From the Great Beyond

 
	 For months, Mrs. Pitzel had been nagging her husband to go with her 
	 to the seance parlor of Madame Freda. "Milty, she's a real gypsy, and 
	 she brings the voices of the dead from the other world. We all talk 
	 to them! Last week I talked with my mother, may she rest in peace.  
	 Milty, for twenty dollars you can talk to your zayde who you miss so 
	 much!"
 
	 Milton Pitzel could not resist her appeal. At the very next seance at 
	 Madam Freda's Seance Parlor, Milty sat under the colored light at the 
	 green table, holding hands with the person on each side. All were 
	 humming, "Oooom, oooom, tonka tooom."
 
	 Madame Freda, her eyes lost in trance, was making passes over a 
	 crystal ball. "My medium...Vashtri," she called. "Come in. Who is 
	 that with you? Who? Mr. Pitzel" Milton Pitzel's zayde?"
 
	 Milty swallowed the lump in his throad and called, "Grampa? Zayde?"
 
	 "Ah, Milteleh?" a thin voice quavered.
 
	 "Yes!  Yes!" cried Milty. "This is your Milty! Zayde, are you happy 
	 in the other world?"
	 
	 "Milteleh, I am in bliss. With your bubbie together, we laugh, we 
	 sing. We gaze upon the shining face of the Lord!"
 
	 A dozen more questions did Milty ask of his zayde, and each question 
	 did his zayde answer, until "So now, Milteleh, I have to go. The 
	 angels are calling. Just one more question I can answer. Ask. Ask."
	 
	 "Zayde," sighed Milty, "when did you learn to speak English?"






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