The Metal Shredders. Nancy Zafris

toward Ada, the weighmaster cashier, who waves back.

      John looks at his watch, wondering when he'll get home. It's ten a.m. right now. That means it's eight a.m. in Telluride. She'll probably call later in the day, after five, which is perfect because he'll be home around seven. If he misses her call, the answering machine will pick up. Elise's message on the machine plays in his head. Call me, okay? He'll have to stifle a laugh at that one. Call me, okay?—the poetess, not so good with the spoken words. Look, there's a letter in the mail explains it all. He knew the message would end with that. She's lost without her pen, her spelling books, her attendance sheet. Plus she's got to get in the last word.

      When he comes up for air, he realizes he's been talking to himself. It's okay, no one has heard him. His muttering has been drowned out by the argument taking place at the coffin. The old guard, naturally, still up to their tricks. Who helped them up there? John was sure rheumatism would keep their spines soldered to their seats this time. His father is fighting through a Tommy Landers–blocked aisle, but it's too late, and besides, nothing will stop them now. The magnets attached to their key chains are already out and testing the coffin for any pull. Happy Lazar slaps the coffin with his bony palm and triumphantly shouts, "This is yellow brass!"

      "Yellow brass!" Murray Kempleton grrs, raising his tiny fists, ready to fight.

      John sighs, excuses himself past this mother's knees, and strides up to the coffin to join Tommy and his dad.

      "Sit down," his father says to Happy, not in a mean way, but in a comforting, almost gentle way. He settles his palms on Happy's frail shoulders.

      "Let him have his say." Tommy Landers pushes the Senior aside, pleased to order him around.

      The Senior is quickly roused and squares off against Tommy. He and the Senior look like brothers. It's Romulus and Remus with those two. Before John can think to act, Tony steps in. He sees Tony's hand, castemarked with its perfect maroon burn, slip between their almost butting chests and push them apart. John is not sure it's really needed, this peacekeeping of an actual physical sort. What's going on is more or less a tradition, sort of a summer-stock production, and it's usually reserved for equity actors only. Tony the welder is not quite welcome up here but he doesn't know it.

      "There's a five-percent pull on this," Murray Kempleton croaks. He turns to make his announcement to the church at large."Five percent pull!" he proclaims to all the mourners, smacking his lips with satisfaction.

      "Let it go. Let it go," the Senior says.

      This time Jacob Kolski pounds the coffin. The dwindling arm that lifts

      away from the walker and falls upon his grandfather's corpse is still a touch too strong to be engaging in this kind of punching, but that's what makes it edgy theater as well.

      Murray Kempleton declares, "Your grandfather wanted copper, not yellow brass, and what a metal shredder wants for his coffin a metal shredder gets."

      He has a point.

      It's all happened before. And will again, with Romulus and Remus trying to save the day. Who cares about a nice send-off to Heaven? Not these guys. Heaven is just some aggravating regulatory commission the federal government has dreamed up.

      John checks his watch. 10:15 a.m. 8:15 in Telluride. Ten, twelve, possibly fourteen hours for her to phone. The machine can pick up if he's not home.

       Call me, okay?

       Call me, okay?