I went up to my room, and helped myself to an overdose of aspirin. To my surprise, my face and neck was covered in dry blood, and under the blood in a thick black pen, I saw written on my face:
‘Go back to Poland you Jew.’ And from one ear to another, crossing over my nose, was written, ‘Only a Yid’s nose resembles a potato.’
With shock and disbelief running through me at the same time, I took a step back from the mirror; I raised my hand up to the side of my face. A tear filled my eye, and my emotions spun out of control. I lay on my bed and cried myself to sleep. This was one of the many nights I would undergo within the next few days.
I awoke to a sharp pain running down the left side of my back and the sound of my mother calling for me to get ready for school. Dressing was painful, and I felt I had woken up from a concussion, which I had. I wore a scarf and a hat to cover up my wounds which fooled my mother. On the way to school, I started to think about what it is to be Jewish, and better yet, what’s wrong with being Jewish. A car behind me slowed down, and I heard the words
‘Here, Jew, enjoy a feast!’
With that, they chucked a cardboard cup of Cola, and drove off.
‘Thanks for not throwing a cup!’ I yelled as they drove off into the distance. One of the guys stuck his head out of the window and what I saw, I would never forget again. He had a shaved head, he had no top on and had a swastika on his chest and he gave me the Nazi salute. A cold, dark shiver ran down the back of my spine when I realized that I had seen this face before. His dark smile and wide eager eyes hit me like a bolt of lightening. This face, this face which was full of iniquity, this face which I have seen, which a have met before, this face which I saw only the night before. This face brought back memories to my jolted memory. I don’t remember what happened too clearly, but I was attacked from behind. The face I saw now, that evil face, was the one from yesterday, and even worse…. I know who he is…
The face haunted my thoughts for the next few days, until one day I decided to take a short cut home and walked through the park. I heard a voice cry out:
‘You fools never learn. You didn’t get the message in 1945, and you ain’t got it now have you?’
‘S s s s stay away from me! Stay away!’
His hand slipped into his pocket and he pulled out a weapon.
‘Clive…. Don’t do it….’
He came forward, close to me now. He lifted the gun high, so it was against my chest.
‘Good bye, old friend.’
Those words, followed by one gunshot, then another, were the last sounds I ever heard….
By
Mark Spiro
10JE
Sunday, 30 November 2003
