Herschel's Log - Fourteen

Herschel’s Log

Monday, April 28, 1941

Whatever the hell happened to Jim last night, I don’t think we’ll ever know. According to him " and God knows how fast Jim talks when he gets nervous " some broad who seemed interested got a stain on her shirt and he brought her to the dorm to get it out. Unlikely, right? Frankly, I think he might be making the whole thing up. It’s easier to believe that he locked us out while he did laundry to try and convince us he was with a girl than to believe some girl was actually stupid enough to go back to the room with him.

Honestly, I don’t want to know. Jim looks like he’s made out of noodles. I don’t even want to think about what he would look like with a girl. (Not to say he hasn’t got anything to work with. Believe me, he does. We shower together.) So as long as long as he is leaving Rebecca alone, I really couldn’t care. I have bigger problems at the moment.

For everyone else, everything has slowed down since the air raid. Erich and Gabe are attached at the hip again. Jim’s money is as good as mine, if you know what I mean. All the other guys are doing fine now. The shortened term is a rotten piece of luck, but apparently I am going to have to deal with that problem now anyway. But God forbid anything should just go smoothly for me for more than five minutes.

A letter from home. Well, it was only a matter of time. In a really selfish way, I was hoping I wouldn’t hear from anyone again. I thought maybe if they didn’t contact me, I could somehow just put it from my mind and get settled here. That’s more than I deserve, though. I know that.

I was sure I was seeing things when I found the letter under the door. The name ‘Peter Berezovsky’ was one I hadn’t expected to see again for a long time. Leave it to Peter to get a letter through. He’s so crafty I shouldn’t have put anything past him. I was actually surprised to hear how much trouble there was. He always seemed to have everything so well under control. I might have thought he would get on better without me.

That was stupid, of course. Everything is falling apart, according to him. The resistance is dead, which might be for the better anyway, though Peter sure doesn’t think so. I still think everyone will be safer without all the rabble rousing. I wish he wouldn’t try to bring it back to life, though if everyone is as browbeaten as he says, it won’t do much good anyway.

He wouldn’t come out and say it all the way, but I know he thinks it’s my fault. And it’s hard to argue with him. By birthright alone, the resistance was mine more than it was his, even if he was the more rebellious of the two of us. I was Herschel Yissakhar Abrahamson Jr., a name that made me next to royalty among the Jews in town, and he was the half-Russian son of a barber. Neither of us could pretend he never resented me for it, but we had been friends long before the invasion anyway. And his allegiance had been with my father, and by default was with me when it became my responsibility.

The resistance " the rebellion against the ghetto and the occupation " belonged to Papa, not me. Revolution was everywhere when he and Ma rant the show,, and when I promised to take over if they were ever taken out of the picture, I never imagined that it could actually happen. Then they were both suddenly gone, and everyone expected me to pick up where they left off. But I was a poor substitute for the leaders they lost. I was lucky Peter was there for me when they disappeared, or the resistance would have been as good as dead before I could even take the floor.

I know I would be lying if I said I never wanted to be the head. In the beginning, it was intoxicating to be the leader of a revolution. Only now can I see how inept and unprepared I really was.

Now everyone I knew is gone, or dying, or so overworked and underfed they might as well not be alive, according to Berezovsky. He’s right; it is my fault. I may not have been the perfect leader, but I had still failed them. They believed in me, if only because I was my father’s son, and I let them down.  I promised Papa I would take over when he was gone, and I ran when the first shot was fired. He would never have run, not if Ma died. He loved her, too. That’s just how strong he was.

So I want to go back. I’ll say it right here, even if I can’t say it out loud yet. That’s the point of this thing, isn’t it? To say what I can’t say out loud? Of course, I didn’t have to say it out loud for Rebecca. She knew as soon as she read the letter. And hell was she mad. She’ll never go back, not willingly. I’m scared there might not ever be another option or her, though. What would she do in this country without me?

Either way, I’m going back. At the end of the term, I will go back. I was born to lead the resistance, and I can’t hide from that. And I’ll never be able to make up for failing Kristen if I can’t protect the people who loved her too.

 

Author's Note

You may notice that Herschel's logs are getting longer. This is part of my attempt to make him a bigger part of the story earlier on. It only seems fair that he should have chapter-length monologues when everyone else does :)

Reviews

[Arianna]

i really like the insite into his life :) i feel like i finaly know a little bit more about him even if we learn it from becky first rather than hersch. :) oh how i hope he wins the bet ;)