Auntie Farhuma Wasn’t a Whore After All

(A moment before:)

On the day they hung Eichmann, I was circumcised. An evil woman with dyed red hair tried to steal from the mohel a part of my body that was lying on a towel, but Mama handed her a piece of chicken liver instead and the evil woman cursed me. Do curses come true?

Meanwhile, on the other side of the wall, Auntie Farhuma was fucking an anonymous client twice a week and Yoav, the hunk from the elite reconnaissance platoon, was calling 056 for erotic conversation. Yes, folks, if you’re stupid, you get pissed on from head to toe by everyone.

And suddenly Arik popped up, promising me once-in-a-lifetime love even though I have bad genes, and an elephant in love trumpeted for us on Mt. Canaan. Only homos really die, I tried to explain to Miodrag, go find yourself a college girl from a good home and live forever. Who mends your socks, my Milosh, who holds your hand when you wake up at night, impoverished prince waiting for me in a distant city while I sit on Rothschild Boulevard in front of two cups of coffee and cry. A country without squirrels is a country with a soul – but at least it’s ours.

Chapter  One

˜ On the day they hung Eichmann ˜ Who’s fucking Auntie Farhuma ˜ What does a donkey know about fruit soup ˜ And what is Eegen Meegen hiding under the floor tiles ˜ Even a raisin has a stick up...