The Last Witness by Jerry Amernic

but many of those reports have since been discredited as being inaccurate or exaggerated.Why even the sworn testimony of some survivors themselves was shown to be full of inconsistencies.” He stopped and heaved a long sigh. “History evolves. It always evolves and the scholarship evolves as well. As more things come to light we are able to look at history … any period of history … with a more enhanced open mind.” Salmon looked straight at Christine. “Surely you’re aware that in some societies teaching of the Jewish holocaust is against the law?”
    “You mean Arab countries?” Christine said.
    “Yes and even in some school boards in the United States and Great Britain. For over thirty years now a number of boards in the United Kingdom haven’t taught anything about this matter at all for fear of upsetting an ever increasing number of Muslim students. Muslims comprise a large percentage of the student body in some of these boards and the students’ parents vehemently object to this sort of thing being taught in much the same way that you object to using this particular text in your history class. That’s what happens when we allow history to become …
personal
. What’s that text called again? The new one?”
    “What text?” said Christine.
    “The one you so strenuously object to using.”
    “You mean the one we’re using now?”
    “Yes. That one.”
    “An Overview of the Twentieth and Twenty-First Centuries.”
    “I see.” Salmon clasped his hands together and placed them on the table in front of him. “And who is the author of this book?”
    Christine picked up the mini kindle and advanced her thumb through the pages to the front cover. “Oh my God,” she said.
    There in small type was the name of John Salmon. One and the same.
    “You wrote it?” she asked him.
    “I’m afraid so.”
    The Chair couldn’t hide her chuckling. “We have many items on our agenda today and I think we’ve given this piece of business more than due course. Christine Fisher has drafted a motion that will be tabled for consideration by the board. All of you have this draft at your disposal. Her draft motion is to replace the current Grade 8 history text and to begin searching for a new text from another publisher.”
    “Can’t we just vote on it now?” said Salmon. “We all read it.”
    There were nods around the table.
    “Fine then,” said the Chair. “Let’s have a show of hands. All those in favor?”
    Christine raised her hand, a meek form of protest. It was the only hand that went up.
    “I’m afraid you don’t have a vote,” said the Chair. “This is confined to members of the board.”
    “Sorry.”
    “Opposed.”
    It was unanimous.
    “The draft motion is defeated.”
    The Chair, implicit matriarch of the Upper Grand District School Board representing one hundred elementary and secondary schools in Wellington County, showed Christine a wan smile. “You’ll have to keep using that same text, I’m afraid. John’s. It might not be perfect but it’s the best one we’ve got. Thank you for coming today.”

12
    The yellow taxi pulled up just past the front doors of the Greenwich Village Seniors Center. The driver spotted an elderly woman with a cane standing next to a man who looked even older than she was.
    “Taxi?” he said.
    The woman raised her cane, and the driver backed up his car to get as close as he could to them. She saw that he was middle-aged with a dark complexion. The side door of the taxi opened. The driver stayed behind the wheel, watching through his rear-view mirror as the old man helped the old woman navigate into the back seat.
    “Arabs,” the woman whispered to the man. “They would never dream of getting out to help you into their cab. Not in a million years would they offer a hand.”
    With the two of them inside and the car doors closed, the driver looked over his shoulder, awaiting instructions. A thick pane of glass separated the front of the car from the