maddogerich.
    “No, it hasn’t been that long,” he tells her, because maybe he is the sort of Jew who mostly only appears for the High Holy Days, but Oskar goes sometimes on Saturday mornings and rarely Friday evenings.  Then there is Randi, who has needed prayer to get through raising her sons.  “I think I accidentally went in once to hide from Noah a few years ago.”
  Erich accepts the bread with one hand, and rips off a piece with his teeth like a dog tearing at a stray piece of meat dropped by the butcher.  He knows Noah complains about him; he always likes to leave Noah with something rude to be angry about before he sets sail, something to remember him by while he’s away.  This time it was a jab at his big hairy eyebrows.  When you go down on a girl, Noah, he had asked, does she grab your hair or does she use those things like they’re the handlebars on a bike?Â
    “I’m not biting my nails waiting for Oskar to be able to see again.  He’s nicer blind.  Was Esther Schwarz pregnant or just fat?  Did the rabbi ever notice what his son is growing in his herb garden?”
the bread is soft and warm and stuffed against her cheek. she chews and watches him out of the corner of her eye. is he taller? harsher? his hair is longer, sure. skin darker. but is he older? wiser? different? is there a peace in his wild chest that he didn’t have before? a stillness in him that he stole from a gentle shore somewhere? she blinks and looks forward, something uneasy in her throat. probably not. “pregnant. she’s had a boy. mama went to the bris. no, but the boy is giving it out for a wank, apparently.”Â
the hill gets steep, walking past the dock chippies, the smell of fish heady and familiar. up towards their street. she picks an invisible piece of lint off his arm and then threads hers through so she can hold his elbow. “where did you go, then?”














