An Unlikely Encounter
July 24, 2006, London
By Marilyn Millstone
His name is Kurt, and we met on a bench in London’s Regents Park this past July, when the city was sweltering in such record-breaking heat that its verdant parks had turned bone-dry and brittle.
I was nearly asleep when he struck up a conversation with me.
“A lovely breeze, isn’t it?” he asked softly. From behind my sunglasses, I eyed this diminutive old man who had pronounced “breeze” with a guttural “r,” which I recognized as German.
“Yes,” I said, annoyed that he’d felt free to disturb my reverie. I’d been traveling for several days with my husband and my younger brother, who is mentally retarded. I’d retreated to the park for a bit of well-deserved solitude, only to find myself on a bench with this little old man who clearly wanted to talk. To me.
“Have you been to Europe before?” he asked, smiling. Some people smile not just with their lips, but with their whole face – like the sun rising. His face was like that. Captivating. Pleasant.
I nodded, and ticked off a list of places I’d visited: Holland, Norway, Austria, Italy. I didn’t mention Germany.
“You’ve not been to Germany?” he asked. I took off my sunglasses and looked directly into his clear blue eyes. “Yes,” I said. “I’ve been to Germany. I promised to visit some American friends who were stationed in a military base there. But I couldn’t stay, because – because – I’m Jewish,” I stammered.
Then, to my surprise, I began to cry, in part because – for some strange reason – I didn’t want to hurt this frail old man’s feelings.
“And you can’t forgive?” he asked softly.
I shook my head.
“But we must forgive,” he said, nearly in a whisper.
“But such cruelty,” I blurted out. “How can I forgive such cruelty?”
We stared at the serpentine lake that winds through Regents Park, watching a family struggle to keep their paddle boat afloat, their laugher spilling out into the hot, heavy air.
“I was a member of Hitler’s army,” he said after a time. “I was conscripted into it; I didn’t volunteer.” To my amazement, he pulled out his wallet and flipped to a picture of himself as a young man, wearing the uniform of the Reich. My dad had served in World War II, in the Merchant Marines; I felt sure he’d never kept such a picture of himself in his wallet.
“What are you doing in London?” I asked.
“I live here,” he said. “I was taken prisoner by the English during the war. They treated me so well, I decided to stay. There was nothing back at home for me after the war, really. So I’ve been here ever since. I love it.”
I didn’t want to know more. I allow myself one prejudice in life: hating the Germans.
But he went on anyway, telling me that he’d never married, though he’d had a girlfriend for 30 years whom he’d often asked to marry him; did I think it was a bad sign that she’d never consented?
Another breeze blew across our path, and I tilted my head back to feel the cool air on my neck and in my hair. A cascade of dry leaves came tumbling down around us – very strange for July.
So I’m sitting on a park bench in London next to an old German prisoner of war who wants marital advice from me, I thought. Am I simply hallucinating, suffering from heatstroke?
Never married. Perhaps that explained why he keeps that picture of himself in his wallet. My dad had married and had kids, and was always pulling out his wallet to show off photos of my mom and my brothers and me. Who did Kurt have to show?
And so – I don’t know why, to give him hope, perhaps – I disclosed something about myself: I told him I’d gotten married for the first time, at age 52, just a few weeks before. That I was in England on my honeymoon.
“Really!” he said, turning toward me, blue eyes twinkling. “That’s wonderful!”
We fell into an oddly companionable silence, watching the parade of people, some with baby strollers or dogs or companions. Some alone.
“I want to show you a secret garden,” he said after a while. “I promise you it’s a special place. I’ve lived here since the ’40s and I only learned about it when a friend showed it to me 5 years ago. Come.”
There are some moments when the road in your head splits, and you think: What’s the risk if I go? What’s the risk if I stay?
There was, I’m embarrassed to say, a small piece of me that thought he might take me to this secret garden and kill me, now that he knew I’m Jewish. Maybe that’s what he does: pick up Jews in the park, take them to this garden, kill them, bury them there. Nonsense. Like I said, I’m embarrassed to have thought of it.
But the risk of not going with him? That was to risk not learning something, not exposing myself to something new. In my book, that’s risking too much.
