I asked Avrom at my next opportunity. Of course there were nothing but opportunities in Avrom’s shop, since hardly anyone came in to browse. Downtown Memphis had entered its slow economic decline. Main Street’s perennial holdouts, the department stores and old movie palaces—baroque facades like layer cakes left in the rain—were giving way to discount clothiers, quick lunch counters, and wig emporiums. Full of vacancies, the office buildings were largely occupied by bail bondsmen and jackleg lawyers with tufty sideburns and plaid pants. Besides, the Bluff City, as it was called, would never be mistaken for a bookish town. “From outer space it came,” replied old Avrom, his cough like a rooster’s ragged crow. “Where did what come from?” “The book,” I said, trying my best to maintain an even tone. “The Book? It was given to Moses on Mount Sinai. Who wants to know?” I sighed. “I thought I was the wiseass here.” “Get in line, boychik.” He liked playing these games with me, Avrom, as what else did he have to amuse himself with?
