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A memoir of the Holocaust
By Jacob Zylberman
The online version
© Copyright 1995, 2000, Jack Zylberman
A pleasant surprise
January 1947 was a mild month, the lifestyle of most of the D.P.s unchanged. Mandelewitz’s papers had arrived. Leon’s wife was pregnant. Jacob’s letters were reassuring that an affidavit was on its way.
Shmuel Lederman played the matchmaker, introducing Jacob to girls – most of them fortune hunters.
Then he thought he had found one. The first time he saw her his blood quickened in his veins, but he lost her to a buddy of his, a co-worker at the U.N.R.R.A. shop.
His buddy swept her off her feet, not letting her out of his sight. Within a month they were married.
It was a cool, crisp evening. Motel the butcher beamed with happiness, the search for his only son a success. His only fear was that the lad would not recognize him.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door.
"Who could that be?" Jacob thought aloud. "Certainly not Ruthy, Gershon had left a while ago, Shumacher was home, and Eddy in the dance hall. Madamski the giant invalid helping the camp police patrolling the streets? Who could that be?
"Open the door! You might be surprised," said Motel.
And a surprise it was! Miss Hoffman. It was almost a month since Jacob had asked her to leave, and here she was in all her glory, a tiny dimple on her flushed cheeks, saying: "Aren’t you going to invite me in?"
"Come in!" Jacob replied, and introduced her to his neighbor. After a few minutes Motel left, the big man realizing that if two is company, then three is a crowd.
"What can I do for you?" Jacob said.
"I know you refuse to sell me coffee any more, so I thought you might offer me a cup for free."
"It would be a pleasure. Be my guest," he said, handing her the bag. He took out a cigarette, lit one for her, and stuffed one in his mouth.
"Good, it will be done in a jiffy," she said, exhaling the smoke, assuming an artificial bravado, and Jacob, tongue-tied, his mind totally blank.
He snuffed out the half-finished cigarette, and offered her a seat next to him, mocking her. "Tell me, Miss Hoffman, how is your gentleman friend?"
"Please, I don’t want to talk about my friend, or anyone else," she said, gently slapping his hand. "I am here of my own free will, to love and be loved." She kissed him softly on the lips, got up to pour the coffee, her body brushing against him, giggling. "Here, wherever one turns he is bound to be on top of another."
"Lucky for me, you won’t be far away. I won’t have to chase you," Jacob said, sipping the strong coffee, with each sip getting more stimulated, his desire for her intensifying.
He untied the bow of her scarf, unbuttoned the top of her dress, unfastened her bra, releasing her small breasts from tight imprisonment. For a moment he was having a problem with her stockings, but with her help he finally rolled down her long nylons.
She was more desirable in her nudity than clothed, the reflection of the pale moon on her platinum torso adding mystery. Her long shapely legs had a lot to be played with, every inch of them.
With the light off, she threw his shirt on the bed, unzipped his trousers, her fingers brushing through his erection, her eyes glaringly alive, a mischievous whistle cutting the charged air.
"Take off your shoes," Jacob commanded. "You are taller than me," she instantly kicking them away.
Like a baby seeing his favorite toy, an ardent explorer pursuing his hobby, so was he.
Starting from the top, his hands brushed softly through her dark hair, scooped her breasts, massaged her flat belly, sneaking under the beige undies, sliding them down.
He had to sober up, enjoy it fully, but she would not let him. Stretched over the length of the bed, her legs high in the air, her hips dancing, fingernails dug into his back, moaning, and he attempting to postpone the sweet agony, one more second, one more moment. Finally, they both collapsed.
"How was it? Did you enjoy it, Miss Hoffman?"
"After what you have done to me," she muttered, "you could be more personal, you may call me Lisa. …"
"Was it good, Lisa?"
"No," she said, kissing the tip of his nose, "no good at all."
"Don’t tell me you want to go home," he said, pretending a note of disappointment.
"Certainly not," she said, her nipples brushing his lip.
Like an experienced rider mounting a stallion, she eased herself on him, her legs resting at his sides, her eely tongue, long fingers simultaneously engrossed.
Imprisoned within her, her hips in a fierce dance, her chest heaving, gasping for air -- two bodies fused together unwilling to part. Then, the eruption, trembling spasms, her dry lips meeting his, she collapsed.
"It’s too late, stay overnight," Jacob suggested. "In the morning I’ll give you a going-away present."
"All right." Like a contented kitten she jumped under the covers, within moments falling asleep.
When Jacob opened his eyes, she was gone. He spotted a note.
Shatze!
I am sorry, I have to leave, as much as I hate to.
You slept so soundly, I had not the heart to wake you.
But you are a liar, you reneged on your going-away
present. I’ll be back Monday night to get it with
dividends. A promise is a promise!
Love,
Lisa!
"Don’t get carried away. Be careful. Watch the iron," said Shumacher. "All I need is for you to singe the material, there is not a scrap left."
Whistling a happy tune, Jacob moved the iron like a fiddler his bow, shaped the sleeves, fronts, the back of the jacket, readying for the next operation.
"It’s all done, master," he said, smiling, handing Shumacher the sleeves to mark.
"What’s the matter with you? You are loud, pompous as a peacock. Did you find a new toy, a new kitten to play with? Did Ruth come back, or what?"
"No," Jacob deliberately took his time answering. "Ruth will probably be back next week, and there was no kitten -- there was a cat, a unique, wild exotic feline." He handed Shumacher the note, and said, "I am sorry I didn’t take you up on the bet."
"I am disappointed," Shumacher said, glancing at the note, moving his head from side to side. "Truly, so disappointed.
"I must admit I was wrong, though never for a single moment did I think she would do it. She seemed so refined, sedate, subtle, so unreachable.
"I swear they are all the same, whimsical, capricious, fickle. Yes, they are all the same."
"No, my friend, they are not. Some are good, others are better, but she is tops!"
"Even better than Ruth?"
"Well, they are worlds apart. One is zaftig, cuddly, yielding, the other an amazon, demanding -- her legs like tentacles clutching, sacrificing her body on the altar of divine pleasure. ... Both -- dedicated to love.
"The only problem, I have to be careful, very careful. I cannot afford to mix up the dates -- otherwise I am cooked. I’ll lose them both."
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