Here is a short story of Holocaust survivor who, after many years meets the very Nazi soldier
How we both ended up on an elevator in America, I can never be quite sure. It had been years since the war, and the appeal of the states had drawn me from my war-torn home in Warsaw. I had noticed the man briefly before entering the elevator.
We were both on the top floor of the skyscraper, looking out over the pristine American city. As the sun finally set, we both exhaled softly and headed toward the elevator doors. We both stepped in, and the doors closed us in together. I stayed to one side, as far away from the man as I could. I'd never been keen of tight quarters. He pressed the button for the lobby, and asked me where I was going. I told him we were going to the same place. The small talk continued at a slow and awkward pace. A few words per floor, maybe. The ride down was a long one and he, like myself, seemed to be the quiet type. The more he spoke, though, the more eerily familiar his voice sounded. His voice gave me great discomfort, and my claustrophobia began to come on in full effect. Sweating profusely, I darted toward his side of the elevator and as I reached my arm out to tap the button to get me off at the next floor, my sleeve slid up my forearm to reveal a faded "561340" tattoo. I quickly shuffled my sleeve back down my forearm and darted off of the elevator onto the random floor. I looked at the man for the first time face to face. His eyes were widened, aimed at me, but shooting through me and into the distance in a blank stare. As the elevator doors closed in those brief fleeting moments, I felt 1942 all over again. The brick walls. The straw beds covered in bodily fluids. A longing for a woman whose ashes were scattered somewhere in Germany... maybe around the whole world by now. And his eyes. Those god damned eyes, always haunting...patrolling. I pointed a trembling finger at him just before the doors finally closed. I have never wished harm upon any man in my life since those fateful camp days. But as the red 'down' arrow on the elevator door lit up, I could not help but picture the man descending into flames...maybe to his death, but more probably, back to his home. I just stared. I saw those eyes that put me on my knees and beat my back. The blood that touched his whip. The one piece of food he threw at the floor so I can eat with the dirt. I remember it like it was yesterday. His posture, his attitude, his stern eyes. How can I remember this man so vividly and he thinks I'm just random stranger? The pain he put me threw, the heartbreak. And he didn't even bother to look at me. Oh but I looked at him, I looked at him real well and I will never forget. My first thought was to take my cane and beat him down to a bloody pulp. That thought made me think that it would sooth the pain. But it wouldn't, and I knew it. The elevator door opened and it was on my floor. But I didn't want to get off, I couldn't. This man that ruined my life will just pass me by like nothing happened. I didn't want to let that happen. But I thought to myself, if I do this will it not just stoop me down to his level? I thought so and I just stepped off the elevator on my floor and said goodbye. He would never knew who I was, but I would remember him for the rest of my life.
How we both ended up on an elevator in America, I can never be quite sure. It had been years since the war, and the appeal of the states had drawn me from my war-torn home in Warsaw. I had noticed the man briefly before entering the elevator.
We were both on the top floor of the skyscraper, looking out over the pristine American city. As the sun finally set, we both exhaled softly and headed toward the elevator doors. We both stepped in, and the doors closed us in together. I stayed to one side, as far away from the man as I could. I'd never been keen of tight quarters. He pressed the button for the lobby, and asked me where I was going. I told him we were going to the same place. The small talk continued at a slow and awkward pace. A few words per floor, maybe. The ride down was a long one and he, like myself, seemed to be the quiet type. The more he spoke, though, the more eerily familiar his voice sounded. His voice gave me great discomfort, and my claustrophobia began to come on in full effect. Sweating profusely, I darted toward his side of the elevator and as I reached my arm out to tap the button to get me off at the next floor, my sleeve slid up my forearm to reveal a faded "561340" tattoo. I quickly shuffled my sleeve back down my forearm and darted off of the elevator onto the random floor. I looked at the man for the first time face to face. His eyes were widened, aimed at me, but shooting through me and into the distance in a blank stare. As the elevator doors closed in those brief fleeting moments, I felt 1942 all over again. The brick walls. The straw beds covered in bodily fluids. A longing for a woman whose ashes were scattered somewhere in Germany... maybe around the whole world by now. And his eyes. Those god damned eyes, always haunting...patrolling. I pointed a trembling finger at him just before the doors finally closed. I have never wished harm upon any man in my life since those fateful camp days. But as the red 'down' arrow on the elevator door lit up, I could not help but picture the man descending into flames...maybe to his death, but more probably, back to his home. I just stared. I saw those eyes that put me on my knees and beat my back. The blood that touched his whip. The one piece of food he threw at the floor so I can eat with the dirt. I remember it like it was yesterday. His posture, his attitude, his stern eyes. How can I remember this man so vividly and he thinks I'm just random stranger? The pain he put me threw, the heartbreak. And he didn't even bother to look at me. Oh but I looked at him, I looked at him real well and I will never forget. My first thought was to take my cane and beat him down to a bloody pulp. That thought made me think that it would sooth the pain. But it wouldn't, and I knew it. The elevator door opened and it was on my floor. But I didn't want to get off, I couldn't. This man that ruined my life will just pass me by like nothing happened. I didn't want to let that happen. But I thought to myself, if I do this will it not just stoop me down to his level? I thought so and I just stepped off the elevator on my floor and said goodbye. He would never knew who I was, but I would remember him for the rest of my life.
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