The large Romanian gendarme burst into the Jewish Community Hospital, just before curfew. He was six feet tall with two massive hands that could easily break a Jewish skull at will. His dirty beard, full of icicles, matched his greasy blond hair that ran down the sides of his scarred face. Dr. Emanuel recognized him immediately; he was known as Lață, the monster of the Ghetto. Lață was the sergeant in charge of the Shargorod Jewish colony in Transnistria. Dr. Emanuel had witnessed himself how Lață thrived on his hobby of violently striking and whipping the innocent Jews, who were only trying to buy some food during the Wednesday market. The doctor even caught him robbing Jews of whatever meager provisions they acquired.

Dr. Emanuel felt large sweat drops trickling down his neck as the giant’s foul breath slapped against his face. Trembling, he tried to guess the meaning behind this notorious anti-Semites’ unexpected intrusion. The Romanian and the Jew blankly stared at each other silently for a couple of seconds, though it seemed like an eternity. Dr. Emanuel buried his fingernails into his forearm at the rear of his back until it dripped out blood. The feeling of blood dribbling down his forearm was almost satisfying when compared to what he imagined might become of him next. The doctor’s eyes widened after spotting a large Beretta Pistol in the sergeants’ holster, and his face went bloody red; he could not control his tremor.

“I have a burning and an ooze from my privates,” Lață snapped. “I need you to find the reason for this shit, and get rid of it.”

The doctor quickly wiped the blood from his arm onto his white coat and directed Lață into a brown, empty room with a dirt floor, no windows, and a microscope on a wooden desk. The room reeked of formaldehyde, which was still bothersome to the doctor. “Sir, Mr. Lață, I will need to co...collect some of your discharge to be ch...checked under the microscope,” he muttered. A large lump seemed to be stuck in his throat, choking his words. Dr. Emanuel sighed in relief after Lață placed his pistol onto the floor when bringing down his dark-blue uniform pants. With his bare hands, the doctor collected some pus from the sergeant's genitals and placed it on a glass slide under the microscope. The diagnosis was quickly reached when he discovered STD microbes.

“Sir, it seems that you have contracted gonorrhea,” the doctor barely whispered, trying to avoid eye-contact. He was about to explain the nature of the illness when he was abruptly interrupted.

“I will come back tomorrow at the same time for the treatment,” Lață ordered, “as I must now first take care of another dirty Jidan who tried to escape.”

Dr. Emanuel nodded slowly, grinding his teeth. He was acutely familiar with the term Jidan. He wished that he could somehow strangle Lață, but he knew he would never dare do such a thing.

”I expect you to be here!” the beast hollered, slamming the office door, but the doctor could still hear his thunderous voice echoing in his head.

Dr. Emanuel was light-headed, had difficulty in keeping his balance, and felt like vomiting after Lață’s stormy exit. His main concern was locating the correct medication in Shargorod for this dangerous enemy. He was painfully aware that Lață could shoot him if the treatment failed; it just takes one pistol and one deadly hand. Lață controls my fate.

*  * *

Dr. Emanuel finally managed to pull himself together from the trauma he had just experienced. The time on his clock read 7:30 - half an hour past the Jewish curfew - and all the doctors had already left the hospital. The physician grabbed his coat and wool hat as well as his heavy wooden cane which would assist him in confronting the freezing blizzard. But, little did he know, his cane would soon acquire a different role. He then wrapped up his Red Magen David armband, allowing him to beat the curfew when visiting the sick.

Dr. Emanuel slowly stepped outside only to be greeted by the cold air striking his bare face. He discerned nothing but wet heavy snowflakes pouring down onto the white ground and his hefty breath vapors in the air. The sky was as dark as coal with the full moon being its white flame shining through the clouds. Bent forward, he battled against the fierce winds and the icy snow. The only noises heard were his boots and walking cane crunching rhythmically against the frozen snow, and the wind gusts whooshing through the night. The lonely doctor sensed a shiver climb up his body. His toes were now numb from dipping his boots into the cold snow, and his fingers were tingling with pins and needles. As he hurried up the narrow street between small candle-lit houses, he spotted a bright, tiny tavern with colossal icicles hanging from its roof, hugging the flag of the Antonescu fascist Romanian government. For a fleeting moment, Dr. Emanuel imagined himself relaxing inside the warm pub. I would do anything for a drink right now, he fantasized, even though he was aware that the Nazis forbid Jews from entering bars. However, this was the least of his dilemmas. His thought quickly shifted to the fact that he was forced to obey Lață, the scourge of all Shargorod Jews. On the one hand, by helping the Romanian, he was betraying his people and his own dignity. On the other hand, if he refused, then the sergeant will have no use for him and simply kill him. Moreover, he couldn’t even provide Lață the right treatment in the Ghetto’s environment. Thirty percent of the Jews in Transnistria succumbed to the brutal winter of 1941 due to starvation, exposure, murder or suicide, and mostly the lack of medication. This made him quiver, even more than the awful weather.

