In New York, the sun couldn't get through the pollution. Here, you get fresh air. In New York, you get fresh pollution every day.”
“So, living here is so great? Here, you have a lot of old people who should be driving wheelchairs instead of cars. When you walk across the street, you have to run for your life because someone who can't see over the steering wheel is driving on the sidewalk.”
“Okay, so here, a few retired citizens are a menace. In New York, every driver is a menace. In New York, it's open season on pedestrians 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.”
“So, you think life here is so wonderful. Did you ever hear about a New Yorker being eaten by an alligator? Here, it happens all the time. Just yesterday, it happened here.”
“I know. I heard.”
“See?”
“See what? The alligator ate a New Yorker who was running away from the police. New York should send all its muggers here. Alligators need a lot of protein.”
“Well, you have to admit that New York has more excitement, more life.”
“I'm retired. I don't need life.”
Al looked around. “I guess you're not the only one who feels like that. This park looks like St. Peter's waiting room. Just look around. How can so many people just sit and do nothing for so long?”
“Al, you don't know how to relax. You have to learn to relax.”
“Relax? Around here, relaxing means you're in a coma.”
“Your problem is you don't appreciate retirement.”
“That's ridiculous. Of course, I appreciate retirement. I couldn't wait to retire. What makes you think I don't appreciate retirement?”
“Because you have a full-time job.”
“All right. So I don't like retirement. I can't help it.”
“So, what's the sin? So, you have to keep busy. What kind of job do you have?”
“I sell cemetery plots. I figure around here, I can make a fortune. All I have to do is keep my eyes open, and as soon as I see someone who looks like he's gonna kick, I rush over to him with the papers and show him where to sign. Nothing to it. And if you could use a few extra dollars, Fannie's Final Resting Place is always looking for a few good, retired people. All you have to do is say the word, and you got a nice job.”
“Why retired people?”
“Fannie prefers retired people because we, so to speak, have our finger on the pulse, or no pulse, if that should be the case, of future customers. So, what do you say?”
“Nah. I don’t want a job.”
“Then could I interest you in a beautiful spot by a palm tree and...”
“No. I already have a final resting place. It's in New York. I bought it before I retired and came here.”
“New York? But, Jake, it's so cold in New York.”
“You think chopped liver knows it's chopped liver? When I'm in my final resting place, I don't think the cold will bother me.”
“But New York is so crowded, Jake.”
“Good. I won't get lonely.”
“But New York is full of crazies. They turn over tombstones and...”
“I'll be dead. What'll I know?”
“Okay. If you want your final resting place to be in a polluted, cold, crime-ridden city that never sleeps, then okay.”
“Al, go sell final resting places. And in the meantime, while you're running around trying to get our fellow retirees to sign on the dotted line before rigor mortis sets in, I'm going to sit and enjoy the sun.”
“We got company, Jake. Here comes Izzy.”
Another senior citizen, Izzy, came to the bench. He wore a hat, gloves, sun glasses, and a long coat, which was buttoned to his neck.
“So, how’s by you, Izzy?” Jake asked.
“You know me, I don't complain,” he whined. “How's by you, boys?”
“Good, Izzy, good,” they said.
“What do you mean, good?”
“You don't understand 'good', Izzy?” Jake said.
“Good, you couldn't be. Look at you.”
Jake and Al looked at each other.
“Okay, we looked. Now what?”
“You didn't see? The violet rays from the oyzone are all over you. You should worry. You want you should get melons on your skin? It's very sunny, like tropical. Violets are falling from the oyzone in buckets. You could get melons. And I see nobody is wearing sunglasses. You should be wearing sunglasses.”
“I don't need sunglasses,” Jake said.
“Everybody needs sunglasses.”
“I don't need sunglasses, Izzy,” Jake said.
“Everybody needs sunglasses.”
“Enough, Izzy, I don't need sunglasses.”
“Uh, Izzy, by any chance, do you have an extra pair of sunglasses I can borrow for today?” Al asked.
