After Dachau by Daniel Quinn Page A

quite inconsequential—almost not worth bothering about. But I’m going to ask you to dig them out of your heads for the benefit of Miss Hastings here today.”
    The girls exchanged bemused glances.
    Ava’s hand shot into the air, and I gave her a nod.
    “Why don’t you just tell her what she wants to know?”
    “Because it isn’t something she ‘wants to know.’ She doesn’t even know it’s missing.”
    “Even so, why not just tell her?”
    “Because she probably wouldn’t believe me.”
    This announcement produced a minor sensation. I was careful not to notice what effect it produced in Mallory.
    “We know something she wouldn’t believe?” This question came from the back, from a rather exotic-looking girl with a dusky, oval face and wide, dark eyes.
    “May I ask your name?”
    “My name is Etta.”
    “Thank you. I didn’t exactly say you know something she wouldn’t believe. What I was getting at is that she wouldn’t believe it if it came from me. If it comes from you, I’m sure she’ll believe it. That’s exactly why we’re here.”
    Another hand shot up, this one belonging to an elfin creature with sandy hair and freckles who announced herself as Nanette.
    “Why wouldn’t she believe it if it came from you?” Nanette wanted to know.
    “Miss Hastings would expect anything I say to be biased. But she would have no reason to expect that of you.”
    Another girl raised a hand, or rather shyly turned up a palm. This was Sylvia, a child with a narrow, foxy face and wide, round glasses.
    She said, “May I ask why Miss Hastings would expect anything you say to be biased?”
    “Sylvia!” Miss Crenevant hissed.
    “No, that’s all right,” I assured her. “Let’s see what Miss Hastings has to say about this.” I turned pointedly to Mallory. “Have I painted an accurate picture here? Would you tend to be suspicious of anything I might tell you?”
    “Yes!” She was clearly steaming, ready to support any accusation I might make against myself on her behalf.
    “Do you care to explain why?”
    She shifted the full power of her glare onto me. “Because you’re a liar. A liar and a—” I suspect it was on the tip of her tongue to call me a murderer, but, thankfully, she drew back from that.
    “So,” I said. “But you don’t suspect these girls of being liars.”
    Mallory studied them, face by face. Finally she said, “I don’t know what they are.”
    “They’re ordinary high school students,” I told her, fudging a bit on the “ordinary” part. The girls themselves remained still, perhaps sensing that this was not the time to assert their specialness. “You were a high school student once yourself, weren’t you?”
    “Yes.”
    “That didn’t automatically make you a liar, did it?”
    “No.”
    “I can’t think why these students would be liars either. They haven’t been coached. They don’t have the slightest idea why we’re here.”
    “Neither do I,” Mallory snapped.
    “I know. We’ll remedy that soon enough.” The statement came out in a more portentous style than I intended, but there was no way to call it back. The moment of truth had arrived for me, but I had no plan for it. I’d hoped vaguely that the circumstances would provide some inspiration, but there were no sparks as yet. There was nothing to do but take a leap.
    “A couple of minutes ago I recited a list of things we all expect to find in our heads when we wake up in the morning. We may not remember a specific telephone number, but we haven’t forgotten how to use a telephone. We may not remember a friend’s exact age, but we haven’t forgotten what he looks like. We may not remember the capitol of Wyoming, but we haven’t forgotten the shape of the continent we’re living on. We may not remember where the car’s parked, but we haven’t forgotten what it looks like. We may not remember the dates of the Peloponnesian War, but we haven’t forgotten the general sequence of events that got us