The Last Witness (14 page)

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I heard about that story in the
Times
. Everyone has heard about it. You think you’re a big celebrity? Well you’re not.”

Jack was horrified. The reporter, a young English grad from Columbia, wanted to know about the ghettos and the camps, so he told him. He told him about the Zyklon gas and the death chambers and the ovens. He told him about Dr. Mengele and the experiments with children. He told him about the six million.

Jack went to the far corner of the dining room, to the faces he knew at his table by the window. Fred, eighty-something and not well, got around with a walker. He always wore a scowl and Jack figured it was because no ladies ever took an interest. Patricia, a retired schoolteacher and also in her eighties, often shared stories with Jack. They talked about their grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Then there was Rachel, a friendly Jewish woman approaching ninety and recently confined to a mobiler.

“We are honored to have you join us for breakfast,” Rachel said, her voice thick with sarcasm. “Thank you for educating us about the war and for telling me how to live my life.”

“What do you mean?” said Jack.

“You paint yourself as the ultimate victim and you’re not even Jewish!”

Jack sat down and examined his place setting. A glass of orange juice and an empty plate. A bright green napkin. And the cutlery set up nice and tidy. The waitress arrived and filled their plates with scrambled eggs and toast.

“Hey girl, no butter for me,” Rachel said.

“She’s new,” said Fred. “She doesn’t know.”

Jack began to eat when Patricia of all people tore into him.

“Those things you said in that story. You shouldn’t have said that. You shouldn’t have said those things.”

“What things?”

“That bit about ovens and gas chambers. No one wants to hear that.”

“But it’s true.”

A voice from the next table. “Who said so?” It was Linda.

“I find that strange coming from you,” said Jack, turning to face her. “You know these things happened. You’re just as old as me.”

Linda glared back. “I am not. I’m ninety-four and you … as everyone on God’s green earth knows … are a hundred.”

So that was it, the celebrity status that went with his one hundredth birthday, and the revelation about being a survivor.

“Linda, when were you born?” Jack asked her.

“Nineteen-forty five. Why?”

“And you’re telling me the holocaust never happened? I don’t believe what I’m hearing.”

“It was a hundred years ago,” she said. “How’s your memory Jack? You don’t even know what you ate yesterday.”

“Are you denying it? Are you saying it never happened?”

“What she’s saying is you like to embellish things. You do, Jack. You tend to exaggerate.”

It was Fred. He always resented Jack because women found him charming.

“I don’t exaggerate,” retorted Jack. “When do I exaggerate?”

“All the time.”

“Give me an example.”

“I can give you six million examples.”

Rachel piped up. “What upsets me most is that you’re not even Jewish and you pretend to be a victim.”

“I was a victim! I still am! I’ve been a victim my whole life!”

“What were you doing in those camps if you weren’t Jewish?”

“That’s not all,” said Fred. “What was all that business about soap?”

“Soap?” said Jack.

“Soap being made into lampshades.”

“That was in the story,” said Patricia. “And toenails made into paper … and teeth … human teeth … taken from people and carved into art.”

“What?” said Jack.

Patricia nodded her head.

“I never said anything like that,” Jack told them.

“So where’d he get it from?” said Patricia.

“InfoLink,” said Rachel.

“What?” Jack said.

“InfoLink. You don’t know what it is? Well finally there is something that Jack Fisher doesn’t know. My nephew told me about it. When you want to find out something you go to InfoLink. It’s all there. When Allan saw the story in the
Times
…”

“Who’s Allan?” said Jack.

“My nephew. Aren’t you listening? When he saw the story in the
Times
he went on InfoLink and read about soap being made into lampshades and the toenails business. What did they do with toenails anyway?”

“They turned the toenails into paper,” said Fred.

“And what was that other thing about teeth?”

“They took out your teeth and carved it into art. It was sculpture.”

“Yes teeth. It’s all there on InfoLink. If you want to know about it just ask Allan.”

“I don’t know what any of you are talking about,” said Jack. “I never told him anything like that. I never heard of these things. I heard about the skin and lampshades but I don’t know if it was true. But teeth and toenails? What the hell is all that?”