So I let Kurt take my hand and lead me across Regents Park. “I want to recite a poem to you,” he said as we walked. “It’s a love poem called The Kiss. It’s in French.”
And so this tiny old German man and I strolled through Regents Park hand-in-hand, he softly reciting love poetry to me in fluid French, a language I barely know but have always adored.
Then he explained that he’d been trained as a linguist and had been working as a French teacher when “Hitler’s army,” as he always referred to it, sent him to France as a spy.
For some reason, I needed to know what Kurt would actually have done if he’d overheard something in France that would have helped Hitler.
So I asked him.
“I would never have betrayed the French people,” he said quickly. “Never. They were very kind to me.”
I don’t know if I believed him. But I wanted to. I wanted to. And maybe that’s what matters.
And maybe that’s why, or part of why, we travel: to sit in new places and feel the breeze, and take unexpected walks with strangers.
We had only just arrived at Kurt’s secret garden when I checked my watch. No matter how quickly I walked to the Baker Street subway stop, I’d be at least 30 minutes late meeting my husband and brother. My husband knows I have no sense of direction. He’d worry.
“I’ll walk you back,” Kurt said.
“No,” I said gently. “I have to walk fast, and your heart –“
Somewhere along the way, Kurt had told me that he suffered from a bad heart condition. I found myself feeling protective toward him – well, not protective, I guess. As I said, I hate the Germans. But something….
“Are you sure you can make it back on your own?” he asked.
“Yes,” I lied. “I have a very good sense of direction.”
He eyed me carefully.
“I’ll walk you to the road we crossed and show you the bridge we took – just to make sure,” he said.
At the appointed place, I reassured him that I knew how to get where I needed to go.
He looked at me warmly, his eyes as clear and undisturbed as the cloudless sky. Then he reached for my hand.
I smiled. “It was really nice to meet you,” I said.
When I’d crossed the empty road, he waved. “Auf Wiedersehen,” he called out. Then, in a whisper, added, “My love.”
In this world of instant gratification, we’ve come to expect that big changes will happen overnight, that one day we’ll awaken to a world magically free of hunger and poverty, a world filled with peace and love. But in truth, the world, if it changes at all, changes poco a poco. Little by little. By small meetings, chance encounters. Or by encounters that perhaps do not happen by chance.
Marilyn Millstone is a freelance writer based in Kensington, Maryland.
Posted by Elizabeth Armstrong Moore on Monday, November 13th, 2006 | Email This PostThis entry was posted on Monday, November 13th, 2006 at 12:02 am. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
31 Responses to “An Unlikely Encounter”
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November 13th, 2006 at 12:49 pm
Wow! What a poignent story. I too am an inveterate people watcher, believer of the inherent goodness of people, and will speak to strangers. One never knows what can be learned by opening up to people you meet.
November 13th, 2006 at 1:36 pm
Such a simple story but one showing the inherent goodness of people. In spite of not wanting to read it, I read it to the end.
November 13th, 2006 at 3:03 pm
A German friend confessed to me once that his grandfather was a Nazi and he was sad about young Germans of the late 20th century were still persecuted for the horrible things that the Hitler Regime did. My friend was so ashamed by what had happened in his country, even though he was born years after it happened and was upset with his family’s involvement.
This story defintely is eye opening, showing that there were some forced into it by the Nazi’s and although the old newsreels portray a unified group, how many other young men of that time like Kurt were forced into it?
Thank you for sharing your story and in the line of everyone else who previously commented, showing the inherent goodness of people, even those one would least expect.
November 13th, 2006 at 9:10 pm
“Such a simple story”, as Collis wrote above, yet written in such a way that caused my mind to wander and review my family’s and my own prejudices . . . several of which, like the author’s, may have been reasonable in years past but have very little current merit. (I.e., would I now be married if an Asian former girlfriend had been better received by my family with WWII backgound in the Pacific?)
In addition, I happen to have a distinctively German surname, and the story rekindled apprehensions about others’ preconceived feelings about me I had not felt since travelling extensively in Europe 30 years ago.
November 14th, 2006 at 7:38 pm
What a lovely story, filled with such tenderness and empathy. I look forward to reading more of Ms. Millstone’s work in the future. Kudos! What thought-provoking themes!
