Utivich came to visit sometimes.
It was okay, except when he brought Donny with him. Donny couldn't shut up now any more than he could in France; it was constant droning about the Red Sox and Boston and his latest trip to Faneuil Hall and the Red Sox, and Stiglitz had no idea what he was talking about except that he wouldn't fucking shut up.
He liked Utivich; he was quiet and always just seemed to be concerned that Stiglitz was alive and not killing the neighbors. He'd stay for dinner and a few drinks and then take the A train back to Manhattan and not be any problem.
Donny wanted to talk about baseball and shit, and for such a big guy he got drunk way too fast, would drape himself all over Utivich (who looked terribly chagrined and embarrassed) and try to pretend they were all best friends.
He could never get Donowitz out of his apartment before two in the morning, would tell him to get out and go fuck the Little Man even though he knew it embarrassed the shit out of Utivich.
So no, it wasn't a surprise when Donny showed up at the apartment right after he got home from work.

He was talking as soon as Stiglitz opened the door. He knew it was annoying to a hell lot of people, he knew he talked all the time and way too much, about shit that no one other than himself and his pals from Boston and maybe, maybe his dad gave a shit about – you know, hair-salon talk, the type that you create just for the sake of some noise being there, just for the sake of mildly entertaining whoever the fuck's hair you were messing with, just so that they'd nod and go Uh-huh, uh-huh, you are so right, and you'd say Yeah, I know, just please don't nod when I'm cuttin', huh? I could cut your neck or something, and he knew it pissed Stiglitz right the fuck off, but it wasn't anything he could control. There were too many thoughts running through his head right now, too many ideas, too many fucking things to be excited about, and he had to share it with someone.
He smirked.

"Sarge, you won't believe the fucking amazing idea I had in the shower last night."
"I don't want to hear about what you thought about in the shower last night. It was probably Utivich. I don't want to know."
He stuck his fingers in his ears and sang nonsense at full volume to avoid hearing.
"Your shower shit does not interest me, Bear Jew. Do not say it. At all."
"Fuck you, it's a good idea, you'd like it."
"I do not like about hearing about your shit with Utivich!"
"It's not about Utivich, you fuck! It's about work!"
He paused and took his fingers out of his ears.
"Work? What, cutting hair, Bear Jew?"
"Not about cutting hair! Jesus fucking Christ!"
"I thought you Jews didn't believe in Jesus."
"Fuck, Stiglitz, it's not the fucking point – hey, look, you gonna let me in? You wanna listen to my fucking idea?"
Stiglitz didn't know why, but he stepped aside just enough to let Donny in – and regretted it the moment he did. He really shouldn't have. He didn't want Donny there, and inviting him in would just
legitimize whatever stupid shit was going through his tiny brain.
"I do not want to hear your idea."
"Just shut the fuck up and listen to this, okay?" Donny shouldered past him, smelling of cigarettes and aftershave and the godawful smell Stiglitz was sure was what Boston smelled like, and... beer.
Yeah, maybe Donny had like, a beer. Or two. Maybe he wasn't going to drink at all and just got out of bed at around noon and jumped on the first train he could to New York, but maybe he got so bored waiting around for the train that he had a little beer. But just a little. Whatever. It wasn't anything, it was just a fucking beer. If he could take vodka and schnapps, he could take just one beer. Really.

"Anyways, listen, okay. Okay. All the shit that goes down in Palestine, right?"
"...Palestine."
"Yeah, fucking Palestine. South of Turkey, on the Mediterranean. Like, by Sicily."
"It sounds hot."
"Yeah, probably, but it will be fun!"
"Fun."
"Yeah, fucking fun!"
"How is that fun?"
"We'll be killing Arabs! And Brits, I guess, the fucking British are there."
"Brits."
"Like that fucking Hicox guy, the one you said fucked up the three thing. You could kill some of them for that."
Stiglitz appeared to give this some thought, and Donny pressed the advantage.
"Maybe he's fucking there. He's a British officer. You could find him."
Stiglitz poured himself another shot of vodka and sipped at it.

