An Orphan's Tale by Jay Neugeboren

ringing and smelled smoke. He thought of Larry and the other boys puffing cigarettes in their secret hideout. The inside of his mouth was dry from the chicken. Mr. Mittleman sat at a desk across the room, looking directly at him.
    â€œGood morning,” Mr. Mittleman said.
    Charlie was on the telephone, telling a man that he knew what a big step it was to buy a house. “But let me put it this way,” he said. “If I came up to you in the street and handed you a five-thousand-dollar bill, would you tell me you needed time to think it over?”
    Danny rested in a corner of the easy chair. His back was damp from perspiration. The last thing he remembered hearing was a discussion between Mr. Mittleman and Charlie about a piece of property. Charlie had asked Danny to pay attention—to memorize Mittleman’s words.
    Mr. Mittleman picked up the phone on his desk. “Abe, this is Max. Listen to my boy Charlie. He’s giving you the deal of a lifetime.”
    Mr. Mittleman hung up. Danny stared at a wall of photos—houses, with prices, tacked to corkboard. He went over the things Mr. Mittleman had explained.
    Charlie was listening, then smiling. He told the man to come in the next day and settle the details with Mr. Mittleman.
    â€œI don’t know why we bother with the houses,” Mr. Mittleman said when Charlie had hung up. “They take up so much time, and for what? It’s all cats and dogs.”
    Charlie looked at Danny. “You feel okay?” he asked.
    â€œI’m all right,” Danny said, and found that he was saying something he’d been half thinking when he awoke. “I wish you were still married.”
    â€œMe too,” Charlie said.
    â€œWonderful,” Mr. Mittleman said to Danny. “Tell me, when you grow up, what do you want to be—a Jewish mother?”
    â€œLay off,” Charlie said. “He’s had a long day, coming all the way from the city to find me.”
    Mr. Mittleman shrugged. Danny stared at the photo of John and Jacqueline Kennedy on the desk. “In all our years of marriage,” Mr. Mittleman said, “the most important thing that ever happened to us was John F. Kennedy’s death.”
    â€œCome on,” Charlie said, starting to pull Danny from the chair. “We’ll get you to sleep.”
    Danny pushed Charlie away. “I’m okay. Leave me alone.”
    â€œIt was an experience we could share,” Mr. Mittleman said. “We made a scrapbook together.”
    â€œYou look so tired,” Charlie said to Danny.
    Danny glared at Mr. Mittleman. “High borrowing reduces cash flow,” he recited. “Depreciation not only develops a cash flow which is not taxable but it helps develop losses to offset other income. The important thing is to enhance proceeds and postpone taxes. Rabbi Akiba said, ‘The more flesh, the more worms. The more possessions, the more worry….”’
    â€œHey!” Charlie shouted, the tip of his nose in Danny’s face. “Hey!”
    â€œI’m sorry,” Danny said, blinking.
    Mr. Mittleman seemed puzzled. “Tell me-how old did you say you were?”
    â€œI’ll be thirteen soon.”
    â€œI don’t believe you.”
    â€œI told you to lay off,” Charlie said.
    â€œWe should go over this before you sleep,” Mr. Mittleman said, opening a book. “We have a good profit on the property, but if we sell, we want to avoid tax, right? What to do—we mortgage the property and sell it subject to the mortgage, taking back a second mortgage for you for the remainder of the purchase price. You don’t mind, do you? You’ll have the cash from the first mortgage in your pocket and you can take installment reporting to avoid having cash this year.”
    â€œWhatever you say,” Charlie said.
    Mr. Mittleman closed the book, put it aside, and picked up a folder. “You shouldn’t worry, young man.