November 14th, 2006 at 10:12 pm
I loved your story, Marilyn. Your writing voice is relaxed and flowing, like a beautifully orchestrated dance. Thank you for sharing your story and your talent. The experience of your encounter with this man inspires me to open my eyes and ears to more people during my own travels. Our grand world is so vastly populated, yet the two of you came together that day. I don\’t believe it was any more random luck than I believe that all butterflies have the same markings or that I can make the sun rise tomorrow morning. Blessings on your path.
November 15th, 2006 at 10:52 am
so moving, was rivited till the end. what a lovely and postive story. Another proof the truth is stranger and more interesting than fiction.
Thank you for taking me to London for a walk and talk with 2 interesting folks,
Linda de Marlor
November 16th, 2006 at 3:33 pm
What an honest, touching, human story. I am left with a reminder to be open to hope.
Betsy Devlin-Foltz
November 17th, 2006 at 9:18 am
I was truly captivated and transported to the English garden. I felt the droop of the July heat, the smell of the flowers, and the deep touching of souls. Marilyn is true magic.
November 17th, 2006 at 1:51 pm
This essay was written by a talented, very creative, and most sensitive person. The story flows along in a simple, yet unique manner. Each passing sentence heightened my interest and fascination. It captured me completely.
Unfortunately, I disagree with the author’s conclusions to some extent.
I cannot trust and believe Kurt, the former Nazi soldier and spy. He was a “civilized” citizen of the “civilized” Nazi Nation that murdered 6,000,000 innocent Jews, and many millions of others. To realize this, count slowly: 1,2,3,—– up to 6,000,000 —– and beyond ! !
In the absence of any hard evidence to prove Kurt’s innocence, I cannot trust or believe him. We have only HIS word and his charm. Hitler could be very charming. Goering declared his innocence until he commited suicide to escape the hangman. Too many World II Nazis lied to evade punishment for their horrible crimes. Many still refuse to tell the truth to escape criticism. To believe and trust Kurt is to dishonor the memory of the many millions of innocent people who perished in The Holocaust
November 17th, 2006 at 8:58 pm
What a trusting soul you are. The idea of a loved one of mine going on a stroll hand in hand with a German spy would get me immediately on guard. I’d tell her she immediately needs to call the first available psychotherapist and start therapy with not one appointment a week but two!
November 17th, 2006 at 11:34 pm
Reflective. Honest. Pure. Marilyn’s touching story reminds us that as humans we are all subject to our frailties and foibles, but capable of profound depth of feeling and compassion. Didn’t it seem like you were there, feeling the seering heat, discreetly watching Marilyn and Kurt, and eavesdropping on their intimate conversations?
November 18th, 2006 at 2:11 pm
What a curious and poignant experience! Only Kurt knows if he was telling the truth about his conscription into the Nazi military and his deeds therein, but we do know that some Germans were conscripted who opposed Hitler - just as there are people everywhere who oppose the many forms of tyranny that impose themselves on our lives. A deeper understanding of Kurt would be needed to assess his claims. Yet, surely the point here is that hatred for any entire group of people is irrational, destructive, and immoral. The Nazis - those who were or still are committed to their ideology of hatred and spurious superiority - poisoned not only the German people, but also many others - including Jewish people - with their antipathy. Whatever the sources of inter-group or inter-personal hostilities, it is unfortunately very difficult for human beings to move past our painful experiences related to these. Jewish traditions encourage forgiveness where one who has harmed another truly changes his or her ways, renounces the wrongs committed, works for redress and restoration, and asks the one/s wronged for forgiveness. This is only possible when those one wronged still live. The dead cannot forgive their murderers; forgiveness is impossible in such cases. Yet survivors of hatred and violence need not carry on their lives as victims ever embittered. For their own sake, those who have suffered can move forward by letting go, with or without forgiving the perpetrators of misdeeds against them. However, let us be clear, many of us no longer accept the idea that the sins of the parents must burden their children. Far from it! Many of us hope for a world redeemed by our each making real efforts to redress our wrongs and to reconcile as best we can for a future beyond violence and brokenness. Marilyn has shared here one small experience - problematic and puzzling as it might be - that points toward the potential of such redemption.
