Disclaimer: Inglorious Basterds and the character of Donny Donowitz belong to Quentin Tarantino.

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Her father at work and her mother out calling on a sick friend, Rivka Schechter, age seven and three months, was the only one home to witness the wreckage. The hoarse sounds of whooping and war cries from outside roused her from her sleepy cuddle with Patches, the family dog, on the parlor rug. Scrambling upright, she was just in time to watch her older brother Reuben burst through the front door of the apartment, both hands clamped tight over his nose to staunch its flow of blood; it seeped through his fingers regardless and dripped onto the front of his shirt. Closely following Reu was Donny Donowitz, sporting a glorious shiner over one eye but both glittering with glee beneath his dark brows, a slightly manic gleam stretched wide over his mouth. At eleven he was older than both Reu and Rivka, and the clear source of all the previous noise. He and Reu had only recently become buddies, but the more Rivka saw of him the less she liked him, and the less she liked this raucous troublemaker he was making out of Reu.

She followed them both to the kitchen, where she found Reu bent almost double over the kitchen sink to keep from bleeding all over the floor. Ignoring Donny, she made a beeline for her brother, a note of hysteria in her voice as she asked, "Reu, what happened? What did you do?"

"Rivka, get out of here," he mumbled, and reached out one bloody hand to turn on the faucet.

"What's Mama going to say? You look disgusting."

"C'mon, Rivka." Donny would not let his presence be forgotten. She liked her name but not the way it came out of Donny's mouth, all harsh consonants, butchered by his Boston twang. "'S no way to talk to the man who just handed Gino Politi his Italiano ass on a plate."

Reu managed a small smile at the praise of someone whose opinion he clearly thought so highly of. Rivka, who didn't give two cents what Donny had to say about anything, turned back to her brother, horrified. "You were fighting?"

"Correction: he was teachin' the punk what happens to punks when they get smart about Mama Donowitz." With another broad grin, Donny clapped Reu on the shoulder so hard that it almost knocked him face-first into the sink full of pink water.

Rivka narrowed her eyes at Donny over her brother's bent head and pointed an accusing finger at his black eye. "So Reu gets his nose broke and you just get that?"

"Think I should've got worse?"

"It was your mother."

"It ain't broke; I checked," said Donny dismissively. "He got worse only 'cause I'm the better fighter, but this man here—" There was no mistaking the admiration in his tone, "—he fights with heart."

Reu raised his head from the sink and turned his face up to Rivka. There was blood still leaking like a rivulet from his left nostril, dripping off of his chin. "Rivka, you tell Ma about this, I'll kill you."

Rivka, who had been accustomed to death threats from her brother since she was old enough to understand language, could only scowl and speculate that there had to be a better reason to fight if you were Reu than to defend the honor of Donny Donowitz's mother.

XXXXX

While Reu got his hair cut by Sy Donowitz, Rivka stood at his shoulder and watched his reflection in the mirror alongside hers. Rivka had the pointed chin and wide cheekbones of her mother, while Reu 's face was more elongated and oval, like their father's. But both had big dark eyes, olive skin, a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of their nose. And both had a head full of riotous brown curls—well, at the moment only Rivka did, because Reu was getting all of his shorn off. Wrapped up as he was under the black cape, his curls lying scattered all over the floor like chaff, his head looked oddly small, as if the witch doctor had paid him a visit. Rivka felt compelled to inform him of such.

"You're just jealous that I'm still better looking than you."

Rivka made a grotesque face at his reflection, and at that exact moment Donny Donowitz came clattering nosily down the stairs into the barber shop, his baseball bat slung over one shoulder. When he saw her he broke out into that wide grin she hated so much. "Practicing for the circus?"

"Where are you off to, son?" Sy Donowitz asked, glancing up from his task.

"Me 'n Reu 'n some of the guys are gonna go play baseball."

"Good weather for it. One moment, Donny, he's just about done here." Sy reached for a large brush on the counter and dusted the back of Reu's neck carefully. "There you are, Reuben."

"Thanks a lot, Mr. Donowitz." Reu slid out of the chair as soon as the cape was removed from around him. He ran an experimental hand over his close-cropped hair, struck a few poses in front of the mirror, turned to Donny. "Think it'll help me run the bases faster?"

"'S why I get mine cut before every game."

Chuckling, Sy Donowitz turned to Rivka. "You on deck, Miss Rivka Schechter?"

She shook her head, looking wistfully towards the spinning chair, the scissors gleaming on the counter. At eight years old she still had her hair cut by her mother with newspapers spread on the kitchen floor.

"I dunno, Pop," Donny called out as he and Reu headed toward the door, "you got a pair o' pruning shears handy?"

"Eat dirt, Donowitz!" Rivka shouted, forgetting Sy's presence, at the same time that Reu muttered, "Don't be a dick to my sister." He shoved the still-smirking Donny out the door and cast a rather guilty look back. "See you at home, Rivka." Through the glass window she watched the two boys take off running down the street.

"Think of your brother Reuben what you will…" Sy Donowitz turned to his new customer, a portly gentleman who did not have that much hair left to barber, "…but he does take good care of you."