“It was in the story,” said Fred.

“Yes,” said Rachel, “and if it didn’t come from you where did it come from?”

“It must be InfoLink,” said Patricia.

“What if InfoLink is full of crap?” said Fred.

Jack had never heard of InfoLink, but was inclined to agree with Fred. “Look,” he said, “I don’t know anything about this with toenails and teeth. Yes the Nazis took out teeth … gold teeth … they did that to everyone before they killed them … but they didn’t take out all your teeth. Why would they do that?”

“I know why,” said Fred. “They took out your good teeth and used them in place of their bad teeth. With cavities. That makes sense.”

Jack looked at him wide-eyed. “I think you’re crazy.”

“You’re calling me crazy?”

The four of them, their energy sapping with every word they spoke, returned to the breakfast laid out before them. Their forks picked at the scrambled eggs. Their dentures munched on the slices of toast. And their juice glasses sat full, the fleeting sips cutting through the deadly silence.

18

“Is that Lieutenant Hodgson?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Jack Fisher. You came to see me the other day about my great-granddaughter Christine.”

“I did.”

“I got another message from her this morning.”

“This morning?”

“About ten minutes ago. If I can get hold of a nurse I’ll have her send it to you. Hello? Are you there? Lieutenant Hodgson?”

“I’m here.”

“Do you want to see it? This message I mean. It’s one of those 3D things.”

“If you got it I want to see it. You could have one of the nurses send it to me. You still have my card, don’t you?”

“It’s right here on my night table. She seems excited about something but she doesn’t look too well.”

“You know what, Mr. Fisher? On second thought maybe it would be better if I just come over there myself.”

“If you like.”

“I think that would be better. You’re at that residence in the village?”

“The Greenwich Village Seniors Center. She’s all right, isn’t she? Christine I mean.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

……………………………………………………………………….

Jack sensed something was wrong when three people showed up at his door. There was Mary Lou his director of care, the mammoth Lieutenant Hodgson, and a woman he didn’t know.

“Mr. Fisher,” said Hodgson. “This is Kathy Sottario. She’s a police officer with the NYPD.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jack said. She flashed him her badge.

Mary Lou asked Jack if he was all right. Then she said she would excuse herself, but if Jack wanted anything he could page her.

“Thank you,” said Jack and with that Mary Lou was gone.

“We’d like to see that 3DE,” Hodgson said. “Let’s get that out of the way first.”

Jack ushered his two visitors into the room. Hodgson shut the door behind them.

“Is Christine all right?” Jack said.

Hodgson pointed to the box. Jack flipped open the lid, pressed the button, and there she was. Christine. With some papers in her hand.

“Hello Jack. I said I’d be getting back to you. Remember? Well I hope you’re sitting down because this is fantastic. I’ve been digging into these old records. I’ll bet you didn’t know they existed. I’m talking about the population registry books kept by the Judenrat. Am I saying that right? Judenrat? It sounds funny. These registries are all about the Lodz ghetto when you were a boy. They survived the war and have the names of everyone. I have here in my hands the page with your family. The Klukowsky family. Let me read it for you. Klukowsky, Samuel Icek … that’s your father and I hope I’m saying his name right … born in 1912 in Lodz. The address was
Basargasse 24. Klukowsky, Bela Chana … your mother … born in 1915 in Lodz … same address. And you Jack. It says right here … Klukowsky, Jacob … born in 1939 in Lodz … same address again … Basargasse 24. Then there’s another column with the place of deportation and … extermination. That’s what it says. A lot of people from Lodz went to the death camp in Chelmno but everyone in your family wound up in Auschwitz-Birkenau. So I searched some more and this is what I found. The Official German Record of Prisoners in Auschwitz Concentration Camp. May 1940 to December 1944. You were right about those Germans, Jack. They kept records of everything. Year by year. Month by month. They have tables of … let’s see … non-Jewish prisoners entering Auschwitz … total typhus deaths in Auschwitz … Jewish typhus deaths in Auschwitz … deaths by natural causes for Jews and non-Jews … transfers for Jews and non-Jews …and this one … administrative executions. They have dates for that. And there are lists … long lists … of names. In August 1944 more than sixty-five thousand Jews from the Lodz ghetto were deported to Auschwitz-Birkenau including you and your parents and your aunt and your two cousins. I found all six names. I have more to tell you so I put together a package and it includes a little surprise. I even gift-wrapped it for you. Consider it a belated birthday present for your one hundredth. I know you’re coming to Kitchener soon so I’m going to leave it for you in our old hiding place. You know where it is. Love you Jack. Your little Christine.”

