brothers again.”
My brother gazed at the floor for a second, and then he
grabbed my shoulders and hugged me. I hadn’t expected
that; I almost cried. I was tempted to just abandon myself
to the grief, to the comfort of this unlikely reconciliation
with my twin, but the urgency that had driven me to seek
him out reasserted itself.
Wiping my moist eyes, I untangled myself from him
and said, “You have to stop that monster, before he kills
anyone else, before he kills us. He killed Mom. He knows.
He’s bound to come after us soon. He’s out there right now,
tearing the city apart.”
“I won’t. I won’t use that treyf power. The Nazis created
it. It’s an abomination in the eyes of God.”
“What about letting that monster kill more people? Isn’t
that a sin in the eyes of your god? I read about Judaism after
you left us. I wanted to understand you. It was the only way
I could still feel like you were in my life at all. I know about
Tikkun Olam: that it’s everyone’s responsibility to repair
and mend the world. Dad’s powers would allow you to do
that.”
Bernard stayed silent.
“And more to the point, I know about Pikuach Nefesh. A
duty that overrides everything else. The duty to save lives.
According to your own religion, you’re committing a sin by
refusing to use your powers to stop this monster!”
We were glaring at each other again.
“The Herald of Hate killed Mom. What did she ever do
to deserve that?”
Bernard looked away, but I wasn’t done with him.
Something he’d said was nagging at me. “And why are you
so sure that Dad’s dead? There are several ways he could
have used the power to make it look like he died while he
regrouped. I know it looks bad, but we have no real evidence
yet.”
“I said, Dad’s dead. He’s dead. The exact moment he
died, the energy that gave him Hochelaga’s powers, drawn
to my own energy, shifted into my body. I felt him die. His
energy is with me still. In that moment, I remembered —
felt — everything he ever experienced since he gained that
power at the end of the war. Already the details are fading,
but the sensation of his death will stay with me forever.
One more reason to hate this power.”
His words hit me like a punch in the gut. And then I
thought about what he’d told me.
“You’ve got Dad’s energy on top of your own . . . ?”
“Yes. I’m more powerful than Dad ever was. The increase
in my power level is exponential. Unlike Dad, I could — if I
exerted the energy — manifest several powers at once. Now,
not using the powers is an effort of will, requiring constant
concentration. I can feel that filth course through me,
taking me over. The temptation is so great. This obscenity
is polluting me, and I loathe it.”
“You selfish, irresponsible idiot. You could stop that
murderer just by blinking. You could probably take out the
entire Hegemony of Hate if you wanted to. And you choose
not to? Even though your own beliefs dictate that you have
to act?”
I wanted to hit him. In that moment I think I hated my
brother even more than I did the monster who killed our
parents. Because he was more real to me. Because it was so
easy to hate him.
People part before me like the Red Sea. They cheer me
on. Some of them cry from relief because they think their
beloved Hochelaga is still alive.
The Herald of Hate is easy to find. Downtown is cordoned
off by the police and the military. The Herald is destroying
McGill University — hurling cars into buildings, ripping the
grounds apart, setting everything on fire — while laughing
off the hail of bullets and artillery.
What do I think I can accomplish here? Besides adding
another corpse to the Herald of Hate’s tally?
The police wave me through without question. When
they see me, hope springs up in their faces.
Someone calls off the shooting, and I walk toward my
parents’ executioner.
The Herald of Hate casually throws another car into the
air and sneers at me. “Didn’t I
My brother gazed at the floor for a second, and then he
grabbed my shoulders and hugged me. I hadn’t expected
that; I almost cried. I was tempted to just abandon myself
to the grief, to the comfort of this unlikely reconciliation
with my twin, but the urgency that had driven me to seek
him out reasserted itself.
Wiping my moist eyes, I untangled myself from him
and said, “You have to stop that monster, before he kills
anyone else, before he kills us. He killed Mom. He knows.
He’s bound to come after us soon. He’s out there right now,
tearing the city apart.”
“I won’t. I won’t use that treyf power. The Nazis created
it. It’s an abomination in the eyes of God.”
“What about letting that monster kill more people? Isn’t
that a sin in the eyes of your god? I read about Judaism after
you left us. I wanted to understand you. It was the only way
I could still feel like you were in my life at all. I know about
Tikkun Olam: that it’s everyone’s responsibility to repair
and mend the world. Dad’s powers would allow you to do
that.”
Bernard stayed silent.
“And more to the point, I know about Pikuach Nefesh. A
duty that overrides everything else. The duty to save lives.
According to your own religion, you’re committing a sin by
refusing to use your powers to stop this monster!”
We were glaring at each other again.
“The Herald of Hate killed Mom. What did she ever do
to deserve that?”
Bernard looked away, but I wasn’t done with him.
Something he’d said was nagging at me. “And why are you
so sure that Dad’s dead? There are several ways he could
have used the power to make it look like he died while he
regrouped. I know it looks bad, but we have no real evidence
yet.”
“I said, Dad’s dead. He’s dead. The exact moment he
died, the energy that gave him Hochelaga’s powers, drawn
to my own energy, shifted into my body. I felt him die. His
energy is with me still. In that moment, I remembered —
felt — everything he ever experienced since he gained that
power at the end of the war. Already the details are fading,
but the sensation of his death will stay with me forever.
One more reason to hate this power.”
His words hit me like a punch in the gut. And then I
thought about what he’d told me.
“You’ve got Dad’s energy on top of your own . . . ?”
“Yes. I’m more powerful than Dad ever was. The increase
in my power level is exponential. Unlike Dad, I could — if I
exerted the energy — manifest several powers at once. Now,
not using the powers is an effort of will, requiring constant
concentration. I can feel that filth course through me,
taking me over. The temptation is so great. This obscenity
is polluting me, and I loathe it.”
“You selfish, irresponsible idiot. You could stop that
murderer just by blinking. You could probably take out the
entire Hegemony of Hate if you wanted to. And you choose
not to? Even though your own beliefs dictate that you have
to act?”
I wanted to hit him. In that moment I think I hated my
brother even more than I did the monster who killed our
parents. Because he was more real to me. Because it was so
easy to hate him.
People part before me like the Red Sea. They cheer me
on. Some of them cry from relief because they think their
beloved Hochelaga is still alive.
The Herald of Hate is easy to find. Downtown is cordoned
off by the police and the military. The Herald is destroying
McGill University — hurling cars into buildings, ripping the
grounds apart, setting everything on fire — while laughing
off the hail of bullets and artillery.
What do I think I can accomplish here? Besides adding
another corpse to the Herald of Hate’s tally?
The police wave me through without question. When
they see me, hope springs up in their faces.
Someone calls off the shooting, and I walk toward my
parents’ executioner.
The Herald of Hate casually throws another car into the
air and sneers at me. “Didn’t I
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