"C'mon, man, it'll be brilliant. We're gonna go there and join the fucking Jewish underground or some shit and we'll go around killing people and blowing shit up, it'll be just like the good old days."
"Good old days." This was just fucking hilarious, Donowitz talking about 'good old days'. It hadn't even been a year since they were shipped back to the States.
"Why not Utivich? Take him there and you could fuck him all you want and not bother me ever again."
Donny's smile fell just a bit. Yeah, there was Utivich, whom he'd have to leave behind. But Utivich wasn't as fucked as the two of them were – I mean, sure, yes, he killed a whole bunch of people and scalped and tortured some of them a bit, and he was kidnapped by the SS for a short while too, but he was overall fine. He wasn't a mess – not like Donny; surely not like Stiglitz.
"He's in college now, you know. I don't wanna pull him outta that."
"Your idea is stupid, Bear Jew. Go away, let me sleep."
"Oh, what? You havin' fun being covered in chicken blood all day, sarge? You gonna keep doing that for the rest of your life, yeah? Hugo fucking Stiglitz, 'the entire German army has heard of Hoogo Shteekleetz', a fucking butcher?"

He glared.
"It's a job, Bear Jew."
"It's a job, but it's not a life."
He sighed.
"A bunch of Jews? Underground Jews?"
"Underground, like secret, like the Basterds, not like underground buried."
"Schade. It's where you belong, I think."
"Fuck you. You should totally come help."
"Why would I help Jews?"
Donny waved his hands.
"Because it's what you fucking do, whether you like it or not!"
Stiglitz sighed.
"Come on, Sarge, you're fucking good at it! Just goddamn come on, it will be fun!"
"...Fun."
"Killing fucking Arabs and Brits! We're going to make a Jewish homeland, and it's better than fucking sitting around killing chickens and cows. You can't tell me you have something better to do with your time."
Donowitz had a point; Stiglitz couldn't really say he had anything better to do. And killing chickens and cows wasn't exactly something he was planning to do for the rest of his life, anyway.
Oh, the fuck with it.
"...Fine." He hated himself for going along with this ridiculous, stupid plan, he fucking hated Jews, and he fucking hated Donowitz, at that, King of Obnoxious. "How the fuck are you planning on getting to... Palestine?"
"Well, first we gotta pack your shit, man, then we gotta go back to Boston and pack up my shit. Then we ship off here to Spain, and another ship from there to Palestine."
"Jewland."
"What the fuck ever, are you in?" Sometimes, he could punch Donny for his fucking annoying smile.
He sighed.
"Yes. Fine. I am in."
"You are? Sweet!"
He shook his head.
"I don't know why I'm doing this. I hate Jews."
"You don't hate Jews. You love us!"
"I fucking hate you, Bear Jew."
"You worked with eight of us!"
"I fucking … I don't like Jews."
"Dick! Whatever! I'm saying, you would support a Jewish homeland."
"Only to get you away from me."
"I don't give a shit why, I just mean … look, you like killing people, you're good at it, you should help us."
"Us? You're American!"
"An American Jew! Yeah, whatever, the ones in Palestine are badass, they're hunting people and you'd love it!"
Stiglitz shrugged.
"Fine, Bear Jew. I'll go kill Brits and Arabs. Is it nice there?"
"I have no fucking idea. Yeah, probably, it's the fucking Promised Land!"
"Whatever the fuck you say, Bear Jew. If it's anywhere near Sicily, it is going to be fucking hot."
"Okay, okay, wicked. We leave tomorrow morning, yeah? How much time do you need to do packing and shit?"
"Does it look like I have anything to pack?" Stiglitz gestured around his crummy little apartment.
"Just, I don't know, some clothes or something. Take your fucking MG42 with you. I'm gonna take my bat and all."
"You are going to kill Brits and Arabs with a bat?"
"Worked well on the Jerries."
"Just" - Stiglitz raised his hands in the air - "fine, okay, whatever, tomorrow morning. Where do you want to meet?"
"Well, actually..." Donny shrugged. "I kinda need to crash at your place tonight."
"Why? Go sleep at Utivich's!"
"Well, he'd be sleeping by now, and 'sides, the trains stop at like, eleven."
Stiglitz checked the clock on the wall. It was eleven twenty.
"You planned this, Bear Jew!"
"What? Why the fuck would I plan this? Your entire apartment reeks! Why the fuck would I wanna crash on a fucking blood-smelling couch when at Smitty's I can get dinner and a bed and fucking sex and then coffee in the morning-"
"I do not want to hear this! Fuck! Fine, you can have the sofa."
"Fine!"
"Fine."
"My apartment does not smell."
"It smells like fucking blood, you Kraut bitch!"
"No it does not!"
"Yes it does, you work in a fucking slaughterhouse!"
"So?"
"So it fucking smells like blood!"
"Go to sleep, Bear Jew."
Stiglitz stood up, gestured at the couch.
"You want a blanket or something?"
"Yeah, fine, a blanket."

