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look a thing like her. But we looked almost as much
like Dad as we looked like each other. And Bernard turned
out even more like Dad than I did.
    “We’re not not Jewish. I’m not ashamed, like Dad is.”
    “Dad’s not ashamed. He just doesn’t believe in that. In
any religion. And neither do we.”
    “Being Jewish doesn’t mean that you have to believe in
Judaism. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with believing in
God.”
    “Whatever. I don’t care about any of that, anyway.”
    But then Bernard took the argument somewhere new.
    “Oh yeah? Well maybe you should care about this: there
were no superheroes before the war. All that began after.
Around the same time Dad became Hochelaga.”
    “So?”
    “Dad gained his powers from Nazi experiments. And
there’s a bunch of Nazi scientists who vanished after the
war. Maybe all the superheroes were created by secret Nazi
science.”
    “That’s stupid. Dad isn’t a Nazi. The Mighty aren’t
Nazis.”
    “You don’t understand. I’m not saying they’re Nazis. I
know they’re heroes. I’m not denying all the good they do.
But maybe the Nazis created all the superpowers — or Nazi
science, anyway. On the backs of tortured and slaughtered
Jews.”
    “Dad says the Nazis didn’t kill only Jews. They nearly
exterminated the Gypsies, they sterilized Blacks and
mulattos, they murdered millions of Europeans of all
kinds.”
    “Yeah, but they killed more Jews than they did anyone
else. They hated the Jews most of all. And that’s where
Dad’s powers come from.”
    I punched him. And it escalated. Mom came in to
break us up, but neither of us would tell her why we were
fighting.
    The next morning, on our twelfth birthday of all days,
the argument behind us, Bernard and I had just finished
watching an episode of our favourite cartoon series, Chuck
Amuck , and were waiting for Katgirl & Canary to come
on, when there was a special news bulletin. The faceless
red mask of the Internationalist — the leader of The
Mighty — appeared on the TV screen. “The Mighty have
come to Montreal in order to meet with Hochelaga on an
urgent matter. We are waiting on the roof of City Hall.
Montrealers, please spread this message to ensure that it
reaches Hochelaga. Thank you for your time. Remember:
help us make the world a better, more tolerant place.” He
repeated the message in French. Then, he stepped back and
raised his famous shield in the air, showing its borderless
world-map coat of arms to the camera.
    We ran upstairs to Dad’s study. “Dad! Dad! Dad!”
    He met us on the stairs and signalled for us to calm
down. “I know,” he said. “It was on the radio.”
    “Take us with you,” we said.
    “You know I can’t. It’s too risky. People can’t know that
Hochelaga has twin boys. Do you want a supervillain to
come after you? Or your mom?”
    “But it’s The Mighty! We’ll never get another chance
to meet them. They’re the world’s greatest superheroes!”
More than ever, the two of us were talking with one voice.
For all his theories about Nazi science and superheroes,
even Bernard wasn’t immune to fannish excitement when
it came to The Mighty.
    Mom came up behind us. “No, they’re not,” she said,
balancing herself on our shoulders and reaching over to
kiss Dad, who bent down to meet her halfway. “What do
you think they want?” she asked him.
    “Hell if I know. Maybe the Hegemony of Hate is planning
an attack on the city, and The Mighty need some local help.
Something like that. With the anniversary celebrations,
there’s bound to be some trouble. Terrorism’s not my
specialty, but I’ll do whatever I can.”
    Bernard was fuming mad that Dad wouldn’t let us
meet The Mighty. “You have to take us. I want to meet The
Mighty.”
    I could see in Mom’s eyes that she was getting angry
with us, but I understood why we couldn’t go, as much as I
wanted to see The Mighty in person. “Bern — you know we
can’t go. Dad’s right.”
    “No! I want