by Kenneth M. Kapp<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Avrum couldn\u2019t remember his own name. In truth, he\u2019d forced himself to forget his name a long time ago: months, years, centuries ago. He laughed once, recalling that one year in a dog\u2019s life is like seven of ours. \u201cHa, then I\u2019m living one dog\u2019s life for my mother,\u201d and he laughed again, \u201cand another dog\u2019s life for my father,\u201d and then he became hysterical. \u201cHa, ha, ha, ha\u2026 for siblings, aunts, uncles\u201d\u2026 until a bony hand grabbed his wrist and stuffed a rag in his mouth, whispering, \u201cShah; you\u2019ll die soon enough.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 He didn\u2019t laugh again and as for a name, when asked, he replied, \u201cIsn\u2019t my number good enough. There\u2019s a name next to it somewhere in a German register. It\u2019s not my job to remember. I just have to survive.\u201d He bit his lip, thinking how surviving now was more of the dog x dog x dog\u2019s life \u2013 he almost laughed.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Besides, Avrum had a friend. They were bunkmates. Yiannis told him stories of gods and heroes, of adventures most fantastic and of man battling with the gods themselves. Avrum whispered to his friend late at night, when they\u2019d had too much to eat and couldn\u2019t sleep because their bellies were bloated, \u201cWhy, Yiannis, if we could only fight with the gods like they did in the good old days \u2013 well, we\u2019d be gone in a minute. Or a\u00a0 cloak of invisibility and we\u2019d march out the gates. Give me Hephaestus\u2019s hammer and I\u2019d flatten them.\u201d Then he said in a whisper for fear of being heard, \u201cIn a minute.\u201d But fear made him burp and, feeling the accustomed emptiness in his stomach, he fell asleep.<\/p>\n
\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Avrum dreamt of his friend Yiannis. Yiannis Tapokopolus was before and after his time. His hair was classically curly: dark clusters tightly rolled close to his scalp, glistening in the sun, appearing as if he were anointed by Athena. His skin beaded with drops of sweat, his body sinewy, veins pronounced as if he had just run from Marathon to share good news.<\/em><\/p>\n And Yiannis had a large nose, a very Roman nose, not unlike his own. No matter, in his dream he was the perfect gladiator. Ceasars and princeps lusted after him. But now he was a poor fisherman, not through any fault of his own \u2013 there were so few fish around his island where he swam with his net on his back. He and Avrum bonded over their hunger, joking, \u201cOh, you can have a bite of my arm.\u201d And \u201cPlease, only after you gnaw on my calf.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n When he was liberated and sent to a DP camp, Avrum insisted, \u201cYiannis, you should come with me. It may take them some time to find my name but my number is still visible, and then I\u2019ll remember the name of my father\u2019s brother. He was trapped in England, always writing to us, how they say, \u2018Top of the morning to you.\u2019 I guess we got the bottoms. No matter. I may be his favorite nephew; he\u2019ll surely want me to come stay with him for a while. You should come along. I\u2019m sure he won\u2019t mind; you don\u2019t eat very much.\u201d<\/p>\n In truth, Avrum was not sure he had an uncle in England. His uncle had family in Frankfurt and perhaps he wanted to be with them, had returned, and was trapped. But he was now certain that his number was a lucky number, his days were no longer dog years or dog months. But if he was alone, he felt they would always be dog weeks, dragging on and on. \u201cYiannis,\u201d he said, \u201cto be treated as if you are a mangy cur, you have to be Jewish. Then kick, kick, kick follows like night after day and day after night.\u201d<\/p>\n Numbers had to be counted and records had to be searched. After all, anyone with a needle and ink can scratch a number in their forearm. Avrum understood, he wouldn\u2019t cause any trouble. He had learned to wait in line. Besides, where was he running off to?<\/p>\n \n \u201cWer weiss,<\/em> Yiannis \u2013 who knows? Look at the number on your arm. It\u2019s the same as mine. Now everybody wants to be Jewish and, for all I know, I\u2019m the only Jew left alive and they\u2019re just getting a cage ready for me in the London Zoo, a whole building with imaginary shops and synagogues. They\u2019ll play sad gypsy music on violins. People will pay Tuppence to see me get up from my chair and look out the window. There\u2019ll be a large sign hanging just outside. \u2018Jew looking to see if the Messiah is coming.