He stalked off to his bedroom and slammed the door so he wouldn't have to hear Donowitz snoring – he'd always wished he had a door for that, in the woods. Just as he was about to fall asleep, he heard steps in the hall.
"What, Bear Jew!"
"It's going to be fucking awesome."
"Go to sleep!"
"Fucking awesome."
He didn't get out of bed.
"Go to fucking sleep or I am not going to your stupid Jew land!"
There was silence for a moment, then padding steps away, and he slept.

The next morning was hectic. Donny, though acting as drunk as anything last night, woke up bright and early with not even the memory of a headache, deciding to give Stiglitz the same early wake-up call and pounding his fist at the door just after six in the morning.
"Wake up, sarge, we gotta get a move on!"
Fuck. Why did he agree to this?
"I am sleeping, Donowitz."
"Well jeez, princess, I'm sorry to wake you up. Haul your fucking ass outta bed, for Chrissakes."
He could still back out. He could let Donowitz exit the apartment first - shove him out and lock the door behind him. He could kill Donowitz. He could stab him right in the back below the left side of his ribcage, then find his way around the Pine Barrens and fucking bury him somewhere or throw him in a well or let the rats have him. Yes. He could do that.
Stiglitz sighed and sat up in his bed.
"Well?"
"I am up, Bear Jew, fuck you."
"Good! Get dressed and get your shit."
He sighed.
"If I do that, will you shut up?"
"Yes. Just fucking get your shit and let's go!"
He sighed and got up, putting on the pants he'd left on the chair by the bed and a shirt from the drawer before he tossed his few other clothes into a duffel bag and emerged from the bedroom. Donny was nosing around the apartment and opened a closet.
"You got a bathroom around here?"
He gestured at the front door.
"In the hall. It is shared with everyone on this floor."
Donny made a face.
"Like a fucking tenement? Jesus, you fucking Kraut, you definitely need to come with me. They probably have real plumbing in Palestine."
"They probably have fucking holes in the ground!"
But Donny was already out and down the hall.
He took the cash he'd saved from the empty soup can in the cupboard and shoved it into his pocket before glancing around to see if there was anything else he wanted to take.
He contemplated putting the SS dagger in his belt, then tossed it in the duffel bag instead, and shoved the K98k in muzzle-down among his shirts and a spare pair of worn work boots just as Donny returned.
"Are you ready yet? Jesus! We need to go to Boston and then to Manhattan so I can get my shit."
Stiglitz sighed.
"How long is the boat ride?"
"I don't know. Like, three weeks maybe?"
He scowled.
"You don't know! How much does it cost?"
"I don't know!" Donny waved his hands, walking out the door. "We'll fucking find out when we get there!"
Stiglitz sighed and slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and followed him out.