November 18th, 2006 at 6:00 pm
this story, so exquisite, reveals the fragility of the walls we build around ourselves. we protect the one “hatred” that we are certain we are entitled to harbor during our lifetime, while the gods appear to us in the weakest of guises inviting us to love…Marilyn, thank you for this.
November 20th, 2006 at 2:08 pm
Marilyn\’s writing is very evocative. I can feel the afternoon, and picture Kurt in my mind. How often do we rail at the horrible stuff we see on the news and read in the paper, thinking somehow that we are above all of that. But in truth….how do we get over ourselves…..how will the world get past us to the better day we hope to see? Forgive. Great story M-Louise.
November 26th, 2006 at 5:26 am
I had tears in my eyes when I finished your story. I thought it was beautiful. I had tears in my eyes of another kind when I read some of the previous comments. In the 1970s my husband was transferred to Germany (from the UK) by his company and I went with him, reluctantly. I lived there for a while and heard many stories of ordinary German people. These people painted a picture for me of what it was like to live at that time, when people did not have the freedoms of thought and action that we do today - in any country. All nations have their characteristics, and all nations behave slightly differently in difficult situations. The Germans have their national character, the British have theirs. In Britian we are overfond of saying \’It could never have happened here!\’ Well, possibly it couldn\’t. We\’re an island race and stubborn with it. But who knows … At the end of the day it\’s God who choses who s/he forgives. We are instructed to forgive 70 x70, which I guess is just any big number. Forgiveness is better than hatred, and hatred only harms the one doing it!
November 27th, 2006 at 9:19 pm
What a lovely, exquisite recalling of a time meant to be memorialized in print!
Marilyn’s statement: “But the risk of not going with him? That was to risk not learning something, not exposing myself to something new. In my book, that’s risking too much.” It absolutely reflects my very thoughts/feelings on taking chances in life. How much the people who ‘play it safe’ miss! They may feel safe from harm by trying new pathways, but they also lose out on the most remarkable people, places, and experiences.
I lived in Germany in the early 1980’s, a new Army bride. My only son, Paul, was born there - looking every bit the ’stereotype’ German - blonde, blue eyed…(not to mention adorable!) I learned so much from the citizens there. The elders were happy to see we Americans there, to keep the peace. The younger ones (teens) held only contempt for us; they were too young to remember, or know first-hand, the horrors their country once inflicted on the world and the Jewish people.
Thank you Marilyn for sharing this magic exchange with your German friend; I feel as if I had been in that park with you—you have a wonderful talent for the written word - and human emotion.
November 29th, 2006 at 3:49 pm
I’m a friend of the author and I know her to be a kind and compassionit person.
December 1st, 2006 at 10:54 am
there are still many people like kurt all over the world, i have met them myself. yet whenever i stop at yad vashem going through israel, i am also reminded of the other side,the majority of non-kurts, that the little country of slovenia where i was born after the war suffered so much from. that keeps my hatred fresh and alive!
December 2nd, 2006 at 10:08 am
I have deliberately refrained from posting a comment in response to the reactions to my story, which have all - -in their own way - -added important perspectives on the topic I addressed. However, I now feel the need to note that I spent four weeks in the summer of 1989 studying the Holocaust at Yad Vashem, the museum and research center in Jerusalem devoted to remembering and understanding this horrific chapter in the history of humankind.
In my studies there, I learned the discomfiting truth that the Holocaust was perpetrated by more than just Hitler and a small gang of cronies; many people in many nations were complicit. Still, many people in many nations were also innocent, and some people risked their lives to save Jews - -as the lovely and moving Avenue of the Righteous at Yad Vashem attests.
December 2nd, 2006 at 9:11 pm
This is for YOU Marilyn Millstone.
I’ve just read your piece on the internet, “An Unlikely Encounter - 07/24/2006, London.” I’m trying to decide whether I am more angry, infuriated, and disgusted — or am I more torn, saddened, or disappointed with your non-opinion of this little creature of a man. I am also a Jew, as you say you are, but I am the type of Jew who would never buy a German-made car. I feel the engine would be an “enemy,” and would “get me.”
