The Last Witness (20 page)

“What’s wrong, Ranger?”

He ran back along the river’s edge to the spot where Cathy first laid eyes on him, and when he got there he stopped and began to bark again, but not like before. This time the barking was louder. Ranger had found something.

From a distance it looked like a collection of old clothes that had washed up by the side of the river, but when Cathy got closer she saw that it was more than that. The face was battered and scratched and there were rips all over the clothing, but they weren’t the kind of deliberate rips
you find from a knife or some other weapon. These were more typical of rocks and branches. And a very long fall.

24

Jack was resting, half-asleep, when he heard a knock at the door. He stirred and put on his slippers. It was Trudy from down the hall with something in her hand.

“Hello Jack. And how are you?”

“Fine.”

“You know you shouldn’t lock yourself up today. You should get outside and get some of that fresh air. It’s going to be just wonderful. You need that vitamin D. Can’t forget the sunshine.”

Jack didn’t know how old Trudy was, but figured she was in her eighties. Standing barely five feet tall, she was skin and bone, ninety pounds if that. She spent a lot of time in the lounge and was always the last one to leave her table in the dining room. She would sit and talk with whoever was there, even people she didn’t know. She just liked to talk.

“I always take my calcium and my zinc,” Trudy said. “Every day. You should too. It makes your bones strong.”

“Is that what you came to tell me?” said Jack.

“No. I found this on the floor under your door. It’s a letter. Your name is on it.”

“It was under my door?”

“A nurse probably put it there. I got one once and that’s what they did. The letter came to reception downstairs and then someone brought it up and put it under my door.”

“Thank you, Trudy.”

That was all Jack had to say, but she kept standing there as if something more would happen, still hanging on to his letter.

“Well what’s your message today, Trudy?” Jack said. He had to say something.

“Want to come and see?”

“All right.”

The two walked down the hall to Trudy’s room. She stood beside the door as if unveiling a work of art.

Growing old is mandatory. Growing up is optional
.

“That’s nice Trudy,” Jack said. “It’s true.”

“Yes it is. Oh here’s that letter.”

Jack thanked her again, returned to his room and shut the door behind him. The letter came by special delivery, and he hadn’t received a letter like that in years. But there was no mistaking the name in big letters on the envelope. JACK FISHER. GREENWICH VILLAGE SENIORS CENTER. 142-7
^th
AVENUE SOUTH. NEW YORK, NY 10016. He stared at it just to make sure, and then sat on the chair by his night table, and opened it. It was handwritten. Neat. Dated December 15, 2039.

Mr. Fisher:

I saw you on Talk Back the other day and your performance made me sick. Who put you up to it? Was it the Jews and if they did how much did they pay you? How pathetic that an old kike like you gets a platform to tell these lies and they let you insult respectable politicians and ambassadors and historians who are trying to clear up all this crap about the Jewish holocaust which is a myth that never happened. Too bad they didn’t fry you when they had a chance so you couldn’t come over here and pollute this great country of ours with the poison of your blood line that goes back to the Crucifixion. You “children of the Devil” (Book of John, 8:44-47). You
“brood of vipers” (Book of Matthew, 12:34). Even your own people know what they are. “His blood be on us and on our children” (Book of Matthew 27:25)
.

Where did you hear all this crap about Nazi death camps and concentration camps? From Jew writers and Jew academics? From Jew bankers who steal our money then charge us for the privilege? I know my history. The Nazis were trying to lead Europe out of the ravages of the Great Depression which was an economic plot hatched by Jews so they could maximize their return on interest which they charged Christians through their role as money lenders. It goes back to ancient times. In 1543 Martin Luther wrote On the Jews and Their Lies (“Von den Juden und ihren Lügen”). Why do you think he wrote it? To tell the world about the danger of the Jews. He said “The Jews are a base whoring people that is no people of God and their boast of lineage, circumcision and law must be accounted as filth. They are full of the Devil’s feces in which they wallow like swine.” Why would he say this if it wasn’t true?