They got to Boston at around noon. Of course, for the entire painfully long train ride, Donny wouldn't shut his yap about Palestine. How awesome it would be to help his fellow Jews out. Learn Hebrew. Whatever. Stiglitz figured, the fewer languages the Bear Jew knew and the less people understood him, the better. They might actually mistake him for someone who had a brain.
Thank god they were taking public transportation to get to the Donowitz household rather than a car, Stiglitz thought, because Donny kept pointing out the windows and going on and on about different exciting sites that apparently happened to be just on the road they were taking – because if Donowitz was to control the route of where they were going or how fast, they would have probably never made it there.
But eventually Donny stood up to get off the bus and jumped out right in front of a barber shop, with a big loud sign on it that read Donowitz and Sons. Oh, how quaint.
Donny knocked on the glass window and waved, but didn't go in. He went through a door to the left, which led into a narrow staircase. Showing Stiglitz up, Donny fished a key out of his jacket pocket and opened the door to an apartment that was located directly above the barber shop.
"Ma! I'm back!"
How someone could be so obnoxious just by calling out to his mother, Stiglitz didn't know. He didn't even know why it was so obnoxious – maybe he just couldn't stand Donny to the level that anything he did was obnoxious – he didn't know.
A round, short lady with thick black hair that was stained with gray [Donowitz definitely got his hair from his mother], wearing some sort of dress that was supposed to be fashionable and an apron peeked out from the kitchen before she stepped forward to greet her son.
Donny ducked down to kiss her on the cheek.
"Hey, Ma."
"Donald, have I taught you nothing? Who's your friend and why'd you leave him just standing at the door like that like a scarecrow? Don't be shy, dear, come on in!"
Stiglitz blinked. The apartment, even just with the door open, smelled of home – burned feathers from plucking chickens, musty old lace curtains, black pepper, and old women's sachet.
Donny shouldered past his mother.
"He's fine, Ma, he's a big boy, he can take care of himself." He snorted and opened the icebox, pulling out a bottle of Coca-Cola.
"Well, come in," Donny's mother said, stepping out of the way. "I'm Ida. I'm very sorry about Donald, he's like that all the time, and of course the war didn't help. Were you in the war?"
He nodded and walked in, slinging the duffel bag to the floor.
"Of course he was in the war, Ma, we all were, where do you think I met him? It's Stiglitz, he's from Belgium."
She looked delighted.
"Go on, Sarge, you can fuckin' tal – shit. Sorry, Ma."
She glared at Donny.
"You know I don't approve of that language around here. Your friend probably doesn't either."
Donny just rolled his eyes.
"I said sorry, Ma!"
She ignored him and turned back to Stiglitz.
"Can I offer you something to drink? Maybe a glass of milk?"
He was suddenly irrationally concerned that she would be horrified by his accent – which was decidedly not Belgian – and just mumbled.
"No, thank you."
Ida turned to look at her son.
"No thank you, did you hear that, Donny? He said thank you when he is offered something. Where did I go wrong with you?"
"Ma, for Chrissake, not in front of Stiglitz, will ya?" Donny spread his hands in defense.
"What, Donald, are you embarrassed by your own mother now? Is that it? And I've told you before, do not mention that man's name in my house." She frowned at Donny, then turned back to Stiglitz, all welcoming smiles. "Belgium? Wonderful. But what's your name, dear? Did your mother call you Stiglitz as well? I bet not."
"Uh, Hugo, meine frau."
"Hugo! That's a lovely name. And meine frau, did you hear that, Donny?"
"I don't even know what main fraoo means, Ma-"
"What a lovely young man! So, you have yet to answer my question. You want I should get you some milk?"
"Ah, yes, that would be nice." Stiglitz nodded, arms crossed behind his back. He wasn't sure where to move, in that busy house of lace and floral patterns and old Polish china hanging off of every wall.
Ida looked over at her son. Donny looked down at her from behind his bottle of Coke.
"Well don't just stand there like a scarecrow, Donald, get Hugo some milk!"
Rolling his eyes, Donny pulled a glass out of a kitchen cabinet and went back to the icebox to take out a bottle of milk. He filled the glass with it and handed it to Stiglitz.
"Oh, goodness, where are my manners?" Mrs. Donowitz went on, "Sit down, Hugo, I want to hear all about what you and Donald did in the war together."
"NCO's, Ma, Stiglitz was a sergeant too."
"Donald, let your friend tell the story, will you?" She looked back at Stiglitz. "He doesn't talk much about the war."
It's the only thing he doesn't talk about, he thought, but didn't say it.
"We fought in France together," he said quietly.
"Really? You were a sergeant in the 29th with Donald?"
"Uh, yes, Ma, he was." Donny was only too quick to add, as if it was nothing but obvious. Stiglitz didn't know shit about the structure of the US Army, and the last thing he needed now was for him to blow off his very neatly-told cover story, about how he stayed with the 29th Infantry Division throughout the entire war, had been through the invasion of Normandy and fought along with the 101st and 82nd and everyone else and all that. Obviously, they couldn't tell anyone about what they did in the war; about the Basterds, about the scalping – most certainly not about killing Hitler. He couldn't even tell his own Jewish-Polish parents that he was the one to shoot Hitler right between his ratlike, dark little eyes. "He was Team A, I was Team C. Same platoon."
Stiglitz took the milk and sipped at it uncomfortably.
"Well? Sit down, Hugo. It's so nice of you to come visit, Donald never brings his friends over except that young man Smithson. Do you know him?"
"Of course he knows Utivich, Ma, he worked with us!"
"He's very nice, although I think he is too young to have been in the Army. How can they expect someone like that to cope with war?"
"Smitty did just fine, Ma."
"It's ridiculous, all the same."
Stiglitz sipped at the milk again and sat down, afraid he'd break the chair, which looked like some sort of antique.
"So what are you boys doing today?"
"We're going to go visit Utivich, actually."
Donny got up, leaving his bottle of Coke on the table. Ida picked it up and wiped at the condensation on the table with a towel tucked into her apron and put a coaster under the bottle.
"I thought we were going –" Stiglitz began.
"We're going to Manhattan to visit Smitty! I just gotta pack some shit up, hang on." He disappeared around the corner, presumably to his room.
Stiglitz looked at Ida.
"He spends a lot of time with Smithson. It looks bad," she said. "He needs to find a nice girl, he's old enough he should be settled down and giving me grandchildren, not gallivanting around the country so cockamamie like this."
He took a gulp of milk; it was already too warm and a little disgusting. Donowitz's constant talking was clearly a family trait, and he nodded as if he agreed.
Donny came back a few minutes later with his battered Army duffel bag crammed full.
"Are you taking a sweater, Donald? You know it gets cold there, you should take a sweater."
"Ma, it's June."
"New York gets cold in the springtime, you know that. Just take a sweater."
"I have a sweater in here, Ma. Promise."
"You're taking all that for a few days with Smithson? You look like you are planning to stay for two weeks. Does he know you're coming?"
"Yeah, I'm just bringing some extra clothes and stuff. It's okay, and yeah, he knows I'm coming."
"Will you be back for Shabbos? Hugo, will you have Shabbos by us?"
He looked at Donny desperately.
"He's not religious, Ma, his family doesn't make Shabbos."
Ida clucked her tongue.
"A schande an a chappah. You should come back and have Shabbos by us, Hugo."
"Ma, c'mon, you're making him uncomfortable," Donny slung the duffle bag over one shoulder, gesturing with his head towards the exit, "and in anyways, we're gonna be making Shabbos by Smitty's parents, okay? God. Come on, Stiglitz, we gotta haul ass."
"I am not making him uncomfortable! Am I, Hugo? You must missing making Shabbos, it's wonderful family time-"
"Ma. We're gonna miss the train."
Stiglitz got to his feet, awkward but nodding, offering his hand for Mrs. Donowitz to take. "Thank you for your hospitality."
"You're welcome anytime, Hugo. You should come again when you get back from Smithson's, we will make a proper Shabbos with you." Not taking the hand, she stood on the tips of her toes in order to pinch Stiglitz' cheek. "Have a nice time in New York. I hope you have a sweater, too. If not, you can borrow one of Donald's. In fact, Donald, why don't you go get this nice young man one of your -"
"Yeah, okay, Ma, we're in a hurry here." Donny leaned to kiss her on the cheek and headed for the door.
"Donald Mordechai Donowitz, aren't you forgetting something?"
Rolling his eyes, Donny pulled the door open and made an exit while calling "I love you!" over his shoulder. Stiglitz gave Mrs. Donowitz a final nod and finished the milk, handing her the glass before going out after him.

