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I moved over to Grandma's side of the
limousine and told
Mom, "Why would I need a key to her
apartment?" She could tell that I was
zipping up the sleeping bag of myself,
and I could tell that she didn't really
love me. I knew the truth, which was
that if she could have chosen, it would
have been my funeral we were driving to.
I looked up at the limousine's
sunroof, and I imagined the world before
there were ceilings, which made me
wonder: Does a cave have no ceiling, or
is a cave all ceiling? "Maybe you could check with me next time, OK?" "Don't be mad at me," I said, and I
reached over Grandma and opened and
closed the door's lock a couple of
times. "I'm not mad at you," she said. "Not even a little?" "No." "Do you still
love me?" It didn't seem like the
perfect time to mention that I had already
made copies of the key for the deliverer
from Pizza Hut, and the UPS person,
and also the nice guys from Greenpeace,
so they could leave me articles on
manatees and other animals that are
going extinct when Stan is getting
coffee. "I've never loved you more."
"Mom?" "Yes?" "I have a question." "OK." "What are you
squeezing in your purse?" She pulled out
her hand and opened it, and it was
empty. "Just squeezing," she said.
Even though it was an incredibly sad
day, she looked so, so
beautiful. I kept trying to figure out a
way to tell her that, but all of the ways I
thought of were weird and wrong. She was
wearing the bracelet that I made
for her, and that made me feel like one
hundred dollars. I love making jewelry
for her, because it makes her happy, and
making her happy is another one of
my raisons d'être.
It isn't anymore, but for a really long
time it was my dream to take
over the family jewelry business. Dad
constantly used to tell me I was too
smart for retail. That never made sense
to me, because he was smarter than
me, so if I was too smart for retail,
then he really must have been too smart
for retail. I told him that. "First of
all," he told me, "I'm not smarter than you, I'm more knowledgeable than you,
and that's only because I'm older than you. Parents are always more
knowledgeable than their children, and children are always smarter than their
parents." "Unless the child is a mental
retard," I told him. He didn't have
anything to say about that. "You said 'first of all,' so what's second of all?"
"Second of all, if I'm so smart, then why am I in retail?" "That's true," I said. And
then I thought of something: "But wait a
minute, it won't be the family jewelry
business if no one in the family is
running it." He told me, "Sure it will.
It'll just be someone else's family." I
asked, "Well, what about our family?
Will we open a new business?" He
said, "We'll open something." I thought
about that my second time in a
limousine, when the renter and I were on
our way to dig up Dad's empty
coffin.
A great game that Dad and I would
sometimes play on Sundays
was Reconnaissance Expedition. Sometimes
the Reconnaissance
Expeditions were extremely simple, like
when he told me to bring back
something from every decade in the
twentieth centuryI was clever and
brought back a rockand sometimes they
were incredibly complicated and
would go on for a couple of weeks. For
the last one we ever did, which never
finished, he gave me a map of Central
Park. I said, "And?" And he said, "And
what?" I said, "What are the clues?" He
said, "Who said there had to be clues?" "There are always clues." "That doesn't,
in itself, suggest anything." "Not a single clue?" He said, "Unless no clues is
a clue." "Is no
clues a clue?" He shrugged his
shoulders, like he had no idea what I was
talking about. I loved that.
I spent all day walking around the
park, looking for something that
might tell me something, but the problem
was that I didn't know what I was
looking for. I went up to people and
asked if they knew anything that I should
know, because sometimes Dad would design
Reconnaissance Expeditions
so I would have to talk to people. But
everyone I went up to was just like,
What the? I looked for clues around the
reservoir. I read every poster on every
lamppost and tree. I inspected the
descriptions of the animals at the zoo. I
even made kite-fliers reel in their
kites so I could examine them, although I
knew it was improbable. But that's how
tricky Dad could be. There was
nothing, which would have been
unfortunate, unless nothing was a clue. Was
nothing a clue?
From Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, pages 1-15. Copyright © 2005 by Jonathan Safran Foer. Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Company.
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