The Collected Stories

everything.”
    “I am afraid that you’ll think me insane.”
    “I swear I will not.”
    Esther bit her lower lip. “I want you to know that I saw Hitler,” she said.
    Even though I was prepared for something unusual, my throat constricted. “When—where?”
    “You see, you are frightened already. It happened three years ago—almost four. I saw him here on Broadway.”
    “On the street?”
    “In the cafeteria.”
    I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. “Most probably someone resembling him,” I said finally.
    “I knew you would say that. But remember, you’ve promised to listen. You recall the fire in the cafeteria?”
    “Yes, certainly.”
    “The fire has to do with it. Since you don’t believe me anyhow, why draw it out? It happened this way. That night I didn’t sleep. Usually when I can’t sleep, I get up and make tea, or I try to read a book, but this time some power commanded me to get dressed and go out. I can’t explain to you how I dared walk on Broadway at that late hour. It must have been two or three o’clock. I reached the cafeteria, thinking perhaps it stays open all night. I tried to look in, but the large window was covered by a curtain. There was a pale glow inside. I tried the revolving door and it turned. I went in and saw a scene I will not forget to the last day of my life. The tables were shoved together and around them sat men in white robes, like doctors or orderlies, all with swastikas on their sleeves. At the head sat Hitler. I beg you to hear me out—even a deranged person sometimes deserves to be listened to. They all spoke German. They didn’t see me. They were busy with the Führer. It grew quiet and he started to talk. That abominable voice—I heard it many times on the radio. I didn’t make out exactly what he said. I was too terrified to take it in. Suddenly one of his henchmen looked back at me and jumped up from his chair. How I came out alive I will never know. I ran with all my strength, and I was trembling all over. When I got home, I said to myself, ‘Esther, you are not right in the head.’ I still don’t know how I lived through that night. The next morning, I didn’t go straight to work but walked to the cafeteria to see if it was really there. Such an experience makes a person doubt his own senses. When I arrived, I found the place had burned down. When I saw this, I knew it had to do with what I had seen. Those who were there wanted all traces erased. These are the plain facts. I have no reason to fabricate such queer things.”
    We were both silent. Then I said, “You had a vision.”
    “What do you mean, a vision?”
    “The past is not lost. An image from years ago remained present somewhere in the fourth dimension and it reached you just at that moment.”
    “As far as I know, Hitler never wore a long white robe.”
    “Perhaps he did.”
    “Why did the cafeteria burn down just that night?” Esther asked.
    “It could be that the fire evoked the vision.”
    “There was no fire then. Somehow I foresaw that you would give me this kind of explanation. If this was a vision, my sitting here with you is also a vision.”
    “It couldn’t have been anything else. Even if Hitler is living and is hiding out in the United States, he is not likely to meet his cronies at a cafeteria on Broadway. Besides, the cafeteria belongs to a Jew.”
    “I saw him as I am seeing you now.”
    “You had a glimpse back in time.”
    “Well, let it be so. But since then I have had no rest. I keep thinking about it. If I am destined to lose my mind, this will drive me to it.”
    The telephone rang and I jumped up with a start. It was a wrong number. I sat down again. “What about the psychiatrist your lawyer sent you to? Tell it to him and you’ll get full compensation.”
    Esther looked at me sidewise and unfriendly. “I know what you mean. I haven’t fallen that low yet.”
    V

    I was afraid that Esther would continue to call me. I even planned to change my telephone number. But weeks and months passed and I never heard from her or saw her. I didn’t go to the cafeteria. But I often thought about her. How can the brain produce such nightmares? What goes on in that little marrow behind the skull? And what guarantee do I have that the same sort of thing will not happen to me? And how do we know that the human species will not end like this? I have played with the idea that all of humanity suffers from schizophrenia. Along with the atom, the