It was a pity Boom Boom’s marriage had only lasted three weeks-but then, he shouldn’t have been playing hockey. Why was he working at Eudora Grain, though? Breathing grain dust all his life had killed his father. Still, those Warshawskis never had much stamina anyway.

The small house filled with cigarette smoke, with the heavy smell of Polish cooking, with the squeals of children. I edged my way past one aunt who said she expected me to help wash up since I hadn’t handled any of the preparation. I had vowed that I would not say anything over the baked meats beyond “Yes,” “No,” and “I don’t know,” but it was getting harder.

Then Grandma Wojcik, eighty-two, fat, dressed in shiny black, grabbed my arm in a policeman’s grip. She looked at me with a rheumy blue eye. Breathing onions, she said, “The girls are talking about Bernard.”

The girls were the aunts, of course.

“They’re saying he was in trouble down at the elevator. They’re saying he threw himself under the ship so he wouldn’t be arrested.”

“Who’s telling you that?” I demanded.

“Helen. And Sarah. Cheryl says Pete says he just jumped in the water when no one was looking. No Wojcik ever killed himself. But the Warshawskis… Those Jews. I warned Marie over and over.”

I pried her fingers from my arm. The smoke and noise and the sour cabbage smell were filling my brain. I put my head down to look her in the eyes, started to say something rude, then thought better of it. I fought my way through the smog, tripping over babies, and found the men hovering around a table filled with sausages and sauerkraut in one corner. If their minds had been as full as their stomachs they could have saved America.