Requiem for Moses Read Online Free PDF Page A

forced on her. Undertakers, doctors, death certificate—not to mention the Church and the relatively hard time he had given her … all of it had taken a toll.
    Obviously, she had found time to put things together. Coiffed, painted, stylishly dressed, she was quite attractive. Certainly those crowding around her—as well as all those in line—seemed attracted.
    Admittedly it was still a bit early, but she was making no effort to link up with him and deliver the promised biographical anecdotes that would give him some information on which to build a brief eulogy.
    Perhaps he had best follow the suggestion of one of his earlier callers and go generic. He looked around at the milling groups. She’d said she was a nurse. He looked for a white uniform. Nearly everyone was wearing topcoats. This September evening was chill. If she was here and if she was wearing white, he didn’t see her.
    This would not be his first venture into a generic eulogy. The fact that the deceased was Jewish, and presumably that many of the mourners might also be, was an added challenge. He would have to try to confine his remarks to focus more on the mourners and how the sight of death puts our lives into a proper perspective since, one day, this will be our lot.
    No, he was not really satisfied with that. He would have to try, in the time remaining, to either improve or discard this eulogy.
    There he was, in a corner at the very rear of the church: Dan Reichert—hunkered down and ready to spring. Probably had a pen and a notebook to record everything for his protest to the Cardinal.
    Damn. If only he were better prepared! If his performance was going to be reported, he’d prefer it be smashing.
    As he stepped down to the main floor, a man approached. Koesler could not recall ever having met him. The man carried with ease his Celtic good looks: a full head of black wavy hair, heavy eyebrows, and a smile that grew more engaging as he drew near. “You the priest in charge?”
    “Yes.” He extended his hand. “I’m the pastor, Father Koesler.”
    “Jake Cameron,” the man said as they shook hands.
    There was a pause as Cameron slowly turned to survey the assemblage. He continued to look over the crowd as he completed his 360-degree rotation. Still smiling broadly, albeit quizzically, he again faced Koesler. With both hands open and spread apart in a seemingly puzzled attitude, Cameron said simply, “Why?”
    “Why what?”
    “Why is this going on here? This has got to be Moe Green’s first introduction into any kind of religious edifice since his bar mitzvah.”
    “Oh, well, it’s at the request … or, maybe insistence of his widow.”
    Cameron chuckled. “Tell me about it. Margie can be pretty persuasive.”
    It occurred to Koesler that until this moment he hadn’t known Mrs. Green’s first name. “Margie … that’s Mrs. Green?”
    “Margaret. To those who know her and have been persuaded by her it’s Margie.”
    “Are you a relative? Friend?”
    “Neither. A partner, you could say. A partner he definitely would say … if he could say anything.”
    It seemed clear that Cameron was not grief-stricken. But then, glancing around the church, Koesler could find no one in evident mourning.
    He looked again at the bier, and at Mrs. Green standing nearby in animated conversation with a number of visitors. This was one cool and composed widow. And still no indication that she was going to provide Koesler with the promised backgrounding for his talk.
    The priest returned his attention to the still-casual Cameron. “In a little while I’m supposed to deliver some sort of brief eulogy. I confess I don’t know anything about this man. Perhaps you could …”
    “You don’t know Moe Green! He’s in the media often enough. Society pages, black tie, Margie on his arm in a mildly exotic dress … some charity function or other.” Cameron studied Koesler more seriously. “Not your crowd, is it?”
    “I’m afraid not.”
    “A