The Last Witness (7 page)

He knew he didn’t look Jewish. His features were fine and narrow like his father’s, and his eyes were blue like his mother’s, so he could pass for an Aryan. With his command of Polish, those on the other side would think he was a Polish boy. A gentile.

In the weeks and months that followed, Jacob learned more about stealing and even more about people. Guards could always be bribed as long as you had something they wanted. Money. Cigarettes. Give them that and they would look the other way. It was the same with his father, who looked the other way when Jacob came back with his day’s catch. What people thought or believed was readily sacrificed for need. Need was paramount and the biggest need was putting food in your mouth.

Jacob’s father was a man who dressed well when he went out, even in the ghetto. He always wore a good pair of pants and a well-fitted jacket. He didn’t have many clothes, but what he did have he kept clean and pressed. He used to be a tailor until he wasn’t allowed to be a tailor anymore. When they first rounded up all the Jews and confined them to Baluty and the Old Town of Lodz, an area of four square kilometers, Samuel had been a relatively prosperous man. He was a skilled tailor and knew how to fix sewing machines.

The Jews always wanted a
Singer
sewing machine, while the Germans preferred a German brand.
Pfaff
. After the ghetto was formed, sewing machines became scarce, so Samuel got an idea. No matter what brand came in to him, he made sure that what went out was a
Singer
. Except for the label, people couldn’t tell the difference. None of them could. So if he got his hands on a
Pfaff
sewing machine, he would remove the word
Pfaff
from the label and replace it with
Singer
, but if a German wanted a sewing machine and some did in the early days of the ghetto, Samuel made sure they got a
Pfaff
. It was all explained to Jacob one day when he saw his father scratching away at the label of the latest sewing machine that just came in for repair. The
story brought a smile to Jacob’s lips and he was sworn to secrecy. His father said it was all about getting some extra food or money.
Gelt
.

Soon the size of the ghetto shrank. The Germans took the blocks bounded by the streets of Drewnowska, Majowa and Jeneralska, and made all that part of the Aryan section, so now Jews were restricted to even less space than before. At the entrance gate was a sign: ‘WOHNGEBIET DER JUDEN BETRETEN VERBOTEN.’ Jewish residential area. Entry forbidden. The word ‘JUDEN’ was in big letters. It was the first German sign Jacob ever saw.

10

Mary Lou Bennett, Director of Care at the Greenwich Village Seniors Center, knocked on the door. “Hello? Is that the newest member of The Hundred Club? It’s me. Mary Lou. Can I see you for a minute?”

“Come in,” said Jack.

She found him curled up on his bed, resting.

“May I sit down?” she said.

“Sure,” he said, pointing to the armchair in the corner of his room. “And to what do I owe this visit?”

Jack was always such a charmer, especially with the ladies.

“Jack, we’re getting calls from people who want to talk to you. Ever since that NYU thing appeared. Did you see it? The one by that student who came to see you?”

“It was a young person,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “What do you expect?”

“I know but we’ve got real journalists calling now. This morning it was someone from the
Times
.
The New York Times
. Did you hear what I said?”

“A very fine newspaper. At least it was when I used to read it.”

Mary Lou smiled. She had never seen Jack reading anything. “When was that?” she said.

“When they had a print edition. But that was a long time ago.”

“I’ll say. I can’t even remember. So how do you know it’s still a fine newspaper?”

“I know it on reputation.”

She chuckled. “But it’s not just them. The other day it was a crew from one of the ezines. They want to shoot you.”

“Shoot me?”

“Bad choice of words. You know what I mean. They want to do a clip on you. A story.”

“Hmm. I heard something about a debate at NYU. Do you know what that’s all about?”

“Yes. After that article there was a backlash from some people at the school. Somebody challenged the writer to a debate but now it’s not going to be a debate. It’s going to be a panel.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means a few people have agreed to sit on a panel and they’re going to talk about the Second World War.”

“A few people?”

