Hope: A Tragedy by Shalom Auslander Page B

that they were not going to be sharing their food, he didn’t care how grim the situation eventually became; he’d bring an extra jar of peanut butter or something, some extra cans of corn, they can have some of that (he knew full well, too, that if they really did end up sharing the attic with two small children whose parents had been arrested by the authorities, he’d probably change his mind and share the food with them even though he was insisting now that he wouldn’t; and, yeah, at the last minute, he’d probably take Anne Frank, too, so that made five people now, even before the orphans [let’s face it, their parents are probably dead]). It would be nice if the attic were somewhere close by their home, not just so that he could get something if he forgot it (he’d definitely forget the iPod, he always did, and now, probably, the corn), but so that when the genocide was over, they wouldn’t have too far to travel. Which is why, of the five people who might let Kugel and his family hide in their attic that hadn’t already promised their attics to someone else, his first choice would be his next-door neighbors, the Ambersons, who, unfortunately, just adopted a puppy to replace a cat that had recently disappeared; even if the damn thing didn’t spend all day standing in the hallway and barking up at the attic, it would only serve to remind Jonah of his confinement to see her running in the yard and chasing squirrels. The other choices were no better: the Millers down the road were Jews, so to hell with that (hiding from genocide inside a Jew’s attic, thought Kugel, is like hiding from a lion inside a gazelle), and while the Dooners at the far end of the street were the only other neighbors Kugel knew, Kugel once borrowed their lawn mower and only remembered after returning it that he’d neglected to refill the gas; it was too awkward for him to go back and say so, so he never said anything at all. He even went out and bought a new mower of his own, not just so that he would never have to ask Dooner to borrow his, but in the hopes that Dooner would see his new mower and understand, at some level, that Kugel had bought it as a way of acknowledging his earlier mistake.
    Nice planet, Kugel thought; he and his family were going to die in a concentration camp because of a stupid lawn mower he forgot to refill. That’s earth for you: the difference between life and death on this crap-sack planet is a half a gallon of gas.
    Last words? he wondered.
    Could be.
    He was in too much pain to write it down, but promised himself he would later.
    Anyway, even if Dooner let the mower thing slide and took them in, the Dooners themselves were going through a nasty divorce; she might report on them just to get her husband in hot water with the authorities.
    The Kugels, Kugel hated to admit, might just have to, in the event of genocide, rely on the kindness of strangers.
    Mother used to say: I can name six million people who relied on the kindness of strangers.
    When Kugel left for college, she took him aside, held his face in her hands, and said: No matter where you go, you’ll always be a Kugel.
    She meant Jew, he could hear it in her tone. It was meant not as encouragement but as warning; she meant that someday he would be murdered by people he had considered his friends.
    Pardon me, said Kugel, getting to his feet. He could feel another abdominal attack building deep within his bowels. Sometimes walking helped.
    Yes? asked the man.
    Would you mind watching my bag for me? I desperately need to get to a bathroom.
    We’re leaving soon, said the man.
    It will only take a minute.
    We’re leaving.
    Kugel winced in pain.
    Do you have an attic? he asked.
    Pardon me?
    I was just wondering, said Kugel. Never mind.
    You were just wondering if I had an attic?
    I was wondering, if you had an attic, ow, if I could hide in it.
    What?
    With my family.
    Are you crazy? the man asked. Is that it?
    Kugel winced in pain.
    Not
now
, he said,