Airport Immigration. Similar to IRS, only tougher. The old couple approaching me stood no chance.
“Your reason for visiting America?”
“Gooder life.”
“Better.”
“Gooder. Badder was there.” He beamed my way gold-plated incisors, his wife joining.
“Family?”
“Family?” he echoed.
“Hotel?”
“Hotel?”
“Passports, sir!”
He held the passports between thumb and forefinger, three fingers missing and the thumb tattooed a thick Cyrillic “Stalin”. Like the hand my grandmother described carrying her from the Auschwitz gates to the medical tent… “I weighed nothing…he was so strong…”
I scribbled a number.
“Family. Welcome to America, sir,” I said, my eyes flooding.
Yossi Faybish was born in Romania, where he spent his childhood absorbing a rich cultural heritage seeping through the imperfect seals of an oppressive system. He finished his higher studies in Israel, and then wandered away with his job and his family, finally ending in Belgium. He works in and is passionate about the high-tech industry, though writing is a serious runner-up; or maybe it’s the other way around. Yossi writes prose and poetry in a variety of styles and languages, mainly English and Romanian. “I want people to know not the what but the way I think,” he says. yossifaybish.com. aquillrelle.com.
The Centifictionist 
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