\u2019 I think they\u2019re planning to throw me a fish every time I come to the window. But you be patient, Yiannis. We\u2019ve come this far together and when they rescued us they gave me a piece of bread and promised me there would be another tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n However, the days became weeks, the weeks stacked into months, and the months folded over into years. Avrum whispered to Yiannis, \u201cThere are no more Jews. And no one wants this one. What can I do now? Nu, I sit and go to the window. How many times a day can I do that?\u201d Yiannis didn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n Finally, Avrum was called into the office. \u201cThere\u2019s a man in England says he\u2019s your uncle and wants you to come to him. He\u2019s already sent new clothes for you. Well, not new; they were his son\u2019s, your cousin. Probably kept them for years; they smell of camphor. They\u2019re kind of small. But you didn\u2019t have much to eat in the camps, miracle enough that some survived. Wrote his name is Sam Purls, said it was Schmuel Perlstein when he lived in Germany before the war. Jonathon was his brother, your father. That\u2019s why it took so long to find someone in your family: different names. But he\u2019s made arrangements and you\u2019ll be more than welcome in his home. So now we have to get you ready to go. Next week, you\u2019ll be in England. Aren\u2019t you excited?\u201d<\/p>\n Avrum hesitated until Yiannis whispered, \u201cDon\u2019t worry. I won\u2019t leave you. I have the Cap of Invisibility on loan from Perseus. No one will know I\u2019m your traveling companion. We\u2019ll snuggle closely like on the bunks in the barracks. It will be like old times.\u201d<\/p>\n Avrum finally nodded. \u201cYes, that will be nice. I\u2019m Avrum Perstein then?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, Perl<\/em>stein. But when you get to England, if you want you can change your name to Purls like your uncle. And maybe an English first name to match. Paul Purls has a nice ring to it, doesn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n Avrum turned and walked slowly back to his room. He purposely did not look out the window. In any case, he thought it was already night.<\/p>\n A dog\u2019s week later they told him to pack. He\u2019ll be part of a group going to Hamburg. \u201cFrom there, some of you will be going to England, some to the United States and a few to Israel. Good luck to you all in your new lives.\u201d<\/p>\n Avrum muttered to Yiannis on the way to the assembly point, \u201cMy old life was bad enough, why would I want another one.\u201d He didn\u2019t need reminding that this was exactly how his family had left their apartment in Frankfurt \u2013 \u201cAssemble at the station with one piece of luggage.\u201d<\/p>\n He was sick on the boat over, complaining to Yiannis that it wasn\u2019t fair. \u201cYou\u2019re a fisherman, been on boats all your life, never seasick.\u201d Avrum felt miserable. \u201cThis is how they want to kill the last Jew alive.\u201d He looked around. Yiannis had scuttled off, not taking kindly to his complaints.<\/p>\n His confusion was compounded on the dock. All refugees had been given a necklace with their name printed in large letters. On the back there was limited information: who had promised to wait for them after they passed through customs. Avrum stood in one spot fifteen minutes and then began turning around slowly, counting time. He\u2019d count to 60 and then turn five degrees. An official, in uniform finally noticed and grabbed his arms.<\/p>\n \u201cOK. I think you better come with me.\u201d He pointed to a door. \u201cIt\u2019s this way. You needn\u2019t be afraid.\u201d<\/p>\n But there were other doors. They all looked alike. Avrum wouldn\u2019t move and finally had to be pulled. He whimpered, \u201cYiannis, Yiannis, you promised to be here and help.\u201d<\/p>\n On the other side of the door other refugees were standing in a slowly moving line. Two in front of him were a Russian, an old man, and even though it was warm he was wearing a fur hat with earmuffs bouncing from side to side every time he moved. The old man gestured to the woman beside him that they should switch places.<\/p>\n He put his hands on Avrum\u2019s shoulders and looked him in the eyes. \u201cHere \u2013 gut<\/em>. Nein<\/em>\u2026\u201d and then he made as if he were firing a machine gun. And tried again. \u201cNyet mort<\/em>.