Chapter 3: Instead of sleeping with my Mom, I wanted to die in her beloved Poland (2)
I loved their Polish rotten houses, so cosy, warm and turning on my phantasy with all these phantasies about the extinguished Jewish life, that once flourished there; to me they were so much more beautiful, than those modern socialialistic housing complexes, who spread all over the East-German DDR-towns and also in other parts of Warsaw and actually all over the Soviet-Empire as a home to the unexploited proletariat, looking much the same as the housing complexes my father and his business-partner had built in some sleepy Frankfurt suburbs for the German working-underclass with the help of German bank-credits, which returned a nice yield from the rental incomes to my Dad, enabling my decadent and sense-less living. And yes, in my eyes their old rotten houses were so much more beautiful than this white-colored disgusting tasteless clean village-houses in the soulless German province. When I happened to pass by here and there by train or in my second-hand VW-Golf, my Dad has bought me, I very often caught myself with the hateful thought, that Nixon´s US-army should have shed their gruesome Napalm bombs on these white German houses and not some miserable straw huts in Vietnam or Cambodia. And yes, I loved those Polish blond female sexy underdressed teenagers, who did not take any notice of me. Me, this lousy little weak German-Jewish worm, that I was, I wanted to die here, yes here, in this communist, soviet-dominated country of Poland, where my parents were born in a complete other era of history, before this ridiculous Chaplinesque Teutonic Hitler-Gestalt had so successfully revolutionised the course of mankind. Here in Poland I wanted to die and not go back to live in this Americanised Westernised heartless Germany where a born to be looser like me would most probably never ever become a success.