“Ha ha,” I said. “You ever notice how people, every time they visit some famous place, a grave or a monument or something, feel the need to leave coins on it? What is with that, do you know?”
“No idea,” Renee said; she already appeared bored. “Maybe they think it will bring them luck. Obviously it bothers you.”
“It does,” I admitted; I knew that now. “I don’t know why, exactly. It seems kitschy and vulgar.”
“My friend Rebecca leaves stones on her father’s grave,” Renee said. “Do you think that’s kitschy and vulgar?”
“First of all, it’s not the same thing,” I said. “That’s an ancient Jewish tradition. Everybody knows they do that.”
“What about the boat guy?” Renee said triumphantly. “You give the guy coins and he takes you across the river. The mythology boat guy. The dead guy has to pay him.”
“Charon, the ferryman of Hades,” I said. “He takes you across the river Acheron, but you have to give him a silver coin, an obolus they called it, so he’ll do it. Otherwise you wander around down there for a hundred years.”
“You see?” Renee said. “That’s why people do it—”
“No,” I said. “The coin has to be put in the corpse’s mouth. Not on the grave. They don’t say anything about throwing coins on the person’s grave.”
“Whatever,” Renee said, exhaling. “Don’t get so excited about it.”
“I’m not excited,” I said. “It just bugs me. This package of cigarettes here—that doesn’t bug me. Faulkner was a smoker. I even get the whisky thing, even though Faulkner is said to have preferred scotch.”
“I don’t know where you’re going with this.”
“My point is that at least some thought went into it,” I said. “Look. If you’re going to leave something behind, leave something that could mean something to that person. Don’t just grab some change from your pocket or your car ashtray and think you’re performing some sacred rite.”
“Oh my god,” Renee snarled in disbelief. She sat down on the stone wall.
I knew how I was sounding to her, but I just couldn’t stop.
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