The Forgotten

Decker nodded. Yitzchak was the name of Rina’s late husband—the father of his stepsons.

Ernesto took a breather and went on. “So I figure okay … so Grandpa came after the war. He made a mistake. When I knew him, he was old and a little senile, so his absentmindedness is completely within context. So, I point out this little discrepancy to my dad, expecting a logical explanation. Instead, Dad freezes up, then accuses me of trying to stir up trouble … which was totally ridiculous. Usually, if Dad doesn’t want to talk about it, he just kind of gets this condescending smile and says something like ‘another time, Che.’ Dad calls me Che when he’s trying to prove a point. But this time he gets mad. He gets red in the face. He stomps off. I’m shocked. This means, you know, I hit a nerve.”

Silence.

Decker said, “So what happened?”

“Nothing. I never brought it up, and certainly Dad never brought it up again.”

“So now you’re curious and you have no logical explanation and no one to talk to.”

“Exactly! I technically dropped it, but it’s been plaguing me. It’s on my mind all the time. Because I get to thinking that if Grandpa did come over in ’47, that must have meant that he was in Europe at the time of the war. And being a Jew during the war, he must have suffered somehow. Because I have a couple of friends whose grandparents were European and Jewish, and they have war stories. But I never remember hearing any war stories. Nothing about the … the Holocaust … the death camps. No survival tales, either.”

“I understand.”

“And furthermore, my grandfather’s family was intact—his parents and a sister—which would make sense if they all had come to South America in 1937. The camps weren’t in full operation until later on. But it wouldn’t make any sense for all of them to be alive if Grandpa came over in 1947. You get my drift?”

“Your grandfather was an imposter.”

“That was my conclusion. My dad told me that I got the dates mixed up. But I don’t think so.”

“Do you have your grandfather’s birth certificate?”

“No, and that’s a problem. Just some old papers. I did some further probing … a little of this and that. Called up some resources. I did find a Yitzchak Golding who was sent to Treblinka, a camp in Poland, in 1940. He never came back. His brothers and sisters were also sent to the death camps. So were his parents. None of them came back. No aunts, uncles, cousins … all of them gone. Dead. The family is as extinct as dinosaurs. I’m carrying the name for a bunch of Jewish ghosts. They’re haunting me, Lieutenant Decker. Day in and day out, they’re haunting me. Their faces and their corpses.” Golding looked up, his stormy eyes wild and wet. “I had to get rid of them. So I did what I had to do.”

“You vandalized the synagogue.”

He nodded.

“Are the ghosts gone now?”

He shook his head. “Of course not. They’ll never be gone unless I make peace with them. I don’t know if that’s possible. It’s hard to talk to ghosts. They only talk in dreams, you know.” Ernesto swiped his eyes. “I had this girlfriend for over a year. Lisa. She was wonderful—terrific, beautiful, smart. I broke up with her when I found out about Grandpa. I just couldn’t be with her anymore.”

“She’s Jewish?”

“Yeah.”

“And that’s why you broke up with her?”

“Of course. I was afraid of hurting her. Because of these dreams … these fantasies I have. I would never want to hurt her. I loved her. I still love her. But even after breaking up with her, the fantasies won’t go away.

“The fantasies … they’re sexual. They repel me, but they also—in some sick, primal way—they excite me. We were having sex, but it was the normal kind. Now all I can think about is the sick kind. Demeaning her … hurting her. It makes me sick to think I’m like that. But I can’t help myself. Certain things you can’t hide, you know.”

His pants were bulging.

“All this shit going through my brain while I’m trying to take my SATs and SAT IIs. I … need … help!”

It was a compelling case, and a sympathetic teenager. Decker was no shrink, but the kid seemed sincere. Not overly done, but clearly troubled. And what would Rina think if she found out that Decker was feeling sorry for the kid?

“Tell me the details about the vandalism,” he said. “Where did you get the pictures? They looked original. Were they from a neo-Nazi group or part of the stuff you found in your attic?”

“What difference does it make? I just got them.”

Decker was blunt. “Who else from your school was involved?”

“Look, I admit that I did it. That’s as far as I’m going. I’m not taking anyone else with me. That’s your job, not mine.”

Decker could have pushed it. And maybe on down the road, he would push it. But his motto was to deal with issues one at a time. And now that Decker knew about Ernesto’s involvement, other things would fall into place. “I’m sure that whoever adjudicates the case will demand that you get some kind of rudimentary counseling.”

“I need more than that.”

“I agree.”

Ernesto jerked his head up, surprised by Decker’s honesty.

Decker said, “You’ll have to talk to your parents—”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no! That’s not possible! As a matter of fact, I am forbidding you to say anything to them about this. I’ll admit to the vandalism. I think Dad understands where it came from because deep down, I think he knows about Grandpa’s past, too. But he hasn’t faced the truth yet. Maybe he never will. In any event, they don’t need to know the details. My fantasies …”

“You’ll tell your therapist?”

“I’d like to. If I can find one I can trust.”

Yet he told Decker all his thoughts without much hesitation.

Ernesto seemed to have picked up on the thoughts. “My parents have this elevated image of me. Why spoil it for them totally? So what if you think I’m an asshole—a spoiled rich kid flirting with neo-Nazism because I’m bored and a jerk. What do I have to lose? I’m telling you what you already think. I’m not that way, really. I mean, I’ve got my problems but I’m certainly not a Nazi freak. Just ask Jake.”

At the mention of his stepson’s name, Decker felt his heart skip a beat. He didn’t answer.

Ernesto said, “We used to go to the same parties. Everyone knew that Jake’s stepdad was a big-shot cop. We weren’t close, but we knew each other.”

Meaning they probably toked together. Decker remained quiet.

“Not that Jake talked about you.” Ernesto looked somewhere over Decker’s shoulder. “Actually, he didn’t talk about anything personal. He had this way of talking to you without ever talking about himself. Like he was really interested in what was going on in your life. It made him a girl magnet—that and the fact that he looks like he does. Me? I always felt he was hiding something. Kind of like being a cop, I guess. I haven’t seen him around in a long time. How’s he doing?”

“Let’s keep the conversation on you, Ernesto. What do you want me to present to the D.A.?”

“How about if … I, like, give you a statement? And we’ll play around with it until we’re both satisfied.”

“How about if you give me what you want me to present to the D.A.?”

“You can’t help me?”

“No. That’s called putting words into your mouth.”

“All right. I’ll figure it out on my own. What do I do?”

Decker reached into his briefcase and took out a piece of paper and a pencil. “You can start by writing.”