She was an unclean force. That was the way we thought of her. There did not seem to be any other words to make her known. And even unclean is too poor a word. There was another name for her too.
I still recall and I am sure the rest, if they are alive, do too.
I sit and bake in the humidity and heat of Miami Beach in stained pale yellow polyester pants and an orange shirt decorated with pineapples my son gave me amid the odor of the decay of memory and of my own aging.
We sit on benches, rarely on the beach. Sand is unpleasant and we hate and envy the pretty narcissistic young who show themselves off. The water seems to shine and become brilliant when they are near it. They leave us alone when the sun begins to fall. We stare into the water and the emptiness over it. Sometimes we talk and we talk about money and Medicare and insurance and ungrateful children and what to eat and who among us has just died.
Lucky the Jew who survives Majdanek. We are among the first camps liberated by the approaching Soviet Army. It is only 1944 and we are already free. July 24th they capture Lublin and so that is my independence day. It is why I still harbor affection for the red star. Lucky the Russian prisoners who survive Majdanek, too. Compound IV was for them.
For me, there is no hurt in remembering. Not now. For me,...
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