Hitler knew about the danger posed by the Jews and tried to do something about it and yes he put Jews away but he never tried to wipe them out. He just wanted to keep their Jewish hands off our money. He showed them more kindness than they deserved and after they killed him and began indoctrinating our schools with their own version of the facts the story of Hitler got changed and the myth of the Jewish holocaust was created. In fact, all the Jews were deported to Russia. That’s what really happened to them. They didn’t disappear. If they disappeared, how come they’re all over the world now? This proves the Jewish holocaust is a myth propagated by Jews so people would feel sorry for them and give them Palestine which is exactly what happened after the Second World War and then the Zionist Imperial State of Israel arrived on our doorstep as the new Satan
.

Why God let someone like you live to be a hundred years old I’ll never know. Maybe to remind us how dangerous you and your scheming kind really are. Keep looking over your shoulder, you dirty Jew dog vermin brainwashing bloodsucking leech and know that I take consolation in the knowledge that one day you and yours will rot in hell
.

There was no name on it, no signature at all, but at the end was a drawing of a snake and it looked like a cobra with the wide flared neck. Jack put the letter down and blinked. Was this real? Or a dream? He looked at his hands. They were holding a letter. He could feel the paper in his fingers. He rubbed it a few times, then his eyes went back to the beginning and he started reading again.

I saw you on Talk Back the other day and your performance made me sick
.

Jack didn’t have to read the whole thing again because the words were seared into his memory. So what should he do? Tell Mary Lou? Or just forget about it and throw it away? But he couldn’t do that. He had never received a letter like this before, and it was because he went public and told what he knew. He decided to call the police.

“Hodgson here.”

“Lieutenant Hodgson? This is Jack Fisher.”

Silence.

“Lieutenant Hodgson? Hello? You there?”

“Hello Mr. Fisher.”

He seemed distant.

“I just got a letter you should know about,” Jack said.

“A letter?”

“From a neo-Nazi.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I got a letter. You want me to read it to you?”

Before Hodgson could reply, Jack started reading. He got through the first paragraph and the ‘children of the devil’ and the ‘brood of vipers’ when Hodgson said to stop.

“That’s pretty nasty stuff you got there.”

“There’s more.”

Jack read him about Martin Luther’s
On the Jews and Their Lies
. Hodgson told him to stop for the second time.

“I get the idea,” he said. “Now listen to me. I want you to hang on to that letter and keep it somewhere safe. Where you won’t lose it. Can you do that? You say it came how?”

“Special delivery.”

“Paper?”

“That’s right.”

“With your address on it?”

“Yes. Whoever sent this knows where I live.”

“I better see this for myself.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You think I’m making this up? That’s what everybody thinks. That my whole life is an invention. Did you see the show? Talk Back?”

“No I was working that night but I heard about it.”

“What did you hear?”

“That you gave a pretty good accounting of yourself.”

“It’s nice to know somebody thinks so.”

Silence again. Longer this time.

“Look, Mr. Fisher, I have something to tell you. Some news.”

Jack could tell from the sound of Hodgson’s voice that it wasn’t good. He waited. But nothing was coming from the other end of the line. Then Hodgson cleared his throat.

“Mr. Fisher?” Hodgson said.

“It’s about Christine. Isn’t it?”

“Yes but first let me ask you a question. What can you tell me about the Elora Gorge?”

Elora, Ontario 2018

25

Christine pushed her nose through the railing and gazed out onto the gorge. Right away her jaw dropped. She had never seen anything like this before.

“Wow!” the little girl exclaimed.

Her mother Emma wasted no time prying her away from the railing. “Christine! What are you doing? Get away from there. Take my hand and stand back here with me!”

“It’s okay Mommy. There’s a fence.”

“Christine’s right. There is a fence. It’s solid.”

Christine’s grandfather Bill was standing behind them with his son Will, Christine’s father. Both of them were thinking the same thing. But not Emma. She glared at the two men – her husband and her father-in-law.

“You’re both crazy,” she said, and promptly marched her four-year-old daughter away from the railing.

