Gleiwitz,1945

A boy of thirteen wears the pitch black pants of German scouts. Some women look with glee and try to drown his cries. They curse in chants. They’re Jewish guards from State Security who are too full of hate to want to hear that he’s too young to be a Nazi, his face the hairless face of innocence, a tear on his cheek his only shield. And still, they race to pock his tender flesh with cigarettes, delighting Lilith-like in the cruel scene. They almost feel the pangs of something higher, but they have come this far without regrets: They douse his light blond hair with gasoline and free him with the mercy of their fire.