destroy the amphibians. When mammals emerged from the reptiles, they didn’t destroy the reptiles. But the same is not true of humans. Among humans, each emerging species apparently destroyed the species from which it emerged. This explains why none of those earlier species survived to the present time. In fact, most biologists feel this accounts for the tremendous speed with which humans evolved from lower forms.”
“So we Aryans were only doing what humans have done from the beginning.”
“Exactly,” said Miss Crenevant. “And in fact we made it all the more painful and difficult for ourselves by
refraining
from doing it for as long as we did.”
“Thank you. But I’d like to return to my earlier question. How long did it take?”
“It took at least eight hundred years. So long as we knew it was being done—and systematically done—there was no need to rush. In some parts of the world the process was so gradual that there was virtually no resistance at all. It may even have taken longer than eight hundred years. No one knows exactly when the last non-Aryan disappeared.”
“But in any case,” I said, “this explains why, if you were to visit the bookstores and libraries of the world and assemble all the books you could locate showing photographs ofpeople—movie stars, fashion models, musicians, workers, farmers, people at sporting events, school children, and so on—you wouldn’t be able to find a single face in them that wasn’t white. For more than a thousand years, there hasn’t been such a face. For more than a thousand years, being human has meant being Aryan and nothing else.”
“That’s correct.”
I held out a hand to Mallory and said, “We’re done.”
As she made her way to the front of the room, I thanked Miss Crenevant and the girls for their assistance. Then I asked if anyone knew how Napoleon Bonaparte had defined history. No one did.
“Napoleon said, ‘History is just an agreed-upon fiction.’ ”
They looked at me as blankly as if I’d just said something in Greek.
“I have a question,” Mallory said to them. “You all talked about the author of the Aryan Council’s charter as if this was a single individual.”
The girls nodded.
“Let me see if I’ve learned anything here today about how you put this history of yours together. I’m going to guess that the author of the charter was the man who turned the tide against the Jews. He’s probably known as the Hero of Dachau.”
The girls were amazed and delighted with Mallory’s evident progress.
“Is his name known?” This question was greeted with giggles and tickled affirmations.
“Let’s see if I can guess it,” Mallory said. Even before the words
Adolf Hitler
were out of her mouth, the girls brokeinto congratulatory applause, coming out of their seats in a spontaneous celebration of her recovery. It was manifest that Mallory’s “amnesia” had been triumphantly cured.
As we turned to leave, Miss Crenevant deftly interposed herself between us and the exit. “Dr. Reese asked if you would grant her an opportunity to extend a personal greeting to you.”
“Please convey my apologies to Dr. Reese, along with my sincere thanks,” I told her, “but this has been a more traumatic experience for Miss Hastings than you might be able to guess.”
It was churlish of me, but we Aryans know when it’s time to be cold as ice.
MALLORY , never predictable, seemed almost preternaturally calm as we tramped down the school’s echoing hallways and out to the parking lot. She still hadn’t spoken by the time we were in the car and headed back the way we came. Unable to think of anything else, I lamely told her I was sorry she’d had to go through that.
“There’s no need to be sorry,” she said. “Have you ever had a sliver in your hand?”
“Of course I have. I’ve led a sheltered life, but not
that
sheltered.”
“The last thing you want is anyone digging around for it, but once it’s out, all
“So we Aryans were only doing what humans have done from the beginning.”
“Exactly,” said Miss Crenevant. “And in fact we made it all the more painful and difficult for ourselves by
refraining
from doing it for as long as we did.”
“Thank you. But I’d like to return to my earlier question. How long did it take?”
“It took at least eight hundred years. So long as we knew it was being done—and systematically done—there was no need to rush. In some parts of the world the process was so gradual that there was virtually no resistance at all. It may even have taken longer than eight hundred years. No one knows exactly when the last non-Aryan disappeared.”
“But in any case,” I said, “this explains why, if you were to visit the bookstores and libraries of the world and assemble all the books you could locate showing photographs ofpeople—movie stars, fashion models, musicians, workers, farmers, people at sporting events, school children, and so on—you wouldn’t be able to find a single face in them that wasn’t white. For more than a thousand years, there hasn’t been such a face. For more than a thousand years, being human has meant being Aryan and nothing else.”
“That’s correct.”
I held out a hand to Mallory and said, “We’re done.”
As she made her way to the front of the room, I thanked Miss Crenevant and the girls for their assistance. Then I asked if anyone knew how Napoleon Bonaparte had defined history. No one did.
“Napoleon said, ‘History is just an agreed-upon fiction.’ ”
They looked at me as blankly as if I’d just said something in Greek.
“I have a question,” Mallory said to them. “You all talked about the author of the Aryan Council’s charter as if this was a single individual.”
The girls nodded.
“Let me see if I’ve learned anything here today about how you put this history of yours together. I’m going to guess that the author of the charter was the man who turned the tide against the Jews. He’s probably known as the Hero of Dachau.”
The girls were amazed and delighted with Mallory’s evident progress.
“Is his name known?” This question was greeted with giggles and tickled affirmations.
“Let’s see if I can guess it,” Mallory said. Even before the words
Adolf Hitler
were out of her mouth, the girls brokeinto congratulatory applause, coming out of their seats in a spontaneous celebration of her recovery. It was manifest that Mallory’s “amnesia” had been triumphantly cured.
As we turned to leave, Miss Crenevant deftly interposed herself between us and the exit. “Dr. Reese asked if you would grant her an opportunity to extend a personal greeting to you.”
“Please convey my apologies to Dr. Reese, along with my sincere thanks,” I told her, “but this has been a more traumatic experience for Miss Hastings than you might be able to guess.”
It was churlish of me, but we Aryans know when it’s time to be cold as ice.
MALLORY , never predictable, seemed almost preternaturally calm as we tramped down the school’s echoing hallways and out to the parking lot. She still hadn’t spoken by the time we were in the car and headed back the way we came. Unable to think of anything else, I lamely told her I was sorry she’d had to go through that.
“There’s no need to be sorry,” she said. “Have you ever had a sliver in your hand?”
“Of course I have. I’ve led a sheltered life, but not
that
sheltered.”
“The last thing you want is anyone digging around for it, but once it’s out, all
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