Dog Tags Read Online Free PDF

tapped himself on the temple.
    â€œWhat’s a balloon suit?” Benny asked.
    â€œYou wouldn’t believe it,” Jacob said. “Wide legs and sleeves, and the cuffs tight. You never saw such nonsense.”
    â€œNo thanks.”
    Pinsky arrived, laden, followed by Leon, also laden, and they heaped the table with herring, sturgeon, whitefish, gefilte fish, rye bread and horseradish. With cole slaw and beer. With anchovies and sardines. With carrots and parsley. “Enough,” Jacob said. “Where’s the wedding?”
    Pinsky sucked thoughtfully at his green thumb. “Okay, Benny? To start?”
    Okay, Benny nodded, dewy-eyed; his voice failed him. Pinsky saw his distress and was charmed. He and Leon retired discreetly, professionally.
    The three began in silence, a sense of ceremony strong; they raised forkfuls of fish in silent salute; the horseradish was passed, sniffed, assayed with solemnity. With the salt fish Benny swigged beer; Leon brought more and said, for the thousandth time, “Sweets to the sweet.” For the thousandth time Jacob acknowledged the witticism with a dry, weary, patrician smile. Leon was a refugee, a Hungarian, and could be ponderous in seven languages.
    â€œSo what will you do now?” On Karp’s chin, flotsam.
    â€œLeave him alone,” Jacob said. “He’s just off the boat.”
    Karp spelunked thoughtfully in the left nostril. “He should decide now. They’ll come home thick and fast and furious, and he should do something on the ground floor.”
    Jacob grunted. “Pay no attention.”
    â€œI’ve thought about it,” Benny said. “I had all that time in the hospital.”
    â€œAnd?” Jacob looked sly. “You’ll be a ball player, maybe. With that build. A catcher.”
    Karp moaned. “Or the strong man with dumbbells in the circus.”
    â€œSo what should he be with those muscles?” Jacob said. “A lawyer?”
    â€œCould do worse,” Karp said. “Look at Brandeis.”
    â€œI’m looking,” Jacob said. “The only thing this country has too much of is lawyers. In ten years they’ll be shlepping into the ocean like lemons.”
    The pickle was perfection; Benny bit into it with wonder, with the glorious resignation of one who knows that he will never be poor, or sick, that he has been singled out for a long and untroubled life. The Solomon of pickles. What’ll you do first when you get home? they had asked, and the immediate, obligatory obscenity hooted down, they had, true Americans, shifted to mom’s apple pie, popcorn, sundaes. Benny’s destiny was a sour pickle.
    â€œHe’ll make up his mind when he’s ready. First he’ll sleep, and read the funnies.”
    â€œThey’re not so funny.” Karp stood up, wincing.
    â€œWhere you going now?”
    â€œThe men’s room,” Karp groaned, a man afflicted, secret stones and spasms. “The Wandering Jew was looking for a men’s room.” He trudged off.
    â€œA nice man,” Jacob said. “The union goons beat him once.”
    â€œI know.” Benny and Jacob disagreed politely on unions. “How’s his wife?”
    â€œFine, fine. All day she plays mah-jongg. Well. You made it. For once we swindled the angel of death.”
    â€œI ran into him once.” Benny saw 57359 hunched in Pinsky’s, munching on halvah. Jacob grew grave and respectful; Benny laughed. “Don’t be silly, now. The worst time was in the hospital.”
    â€œYou had pain?” Again that tone, eternal: there is no life without pain. Pain is the one sure sign.
    â€œNo. The bedpan. I was in plaster.”
    â€œUndignified.” They were both thinking of Hannah, bald and raving. “Well, you’re home.”
    â€œI’m home.” Benny hesitated. “I think I want to be a doctor.”
    â€œBenny!” Jacob leaned toward him,