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Mordecai Richier F/?/7 7t’T cKC/T croi%[c E12. iit’J HSII-\ c6iEr& 1’7
Benny, the War in Europe, and Myerson’s
Daughter Bella
When Benny was sent overseas in the autumn of 1941 his father, Mr. Garber, thought that if he had to give up one son to the army, it might as well be Benny who was a quiet boy, and who wouldn’t push where he shouldn’t; and Mrs. Garber thought: “my Benny, he’ll take care, he’ll watch out;” and Benny’s brother Abe thought “when he comes back, I’ll have a garage of my own, you bet, and I’ll be able to give him a job.” Benny wrote every week, and every week the Garbers sent him parcels full of good things that a Jewish boy should always have, like salami and pickled herring and shtrudel. The food parcels were always the same, and the letters — coming from Camp Borden and Aldershot and Normandy and Hol land — were always the same too. They began — “I hope you are all well and good” — and ended — “don’t worry, all the best to everybody, thank you for the parcel.”
When Benny came home from the war in Europe, the Gar bers didn’t make much of a fuss. They met him at the station, of course, and they had a small dinner for him.
Abe was thrilled to see Benny again. “Atta boy,” was what he kept saying all evening, “Atta boy, Benny.”
“You shouldn’t go back to the factory,” Mr. Garber said. “You don’t need the old job. You can be a help to your brother Abe in his garage.”
“Yes,” Benny said.
“Let him be, let him rest,” Mrs. Garber said, “What’ll hap pen if he doesn’t work for two weeks?”
“Hey, when Artie Segal came back,” Abe said, “he said that in Italy there was nothing that guy couldn’t get for a
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couple of Sweet Caps. Was he shooting me the bull, or what?” Benny had been discharged and sent home, not because the war was over, but because of the shrapnel in his leg, but he didn’t limp too badly and he didn’t talk about his wound or the war, so at first nobody noticed that he had changed.
Benny, the War in Europe, and Myerson’s
Daughter Bella
When Benny was sent overseas in the autumn of 1941 his father, Mr. Garber, thought that if he had to give up one son to the army, it might as well be Benny who was a quiet boy, and who wouldn’t push where he shouldn’t; and Mrs. Garber thought: “my Benny, he’ll take care, he’ll watch out;” and Benny’s brother Abe thought “when he comes back, I’ll have a garage of my own, you bet, and I’ll be able to give him a job.” Benny wrote every week, and every week the Garbers sent him parcels full of good things that a Jewish boy should always have, like salami and pickled herring and shtrudel. The food parcels were always the same, and the letters — coming from Camp Borden and Aldershot and Normandy and Hol land — were always the same too. They began — “I hope you are all well and good” — and ended — “don’t worry, all the best to everybody, thank you for the parcel.”
When Benny came home from the war in Europe, the Gar bers didn’t make much of a fuss. They met him at the station, of course, and they had a small dinner for him.
Abe was thrilled to see Benny again. “Atta boy,” was what he kept saying all evening, “Atta boy, Benny.”
“You shouldn’t go back to the factory,” Mr. Garber said. “You don’t need the old job. You can be a help to your brother Abe in his garage.”
“Yes,” Benny said.
“Let him be, let him rest,” Mrs. Garber said, “What’ll hap pen if he doesn’t work for two weeks?”
“Hey, when Artie Segal came back,” Abe said, “he said that in Italy there was nothing that guy couldn’t get for a
173
couple of Sweet Caps. Was he shooting me the bull, or what?” Benny had been discharged and sent home, not because the war was over, but because of the shrapnel in his leg, but he didn’t limp too badly and he didn’t talk about his wound or the war, so at first nobody noticed that he had changed.