He looked at his mother’s eyes, and the laughter died in his throat. Where had he seen that look before?

June 1964

Mutty felt a sudden almost irresistible, absolutely crazy urge to laugh. Here he’d been hiding a secret for days, weeks. Hiding it from friends, from his brother and parents, for some time hiding it even from himself. And now it was publicly announced by a little girl with tomato sauce dripping onto her chin.

He looked at his mother’s eyes, and the laughter died in his throat.

Where had he seen that look before? The vulnerability and surprise, eyes that asked, demanded an answer: Can this be happening to me? Is this world so cruel?

With a pang that was almost physical in its strength, he remembered. That’s what Perele Schwartz’s eyes looked like, when she’d been attacked by those hoodlums.

Was that what he was doing to his mother, to Mama?

Time seemed to slow down in the short silence that followed Ruchele’s question, while thoughts raced through his mind with frenzied speed. Yes, he could laugh off Ruchele’s words as a humorous misunderstanding. The family would smile, and Mama would never know what he’d planned. Dad would keep the secret, Mutty would train to be a doctor, and everyone would live happily ever after.

Except for Mutty.