So many millions of souls destroyed, and you seem to gloss over this fact. I remember the Nuremburg trials, and the denials by the Germans saying, “I was only following orders — it was not my fault.” His showing you the snapshot in his wallet — of himself wearing the uniform of the Reich…. Didn’t that give you a clue that he was proud of himself? You heard him say he was “conscripted.” He “didn’t volunteer.” In other words, he was just ‘following orders.’ It wasn’t ‘his fault.’
My God, Ms. Millstone, you are supposed to be a writer… an influence. I felt violated by your words and philosophical musings. Your apparent sympathy for this former German soldier who was “sent to France as a spy “for Hitler’s army” - who was “taken prisoner by the English during the war and was treated so well he decided to stay.” This, to me, in our world that is slowly and subliminally being destroyed by wishy-washy people such as you…. You weaklings teach your children to be weaklings. Forgiveness is not always possible or productive.
You say, and I quote, “When I’d crossed the empty road, he waved. ‘Auf weidersehen,’ he called out. Then in a whisper, added, ‘my love.’” If you had crossed the empty road, how did you hear his “whisper”? I would have hoped you would have ‘whispered’ to him of the horrors and atrocities that occurred, and that you were offended - AT LEAST THAT.
I read that you say your “younger brother is mentally retarded.” Of course, you realize that the Nazis would have happily snuffed out his ‘useless’ life, as they did millions of others whom they deemed unfit. I suppose you were too busy feeling sympathy for this former self-proclaimed German spy.
I feel sorry for you Ms. Millstone. I have never condoned violence — although I must admit I feel the need for retribution. My type of “violent retribution” is SAYING how I feel — and standing by HUMAN principles. My motto has been, and always will be, NEVER AGAIN!
-Sherry Kamins, 12/01/2006-
December 4th, 2006 at 10:37 am
The demonization of Germans concerns me–and that’s not because I think they’re necessarily nicer than anyone else. I think when we demonize the people who commit atrocities, we are trying to disguise the fact that all human beings are capable of them, and that we have to be careful not to become those people. People who would never say anything unkind to your face are perfectly capable of having you put to death if it’s part of their job, and they never have to see you.
If we insist that Hitler, and everyone who supported him, had horns and two tails, we will never recognize the next Hitler, because he, too, will probably be an average-looking man who’s nice to dogs and has a talent for demagoguery. The Waffen SS was staffed by earnest young men who thought they were doing their jobs, although probably with an occasional sadist or sociopath thrown in.
The German Army was full of young men, some of whom died, but some of whom became old men, who had average lives because they were average people. They were all human beings, and they all had stories, and I think it took a great act of courage, generosity, and love to recognize that this old man, too, was a human being with a story.
December 4th, 2006 at 11:26 am
Wow. Remind me not to go on a cross-country bus trip with Ms. Kamins. I thought Ms. Millstone’s article was deliberately ambiguous–indeed, there was a lot left unsaid and I could not tell what her ultimate judgment of this man might have been. In that sense, the article functions as a sort of Rohrshach test on which people can project themselves.
I find it interesting that Ms. Kamins would lash out at Ms. Millstone as a “weakling” simply because she was open to the possiblility that not everyone in Kurt’s shoes was a bad person. I agree with the previous writer (Ms. Clark) that demonization of an entire people allows us to deny the inherent amiguity and possiblity for evil within seemingly ordinary folks–and within ourselves.
I for one want to thank Ms. Millstone for being willing to take a look at a person as an individual despite the fact that she very clearly didn’t want to. That, to me, was an act of courage and the world would be a better place if we all tried to do the same.
December 5th, 2006 at 3:35 pm
Ms. Millstone has written a lovely story about the idea that, despite the atrocities the German regime performed on people of all nationalities, there is a need to move past the hatred and see each person as an individual.
As a descent of German immigrants, I know for a fact that not all Germans were committed to the ideas of Hitler. Most were compassionate and kind people. As in any society, there are people who blindly believe the rhetoric their government reeps upon them. We have that here in the United States - take for example the racism that still exists today.
Soldiers often do things they are ordered to do, much against their own moral values. We do not know what this gentle old man was thinking at the time, but we now see a kind soul who proclaims his regret for his part in the crimes of his country.
We need to look for the good in people. Each of us has that to offer. It will not make up for the sins of the past, but it works wonders in preventing the same thing in the future.