“A professor. Head of the students’ union from the law faculty I think. And the head of a Christian organization. He’s going to talk about the holocaust.”

“The holocaust from the Second World War?”

“No. The Great Holocaust of 2029.”

Jack shook his head. “People do get their holocausts mixed up these days.”

“Look, I don’t want to do anything that’s going to upset you. If you don’t want to see these people you don’t have to. You have every right to keep these things to yourself.”

“What things?”

“Your memories. But they did call so what should I tell them?”

Jack got up from his bed and steadied himself. He checked the alarm clock on his side table. It said ten to twelve. “It’s almost lunch time,” he said. “I’m hungry. What’s on the menu today?”

“I don’t know but I’m sure it’ll be good.”

“Last time it was shepherd’s pie and it wasn’t so good at all. It was too dry. The peas were hard. Like marbles. I hope it’s not shepherd’s pie again. My mother used to make that and it was delicious. You know how she made it?”

“Tell me.”

“She would take a diced onion and add a tablespoon of olive oil. Then a pound of minced lamb. Then she’d take a clove of garlic, a carrot and it was a big carrot, and some beef and then she’d chop some tomatoes, add a little corn flour, a pinch of salt and pepper, and two pounds of potatoes.”

“You mean grams. People don’t talk about pounds anymore. Not for food anyway.”

“It was pounds then. That’s how I remember it. Then she’d put in some butter and mix it all up. Oh and one more thing.”

“What?”

“Worcestershire sauce. She would add Worcestershire sauce.”

“It’s incredible you remember all that. The recipe I mean.”

“I used to make it too. It was a lot better than the stuff they serve around here.”

Mary Lou laughed.

“My mother would make it,” he said. “It was good.”

“Your mother?”

“My adopted mother. My real mother died when I was a little boy.”

“Jack, I know this is hard for you.”

“No it’s not. It’s good to remember. I like to remember my parents.”

“How old were you when you lost them?”

“Four.”

“Four? Four years old. How terrible to lose your parents when you’re so young.”

“When you’re that young it’s your whole world.” Jack looked up and thought for a moment. “You don’t think I’m making this up, do you?”

“I don’t think you made up that shepherd’s pie recipe.”

“I can still taste it.” He licked his lips.

“No Jack, I don’t think you’re making anything up.”

“But those students. They think I’m crazy.”

“What do they know?”

“Not much. I wonder what they learn there.”

“Where?”

“At school. They think history is the last ten years and that’s it. Did I ever tell you that my great-granddaughter is a history teacher?”

“No. You must be proud of her.”

Jack nodded. “The other day she sent me one of those 3D things.”

“What?”

“An email. By 3D.”

“You mean a 3DE?”

“Yes that’s it.”

“So Jack what do you want me to tell these reporters? The one from the
Times
and the people at that ezine. They all want you.”

“Tell them I’m here and I’d be happy to talk to them.”

“You sure?”

“Why not? They’ve already got a good story, don’t they?”

“What’s that?”

“I’m a hundred years old. Or did you forget?”

Kitchener, Ontario, 2036

11

The Upper Grand District School Board met every month, and while schoolteachers didn’t take part in the proceedings, Christine Fisher was a special guest since the board was going to hear her out. She had sent them a 3DE objecting to the standard issue text –
An Overview of the Twentieth and Twenty-First Centuries
– for her Grade 8 history course. This being her first year of teaching, she had hoped the message and her appearance before them wouldn’t put her in bad stead with the members. They were all seated around a long, rectangular table at the education administration building.

Christine recognized the woman who served as Chair, a high school principal with over thirty years of teaching to her credit. Christine also recognized the face and knew the name of John Salmon, head of the history department at one of Wellington County’s high schools. He had helped set curriculum for the board’s history program. The others she didn’t know.

“Christine Fisher teaches Grade 8 history at Williamsburg Senior Public School,” said the Chair. “Her 3DE to the board asked that we reconsider the text being used for her course. I believe all of you were copied?”

