Trafika Europe 12 - French Bon-Bons

Marat Baskin

of hospitals. I want to see you, Haim. How many years will G-d grant me to live next to you! I don’t believe that we’ll meet again, but if fate is good to us ... “ So that’s kind of letter we got, and this letter became our fate. So the question now was: what do we do? “What do you say, Mother?” I asked. “Go, son,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. I’m your family, but Lazar is even more so. There’s no war now, so God willing, maybe one day we’ll be together again. Shimon will grow up and will come to visit us. I will miss you and I will cry often, but what other advice can I give you. And there’s one more thing I have to tell you, son, Shimon will not let me get away with a lie; I asked him not to tell you and I myself said nothing, and now I’ll tell it to you, to make your going away easier. So Shimon and I went to hand in milk bottles, and as usual there was a line for half a day, but we were not in any hurry, right? So we stood there, breathing in the air. And then this man with a smart little face came up to us and said, “You work in their house as a nanny?” I looked into Shimon’s eyes, and I got scared. God forbid to see such little eyes in one’s own child’s face. And what do you think I said to that man? No, I did not say that Jews are people like everyone else. And I did not call him a fascist. Instead, I cried out with fear:

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