On that day in April, Hitler had been dead for forty-six years already. And the only difference between him and me is that I’m afraid of vomiting and diarrhoea, not Jewish people – even though I’ve never seen a Jew in real life, but maybe they are still hiding in people’s attics or cellars, hidden by Dutch farmers like in the war, or perhaps that’s why we’re not allowed down in the basement. There must be a reason Mum takes two full supermarket bags down there on Friday evenings. There are tins of hot dogs in them, even though we never eat hot dogs.