From your putz of a son, Rivka thought silently, wishing for the thousandth time that Reu and Donny were not such great friends. "Sure, Mr. Donowitz. I'll see you later."

XXXXX

A short time later, Reu had an incident. On his way home from school one day he was set upon a group of bored Irish youths, who saw the lone Jewish boy and decided to have themselves some fun. They knocked his books to the ground, took the few coins he had in his pockets, shoved him around a bit. Reu's mistake was deciding to fight back instead of curling up on the ground and crying uncle from the get-go; being one modestly-built boy against four of various shapes and sizes, he hadn't lasted long before begging for a reprieve.

Exhausted, dirty, and humiliated, both eyes blacked, his lip spilt, and ribs bruised from being kicked, Reu made his way home where he was further emasculated by being put to bed immediately by his mother. Rivka sat by his side and held ice to the swollen purple splotches on his chest, or read him sections from his Abraham Lincoln biography, or held the bowl up for him as he ate the soup his mother had prepared. His injuries were not all that serious; in a little more than a week he would be right as rain. He just knew better now than to take the route home from school that bordered the Irish section of town.

Donny was over the instant he caught wind of what happened. Sitting on Reu's other side, he made him explain again and again exactly where he had been jumped and describe his attackers. As he listened a manic gleam stole into his eyes, and Rivka could practically see the wheels and cogs churning in his mind.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him across the bed.

"I'm gonna find those damn micks an' show 'em that you don't mess with Schechter without messing with Donowitz."

The next time Rivka saw Donny his right arm was in a sling, at which point she was forced to concede that anybody willing to break an arm for Reu was a good person for him to have around. She never knew exactly what it was that Donny did, but the Irish never bothered Reu again.

XXXXX

Unfortunately for Donny, he turned thirteen a short while after that incident and so was forced to perform his bar mitzvah ceremony one-handed. A rabbi flanked him on either side to make sure he didn't accidentally knock over the Torah in his handicapped state, as he recited a blessing over the reading. His suit jacket was too snug across the shoulders for him, his wrists protruding like bed knobs past the cuffs, but draped in the prayer shawl without the hint of a grin on his face, he cut a most solemn figure.

It was also around this time that his voice began its cracking journey to manhood, and to make matters worse it wavered a bit as he did his recitations—then again it must be torture to demonstrate to an entire congregation your inability to carry a tune in a bucket. Rivka clapped along politely, however, with the rest of the shul when he collapsed into his seat finally, ashen-faced and visibly trembling.

But by the time the festivities had begun he had regained his composure, and accepted the handshakes, kisses on the cheek, and especially the envelopes of money with a big smile and modest words of thanks. When people asked him about his arm he offered them a pen instead of an explanation and asked them to sign the cast. As Rivka sipped her punch and watched him, it occurred to her that he was a performer, that he liked nothing better than to show off for people. And yet, he wouldn't say a word about how he had broken his arm avenging his best friend. For all the rest of the world knew, he took a nasty spill while running the bases. They only saw of him what he wanted them to see.

At one point Donny got a reprieve from all his well-wishers and stood in the corner alone, looking out at everyone. Rivka found her feet carrying her over to him against all reason—she'd never interacted with him before without Reu present as a common factor. But Reu was currently in the midst of a small crowd of his own, all cooing that he would turn thirteen himself in a short time. Donny looked up as she approached, that familiar grin spreading across his face; Rivka crossed her arms in front of her chest as if that might protect her from any stab he was preparing to take at her, when sure enough…

"Who let you outta the house dunked in shit?"

"Mazel tov, Donowitz," she returned smoothly, choosing to ignore his comment. Her chocolate brown dress went lovely with her hair and eyes; everyone had said so. "How's your arm?"

"Itches like hell, but 's a lot more exciting now that I've got it all decorated."

"What are you trying to do, get your whole bar mitzvah on there?"

"That's the idea." Donny offered her the pen and Rivka stared for a moment, nonplussed.

"What, you want my name on there?"

"You're at my bar mitzvah, dummy."

A little flattered, Rivka took the pen and hunted for a spot of white somewhere on the cast that hadn't been scribbled on. There wasn't much space left, but at last she found one right near the crook of his elbow, and began to form her name carefully a small as she could manage. R… I… V… "Wow, think you'll have enough space for everyone?"

When Donny said nothing in response, she looked up, and found him staring past her as if he had completely forgotten that she was there. Rivka turned and followed his gaze to the back of the hall. Standing there near the coatroom gazing right back boldly was fifteen-year-old Eva Goldberg, her cherry-red pout visible even from so far away. As Rivka watched, she crooked one finger at Donny in an unmistakable come-hither gesture, and disappeared into the coatroom.

Rivka finished the rest of her name quickly and straightened. "Here's your pen."

"Thanks," Donny muttered without looking at her, and in the work of a few seconds he had traversed the hall and vanished into the darkness of the coatroom, leaving Rivka staring after him with the pen in her hand.

XXXXX

By the time Rivka was thirteen it was common knowledge that Donny Donowitz had gone through every girl within a two-block radius of his apartment and taken from her whatever she was willing to give him.

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Next up: Puberty and all of its subsequent complications.