"Your mother is a nice lady, Bear Jew," he said once they were in the street again, waiting at the bus stop.
"My mother is insane, Stiglitz."
He shrugged.
"She might be insane, but she is nice. Nicer than you. You never offer me a glass of milk." The bus pulled up and they stepped on, Donny dropping coins into the fare box for both of them.
"I will offer you my fist if you don't shut up."
He grunted, looking around at the buildings.
"This is Boston?"
Donny stopped and stared at him.
"This is fucking Boston, yeah, south Boston!"
"I have not exactly been here before, Bear Jew!"
"Fuck, I should show you around – "
"Not now. We will miss the train."
"Yeah, later. We'll go to a Sox game, all of it."
He shook his head. At least in Palestine, Donowitz could not subject him to the baseball game talk constantly.
"Well, whatever, maybe we won't be able to do that, but it doesn't matter. Come on."
They barely made the train, Donny wedging himself and his giant duffel bag into a seat.
"What is it we are going to Palestine for, Bear Jew?"
"To make a fucking Jewish homeland! There are Brits and Arabs in it!"
"But I do not care about making a Jewish homeland, Bear Jew. I am not Jewish."
"Yeah, yeah, sarge, you're just coming there to hunt people. I thought you liked hunting."
Stiglitz shrugged. "I do."
"Well, then, that's what we're gonna fucking do then, okay? Trust me, Jesus fucking Christ."