“Here is a smart boy. It just so happens,” Izzy said, and took several pairs of sunglasses from his pocket and gave a pair to Al, who put them on.
“Here, Jake, you, too. Put these on.”
“Izzy, you're giving me a headache.”
“Jake, the violets from the oyzone will give you more than a headache.”
“Izzy, you're a nag. I told you, I like the sun. It's warm. It feels good.”
“Of course, it feels good. It feels good until it's too late. It's a trap. It sneaks up on you while you're sitting and not looking, and then... boom, melons all over your body. You better cover up. You both should cover up, like me.”
“I don't have to cover up. I put sunblock all over. I'm protected,” Jake said.
“Me, too,” Al said. “And if you used sunblock, Izzy, you wouldn't have to dress like it's winter in New York. You must be cooked like my wife's chicken. Boiled to death.”
“To tell the truth, I feel like a boiled chicken. But I'm killing two chickens with one blintz, as they say. I'm keeping the violets from the oyzone from falling on my skin and I'm losing weight. My doctor says I should lose weight.”
“Izzy, if you stay in this heat dressed like that, you'll evaporate,” Jake said.
“So, I'm a little warm, but better a little warm than I should get melons from the violets that fall from the oyzone. When you get melons on your skin, you should start looking for a final resting place.”
“Izzy, speaking of a final resting place...” Al said.
“Izzy, y' should know something. It's melonites, not melons.”
“Izzy, speaking of final resting pl...”
“Melonites? I thought they were people who live in Pennsylvania who drive horses. But, no matter. If you don't want melons, you should be like me and worry.”
“Izzy, speaking of final resting... Oh, never mind.”
“Here comes Reuben. Let’s ask him what he thinks about melons.”
Reuben, another senior citizen, joined the others on the bench. A cable hung from his ear to a control on his belt. “Hello, boys, what's up?”
“You mean what's down,” Izzy said.
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘You mean what's down?’” Al said loudly.
“Huh?”
“Reuben, turn up your hearing aid,” Al said, pointing to Reuben's hearing aid.
Reuben turned up his hearing aid. “Okay. Now, who said something?”
“Izzy thinks people get melons from violets that fall through the oyzone.”
“No. I can't go near violets. They make me sneeze and itch,” Reuben said, scratching his arm. “Izzy, every time I see you, you're dressed like you're expecting snow. Izzy, it doesn't snow in Florida.”
“Izzy's afraid of melons,” Jake said loudly.
“Huh?”
“I said,” Jake yelled, “Izzy's afraid of melons.”
“Why? Melons can't hurt you. Unless you eat too much. When I was a kid, I ate too much watermelon, and I got sick. To this day, if I eat a whole watermelon, I get sick.”
“Reuben, Izzy isn't afraid of the melons you eat. He's afraid of melons you get from violets that fall from the oyzone. That's why he wears a coat and a hat and gloves, so he won't get melons,” Al said.
“Izzy can get watermelons at the supermarket just down the street. I like watermelons, but I get sick whenever I eat a whole one, and watermelons have too many seeds. The seeds get under my false teeth. Did you ever try to eat a corned beef sandwich with watermelon seeds under your false teeth? You wouldn't want to do it. Hey, Izzy, it's so warm. You'll get a heatstroke dressed like that. You should be wearing shorts and a T-shirt. You're in Florida. You should be enjoying the sun. If you're afraid of getting melons, all you have to do is wear a hat and sunblock, and you won't get melons.”
“I give up. Sit in the sun and get melons. I'm going home. See you tomorrow, boys, God willing.”
“So, Reuben, how are you feeling?” Al asked.
“Wonderful. Like 25 years.”
“Are you sure?”
“ Whaddaya mean, am I sure? Of course, I'm sure.”
“Can you run around the block in 8 minutes?”
“Are you mashoogee? I couldn't run around the block in 8 hours. Whaddaya think, I'm 25 years old?”
“You said you feel like 25.”
“So, I'm wishing a little.”
“Reuben, stop wishing. You're old. You have to think old.”
“Al, why should I think old?”