When it was over, the woman officer with Hodgson took hold of Jack’s hand, and it made him uncomfortable. He was never one for people touching him, especially people he didn’t know.

“This is very interesting,” she said. “Look, Mr. Fisher, we still haven’t heard from Christine. The only one who has is you. She hasn’t been in touch with her parents or her sister.”

“So?” said Jack.

“Well, it does seem odd, doesn’t it? That she hasn’t been in touch with those who are closest to her. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

“I don’t know. Christine is a big girl. She doesn’t live with them. She has her own place.”

“She lives alone?”

“No. She lives with a friend.”

The woman and Hodgson exchanged glances.

“A friend?” the woman said. “And who is that?”

“Her girlfriend. They have their own place. I met her once or twice.”

“What is her friend’s name?” Hodgson said.

“I forget,” said Jack.

“Can you tell us anything about her?”

“Not really. They live together in a house.”

“Is she also a teacher?” asked the woman. “Like Christine?”

Jack thought for a moment. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”

Jack’s eyes weren’t the best, but he caught how the woman was looking at him. As if she didn’t believe him.

“Mr. Fisher,” she said. “We’ve been in touch with Christine’s family and no one mentioned anything about Christine living with a friend. Now why is that?”

“I don’t know. They share the rent. It’s cheaper that way.”

“I’m sure it is but how come her mother didn’t tell us about that?”

“Emma? She’s a strange woman that one.”

“Christine’s mother?” said Hodgson. “Why is she strange?”

“She’s a nurse who thinks she invented the cure for every disease known to man. And she’s old-fashioned.”

“Old-fashioned?” said the woman. “What do you mean?”

Jack hesitated.

“Well?” said Hodgson.

“Emma … she thinks two women shouldn’t be living together.”

“Why not?” said Hodgson.

Jack shrugged.

“And
you
think she’s being old-fashioned?” said the woman, a wry smile on her face.

Jack looked at her. “You don’t believe me when I tell you I don’t know her name or anything else about her, do you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You think I’m lying.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She let go of his hand, and Hodgson broke in.

“Mr. Fisher,” he said. “Kathy here is an investigator and an expert interrogator.”

“I thought you were an investigator,” said Jack.

“I am but two heads are better than one.”

“You don’t believe me either? You think I’m hiding something?”

“I never said that.”

“So what do you need her for?”

“May I?” said the woman. Hodgson granted her a nod of his head. “Jack,” she said, switching to his first name, “Lieutenant Hodgson is right. I’m an interrogator. I know about detecting and defusing deception. I studied these things. I have a lot of experience.”

“So do I,” said Jack.

“You don’t understand. Lieutenant Hodgson brought me along to assist on the case. We have a missing person here and there’s a local connection. You. We have to explore every possible lead. Every possible angle.”

“So?”

“So it’s important we find out everything you know.”

“I told you everything I know.”

“But the first time you met Lieutenant Hodgson you didn’t mention anything about a roommate. Why was that?”

“He never asked me.”

It wasn’t going well between the two. Hodgson could see that.

“Jack,” he said, “is it okay if I call you Jack?”

“I think at this point I’d prefer Mr. Fisher,” Jack said, looking at the woman. “It shows respect.”

Hodgson let out a sigh. “Jack … I mean Mr. Fisher.”

“You know something? I know a little about … what was that you said before?” Jack said to the woman. “About being able to detect things?”

“Detecting and defusing deception?”

“Yes. I know a little about that too and I get the impression you two aren’t telling me everything. About Christine I mean.”