Chapter 1
It’s the face that haunts him, it follows his movement even with its closed eyelids. Erik knows he isn’t making any sense but when has life ever made sense? To anyone?
It’s the way he can see the pale blue glow behind the eyelids he’s semi aware that that the blond hair and blue eyes were products of pogroms, of rape and assimilation truly all the more reason to hate mankind.
The face is pasty and looks as if makeup was sloppily put on to liven them up, as if one could make the dead look alive.
“You find it מאָדנע, mordi? They think we take dead bodies and babies and באַקן them into matzah- and you find this מאָדנע? The very thing your great-great-grandmother was געהרגעט over and you think this is a מאָדנע matter?”
Erik will not flinch as the cruel words are delivered in crisp Mideastern Yiddish with a slight twang due to three years spent in America, in Texas or the very fact that there are gaps in his understanding.
He does not sweat as he pours himself over the dead body, this is not something he is worried about.
He’s so very worried, it’s been so long- he wants to go home and see his Tatty, but they shot him, they shot him and stripped him.
The body says nothing, his mind is playing tricks on him.
“You find this מאָדנע, mordi? Do you?”
Erik stands up straight and takes a deep breath. “It’s not him”
He’s been on the hunt for who knows how long, looking for his parent’s wedding bands with no turnout. He recalls a young German boy taking his father’s ring, memorized his face, scorched it into his memory and willed himself to be like Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai and to burn the German boy with only holy power within his eyes before he could steal away and sell the ring to some fat polish goy.
He is not a holy thing, what would his family say if they saw him now?
“Poor bloke, died in his sleep after his house came down on him-“ The morgue worker peers down at the dead man’s face. “-find whatcha were lookin’ for though?”
Erik closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, the sound of whistling bombs flooding his ears. “No”
“Shame,” The worker frowns. “We’ve been trying to ID Mr. John Doe over here”
”I thought you found him in his home?”
He shakes his head. “Bloody hell- we wish, would make our jobs lot easier wouldn’t it? Old chap here was found in a gated off demolition zone”
”They kill their own and say we did it”