Joe Rosenfeld trudged into the Teacher’s Center br plopped on the couch, then whispered, “Terrible nightmare.” br Silence. Staring. Then: br “My dear Uncle Irving wailing as his wife br stuffed into the grave. Never recovered.” br “This the guy with the funny eye, ” I said. br “The left one, stood to the side, like a soldier, br never moving br and from this slight imperfection br unbearably low self-esteem. br At the age of twelve only dark sunglasses br never took ‘em off br but after he met Emma br they was gone for good. A miracle! br Such a sweet girl, a tragedy, really, br her death.” br Eyes drifting now br the scene replayed, most certainly, br then: “Not a month later fired from his job br ripped papers into long strips all day.” br “What’d he do? ” br “Important documents! ” br “The job.” br “Accountant. br So my dear wife Addie invited him br for dinner eleven times, to comfort him br finally he accepted. Why I don’t know br perhaps the pot roast—Emma’s specialty! ” br “Ah, Addie’s cure for pain, and I been missing it br last time, when, five months ago you invited me over…” br “Uncle Irving sat slumped at the table sobbing br ‘Eat, ’ I said, ‘a man needs strength br at a sad time like this.’ br As soon as I said those words br I realized my error. Too late. br He was already pouring br the big bowl of gravy on his head.” br Silence. I waited, finally: br “All down his cheeks br like tears.