“Because you are old. So, Reuben, since you're old, let's talk about something important. Let's talk about life and, and you know...”
“What do I know?”
“Reuben, what comes after life?”
“Magazine?”
“It could, but in this case, it doesn't. Reuben, do you remember Mo Shlimmer?”
“Yeah, I liked Mo.”
“Do you remember what happened to him?”
“Yeah. He was jogging in the park, and his ticker stopped ticking.”
“And do you remember what happened after his ticker stopped ticking?”
“Yeah. He stopped jogging.”
“Then what happened?”
“An ambulance came and took him to the hospital.”
“Did the doctors get his ticker ticking?”
“No. Poor Mo’s ticker never ticked again.”
“Then what happened?”
“I don't know.”
“I'll tell you. His poor wife had to take him home to their tiny, little apartment.”
“She took him home? It would have been better to put him in a final resting place.”
“Of course. But Mo and Mrs. Mo didn't plan. She didn't have a final resting place for Mo, and she wore out her old, bony fingers calling everywhere for a final resting place while Mo was lying on the couch.”
“Is Mo still in his tiny, little apartment?”
“No. She was lucky. She found a place that had a cancellation.”
“How does a dead person cancel his funeral?”
“Who knows? Anyway, finally, they came and took Mo to his final resting place. Do you know what the moral of the story is, Reuben?”
“Don't jog?”
“No. Reuben, the moral of the story is he who waits might not have a final resting place when he needs it. You wouldn't want to kick without having a final resting place ready for you, would you?”
“Of course not. Our apartment is so small, standing up it's crowded.”
“Do you know what a smart person does, Reuben?”
“Live in a big apartment?”
“No. A smart person buys his final resting place before he kicks, so his poor wife won't have to wear out her old, bony fingers calling around trying to find a final resting place.”
“You're right, Al.”
“I knew you'd agree, so I want to tell you about Fannie's Final Resting Place, my employer. And since you're my friend, I can get you a great deal on a beautiful final resting place.”
“What kind of a deal?”
“You take a tour of Fannie's Final Resting Place and you'll get a beautiful, black and white TV.”
“We got a colour TV yesterday at Peter's Peaceful Plots. One place gives three plots for the price of two. It makes a nice gift for a single person. Well, gotta go, boys. This afternoon, we're going to get two tickets to Disney World from Lillian's Last Resort for listening to a 90-minute presentation. Y' wanna come along? We can all go to Disney World together.”
“Thanks anyway, Reuben,” they said.
“Okay, boys, see you tomorrow,” he said, and left.
“I'm doing pretty good, Jake. No sales in three weeks.”
“Things will get better, Al. Uh, maybe not. Here comes your wife.”
Goldie, a short, rotund woman, walked quickly to the bench. She was wearing necklaces and rings. “Al, look,” she said, holding her hand close to Al’s face.
“Good, Goldie, you still have all your fingers.”
“Jokes you're making, Al? At a time like this, jokes you're making. Did you hear, Jake? At a time like this, he's making jokes. He's like a stone. No compassion. Look,” she growled and put her hand in front of Al’s face again.
“Now, that's what I call a nice finger. Goldie, you have a nice finger.”
“Are you blind? You call this nice? You call a finger with a broken nail, nice?”
“Aha. Now I see it. You have a broken nail.”
“Yesterday, Sophie did my nails. Just yesterday. Now, look at it, and Sophie's booked for two weeks, but an emergency she said she'll take, and I'm an emergency. Come, Al, drive me to Sophie's House of Beautiful Nails.”
“Me you need to drive you? You know how to drive.”
“Me drive? You expect me to drive in my condition?”
“You're not pregnant, Goldie. You have a broken nail. You'll live.”
“I have one word, Al, just one word.”
“What?
“Wifely duty.”
“Goldie, in your condition, you shouldn't drive. You'll let me drive you. Jake, I'll come back, we'll play a little shuffleboard,” he said, and they left.
Jake folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head up. “Retire. Go to Florida and sit in the sun, they said. You'll have nothing but peace and quiet. Hah.”