‘in the year of our Lord.’ If you give the start date of the Great War as A.D . 1914, for example, this translates as ‘in the year of our Lord 1914.’ But if you were to give that date as 1914 A.D. , this would translate as ‘1914 in the year of our Lord,’ which doesn’t make any sense. The placement always lets you know which dates are which. A.D . 576 refers to the Christian era but 576 A.D . refers to our own. Okay?”
Gilda guessed so, but her grimace of disgust let us know what she thought of the dunces who couldn’t manage the affairs of the world better than this.
“I was about to ask how many years After Dachau have passed by now.”
This raised a roomful of laughs, since this was indeed kindergarten stuff.
“Two thousand and two!” they roared, celebrating what finally appeared to be a linking of “then” to “now.”
A voice from the rear interrupted the celebration.
“Dachau wasn’t a battle,” Mallory stated through clenched teeth. “It was a concentration camp.”
The girls twisted in their seats to look at her. They were plainly stunned—not by what she’d said but by the fact that she’d said anything at all.
“What’s a concentration camp?” one of them asked.
“It’s a collection point for people—in this case, Jews destined for extermination.”
Puzzled, the girls turned to their teacher, who seemed toshare their puzzlement. “Certainly many thousands of Jews died at Dachau,” she said.
“But it wasn’t a battle,” Mallory insisted.
“What was it?” the teacher asked.
“It was … it was a campaign of deliberate extermination.”
Miss Crenevant frowned. “I’m afraid the distinction eludes me. Any battle is a campaign of deliberate extermination, surely. Soldiers who are shooting at each other and throwing bombs at each other aren’t just doing it for fun.”
“But that’s just the point. The Jews at Dachau weren’t soldiers, they were unarmed civilians, including women and children.”
Miss Crenevant’s frown was replaced by a look of frank astonishment. “I’d be fascinated,” she said, “to know where you got such a bizarre idea.”
“You actually don’t know, do you,” Mallory said, dazed. “You actually believe it was a battle.”
Miss Crenevant gave her a not unkindly smile. “As much as I believe that Thermopylae or Hastings or Verdun were battles.”
Mallory shrank into her seat.
“HOWEVER,” I said, “we’ve still got a way to go to bring us from there to here.” I looked around the room and picked a youngster at the back with frizzy blond hair and a wide, humorous mouth. She said her name was Betty.
“Well, Betty, we haven’t heard from you yet. Why don’t you carry us forward?”
She looked alarmed at being singled out in this way, so I lent her a hand. “The Aryan nations of the world had been at each other’s throats for thirty years. Now they shared a new, common understanding of the world situation.”
“Yes, they all knew that the Jews were the enemy, not each other.”
“That’s right. But there was a lot more to it than that. The unevolved peoples you’ve called the mongrel races didn’t justquietly disappear at the end of the Great War, did they? What had been happening to them during all the missionary centuries?”
Clearly no one had a clue what I was getting at.
“Think,” I said, “about China.”
“Ah-h-h-h-h-h,” they said, catching up at last.
Ava allowed herself to raise a tentative hand, and I gave her an encouraging nod.
“The missionaries had been bringing more to the mongrel races than just God,” she said. “They’d been bringing them improved health care and medical advances from the Aryan nations and improved agricultural techniques.”
“And what was the consequence of all these gifts?”
“Their populations grew.”
“Their populations
exploded
,” someone amended.
Betty again: “This supported the Jewish strategy of world domination.”
“How so?” I
Gilda guessed so, but her grimace of disgust let us know what she thought of the dunces who couldn’t manage the affairs of the world better than this.
“I was about to ask how many years After Dachau have passed by now.”
This raised a roomful of laughs, since this was indeed kindergarten stuff.
“Two thousand and two!” they roared, celebrating what finally appeared to be a linking of “then” to “now.”
A voice from the rear interrupted the celebration.
“Dachau wasn’t a battle,” Mallory stated through clenched teeth. “It was a concentration camp.”
The girls twisted in their seats to look at her. They were plainly stunned—not by what she’d said but by the fact that she’d said anything at all.
“What’s a concentration camp?” one of them asked.
“It’s a collection point for people—in this case, Jews destined for extermination.”
Puzzled, the girls turned to their teacher, who seemed toshare their puzzlement. “Certainly many thousands of Jews died at Dachau,” she said.
“But it wasn’t a battle,” Mallory insisted.
“What was it?” the teacher asked.
“It was … it was a campaign of deliberate extermination.”
Miss Crenevant frowned. “I’m afraid the distinction eludes me. Any battle is a campaign of deliberate extermination, surely. Soldiers who are shooting at each other and throwing bombs at each other aren’t just doing it for fun.”
“But that’s just the point. The Jews at Dachau weren’t soldiers, they were unarmed civilians, including women and children.”
Miss Crenevant’s frown was replaced by a look of frank astonishment. “I’d be fascinated,” she said, “to know where you got such a bizarre idea.”
“You actually don’t know, do you,” Mallory said, dazed. “You actually believe it was a battle.”
Miss Crenevant gave her a not unkindly smile. “As much as I believe that Thermopylae or Hastings or Verdun were battles.”
Mallory shrank into her seat.
“HOWEVER,” I said, “we’ve still got a way to go to bring us from there to here.” I looked around the room and picked a youngster at the back with frizzy blond hair and a wide, humorous mouth. She said her name was Betty.
“Well, Betty, we haven’t heard from you yet. Why don’t you carry us forward?”
She looked alarmed at being singled out in this way, so I lent her a hand. “The Aryan nations of the world had been at each other’s throats for thirty years. Now they shared a new, common understanding of the world situation.”
“Yes, they all knew that the Jews were the enemy, not each other.”
“That’s right. But there was a lot more to it than that. The unevolved peoples you’ve called the mongrel races didn’t justquietly disappear at the end of the Great War, did they? What had been happening to them during all the missionary centuries?”
Clearly no one had a clue what I was getting at.
“Think,” I said, “about China.”
“Ah-h-h-h-h-h,” they said, catching up at last.
Ava allowed herself to raise a tentative hand, and I gave her an encouraging nod.
“The missionaries had been bringing more to the mongrel races than just God,” she said. “They’d been bringing them improved health care and medical advances from the Aryan nations and improved agricultural techniques.”
“And what was the consequence of all these gifts?”
“Their populations grew.”
“Their populations
exploded
,” someone amended.
Betty again: “This supported the Jewish strategy of world domination.”
“How so?” I
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