They slaughtered the rabbi the way they would
a pig. Stretched his legs
into a Saint Andrew’s cross. His head facing down,
his genitals, however, pointed
upward toward heaven. They carved
his stomach in the shape of a cross,
pulled the intestines out. The butchers
were drunk, didn’t know the anatomy
of a human body, so they hacked
the flesh at random. Excrement
poured from the slaughter,
splattering onto the distorted faces.
Their nostrils trembled. They no longer
sensed anything. The crowd, grunting,
urged them on, as if they were pigs.
Translated from the Hungarian by Ottilie Mulzet.
© Szilárd Borbély