Everyone said they were.

“Good. Well we’d like to welcome you to the board. I understand this is your first year of teaching?”

Christine said it was.

“So you have not yet taught a full term?”

“That’s right.”

“So my question is this. How can you come to us recommending a change to the curriculum when you have yet to see the benefit of how your students react to the program? Don’t you think it’s a little premature?”

There were chuckles around the table.

“I mean you haven’t even got your feet wet,” the Chair said.

Christine hesitated before responding. “The course I teach is history in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries,” she said. “And that includes the First World War and the Second World War from the last century. The text for this course doesn’t mention the holocaust at all and I think that is a glaring error of omission.”

“Why?”

The question was posed by John Salmon, long-time member of the school board.

“Why?” said Christine. “Because it is. The holocaust was one of the most significant … probably the most significant event … of that entire war.”

“I don’t think so,” Salmon said. “The Second World War was about the defeat of Nazi Germany by the Allies and the Russians. It was about an imperialist authoritarian regime that wanted to enslave all of Europe. I’ve taught it for twenty-five years and the prime pedagogical requirements of that episode of the twentieth century are that the Allied forces fought Germany and its fellow Axis nations on the western front and the Russians fought them on the eastern front. It’s military history.”

“Yes it’s military history,” said Christine, “but …”

“For many years the suffering of the Jews at the hands of Nazi Germany was included in how this period was taught in our schools,” said Salmon, his eyes moving around the table,
connecting with each board member. “But the teaching of this period has changed over the years and I think that’s a good thing.”

“Yes it has changed,” said Christine. “I have some of the old textbooks with me and it’s very clear what’s been happening.”

“What’s been happening?” the Chair asked.

Christine took out three books. Hardcover books.

“I haven’t seen one of those in a long time,” said one of the members. “How old are they?”

“This one was published in 1988,” said Christine.

“An antique.”

“Well antique or not it has over four hundred pages and at one time it was a primer on the twentieth century.”

“A very poor text that one,” Salmon said.

Christine let it pass. “If you look at the index you can see there are thirteen pages devoted to World War I,” she said. “That’s what they called it then. And for World War II … or the Second World War … only eight pages. That was it. As for the holocaust …”

“Let’s get something straight,” Salmon said and he pointed to Christine. “You are referring to the Jewish holocaust, I believe. In the current vernacular the word
holocaust
refers to the massacre of fifty thousand Christians seven years ago. The Great Holocaust of 2029. That of course was the Middle East crisis precipitated by a group of Muslims who had been converting to Christianity in the Malatya province of Turkey and who then began publishing biblical literature and proselytizing. It was the Syrians in particular … and they’re right across the border … who became very upset with that and started slitting throats.”

My God, Christine thought to herself. The man is an encyclopedia.

“Please continue,” said the Chair, motioning to Christine, who could only say that she had lost her train of thought. “You were referring to this 1988 text book and its shortfalls.”

“Yes that’s right. As for the Jewish holocaust there was only one paragraph … one paragraph about the extermination of six million people.”

“Extermination?” said Salmon. “You speak of them as if they were termites.”

“Well they …”

“Now hold on a minute. When we teach history to young students and we’re talking about Grade 8 here we must stick to the facts. The known facts. There is no doubt that Jews were persecuted by Nazi Germany. But there is considerable doubt as to the magnitude of that persecution. Our history text books should not be in the business of perpetuating religious dogma.”

“Religious dogma?” said Christine.

“It’s a history class. Not a religion class.”

The chair interrupted. “Mr. Salmon, this young lady has brought several of these old books with her. Why don’t we hear what she has to say and then we can discuss the matter? Please proceed.”

“Thank you Madam Chair,” said Christine, convinced by now that she had alienated the section head of the history department. “As I said this textbook from 1988 had one paragraph about the holocaust … the Jewish holocaust … and incidentally on page 155 it does mention the figure of six million dead.”