A Beautiful Maze

“A Beautiful Maze”

Life it seems, has been all too good to this old man of seventy-five. Yet it had never been a easy life for the old man. His maze, had been as winding and circular as the one in which he stood in now, he had never been able to see where it ended. There he stood, knowing what was coming, almost waiting for it. It was human nature, to reflect, I know that all too well, I have seen it since the exile, since the promise. So I will give him a moment, this task can wait.

That old man had met with more standing walls then most, so I thought for I have always been unusually close to him, always ready. Nonetheless, I know now that it is time, the winter is coming, the taste is on ground. The green on tree and shrub is whining, life was always most beautiful now. So, I will wait.

He had been young when we had first met, it had been almost seventy years since that first meeting. Being a born into a Jewish family in the 1930's, in Germany was not a kind act, he had lost more on that day of our meeting then most of the others lose in a lifetime. A mother, a father, a sister all met by me, yet he was lucky. Being the youngest at the time he had been able to hide. The rest had been taken to Auschwitz, separated, his sister and mother both raped multiple times before our meeting. His father had been too much trouble he had been killed on the steps in front of the building, the old man, not so old at the time had seen it from a hole in the scarlet curtain of the room. He had cried.

I had always been close to him after that. He had survived for months, until he was found starving by the landlord. A good the Lord had been, he kept him, hid him, sent him to America. He was boy then, without a penny, in the slightly less glamorous part of New York Yet, even as he lived on the streets he searched for a new path, and he found it.

At time the men where in short supply, off on the killing beaches. The boy had found work quick, but was always hungry, the owner of the factory, was not a kind man. Yet, the boy lived through the thunder and lightning of the war. He worked hard and grew into a young man.

Nonetheless, I met the old man not so old a little while later, colored scarlet laying there on the ground in an ally. This time a woman, blessed woman, at this which would have been the hour, took him healed him. He was a broken young soul then, life had been hard, he had been trust into the underbelly of street life.

The boy had never seen such house, love lived there, he knew that. For the longest time, since the factory, the boy had stood before an high hedge walled, new a path was found. Taking it was the hard part. I knew what was to come if he did not walk it, so I stood, waiting there. He had taken up a place before the screened door. The door to the woman's house had always been open and after the longest time he knocked and stepped in. After that our meetings where fewer, perhaps more joyous.

He grew well, the woman was good, she gave love like the Lord . The man, not old, not young, opened a business became wealthy and good. I took the blessed woman from him, he placed scarlet roses on that grave.

Yet, he moved on, through the maze, without his guide. Tough the journey became. But now I was confident, he married, he had children, they grew. One child I took, the man cried scarlet tears.

But he took on strength, he became richer, he loved stronger.

One day, I was there, I knew what could happen, the old man of sixty climbed a mountain. He had a strong will I knew that. Nevertheless. halfway up that rock face he became lost, he had looked back, he had realized how incredibly high on that rock he truly was, she had gripped the rock tightly, to himself. I thought then, my time had come, but no, he looked up to blue sky, to heaven an reached out ward. He made it. He reached the prize at last.

After fifteen years, the last without his wife, he was ready, for that final reach upwards.

It was time, I approached. He now was sitting on that bench, under the Oak and saying a prayer, to the blessed woman. I touched him, as he drew his final breath and voiced “Amen”.