Suddenly, Dr. Emanuel’s concerns were disrupted by voices and strides coming from the direction of the tavern. The footsteps were growing louder and quicker. He was being followed. Damn it! Like every Jew, he knew he was an attractive target for the non-Jewish in Transnistria. He could make out that there were several men, all chattering in Ukrainian and laughing loudly. The doctor abruptly felt hot in spite of the blizzard. His breath became rapid, and his heart was now racing. I’ll not turn around or try to escape; it would only show fear and encourage them to harm me. They might just let me be if I keep on walking. Looking down, the doctor continued at the same pace, mainly focusing on measuring his step. They were now so close that he could smell their reeking Vodka carried by the wind.

Thock! He was severely hit from behind by a hard object crashing into his right temple. There was a spark of light followed by a short-lived darkness. Blood gushed out in warm streams, almost blinding his right eye, and his ears started deafeningly ringing. Somehow, he didn’t lose his consciousness, and his brain began feverishly thinking: Everything I cherish and live for depends on me. If I am murdered, my family would starve, and my patients would perish. Running is no option. I won’t grant these Ukrainian bastards the joy of killing me. I will fight them to the end. For my family. For my son. For my wife. For my patients. He swiftly turned around to face his three Ukrainian assailants. He noticed that all three wore brass knuckles and guard uniforms. But, he had his cane! Not holding back, he inverted the heavy wooden cane and swung it with all of his anger at the cheek of the nearest man who tried to jump him. The sudden, forceful impact cracked the cane in half, but the Ukrainian was still standing. The Jew continued clubbing the man on his jaw over and over again until he fell to his knees, now with the broken cane’s metal tip. The man cried and screamed for mercy and for help, but Dr. Emanuel turned around to keep the other two at bay, before resuming the beating. His Jewish blood mingled with the Ukrainians’ onto the red snow below them, along with some knocked-out teeth. The man’s jaw was completely displaced so that he could not keep his mouth closed. His swollen, bloody lips were shifted out of their place, and his cheek was butchered meat. Finally, the strength and resolution of the stubborn Jew, who refused to become their prey, prevailed, and the three Ukrainian cowards scattered away in the darkness. God has looked upon me and my family tonight! He spared me for a purpose -- I now must prove I’m worthy of fighting for my brothers and sisters.

*  * *

As expected, Lață marched into the hospital right on time. “You there!” Lață pointed at the doctor.

Oh no! Has he come to arrest me?

Lață rapidly approached him. “Tell me where to go for my treatment.”

The doctor sighed. Thank God! Dr. Emanuel instructed him to go into the microscope room so that he could begin his plan against the fascist.

“Okay, first things first, what the hell is Gar-gar-ela?” Lață questioned as he entered the room.

“It's called Gonorrhea, and it’s a serious disease that is very difficult to treat and endangers your life,” the doctor stated. “Luckily, you came to me. I am the only doctor who can cure you because only I know how to operate this powerful microscope. This machine will be crucial for closely following your response to the treatment and eventual eradication of your illness.”

Lață nodded in acceptance. “And what about my treatment?”

“Fortunately, I was able to locate a small amount of arsenic for your disease,” Dr. Emanuel began, “however, this is a potent poison, and I’ll need to exactly calculate the dosage that, if exceeded, would kill you. You’ll have to come each day for me to check your pus under the microscope.”

He could almost hear the gulp from Lață’s throat.

“I’ll do what I have to do to get better,” he muffled.

The scheme is working so far. I’m slowly taming the beast. “Good, I’ll help you overcome this disease. But, on one condition,” he stared straight into Lață’s watery eyes, “let my people be.”

Lață raised his eyebrows.

“I am not asking you to prize them; I’m just asking you to leave them alone. No longer will you and your cronies hurt Jews in any manner in the marketplace, nor elsewhere in Shargorod. Do your job as a sergeant and give us some respect. We’re not your slaves.”

Lață did not have to speak; his color-changing face said it all. His jaw dropped when he realized that this gun-less Jew was now armed. Lață gradually formed a fist, he was not used to having the lower hand, but he believed that Dr. Emanuel was his only hope. Lață’s life now depended on a Jidan, but is it worth losing his dignity?

Dr. Emanuel grinned. I have him right where I want him. The cane saved my life; the microscope is saving my people.

“My duty as a doctor is to make sure everyone is healthy and safe, and you, Lață, are preventing me from doing my job by injuring and killing Jews.”

He sighed.

“You stop harassing my people, and I promise not to poison you. This is going to be our little secret,” Dr. Emanuel winked mischievously. “Do we have ourselves a deal?” He stepped forward and extended his arm.

Lață shook it with his sweaty hand.

Dr. Emanuel beamed, I now control his fate.