Free An Orphan's Tale by Jay Neugeboren Page B

was a genuine Jewish boy.
    â€œWe used to act nuts on Adoption Day,” he said aloud. “We didn’t want to leave one another. Nobody ever took any of us home, from our group.”
    â€œThere are only twelve boys left, without me,” Danny said. “We haven’t had a new boy for over two years.”
    Mr. Mittleman turned to Danny. “Tell me,” he said. “Just from looking at me, how much money would you say I’m worth?”
    â€œThe very young kids got taken fast,” Charlie went on, “but once you got past five or six you were safe.”
    â€œPoor boys,” Mrs. Mittleman said.
    Charlie shook his head and smiled at Danny. “No,” he said. “That’s where you’re wrong. We loved it there. You know what Murray always says—the Home ruined all of us for life in the world. We had everything we needed back there, is his theory—all the things families don’t give to people anymore.”
    â€œI’m not worth anything,” Mr. Mittleman said to Danny.
    A small girl ran across the screen, chasing bubbles. “Don’t believe everything Max tells you,” Charlie said to Danny.
    Danny smiled. I wish Charlie was the father of Murray’s children, he thought.
    On the screen the camera zoomed in on Oscar’s father. He was sitting on a wooden chair, sideways, showing no interest in his grandson. Danny recognized him as having the face of the young man who had thrown the boy toward the ceiling. He was very old and he wore round silver sunglasses and a khaki windbreaker. The collar was turned up and buttoned across his throat. On one side of his neck there was a bulge of skin—a goiter like a hand grenade—and Danny gagged on his milk, felt some of it come through his nose.
    â€œHe looks like death,” Mrs. Mittleman said. “I asked you not to take his picture.” She handed Danny another napkin and left the room.
    â€œHere’s your answer,” Mr. Mittleman said. “I’m not worth anything until I sell.”
    Charlie imagined a movie about the Home, with Sol going around the country to see all his old boys. The movie could tell the story of his last trip. Charlie saw Sol calling each of his boys, but they all gave excuses. There would be flashbacks to the boys when they’d been kids at the Home, and when they’d been starting out in life with their families and jobs and Sol had helped them.
    Charlie imagined the film playing in theaters, with the proceeds going to save the Home. There could be a kid in the movie with a camera who turned out to be the guy who decided to make the movie about the Home in order to raise the funds to save it. But Jerry the waiter would be the only one who would agree to see Sol. The flashbacks and cross-country scenes and scenes of the Home could alternate with the nine races at Hialeah, and at the end of the ninth race—Charlie leaned forward—when Sol and Jerry were laughing at what a good time they’d had, and in the middle of a big crowd pressing to the payoff windows, Sol would be struck down with a heart attack.
    â€œWhat?” Charlie said, aloud, and he stood. The camera was moving up and away and Charlie couldn’t find Sol’s face in the crowd. He stood next to Danny and touched the boy’s hair, lightly.
    â€œThe boy thinks you’re special,” Mr. Mittleman said. “You shouldn’t disappoint him.”
    The lights were on and Danny felt dizzy. He remembered how good he had felt on the hill a few hours before, when things were beginning. “I told you to come have your chicken,” Mrs. Mittleman said. “It’s warm.” Mr. Mittleman unhooked the screen, then put the projector away in a closet and told Charlie he was going back to work. When he was gone Mrs. Mittleman sighed and said he’d be up all night. She asked Charlie what she should do about him.
    When Danny opened his eyes he heard