wall. It was Mitzi and a stocky looking older man in uniform. She was holding a bouquet and wearing a hat.
“That was our wedding day. We met at a Shabbos service one Friday night. I was only seventeen. He was twenty-nine.”
Vic nodded and watched her as she continued to work the iron carefully over the white shirt. The dress she was wearing was sleeveless and her thin arms looked so appealing. He wondered what she would do if he walked behind her and put his arms around her waist. Instead, he stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“He is a nice man and very good to me. I worry, though, about his mother and father. I don’t think they like me. If it weren’t for Shayna, I don’t think they would have anything to do with me.”
Vic continued to look at other things in the small apartment. He picked up an older-looking picture with a decorative silver frame from atop the small bookcase. In it was a man in a dark suit and hat. Next to him was a slim woman in a big hat and dark print dress. In front of them was a light-haired girl about ten and two younger children. They were standing in front of a tree in a garden.
Mitzi stopped ironing and looked up. “That is my mother and father and my brother and sister. I’m the skinny blonde. It was taken in our backyard on my ninth birthday. My father was a doctor.”
“A doctor; I bet that was nice,” Vic said, thinking she must have been rich to live in what looked like such a nice house. He sat on the couch and turned so he could watch her.
“We lived in Frankfurt, where my father was a surgeon at the largest hospital in the city. I was the oldest and was in ninth grade when they expelled all the Jews from the preparatory school. It was shortly after Kristal Nacht .”
“Kristal Nacht, what is that?”
“You know, when the Nazis broke all the windows in the Jewish-owned stores and synagogues.”
“Oh, yeah, I’d heard about that,” he said softly, feeling embarrassed at appearing stupid.
“After that, storm troopers began chasing and beating Jews in the streets. That’s when I was sent to England.”
Stopping and looking down, she said softly, “The last I heard, my family was arrested and sent to Auschwitz.”
Vic listened quietly, recognizing the horrible name, but not saying anything.
“That was 1940; since then, I haven’t heard from them or any of my family. As far as I know, I am the only survivor.”
“I’m sorry,” Vic mumbled. He watched as she gulped and then resumed arranging the shirt and ironing.
He had a sudden urge to hold her like a baby and let her cry.
“There, that’s done,” she announced, positioning the shirt on a hanger. Removing the apron, she set about clearing the table of laundry and putting the kettle on to boil. “Come sit here, Victor,” she said, going to the cupboard and removing a small, covered dish. “Try some homemade coffee cake. “
Vic felt uncomfortable, hearing about her life and especially her husband. He noticed she mentioned how nice he was, but didn’t say she loved him. Moving to the table, he remained standing while she placed the cake in front of his chair. Reaching out, he took her wrist gently and pulled her toward him. She resisted slightly and then turned toward him as he kissed her cheek.
He waited for her reaction, fearing she might be angry or frightened. Instead, she pulled her head away and looked directly into his eyes.
He let go of her wrist.
Reaching up, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him; gently at first and then passionately. His arms encircled her waist and he immediately could feel a stirring as he forced his hips into hers.
The light fragrance of her skin and hair and the pressure of her lips and tongue excited him.
“Oh, Victor, it’s been so long since anyone held me,” she sighed. Her arms reached under his shirt as she pulled him closer. “I love the way you feel,” she whispered, grinding her hips into his,
Vic put his right hand lightly on her small
“That was our wedding day. We met at a Shabbos service one Friday night. I was only seventeen. He was twenty-nine.”
Vic nodded and watched her as she continued to work the iron carefully over the white shirt. The dress she was wearing was sleeveless and her thin arms looked so appealing. He wondered what she would do if he walked behind her and put his arms around her waist. Instead, he stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“He is a nice man and very good to me. I worry, though, about his mother and father. I don’t think they like me. If it weren’t for Shayna, I don’t think they would have anything to do with me.”
Vic continued to look at other things in the small apartment. He picked up an older-looking picture with a decorative silver frame from atop the small bookcase. In it was a man in a dark suit and hat. Next to him was a slim woman in a big hat and dark print dress. In front of them was a light-haired girl about ten and two younger children. They were standing in front of a tree in a garden.
Mitzi stopped ironing and looked up. “That is my mother and father and my brother and sister. I’m the skinny blonde. It was taken in our backyard on my ninth birthday. My father was a doctor.”
“A doctor; I bet that was nice,” Vic said, thinking she must have been rich to live in what looked like such a nice house. He sat on the couch and turned so he could watch her.
“We lived in Frankfurt, where my father was a surgeon at the largest hospital in the city. I was the oldest and was in ninth grade when they expelled all the Jews from the preparatory school. It was shortly after Kristal Nacht .”
“Kristal Nacht, what is that?”
“You know, when the Nazis broke all the windows in the Jewish-owned stores and synagogues.”
“Oh, yeah, I’d heard about that,” he said softly, feeling embarrassed at appearing stupid.
“After that, storm troopers began chasing and beating Jews in the streets. That’s when I was sent to England.”
Stopping and looking down, she said softly, “The last I heard, my family was arrested and sent to Auschwitz.”
Vic listened quietly, recognizing the horrible name, but not saying anything.
“That was 1940; since then, I haven’t heard from them or any of my family. As far as I know, I am the only survivor.”
“I’m sorry,” Vic mumbled. He watched as she gulped and then resumed arranging the shirt and ironing.
He had a sudden urge to hold her like a baby and let her cry.
“There, that’s done,” she announced, positioning the shirt on a hanger. Removing the apron, she set about clearing the table of laundry and putting the kettle on to boil. “Come sit here, Victor,” she said, going to the cupboard and removing a small, covered dish. “Try some homemade coffee cake. “
Vic felt uncomfortable, hearing about her life and especially her husband. He noticed she mentioned how nice he was, but didn’t say she loved him. Moving to the table, he remained standing while she placed the cake in front of his chair. Reaching out, he took her wrist gently and pulled her toward him. She resisted slightly and then turned toward him as he kissed her cheek.
He waited for her reaction, fearing she might be angry or frightened. Instead, she pulled her head away and looked directly into his eyes.
He let go of her wrist.
Reaching up, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him; gently at first and then passionately. His arms encircled her waist and he immediately could feel a stirring as he forced his hips into hers.
The light fragrance of her skin and hair and the pressure of her lips and tongue excited him.
“Oh, Victor, it’s been so long since anyone held me,” she sighed. Her arms reached under his shirt as she pulled him closer. “I love the way you feel,” she whispered, grinding her hips into his,
Vic put his right hand lightly on her small
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