Hate of a race or country is not only short-sited, but continues to propogate and feed the evil that caused the hate in the first place. Hated of the Jews is no different than hating the Germans for what their officials did. Individuals, albiet many, committed those crimes - not an entire nation.
December 5th, 2006 at 6:14 pm
We brave our hearts to the world so that we can find love and forgivness, first in ourselves and then in others. Thank you for your story. A new hope is born.
December 6th, 2006 at 7:45 am
A great story that requires an open-mind to experience, and draw lessons from.
December 12th, 2006 at 8:45 pm
I had the pleasure of meeting and coming to admire Marilyn at Yad Vashem Institute, Jerusalem, where we were both summer students in 1989. I am not surprised that she would have such an experience; her demeanor says to the world “I am ready to listen; I am ready to trust you are telling me the truth.” I am not at all surprised that, given her exceptional intelligence and sensitivity, an unusual combination in this too-polorized world, she would truly try to hear both what her stranger was saying to her and what she was trying to hear herself say to herself. Marilyn is animated by a measured mind, a profoundly conscious mind, traits I admire. That she is also a superb writer, who can translate her experience into what constitues a fine episodic account, should surprise no one who knows her writing in the past. In the end, then, while I assume she has garnered some negative responses from Jews who find her moving narration–which is really a portrait of her capacity to be at least a sympathetic ear (do not confuse sympathy with agreement)–I for one am pleased she not only allowed herself the moment but that she then mustered up the courage to tell the tale. I trust Marilyn will continue to write and reflect not only on this experience, I trust she will continue to write and reflect on any other experiences out of which she has gleaned the kind of humane insights that this story offers. Ronald Vierling
December 15th, 2006 at 6:01 am
Marilyn, I think you have an amazing talent and should keep writing from your heart, because what comes from the heart touches the heart. Your piece touched my heart and made me remmeber this poem about forgiveness by John Greenleaf Whittier. I think true forgiveness frees the heart to be more open and compassionate.
Forgiveness
My heart was heavy, for its trust had been
Abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong;
So, turning gloomily from my fellow-men,
One summer Sabbath day I strolled among
the green mounds of the village burial place;
Where, pondering how all human love and hate
Find on sad level- and how, soon or late,
Wronged and wrong-doer, each with meekened face,
And cold hands folded over a still heart,
Pass the green threshold of our common grave,
Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart,
Awed for myself, and pitying my race,
Our common sorrow, like a mighty wave,
Swept all my pride away, and trembling I forgave!
January 1st, 2007 at 8:56 pm
There is no doubt that you are a talented writer, Marilyn. You told the story well. While I agree, in principal, with the lofty declarations of many the commentators that we should not judge a whole people by the actions of the few, and how good it is to forgive, blah, blah, on this subject I cannot comply with my principals. I will never visit Germany. I never buy a product made in Germany. I cringe when I hear a German accent. I will never understand how the people of Germany (and the people in other countries who happily cooperated with them) could have been so horribly brutal as to round up millions of Jews, ship them, like cattle, to ghastly camps to be tortured and killed. I am not Jewish, but I am human! No human should be treated like that. No human should treat another human like that. I will never understand why so many people in the world are anti-Semitic. The Jews have contributed immeasurably (and disproportionately) to science, medicine, music, literature and entertainment (especially comedy, go figure). And yet, they have been relentlessly persecuted for thousands of years. Call me a hypocritical bigot if you wish, but if it had been I in “Regents Park this past July,” I would have told Kurt to go to Hell.
February 16th, 2007 at 2:57 am
I just read the story again - after four months. I still love it. I choose THIS story to be my favorite. Will it be published in any anthology soon? Have you tried? Want to try with me? I’d love to include this story with a book of other moving, but not sappy, short stories - somehow, someway soon. We have too few - and they sell so well at airports!
And Euro train stations if translated! ESPECIALLY there, because of the subject matter.
I’m glad I came back and reread it. I’m glad it’s still here!
November 7th, 2007 at 4:22 pm
This is truely a treasure,It is a well written and spoken story.Thank you for shareing this.I look forward to the day that hatred ends in all fashions.What is done cannot be undone and as long as the lessons of the past are never repeated that is a Great thing.