THEY’RE NOT SO GOOD. IF I was allowed in the park, I’d show them. I mean, that boy with the vest, he can’t dribble at all. Still, it’s almost fun to watch. Because later, when I’m in bed, it’ll help me imagine a game where I can play. And in those games, I’m always the star.
Always a star. Exactly.
Because now there’s always one on my chest. There has to be. That’s the latest rule. A week ago Mother came home with a stack of stars. Yellow, six points. That makes it a Jewish star, a Star of David. At least that’s what Father says. And in the middle, in thick black German letters, Jude.
Jew.
I should get out of here. If they see me peeking out from this doorway, they’ll know. Now that I have a star, everyone knows. And if they know, they might come after me like the other times.
But that was a pretty nice goal, the boy with the big ears faked out the short one completely.
We spent the evening sewing the stars onto all our jackets and heavy shirts. Right over the heart. That’s what Mother said when she gave me the needle and thread and let me try. But I was no good at it.
And so now, whenever I go out, I can’t pretend anymore.
My hand’s up there again. I keep touching it; I don’t know why. Maybe I’m touching the star to cover it up, so I can pretend a little more. Or maybe just to make sure it’s there. Because if you’re not wearing one and they find out, it’s like the thousands of other rules they’ve made—like the one from just a couple of days ago that says we can’t use libraries or even go into one—you really don’t want to get caught breaking one. But maybe I’m just not used to it. Because how are you supposed to get used to something like this?
One of the boys looks over, the biggest one. I really should go, because a few times already some boys have chased after me once they figured out I was Jewish. I didn’t have a star any of those times, but that didn’t matter, because why else would a kid stand at the edge of a park?
But the biggest boy, he smiles. Maybe he doesn’t mind. Maybe he likes having a spectator. Maybe he wishes he could invite me to join them. Maybe he hates the Nazis as much as I do. He taps the one in the vest on the shoulder. Points my way.
“Hey, kid!” he shouts.
“Yeah?”
Suddenly there’s a rock coming at me. One of the other boys must have thrown it. Just like last time, and the times before that. The thing lands a few feet in front of me and skips across the cobblestone.
Time to get out of here. I spin around and head in the other direction, half walking, half running. Zigzagging from doorway to doorway, stealing looks back toward the park. My heart beating hard against the star.
I turn down an alley and peek back their way. Good, no sign of them. My heart isn’t convinced, but that’s okay. After all, I got away from the same kind of kids those other times, why wouldn’t I be able to now?
Maybe I’ll head over to the square. Even though most people won’t come near me now that I have this star, some folks feel bad for us and agree to an extra-high price. On Tuesday a woman led me into an alley just like this and gave me one hundred crowns for two cigarettes. It was amazing; I ran home to—
Darn, it’s them.
“I told you, Oskar,” the one with the big ears says, and before I can get a good look at his horrible smile, I’m off. Tearing down the alley. Another stone hits the ground and bounces past me. Then, ow, something nails me in the back, right below my shoulder blade. Probably a rock. Really hurts. The pain makes me want to stop, especially since it gets worse every time I lift my right leg, but I know I can’t stop. Their footsteps echo off the walls. Or maybe those are mine. Or maybe it’s just my heart.
Another alley. Quick, turn left. I almost look back to see if I’ve lost them, but not this time. Past a church, another right. If this is where the grocery store is, then that means I’m almost home. I try to listen for their steps, but mine are too loud.
Wait, where’s the grocery store? Did I take two rights or a right and a left? And now which way? Why are my legs so tired? I used to be able to run for hours, no problem.
Okay, left. No, right. Then find a doorway and hide.
Oh no. Dead end. Darn. But maybe I lost them already. Because even though I can’t run like I used to, I’m still way faster than most kids my age. They probably gave up. Just crouch behind this gate and count to one hundred. They’ll be long gone by then.
One, two, three, four, five, six . . . I’m definitely going to have a bruise where that rock hit me, and if Mother sees, she’s going to forbid me from going outside at all . . . seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven . . . I swear, at this point, I’d rather be anywhere but Prague . . . twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen . . . it used to be the best place in the world, but now, well now I’d take my chances somewhere else . . . sixteen, seventeen, eighteen—
No, it can’t be. How did they—
“Over here!” the littlest one yells. “I got him!”
“Yes!” the one with the ears shouts. He’s smiling again. The worst smile I’ve ever seen.
All four of them seem way bigger than they did two minutes ago.
“Please,” I try, but then can’t figure out anything else to say. My heart starts up again. This time not as fast, but much harder, like it’s hoping to break through my ribs so it can go find another boy to live inside of.
“Please what, Jew?” the biggest one says, standing right in the middle of the only way out, his arms crossed.
I count to three again, jump up, and push past him, my shoulder colliding with his. I can see he’s surprised, and maybe even impressed. But the other three are still there.
And now all four of them have their hands on me.
“Cut it out!” I shout. “Put me down!”
I’m twisting and turning and kicking my legs, but it’s no use. They’re too strong, and their laughing tells me they know it. The big one, who’s got my left leg, reaches into my pocket. Pulls out three of my rope belts.
“Stop it! Those are mine!”
“Shut up, Jude,” he says calmly, like I’m just annoying him. “Over there, Tomas,” he says, and points with the hand holding my belts. “That’ll do.”
My back slams into a tree. The bark cutting right through my jacket and into my skin. But now my feet are free, so I take a quick step between the little one and the kid with the vest. They’re the weakest and my best chance to escape.
Only the big one just grabs me from behind and throws me extra hard back into the tree. My head knocks against the trunk.
“Jew,” he says. “Have I hit you yet?”
“No.”
“Exactly. But if you try something smart like that again, I will. And then you’ll realize it’s a bad idea for a Jew to get too smart.”
I say nothing, just look at each one of them. Maybe the one with the vest—I think that’s Tomas—maybe he feels bad for me.
“Hey, Oskar,” he says, “toss me those belts. I’ll show you that knot I was telling you about.”
* * *
The four of them stand together, about ten feet from me, admiring their work. I don’t even bother tugging at the ropes anymore. That knot Tomas tied, it might as well be a padlock.
I stare down at the ground and tell my tears to stay inside, where they belong.
I figure they must be getting ready to leave, when suddenly Big Ears is right in front of me again. That smile is back, the one that crawls up only half his face. He tilts his head a bit, takes a half step back, grabs my pants, and yanks at them.
“Hey!” I yell. “What are—”
Only they don’t go down all at once. Because of my belt. But that doesn’t stop him for long. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny little penknife, the blade barely an inch long. And even though I’m struggling the best I can, he has no problem cutting through my pathetic belt. And then it’s back to my pants. He yanks extra hard this time. My button goes flying, and just like that my pants are at my ankles.
“If his star doesn’t convince someone”—Oskar points and laughs—“that sure will.”
They run off, finally.
And now the tears don’t care where they belong.
* * *
A long time later a man walking by unties me. He doesn’t ask me what happened, and I don’t bother telling him. I thank him without even looking in his direction.
I walk straight home, holding my pants up with my left hand, trying to figure out what I’ll tell Mother about the button. Because I couldn’t find it anywhere. Not that I searched for all that long.