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The Southern Israelite
Page 25
A Nordic Knight
. Short Story
By Nina Kaye
Allan .Parker, blond, broad shoul
dered and six feet tall, needed only
eraduation with honors (which would
he his at the end of th ; s, his senior
year) to crown four years of glory
far beyond the dream of every col
lege youth. He was class president.
He had played, brilliantly, three years
of varsity football. He wou d un
doubtedly be elected to Phi Beta Kap-
P ^
The idol of the student body, Allan
was pointed out to wide-eyed fresh
men by upper classmen. “There goes
Ai Parker. You ought to see him
run.” Or, if the student were of a
different mind, “That's Allan Parker.
His average is over ninety. He’s a
phenomenon—athletic and scholastic
wonder.”
His professors, too, bent in homage
before h‘m. Here was a mind such
as they seldom encountered. A ray
of light in the midst of dense fog.
He grasped an idea. He could thirk
through to a solution. They talked
about him in the sanctum sanctorium
[of their studies. Especially they 1 k-
ed his fearlessness, his readiness to
challenge a statement that he ques
tioned.
Periodically he stirred the sociology
class, cutting in to challenge a cloudy
thought.
“I disagree with you, sir,” Al’an
la red break in on Professor Chalm-
»rs, most feared by all the students
or his sardonic humor, his pitiless
lending of lazy or less brilliant stud-
nts. “I disagree with you, sir,” Al
an repeated, “the Nordic supemacy
heory has long since been exploded.
do not think you are justified in tak
ing it as a premise for our argu-
lent.”
“What!” the professor glared over
is glasses. “You don’t know what
rou are talking about, Parker. I
hoose to base my argument on the
heory of the supremacy of the Nor-
race.”
Allan would not be shouted down.
|*Then you are in error, sir,” he re
lied cool and level headed, as the
ir in the lecture hall grew tense,
he class turned to him as one man,
hen eyes wandered cagily to Pro-
essor Chalmers, a tower of rage
co the dais. An exploded bomb could
ot have been awaited with more fa-
ility.
Professor Chalmers brought his
st down on the desk before him.
|Stand up, Parker,” he demanded.
Han rose to his full height beside
seat. “Come forward, young man,”
s professor commanded.
Moving slowly to the front of the
om, Allan cast a slow smile to his
1 classmates, a smile to inspire
confidence, a smile to show he fear
ed nothing at the hands of the irate
professor.
Allan took his stand before Pro
fessor Chalmers.
“Now,” the Professor spoke again,
sharply, “stand up Lipshitz, Julius
Lipshitz, come to the front of the
room.”
From the last seat in a distant row,
a slight, dark haired figure rose and
sidled forward. He stood facing Al
lan. That is, he stood in front of
Allan, but as he was a full foot
shorter than the athlete, they did not
si and face to face. Too, Lipshitz
was round of shoulder and slight. His
back inclined and he habitually hung
his head.
“Young men,” Professor Chalmers
stood as a judge between Allan Par
ker, blond, broad shouldered, and the
shrinking figure of Julius Lipshitz
“Young men,” the professor address
ed his class. “I have nothing further
to say. Gaze on these two specimens
and decide for yourselves. Is there a
Nordic theory?”
A ripple of suppressed laughter
passed through the room. Impervious
to the professor’s cruel joke, Allan
gazed straight before him.
But Julius Lipshitz flinched. HU
fists clenched. His head came up
suddenly from its hanging position,
his eyes met and held the stare of
Allan Parker.
And Allan found himself gazng
into brown eyes, deep, broed ng eyes,
now shot with a hunted look of ang
uish. He had never seen so far into
a soul as at that moment.
Impulsively, he turned to Profes
sor Chalmers. But the professor
had taken h s seat and was buried in
his record book. “Class dismissed,”
the professor barked, without raising
his head.
Busy with his athletics, his activi
ties as class president and his stud
ies, Allan Paiker had not noticed
Julius Lipshitz on the campus or in
the corridors. Now, he seemed to en
counter him at every turn. They were
always meeting, coming suddenly
face to face as they hurried along to
their classes. And it was Allan’s
eyes wh ch shifted, wh ch stared over
the other’s head, which refused to
meet the penetrating glance of these
dark, hunted, hurt eyes.
For Allan knew himself to be a
traitor.
He did not think it out so clearly.
He merely sought to justify himself.
He would not be where he was today,
he argued when he should have been
studying, if he had not decided to
reveal nothing about himself. He
wanted to be an engineer—a profes
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sor where to be Jewish meant to be
handicapped. He had been told that
his college did not welcome Jews in
the forefront. He had never even
been asked if he were Jewish. His
name. His blond hair. He had not
lied, he had merely been discreet.
So he reasoned in circles and failed
to convince himself.
Instead of the page before him, he
saw Julius Lipshitz’s eyes. He cut
Professor Chalmer’s class. He tried
to avoid meeting Lipshitz. But he
could not get away from the hu
miliation, the suffering he had seen.
Hounded by his conscience he
could not study for days. And this
would mean that his marks for the
final term would be below his average.
At last he decided to go to Lipshitz,
to rid himself of the weight of guilt
by confessing to him.
He stopped Lipshitz in the hall.
The stoop-shouldered youth passed
in his brooding walk and looked up.
What does this young giant want
from me? his surprised glance seem
ed to ask.
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