Auschwitz

in the morning he was again pestering me to go to Auschwitz. yes, i was going, i had told him the night before, at whatever time i got up. he was more anxious than i was; it bothered me only that he was implicating me.
we got there and i kept drifting off. he took ahold of my sleeve and said, 'can we please go in together-- i do not want to do this alone.' i finally understood-- this israeli jew, traveling alone, wanted someone with him. so i stayed.

afterwards we talked about it. he had expected it to be more shocking. i was disturbed by the proximity of the camp to newer-built houses. we did not take each others' hands but still shared a sigh of relief as we got on the bus home.
later we had dinner-- the two of us-- at a georgian restaurant. he began, i believe, to entertain notions... saying things such as, 'it feels natural to be silent with you.' i was reflecting on the naturalness of my own silence within myself-- something that comes with these lone journeys. i forgot he was with me.
the next day i left the hostel early but i returned in the evening to kill time before my night train home. i caught his surprise, returning, and he asked for my email. 'for when i come to budapest.'
'i'm gone a lot on the weekends.'
'that's okay,' he said. so i gave it to him.

the night before he had seen me writing. 'do i appear,' he asked, 'in your journal?'
'um... i didn't write much today,' i said, feeling bad. 'but you probably will.'
'my journal would be boring,' he said. i grimaced at his calling it a journal. 'today i brushed my teeth and ate eggs for breakfast...' he laughed.
'i write conversations,' i said, seriously, 'i do not write events.'
'oh.'