eliewiesel-nightfulltext_3_26_2014_3_23_04_pm

One day when Idek was venting his fury, I happened to cross
his path. He threw himself on me like a wild beast, beating me in
the chest, on my head, throwing me to the ground and picking me
up again, crushing me with ever more violent blows, until I was
covered in blood. As I bit my lips in order not to howl with pain,
he must have mistaken my silence for defiance and so he continued
to hit me harder and harder.
Abruptly, he calmed down and sent me back to work as if
nothing had happened. As if we had taken part in a game in
which both roles were of equal importance.
I dragged myself to my corner. I was aching all over. I felt a
cool hand wiping the blood from my forehead. It was the French
girl. She was smiling her mournful smile as she slipped me a crust
of bread. She looked straight into my eyes. I knew she wanted to
talk to me but that she was paralyzed with fear. She remained like
that for some time, and then her face lit up and she said, in almost
perfect German:
"Bite your lips, little brother…Don't cry. Keep your anger,
your hate, for another day, for later. The day will come but not
now…Wait. Clench your teeth and w a i t … "
MANY YEARS LATER, in Paris, I sat in the Metro, reading my newspaper.
Across the aisle, a beautiful woman with dark hair and
dreamy eyes. I had seen those eyes before.
"Madame, don't you recognize me?"
"I don't know you, sir."
"In 1944, you were in Poland, in Buna, weren't you?"
"Yes, but…"
"You worked in a depot, a warehouse for electrical parts…"
"Yes," she said, looking troubled. And then, after a moment of
silence: "Wait…I do remember…"
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