\u201d Then he smiled and pantomimed putting two fingers between his lips and pulling them up to make a smile. He nodded again, \u201cDa, da \u2013 gut, gut<\/em>,\u201d then turned around, picked up his trunk and quickly moved ahead to close the gap in the line.<\/p>\n Avrum duck-walked behind him. My aunt had a duck in their yard. Nice duckie.<\/em> He couldn\u2019t remember the sounds the duck made and became sad.<\/p>\n The line moved forward like a dream, sometimes slow, other times fast.<\/p>\n Avrum tried to smile. He looked around, still no Yiannis. He was worried. Maybe Yiannis was thrown overboard or wasn\u2019t allowed on the boat. Or maybe he jumped when the boat docked, figuring it was best to escape that way. That would be smart. Then there wouldn\u2019t be your name in a register where they can compile a list for a roundup.<\/em><\/p>\n Finally it was his turn. He gave the man at the table his necklace. He opened it and flipped it over, then motioned to someone at the back of the hall to bring another book. His finger went up and down several pages until he muttered, \u201cEureka, I found it. OK, Ave, here are your papers. Take your luggage through that door. On the other side is Merry Old England<\/em>. God save the King! You\u2019re to wait under the sign for the London Rescue Committee.\u201d Seeing Avrum\u2019s confusion he took out a piece of paper and printed \u201cLondon Rescue Committee\u201d in big letters. Seeing that he was still confused, he waved for a guard and explained the situation. Smiling, he acted out following the guard, looking for the sign, and then waiting underneath the sign for his uncle.<\/p>\n Avrum was worried. He swallowed. Yiannis, Yiannis, Yiannis. <\/em>He looked at the sheet of paper and then the sign, recalling how he was told in the DP camp that with an uncle in England there was a good chance he would be relocated there. And then someone had traced the letters L R C in the dirt, telling him, \u201cYou see these, you\u2019ll be OK.\u201d<\/p>\n He looked around, hugging his documents to his chest. There were paper scraps and trash blowing everywhere.\u00a0 His stomach rumbled. All that paper, we didn\u2019t have paper in the camps. I should pick them up for later. The last Jew should be clean. <\/em>He forgot about his uncle. No more Jews. Their final solution. Just me. No Yiannis. Where\u2019s Yiannis?<\/em><\/p>\n There was so much noise Avrum began to panic. I don\u2019t want to die alone. No Yiannis.<\/em> And then a crinkled piece of paper blew against his leg. He bent over and retrieved it, recognizing that it had the same crinkles as the toilet paper wrappers in Germany before the war. He struggled with the large English letters, trying to identify the manufacturer. He moved his lips, sounding them out one at a time: A S H E R\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Y A R T Z A R. Then closer together: Asher Yartzar. And again and again, remembering the morning blessing he had chanted in the Jewish school before the war. It was the one you said after going to the bathroom, thanking God for creating man with holes to take in and eliminate food. Slowly he realized that this had to be a Jewish company, maybe even his uncle\u2019s. He shoved his trunk against the wall, waved his toilet-paper flag high above his head, and danced, singing triumphantly:<\/p>\n \u201cIkh bin nisht aleyn, Ikh bin nisht aleyn<\/em> – I am not alone, I am not alone.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" by Kenneth M. Kapp \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Avrum couldn\u2019t remember his own name. In truth, he\u2019d forced himself to forget his name a long time ago: months, years, centuries ago. He laughed once, recalling that one year in a dog\u2019s life is like seven of ours. \u201cHa, then I\u2019m living one dog\u2019s life for my mother,\u201d and […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1769,77],"tags":[1770,1123,1738],"class_list":["post-15680","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-egophobia-84","category-english","tag-egophobia-84","tag-english","tag-kenneth-m-kapp"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/s6DakB-yiannis","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15680","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=15680"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15680\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15681,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15680\/revisions\/15681"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=15680"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=15680"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=15680"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}