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Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
While the cab weaved through heavy traffic, Arthur Weiss rode quietly in the back, watching out the window as “Blowin’ in the Wind” played on the radio in front. He had always liked the song: the moving melody, the questions it raised concerning social injustice, the implication that a better world was possible, if not imminent. It’s up to us, the young people, Bob Dylan’s nasal-toned anthem seemed to proclaim. But now, its message rang hollow for Arthur. When had the song been written, he wondered, four years ago? Yet the war in Vietnam was raging. The only thing blowing in the wind over there was the likelihood of survival.
Suddenly, the driver jammed his brakes. They squealed, and a nearby horn honked. He then jerked the steering wheel to the right, accelerated, and turned his head to sneer at the driver next to him. Arthur simply settled back in his seat and closed his eyes. Half an hour later, the driver pulled up to the curb. Arthur gave him a twenty and told him to keep the change. He felt a little uneasy about the tip but had too much on his mind to consider it further. Hoisting his young, but stiff, six-foot-three frame from the worn backseat of the cab, Arthur closed the door behind him, a little harder than intended, then made his way up the lush purple-carpeted steps, the steps that led to the massive front doors of the funeral home.
.....
“You don’t seem all that convinced.” Arthur replied, tilting his head. She crossed her legs, and he found himself glancing at her exposed knee.
“Well, it may be more helpful for some people than for me. I don’t know.”
.....