Moshe
Adrien Leduc
(Leduc, Adrien 1987- )
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form than that in which it is published.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
SYNOPSIS
Ottawa. 1949. Moshe Silverstein doesn't quite fit in. A Type 1 diabetic and one of the only Jewish students at school, the diminutive eleven year old has few friends and is tormented on a daily basis. With the help of a classmate and Lenny Katzman, an aged boxer and owner of Lenny's Gym, Moshe learns to fight and gains self confidence in himself. The story comes to a head when Moshe has a final showdown with his tormentors.
DEDICATION
For Robert Hinitt (1926 - 2011). A good man and a good friend. A fellow romantic who set a fine example of meshing the real with the fantastical.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
In the early days of diabetes treatment, Type 1 diabetics (“juvenile diabetes” or diabetes mellitus) had to test their sugars by peeing into a test tube and then adding a chemical mixture. The blood sugar level was determined by the resulting colour of the mixture. Blood sugar metres became available only in the nineteen-eighties. (I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes in ninety-eight.)
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"How was school today, bärchen?"
"Okay, mamma."
Moshe sat down at the table as his mother poured him a tall glass of milk.
"How are you feeling? Should we check your sugar, honigbienchen?" she asked, setting the glass on the table in front of him.
While the Silverstein’s tended to speak German at home, as Moshe grew older, English was being used more often.
"I don't know."
"Well, you look pale. And I don't care if Doctor Kazcynski says that you’re not to eat fruit. You're going to have a banana. It'll put the colour back in your face."
She thrust one at him and he took it.
"Father will be home late tonight. Herr Stockton is making him stay late again. That man works your father too hard. Much too hard," she commented, returning to pressing dough into a pie pan. "Those English. They have no concept of family. The importance of eating supper together - Moshe?"
"Yes, mamma."
"Are you listening to me?"
Moshe looked at his mother. There was flour on her apron and her hair was tied back with a strip of purple fabric.
"Yes, mamma. Father is working late. You don't like Herr Stockton. I know, mamma."
Missus Silverstein nodded affirmatively. "Good. A boy your age should always listen to his mother."
"Yes, mamma."
"How many times have I told Moshe, class? How many times have I told Moshe that three is only divisible by itself? What's this one-and-a-half nonsense?" he asked to laughter.
Red-faced, the boy lowered his eyes and stared at the scribbles on his desk.
Go back to Germany, Jew boy!
The Nazis missed you!
"Mister Silverstein? Are you listening?"
The boy looked up at Mr. Elliott, his math teacher.
"Yes, Sir."
"Good. Boys like you need to listen. Now then class, turn to page fifty four. We're doing long division for the remainder of the period. Moshe, I want you to lead us in the reading."