“You have no idea how wrong you are.” She rolled up her left sleeve, baring her forearm.“Look at my arm. See the numbers? I expect even you know what they signify.” She paused.Her voice was low but intense enough for us to hear. “Amongst other things, it means you cannot scare me. I had Elfriede Muller and the rest of the SS scum at Ravensbrück at me for five years and you think you can scare me?” Her voice was contemptuous. “You are a mere bag of wind. Go home.”“John. John.” My mother had arrived behind my father, panting for breath. “Please stop this and come home.” Her voice cracked. “Please John, come home. You’re making a spectacle of yourself. We can deal with this in the morning when things will be clearer.”Frau Schmidt stood there. “Yes, go home. I will come tomorrow to your house and we will talk. Tonight, Willi stays here.”“Please John.”My father’s arm retreated and Frau Schmidt stood there looking out. After a minute she closed the door, walked into the kitchen and sat. Still, he knew it was there, and knowing made it seem like it was a foot across. He quickly walked to the building containing his office, grateful that no staff were in that area, and made his way to the second-floor room. Locking the door, he unzipped his pants and wiped away as much of the sticky, cold fluid as he could with tissues from the box at his desk, then tossed them into a wastebasket and readjusted his pants. Gathering several books, he started to leave, then a paranoid part of his brain wondered how soon the church custodian would come to empty his trash. He grabbed up a few more tissues, tightly wrapping the wet ones inside, and pocketed the ball of paper. He left the building and drove home, taking a longer route. On one turn, while looking nervously in his mirror to see if there was anyone who would notice, he tossed the ball of tissue out the window. At home, he strategically held the books in front of himself to cover the spot, which was now more the size of a golf.
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