“Mommy I can’t see from back here. I want to see. Can I go on the ledge?”

“On the ledge? Are you kidding? Of course not. Why would you want to do that?”

“To see better.”

“Oh my God.”

“I want to Mommy. I want to see if I can do it. I want to balance. I bet I can. I do it at school.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I do it at school. I walk in a straight line with my arms out. Like this.”

Christine put her arms at her sides and walked as if on a tightrope. She was looking down while she did it.

“See? I can do it! I want to walk on the ledge! I can do it!”

Jack was there, too.

“Christine, you’re a little daredevil,” he said. “Nobody ever goes up on that ledge. It’s too dangerous. That’s why the fence is here. Why don’t you come with me and your great Grandma and we’ll take you on the path where the ground is higher and you can see from over there? What do you say to that?”

Christine turned to her mother. “I want to Mommy! Can I? Can I go with Great Grandpa Jack? Can I?”

Jack was a year short of eighty. His son Bill had two grandchildren – Tiffany and Christine – and Jack called them ‘the girls’. Christine spent most of her time copying her big sister, who was three years older. Christine was in kindergarten and every day was an adventure, but seeing the Elora Gorge was the biggest adventure yet.

“I’m going with Great Grandpa Jack!” she told her mother as she let go of her hand and latched onto Jack’s.

“You come with us now, Christine,” Jack said. “This way it’s higher so you can see better. You’ll get a real good look at the gorge. I promise.”

Christine and her great-grandparents took the path that twisted its way along the edge of the park.

“It’s such a beautiful day,” she chortled, and it made her great-grandmother Eve laugh out loud.

“You’re such a sweet little thing. Why don’t you come live with us in New York? You’d like it there. We’d spoil you.”

“Where is that?”

“A long way from here. It’s another country.”

“What’s a country?”

Eve looked at her husband Jack. “You want to tackle that one, dear?”

Jack knelt down and took Christine’s hands in his. “Christine, the world has a lot of countries.”

She stared into his eyes across the seventy-five years separating them. “Why isn’t there just one?” she said.

“That’s a good question. I don’t know. Maybe if there was just one country people would get along better.”

“Don’t people get along?”

“We get along. You and me. But not everybody does.”

“Why not?”

Jack stood up and scratched his head. He looked at his wife. “The kid’s four years old. What am I supposed to tell her?”

“Just tell her the truth.”

He tried again. “Well it’s like this. You see, there are different types of people in the world.”

“Are you a different type of people, Great Grandpa Jack?”

“Different from you? No.”

“Then why do you live in another country?”

“You’re a step ahead of me, Christine. Well, let’s see. Where I live isn’t really that different from where you live which is right here but some countries are different. Different from here I mean. The people look different and they act different. Sometimes people fight over those things. It’s silly but they do.”

“Jack, you shouldn’t be telling her things like that!” Eve said.

“Why not?” said Christine.

“Now look what you started,” Jack said. He pointed to the gorge. “Look out there, Christine. See how it’s a lot higher over here? You can see a lot farther. You see that bridge over there? You see all the cars going over it?”

“I see them.”

“You see the water down below?”

“Yes.”

“Well a little further up this river you have two rivers that meet and that’s why this great big gorge is here.”

“The rivers meet?”

“That’s right.”

“Wow!” said Christine, who was close to the railing again, poking her nose through it. “How deep is it down there?”

“I don’t know but it’s a long way down.”

Christine had her hands on the bars now. “Can I walk on the ledge over here?” She turned around. “Mommy’s not looking.”

Jack knelt down again. His knees were getting sore. “No you can’t do that. Nobody walks over there. It’s too dangerous. Why do you want to do that anyway?”

“To balance. I do it at school. Watch me!”

She stepped back from the railing and just like before walked with her arms at her sides.

“That’s very good, Christine, but you’re still on the ground. Over there on the ledge you wouldn’t be. It’s too dangerous.”

She stopped walking and looked up at him. “Great Grandpa Jack, why is this place here?”