The train ride back to New York killed most of the rest of the day. Donny, for once, was relatively quiet, perhaps contemplating what the fuck it was that they were doing and why he figured it was such a grand idea. It meant leaving his family again – his little brother with whom he'd play baseball, his little sister that missed him; his crazy mother that got worried sick and would lose her mind once she realized Donny was not in the U.S. His father that was quietly proud of him, but kind of wished he was home cutting hair with him in the barber shop. It meant leaving the group of Boston Jews he always hung out with and went to games with and got drunk with; it meant he would have to leave Utivich. It was bad enough that the train rides whenever they met were fucking torture; being millions and millions of miles away didn't really sound very appealing.
But he had to go. Even if not to help his fellow Jews making their new homeland, he needed to have a safe, just cause to let out his anger and pent-up energy that didn't include punching the shit out of people outside crummy Boston pubs. Donny was a little fucked up, he figured, so he could at least use his inability to control his anger to do some good.

They headed to the ticket office as soon as they were off the train. Donowitz hailed a cab and there they were, having a look over the schedule, paying a bunch of money they shouldn't have really been spending on tickets for a boat ride to Spain, cheapest ones they could afford. It almost hurt, seeing that money disappear behind the counter.
"Well, shit, sarge, looks like this ship's leaving... two hours from now."
"Is that not what you wanted, Bear Jew?"
"I was kinda hoping we'd crash at Smitty's for the night and catch a ship real early in the morning."
"Well, I am sorry, Donowitz, but I thought getting to Palestine might be slightly more important than you getting laid."
"Fuck you, Stiglitz. I'm still gonna drop by there to say goodbye. You can either come with me or not."
"Alright. I will go say goodbye to him." He sighed.
"Fine."
"Fine!"
Donny had obviously overpacked; he was sweating under the duffel bag, and Stiglitz followed him, grinning to himself.
"Did you pack enough, Bear Jew? Or did you bring a sweater for everyone in Palestine?"
"Bite me." Donny gestured at the skyline. "That's where Utivich lives."
"New York."
"Yeah, it's fucking hundred and tenth street!"
Stiglitz shrugged.
"How far is it?"
"Maybe like, a mile from here. He always has lemonade and shit, so we can get something nice and cold to drink. If he's home."
"If you make me walk all this way and he is not fucking home, I will beat your ass."
"Whatever, you would try."
They walked in silence for awhile, then Donowitz turned around.
"You only came with me so I can't fucking get a blowjob or anything, didn't you? You don't give a fuck about Smitty."
Stiglitz faked a grin, and Donny waved a hand.
"Fuck you! I could've gotten laid one last time before we go!"
"No."
"God, you're such an asshole, Stiglitz! Just because you aren't getting laid...!"
Stiglitz shrugged.
"He probably will not be home anyway, so it doesn't matter. Probably he has a job."
"Whatever."
Donny stormed off ahead of him, and he followed, chuckling under his breath.

