A Child Al Confino: The True Story of a Jewish Boy and His Mother in Mussolini's Italy by Eric Lamet Page A
Authors: Eric Lamet
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through the gate without a ticket, and I took my responsibility very seriously. Roaming between the seats, watching for people who had failed to pay the admission price, made me feel official and important.
Determined to do a good job, I usually showed up at my post at least one hour before show time. One day, while making my early rounds, it happened. “Tickets please,” I asked.
The authority in my voice had no impact on these two transgressors. The two men smiled and patted me on the head but kept climbing up the stands.
“Tickets, please!” I shouted.
Again they ignored me. My heart was racing. I dashed down the stands, jumping from bench to bench to report the two intruders. No one was around. The tent would not open for another hour. In the distance I saw a clown practicing his juggling. I ran up to him and grabbed him by the arm.
He freed himself from my grasp with a sudden jerk. “Eh, what do you want?” he grunted.
“You've got to come and arrest these two guys. They came in without a ticket.”
As I ran up the wooden stairs with the clown in tow, I saw them. They were still there, sitting in the last row.
I pointed my finger, an unnecessary gesture, since the two men were the only people there. “There they are!” I shouted.
I had visions of the clown dragging these criminals down in chains, then calling the police to take them to jail. The next day's headline would read: “Enrico, San Remo's hero.” How proud my mother would be. I was even willing to share the spotlight with the clown, who smiled and bowed to the two men, then turned to me with scorn on his painted face.
“These gentlemen are the owners of the circus,” he barked, then whacked me across the back of my head with his large rubber hand. More than my head, the blow stung my ego. Nevertheless, the clown did keep my misapprehension to himself, thus saving my nonpaying job.
Working with the circus, I got to see the performance every day. I liked the clowns but, most of all, I loved the wild animals. Bears, lions, elephants. Each time I saw the lions perform, I had a vision of owning a cute cub and raising it in our small apartment. I told Mamma how great it would be to bring home a little lion cub.
“A meshugene . A lion he wants to bring home. He can't kill me by himself, so he looks for help.”
The circus, together with its sideshows, remained in town for a month. I enjoyed the camaraderie with many members of the troupe and stayed on the job for the duration. The following year, when I reapplied, they were happy to hire me again. No one asked me if I was Jewish. Little did I know they had problems finding dependable boys who were willing to work for nothing.
Mother Goes to the Hospital
D espite our own hard times, Mother always found someone who was worse off. Soon after we settled in San Remo, she had met two German refugees, an older man and his daughter, and immediately invited them to share every Sabbath dinner with us. “He lost his wife recently and I found out when they escaped, they left with nothing,” Mutti explained. “The man is half blind and cannot work. I don't know how they manage.”
One Wednesday morning I was awakened by my mother lying next to me moaning in terrible pain. She looked dreadful and scared me out of my mind. “What's the matter?” I asked.
She made an attempt to answer but, no intelligible sound came from her lips. Bent over from cramps, she waived me out of the room with one hand. In my pajamas I ran to Guerino and breathlessly told him about Mamma. In his slippers he rushed to the nearest phone down the street at the butcher shop. He returned, running up the steps panting and puffing. “The ambulance will be here soon.”
Together with Mutti I rode in an old, open-air ambulance holding her hand in mine. When we reached the hospital, the two attendants rapidly carried the canvas stretcher inside. One of the men stopped me at the door. “Wait here.”
Through tear-blurred
Determined to do a good job, I usually showed up at my post at least one hour before show time. One day, while making my early rounds, it happened. “Tickets please,” I asked.
The authority in my voice had no impact on these two transgressors. The two men smiled and patted me on the head but kept climbing up the stands.
“Tickets, please!” I shouted.
Again they ignored me. My heart was racing. I dashed down the stands, jumping from bench to bench to report the two intruders. No one was around. The tent would not open for another hour. In the distance I saw a clown practicing his juggling. I ran up to him and grabbed him by the arm.
He freed himself from my grasp with a sudden jerk. “Eh, what do you want?” he grunted.
“You've got to come and arrest these two guys. They came in without a ticket.”
As I ran up the wooden stairs with the clown in tow, I saw them. They were still there, sitting in the last row.
I pointed my finger, an unnecessary gesture, since the two men were the only people there. “There they are!” I shouted.
I had visions of the clown dragging these criminals down in chains, then calling the police to take them to jail. The next day's headline would read: “Enrico, San Remo's hero.” How proud my mother would be. I was even willing to share the spotlight with the clown, who smiled and bowed to the two men, then turned to me with scorn on his painted face.
“These gentlemen are the owners of the circus,” he barked, then whacked me across the back of my head with his large rubber hand. More than my head, the blow stung my ego. Nevertheless, the clown did keep my misapprehension to himself, thus saving my nonpaying job.
Working with the circus, I got to see the performance every day. I liked the clowns but, most of all, I loved the wild animals. Bears, lions, elephants. Each time I saw the lions perform, I had a vision of owning a cute cub and raising it in our small apartment. I told Mamma how great it would be to bring home a little lion cub.
“A meshugene . A lion he wants to bring home. He can't kill me by himself, so he looks for help.”
The circus, together with its sideshows, remained in town for a month. I enjoyed the camaraderie with many members of the troupe and stayed on the job for the duration. The following year, when I reapplied, they were happy to hire me again. No one asked me if I was Jewish. Little did I know they had problems finding dependable boys who were willing to work for nothing.
Mother Goes to the Hospital
D espite our own hard times, Mother always found someone who was worse off. Soon after we settled in San Remo, she had met two German refugees, an older man and his daughter, and immediately invited them to share every Sabbath dinner with us. “He lost his wife recently and I found out when they escaped, they left with nothing,” Mutti explained. “The man is half blind and cannot work. I don't know how they manage.”
One Wednesday morning I was awakened by my mother lying next to me moaning in terrible pain. She looked dreadful and scared me out of my mind. “What's the matter?” I asked.
She made an attempt to answer but, no intelligible sound came from her lips. Bent over from cramps, she waived me out of the room with one hand. In my pajamas I ran to Guerino and breathlessly told him about Mamma. In his slippers he rushed to the nearest phone down the street at the butcher shop. He returned, running up the steps panting and puffing. “The ambulance will be here soon.”
Together with Mutti I rode in an old, open-air ambulance holding her hand in mine. When we reached the hospital, the two attendants rapidly carried the canvas stretcher inside. One of the men stopped me at the door. “Wait here.”
Through tear-blurred
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