My dearest Ingrid -
Today is a beautiful Sunday in Mannheim! You would be
amazed, my dear, with whom your husband rubs elbows in his new
surroundings. The range is utterly incredible!
Yesterday, the Fred N. look-alike asked me to lend him my
jacket because it was a very cool morning. I did, reluctantly. I hate it
when people borrow my coats, caps, boots, etc. - as they did in Toronto.
Anyway, he felt cold, so I lent him my jacket and made the rounds with an
eighteen-year-old who looked more like a milquetoast 14-year-old kid -
nice open face, blond, blue-eyed, but already smoking. He looked
bewildered and shell-shocked, so I decided that a bit of Dienst am Volk
[service for the people] was called for.
Guess why he was in here? He had damaged some cars,
mirrors etc. Why, I asked. Oh, he had been drinking, was angry, enraged
because his 17-year-old girl friend had chided him about something - and
whammo!
Here he was in the slammer with murderers and was making
his rounds with a 24-year-old unwholesome dope courier, callous and
street-wise, defending the use of "the natural plant cannabis"
versus "demon alcohol" - and the kid was all ears!
I hammered that creep's arguments to shreds, leaving that
blue-eyed boy visibly shocked. I then separated that kid from this evil
influence and worked the old Zundel Stare Magic. In the end he agreed that
it was stupid what he had done. He certainly realized he was at a juncture
in his life - he could attend this University of Crime, or he could decide
that he had stared in the face of a worthless life, and that this German
judge was giving him a bit of tough love and a reality check.
Chances are that I had a bit of a good influence on a
worthwhile German boy.
Meanwhile, the Fred N. look-alike was nowhere to be seen.
I spent the rest of an hour with a Black engineer from France, the son of
a former Ambassador to the U.N., practicing my French.
My jacket was gone! It turns out the wearer, whose father
just died with six - six, Ingrid! - heart bypass operations behind him,
age 93, and he, the son, at age 61 working himself up to his third heart
attack, was wearing my jacket to the Krankenrevier [sick bay]. Luckily, he
did not die this time, so the guard left him behind but brought my jacket
back.
One wizened old guy, a German, smoking his guts out,
pulled me aside, wanting to talk to me - belongloses Zeug! [trivial
stuff!] Yesterday, another disheveled, wild-haired, unkempt guy proudly
showed me his identity card because it was his birthday. He, too, smoked
his guts out! He, too, was a German!
I make every effort to stay away from these people's
second hand smoke. But I must say that I am horrified by that destructive
habit of public smoking. 480 Germans already died each day in 1990,
according to an article I read.
That's 175,200 Germans killed in one year. In 15 years,
that's like the city of Toronto being wiped out!
[Imagine] the costs to society, and the loss of their
knowledge, experience, and skills!
I pine for our mountain top with its fresh breeze and
remember every second up there, the magic when the sun set and the stars
came out.
Ernst Zundel's Third Great Holocaust Trial will start
November 8 in Mannheim, Germany. Stay tuned! Tell a friend!
