first Jews in the neighborhood, right across the street from us.”
There were not many Jews in our town. The nearestsynagogue was in Syracuse, twenty-eight miles away. The one thing our neighbors agreed on where Jews were concerned was that if they moved to a street, all the houses would automatically sell for less money.
“Does your mother want the neighborhood to be Judenrein ?” Elisa asked me.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means ‘Jew free.’ Is that what your mother wants?”
“We don’t own our house; the prison does,” I said. “But the neighbors were all worried the Goldmans would move in where the Sontags are. Do you have Jew-free neighborhoods in Potsdam?”
“If Dummkopf Herr Hitler had his way, all would be, but the German people are not prejudiced as Americans are,” said Elisa. “Many of my father’s colleagues at the university are Jewish. In Germany we revere intellectuals.”
“ Dummkopf Herr Hitler!” Richard laughed. “That’s good!”
I put my first finger up to my lips to make a mustache and cried, “ Dummkopf Herr Hitler!” doing the goosestep walk I’d seen his soldiers do in newsreels.
“Shhhhh,” said Elisa. “People look now at us.”
“Let them look,” I said, elbowing Richard, expecting him to agree with me. Since when did we care if people looked? But Richard wasn’t himself. I figured he had poison ivy or something to make him so quiet except forthe sound of him scratching himself everywhere.
Elisa said, “This has been a special evening.”
“Because of you, Elisa,” Richard managed to mumble. It was as hard for him to compliment anyone female as it was for a cat to laugh. Because of his braces, Richard was shy with all girls except me. His face was red. “I have to go, Elisa. We have to solve my problem too, or I will scratch myself bloody. See you!” He scurried along a path that led away from Elisa and me. No good-bye to me.
It was almost dark, and then there would be fireworks.
“What’s Richard’s big problem? Why is he itching so?”
Elisa said, “There’s something I want to talk to you about, Jessica. I know you are a cheerleader for the unlucky ones in life, and that is what I admire about you. You will be glad to hear that Richard has captured Scruffy.”
“The tramp’s dog? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It was to be your surprise when the firecrackers go off. I told Richard to leave before, so you and I can decide something.”
“Where is Scruffy?”
“He’s at the Nolans’, but he can’t stay there. Richard is allergic.”
“That’s why he’s scratching.”
“Yes…. Jessica, can we give Scruffy to Wolfgang Schwitter? That mean tramp would never know the dog was on Lakeview Avenue. You can’t even see the Schwitterhouse from the street. I’ve tried!”
“But would Wolfgang take him?”
“Remember last winter he spoke of his dachshund dying? Scruffy must have dachshund in him.” Elisa laughed. “He’s a little sausage! I name him Wurst!”
“Wurst Schwitter,” I said, and the first rocket of the night zoomed above us.
17
SLATER CARR
H E’D FIND HIMSELF singing the same song over and over, about Georgia, about having Georgia on his mind. Nobody could have told him he’d ever be homesick for the place, but he was.
Inmates on The Hill didn’t know the song was about the state of Georgia. They’d ask him, “What’s she like, your Georgia?” He’d tell them, “She’s beyond description; I don’t have words to describe her.”
The first time he ever heard “Georgia on My Mind,” Purr played it for him and told him all about the man who wrote it, Hoagy Carmichael.
“He was your kind, Slater, a musician down to his bones,” she said. “His mother used to play piano for silent movies, was where he got his love of music. She sent him off to the university in Indiana, and he got a law degree. So with his law degree he naturally set off to be a musician. He could have had a degree
There were not many Jews in our town. The nearestsynagogue was in Syracuse, twenty-eight miles away. The one thing our neighbors agreed on where Jews were concerned was that if they moved to a street, all the houses would automatically sell for less money.
“Does your mother want the neighborhood to be Judenrein ?” Elisa asked me.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means ‘Jew free.’ Is that what your mother wants?”
“We don’t own our house; the prison does,” I said. “But the neighbors were all worried the Goldmans would move in where the Sontags are. Do you have Jew-free neighborhoods in Potsdam?”
“If Dummkopf Herr Hitler had his way, all would be, but the German people are not prejudiced as Americans are,” said Elisa. “Many of my father’s colleagues at the university are Jewish. In Germany we revere intellectuals.”
“ Dummkopf Herr Hitler!” Richard laughed. “That’s good!”
I put my first finger up to my lips to make a mustache and cried, “ Dummkopf Herr Hitler!” doing the goosestep walk I’d seen his soldiers do in newsreels.
“Shhhhh,” said Elisa. “People look now at us.”
“Let them look,” I said, elbowing Richard, expecting him to agree with me. Since when did we care if people looked? But Richard wasn’t himself. I figured he had poison ivy or something to make him so quiet except forthe sound of him scratching himself everywhere.
Elisa said, “This has been a special evening.”
“Because of you, Elisa,” Richard managed to mumble. It was as hard for him to compliment anyone female as it was for a cat to laugh. Because of his braces, Richard was shy with all girls except me. His face was red. “I have to go, Elisa. We have to solve my problem too, or I will scratch myself bloody. See you!” He scurried along a path that led away from Elisa and me. No good-bye to me.
It was almost dark, and then there would be fireworks.
“What’s Richard’s big problem? Why is he itching so?”
Elisa said, “There’s something I want to talk to you about, Jessica. I know you are a cheerleader for the unlucky ones in life, and that is what I admire about you. You will be glad to hear that Richard has captured Scruffy.”
“The tramp’s dog? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It was to be your surprise when the firecrackers go off. I told Richard to leave before, so you and I can decide something.”
“Where is Scruffy?”
“He’s at the Nolans’, but he can’t stay there. Richard is allergic.”
“That’s why he’s scratching.”
“Yes…. Jessica, can we give Scruffy to Wolfgang Schwitter? That mean tramp would never know the dog was on Lakeview Avenue. You can’t even see the Schwitterhouse from the street. I’ve tried!”
“But would Wolfgang take him?”
“Remember last winter he spoke of his dachshund dying? Scruffy must have dachshund in him.” Elisa laughed. “He’s a little sausage! I name him Wurst!”
“Wurst Schwitter,” I said, and the first rocket of the night zoomed above us.
17
SLATER CARR
H E’D FIND HIMSELF singing the same song over and over, about Georgia, about having Georgia on his mind. Nobody could have told him he’d ever be homesick for the place, but he was.
Inmates on The Hill didn’t know the song was about the state of Georgia. They’d ask him, “What’s she like, your Georgia?” He’d tell them, “She’s beyond description; I don’t have words to describe her.”
The first time he ever heard “Georgia on My Mind,” Purr played it for him and told him all about the man who wrote it, Hoagy Carmichael.
“He was your kind, Slater, a musician down to his bones,” she said. “His mother used to play piano for silent movies, was where he got his love of music. She sent him off to the university in Indiana, and he got a law degree. So with his law degree he naturally set off to be a musician. He could have had a degree
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