"Don't be," Vlera comforted me. "It doesn't irritate us as much as you think. Just say you are Jewish."
"I hate Russia," said Bekum.
"Have you ever been there?"
"No. But I am sick of Slavic peoples."
"I'm not Slavic," I said, before I could stop myself.
"I know. You are Jewish."
"Do you think I'm wrong?" This was a loyalty test.
"As a matter of fact, I do."
We fell silent. It was too clear that I was too tired and Bekum too uninterested to continue the discussion.
Maybe I put this off until my last day so that I would feel disgusted enough to want to go home. It's time. The other night I dreamed my dog told me she was in love with a Rottweiler. I took this to mean I had been away for too long and had grown too aware of provenance. At least I didn't dream she said she was in love with a Dalmatian.
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