He was sweaty and thanking God he left his sweater-vest at Boston by the time they reached one hundred and tenth street. The building Smitty lived in was nice – nothing either Donowitz or Stiglitz could ever afford – an apartment building for young bachelors whose parents had enough money to pay the rent. But what Donny appreciated most was the elevator.
Stiglitz looked around them as they went up to the fourth floor. Yes, Utivich came to visit every once in a while, but he couldn't recall ever returning the favor. Not that he regretted it now, or anything – the Little Man was okay, but they weren't friends or anything.
Donny knocked on the door. "Hey, Smits! Open up."
There was the sound of locks being turned and Utivich was at the other side of the door, brow raised in surprise.
"Donny, what the heck're you doing here? Hey, Stiglitz."
Stiglitz nodded.
Donny nodded towards the inside of the apartment.
"We gotta have a little talk. Let us in, huh?"
Utivich stepped aside, and the two of them left their bags by the door.
"You guys want anything to drink? You look like you've just ran a marathon."
"Sure, whatever, water'll be good."
"Yes." Stiglitz added, following the two to the small, neat kitchen.

"So what is it you're here to talk about?"
"We're going to Palestine!"
Smitty just looked at them.
"Where?"
"Palestine! You know, the Jewish homeland! The British like, gave it to the Jews? But there are a bunch of Arabs and the fucking Brits won't leave now, so I guess we're fighting them. You know, to really make it open for Jews."
"Donny! That sounds like a horrible idea!"
"Whatever, Smitty, I'm bored. And Stiglitz was so bored, killing chickens or whatever in Queens, so he wanted to come with."
Utivich looked at Stiglitz.
"You volunteered?"
Stiglitz lit a cigarette and decided it would just be easier not to argue.
"I am good at fighting. Better than at killing animals. So..."
He shrugged.
"You two are fucking crazy!"
"Whatever, Smitty. Our boat is leaving in like, an hour. For Spain, and then I guess to Palestine? Or Turkey, I don't know."
"You're never coming back, Donny."
"What the fuck? Of course I'll be back!"
Stiglitz rolled his eyes and sat down at the kitchen table with his glass of water and cigarette.
"We need to go, Bear Jew. Or we will miss the boat."
They both ignored him completely.
"You're going to get killed there, or you just will get stuck there and never come back, and you know it," Utivich said, and Stiglitz could tell by his voice that he was close to tears.
"Come on, Smitty," Donny said quietly, taking him by a sleeve and dragging him off to another room.
"Hurry up," Stiglitz said.
"You know you will go there and –"
The door closed, although Stiglitz could hear Utivich's strident arguing and Donny mumbling something quietly for once.
He smoked and glanced at the kitchen clock after a long while – they were cutting it close at this point, they needed to get a move on.
"Come on, Bear Jew, we need to go, if you want to go to your Jew-Land!"
They emerged a few moments later, Utivich looking as traumatized as he had after his first scalping, and Donny's mouth set in a grim line.
"We need to go," Stiglitz said, and Donny just shouldered his duffel bag.
"Yeah, let's go." He ruffled Utivich's hair. "I'll be back, Smitty. I promise. Or you can come visit or whatever."
Stiglitz nodded.
"Goodbye, Little Man," he said, and grinned a little awkwardly before he walked out the door, trusting Donny to follow him.

Donny's mood was still foul when they boarded the ship, and wood clunked against iron when his duffel bag hit the wall as he threw it up to his bunk.
"Bear Jew, you brought the bat?"
"What the fuck do you mean?" Donny snapped. "Of course I brought the fucking bat. Why the fuck wouldn't I bring it?"
"Because I am assuming the Arabs will have guns. The Brits will definitely have guns."
"Yeah, so? The Jerries had guns and I fucking bashed their sorry asses." Donny frowned, climbing up to his bunk.
"Forget I mentioned it, Bear Jew."

The first night was fine. The boat didn't rock so hard and Stiglitz managed a decent night of sleep. It was the morning afterward and then on that left him weak, tired and sick, curled up around one of the toilets, growling at anyone that went near it like a dog at someone who approached its bowl.
Donny came to check up on him every once in a while.
"Sarge, you feeling any better?"
"Do I look like I'm feeling any better, Donowitz?"
"Well, no, Stiglitz, frankly, you kinda look like shit. You had anything to eat lately?"
"Fuck you, Bear Jew."
"Fine! Jesus! Forget I fucking asked anything, you dick. I hope you fucking stay like this for the rest of the fucking trip."
Stiglitz growled at him, and Donny went away to stare at the ocean, whiling away the hours as they steamed east.