Joshua Lichtenstein adjusted his jacket with the gold Jewish star emblazoned on it. He was lucky that his grandmother had some rations for butter. He really wanted her to make her famous savory pies, flavored as they were now by “mysterious meat” which she bought from Mr. Blomberg. No one asked where the meat came from, and he refused to tell them.
Holtz’ market’s line was already four doors down by the time he got there. Bubbe would be upset if he came home with nothing. He shifted from foot to foot in the chill October air. Time passed, and the line didn’t seem to move.
Then, he saw the men in black. Men in what could pass for police uniforms, swinging nightsticks casually. Sometimes they’d hit someone, and walk on, not even apologizing.
One was a hugely well built man who seemed to swing his nightstick strategically. Joshua watched as he hit one woman in the face. She stumbled out of line.
“Oh, you’ve lost your place,” he said, and yanked her up by the hair. “Move to the back of the line!” He gave her a hard shove, which sent her to her knees. “Can’t even stand? You don’t need to be here, then.” Again, he yanked her up by her hair. Joshua saw her as Angela Seitz, marked with a pink triangle, a person who lived alone three doors down from him. Blood was running from her nose down her face.
Holding her by her hair, he almost dragged her across the street and threw her to the pavement. People who were walking there, gave them a wide berth. He then returned to walking down the line.
He hit a few more people. He walked nonchalantly, just seeming to walk by and then strike out with his nightstick, like a snake. Joshua noticed that he skipped a step just before he was going to strike. Joshua kept his eyes forward as the man passed him, and he heard him skip the step. Joshua dodged as the stick came at him, aiming for his forearm.
The man turned around. He wore the flashing sliver runes on his collar and a Death’s Head cap. His eyes were so blue they were almost aquamarine. Blond hair stuck out from the cap. The man smiled at Joshua, but it was empty of mirth or emotion.
“Very good, boy. How about this: if you can dodge four of my hits, I will put you to the front of the line. If I hit you, you move to the back.”
He looked down the line. It still hadn’t moved much – he thought he had maybe made one step. Joshua felt he had nothing else to lose.
He stepped out of line and stood before the hulking SS man. The man chuckled, and led the boy three steps away, into the gutter. Joshua took his coat off and placed it on the parking meter.
The man stood at the ready. Joshua watched the man’s eyes. He did what people normally did – he glanced at the area he was going to hit. Joshua parried the first blow with his hand. He dodged the second one by leaning back. He dodged the last one by merely jumping backward, onto the trunk of a car.
The SS man straightened, and tilted his cap up with the nightstick. Joshua jumped down, retrieved his coat.
“Interesting,” said the man, and grabbed him by the shoulder. Joshua was afraid that the man was going to haul him off, but instead he led him down the line, to the door. The man shoved his way inside, past the women gathered at the counter already. They all stared at him as he brought Joshua in front of him. “Give him the tickets,” he growled.
Joshua pulled out the ration tickets, and Mr. Holtz, harried behind the counter, pulled up from the counter two pounds of butter, five pounds of flour, and a jar of cooking oil. Bundling them up in a bag, keeping a wary eye on the SS man, he handed the bag to Joshua.
The SS man escorted the boy back out, and gave him a light shove. “Get home before I change my mind.”
Joshua did as he was told, dashing down the street heading for Bubbe’s house. He ran into the house, breathless and carrying the bag.
“I did it, I did it!” He ran to his grandmother and handed over the bag proudly.
She smiled and took it, saying, “How did you do it? I thought he would have run out.”
He told her the story of how he avoided the SS man’s blows, and she laughed. “Your father would have been so proud,” she said. “We knew that acrobatic training would come in handy.”
At the mention of his father, he lost his smile. “Do you think he’ll ever come back from that camp?”
“No, I don’t think so. We must live as best we can, Joshua.”
“I miss the circus.”
“So do I,” she said quietly, and slowly took out the items from the bag. “So do I.”
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Inspriation: At first, TV tropes “You don’t want to catch this”, however the story went a different way. The SS man may be Luther Waldemar.