EAST SIDE STORY. JEWISH AND GAY LIFE IN COSTA RICA AND WASHINGTON D.C (1950-1980) A NOVEL OR A TRUE STORY? by JACOBO SCHIFTER - HTML preview

EAST SIDE STORY

JEWISH AND GAY LIFE IN COSTA RICA

AND WASHINGTON D.C (1950-1980)

A NOVEL OR A TRUE STORY?

JACOBO SCHIFTER-SIKORA

863.44

SCH333e

Schifter-Sikora, Jacobo

East Side Story

/ Jacobo Schifter-Sikora - 1a ed. Pérez Zeledón, C. R: 2024.

204p. : 21 X 13,5 cm.

ISBN: 978-9930-

1. LITERATURA COSTARRICENSE 2. NOVELA I. Autor II. Título

© Jacobo Schifter-Sikora

Editorial Nacimiento (506) 7117-0901

All rights reserved.

Unauthorized reproduction by any means, mechanical or electronic, of the total or partial content of this publication is prohibited.

CHAPTER 1 THE DEVIL

At the age of six, I saw the devil. He came in the form of a Costa Rican opossum, referred as a fox in this country, an ugly and repulsive animal. People were trying to exterminate him, but he played an important role in the economy: he ate any waste and cleaned up even the carrion of other animals. He lived in the cei-ling of my room and only came out at night, hiding from the rest of my family.

A moonbeam that filtered through the window of my room illuminated his hairy face and fangs, and a red tongue full of saliva that extended outward. The sounds of crickets, bees, and cicadas that usually came from the garden quieted down. His black, round eyes

- shining like the tropical night - locked onto mine, terrified and motionless. Beelzebub escaped through the window and climbed up the avocado trees.

That morning, I had seen a photo in the newspaper La Nación of a dead man with a large, old-fashioned beard and an evil gaze. His family begged for his soul and described him as a venerable man, but his face instilled fear: there was an absence in his expression as if the photograph had been taken in a cemetery.

The Catholic maid had taught me to fear the deceased, claiming that God kept track: “The wicked die and burn in hell. Since they never rest, they come to take 5

away the naughty children.” The fox was then a deceased person coming to take me away.

After much analysis, I have come to believe that the fox was created by my own mind to represent what was tormenting me: my first sexual experience.

In the afternoons when my parents were not around, Ramón, the robust gardener with a wide forehead, full lips, black hair slicked back, and never wearing shoes, would take my hand and lead me to his room.