26 Friday, May 18, 1984 THE DETROIT JEWISH NEWS Music by IAMWAY PRODUCTS Sam Barnett 100% Guaranteed Delivered Big or small, we custom the music to your needs. 661-9065 968-2563 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 000000000000000000000000 OFFICIAL SUMMER CAMP OUTFITTERS and YOUNG MEN'S WEAR BRODY'S BOY'S Orchard Lake Rd., W. Bloomfield, Mich. In the West Bloomfield Plaza CAMPER'S CHECK LIST Foot Lockers and Trunks Nylon Bug Netting Fitted Cot Sheets Insect Repellent Compass Unbreakable Mirrors Shoe Bags Rain Ponchos Sleeping Bag Covers Nametapes ❑ ❑ ❑ ❑ ❑ ❑ ❑ ❑ ❑ ❑ ❑ ❑ ❑ Official T-Shirts - Sweatshirts Shorts & Visors FOR ‘ 4f• 411 CAMPS * * * * ❑❑❑❑❑ ❑❑❑ XL-Zip Duffel Bags Laundry Bags Rubber Ditty Bags Wool Army Blankets Acrylic Camp Blankets Canteen, 1 or 2 qts. Flashlights Camp Knives Collapsible Drink Cups Tooth Brush Holders Ground Sheets Rain Boots Hiking Boots 851-6232 ❑ Towels and Washcloths ❑ Speedo Swim Suits ❑ Nose and Ear Plugs ❑ Bio-degradable Soap ❑ After Bite Back Packs Sleeping Bags CamouflageArmy Outfit 0 Sweat Pants and Tops ❑ Jeans ❑ ❑ ❑ ❑ ❑ ALTERATIONS SEA GULL * WALDEN TAMAKWA MAPLEHURST * TAMARACK MAAS TANUGA WAHANOWIN * 0000000000000000000000000000000 Mysterious obsession Continued from preceding page hands. "I said. It stinks in there!" "What?" You don't care, you don't notice anything!" Mom fled the table, wrenched a coat from the hall closet and rushed out of the apartment, the slam of the heavy metal-cased black door her last word. Her exit proved my Dad right — that's what I read in the self- consciously satisfied way he finished his dinner and washed all the dishes. Each one he stacked seemed to me a smug "I don't need you" to Mom. But she would probably come back from her walk or flight to a neighbor's — wherever she'd gone — and not pay attention. Because I never confided about my parents to anyone — partly, I think, to protect their past and their pain — that night's incident regis- tered inside of me but wasn't con- nected to anything else. I didn't im- agine myself discussing, analyzing, recreating; I simply went to my room and tried to study. What would my room have told you about me? All the paperbacks were alphabetized by author and sub- ject, so were the albums. The rug was always spotless and the pictures paralleled one another on the sky- blue walls: landscapes, mostly, from Carot to Seurat, stillness and trees. Blue predominated that room I thought was cool and ordered, but now I wonder. I was an attempt at control, a bastion, a room that failed because it summoned its opposite — chaos — unintentionally. W la Genuine Freshwater Pearl Multi-Strand Twist. rapper's =n Free Gift wrap • Cash Refunds THURSDAYS 10:00-8:45 MON.-SAT. 10:00-5:45 We care about your business! 26400 West Twelve Mile Road In Southfield's Racquetime Mall Northeast corner of 12 Mile & Northwestern Hwy. 4Ir 357-5578 hat upset me most af- ter Mom's accident was the new perfume she bought. Small and almost dainty- looking, Mom had always used unob- trusive scents, but suddenly she had all the brashness of a gleaming cosmetics counter in a department store. The laundry, the gaping win- dows, the air filter seemed somehow a part of the heavy-smelling perfume that almost made me dizzy. I was worried. Mom seemed unable to concen- trate on her teaching, was taking lots of baths, where before she'd preferred showers; she stayed up after Dad was asleep, sitting in the living room, smoking. It was that — the picture of her sitting in the darkness with a tiny red flare, and the perfume — that pushed me from my comfort and reserve. One December night, before Chanukah, I rose from my bed, slip- ped on my robe and went out to her. "Mom?" "What?" Her voice was hoarse and unfamiliar. Are you okay?" My eyes began to find her in the dark. "Why shouldn't I be?" "That sounds like Dad." I think she chuckled. "Mom? Can I sit with you?" I felt like a little kid. She patted the couch and I moved across the shadowy strange room where everything was blurred or invisible in the night. You never talked about the ac- cident," I began, surprising myself. "No." "Why not?" In the silence, she stubbed out her cigarette. I saw her pale pale hand, saw more of her. She sat head down, legs crossed in her grey wool robe. "I didn't miss the light. I saw it. But I wanted to kill the man crossing the street." I asked who. "A camp guard. The one who kil- led my brother. He's here, some- where in Queens. A German. He pushed Stefan into a latrine pit — " Her voice was electric. I didn't move. I'd never been told how Stefan died. You saw him?" "I heard it. And then last month, he was here, in Queens, crossing a little street, thin, still pretty the way they were. I went through the light to kill him. I shouted and he knew. He ran back. That's when I hit the light pole." "Nobody saw?" "No. It was empty." I shuddered. "Are you sure he —" "You don't forget." There in the room that seemed darker than any I ever known, the terrible sick past threatened to swal- low me up. I felt I could go crazy, I wanted to, wanted to surrender fi- nally to the madness, to purify my- self, to drown out all the voices and the noise — but Mom kept talking and that saved me. "You don't know what it was like, Frank. The filth, the piles and piles, worse than death. The smell." She started to cry, hesitantly. It came back. The smell. And now it's on me," she stumbled. "No." "It's on me. I can't take it off —" And those hopeless words broke through the night. I reached to hold her and for the first time in my life, Mom cried in my arms, heavily, with the desperation of an aban- doned child. I was terrified. When she stopped at last, I brought her tissues. She asked, You think I should see a doctor?" "Yes." "Will you help me find one?" I squeezed her hand. "Sure." "Don't say anything to Dad. Not yet. He hasn't mentioned the war for years. And he thinks doctors are crazy. Maybe they have to be." I didn't ask if the smell was still with her. "There's so much," she said softly. "So much to tell." "I'll help you," I said, not know- ing how or when — only wanting to so much. "You know," she said as if sur- prised. "You're a good son." It was my turn to cry.