Det här är tufft eftersom jag läste den här historien förmodligen årtionden sedan, så minnet är hårt betjänat. Jag kommer ihåg att guldet hämtades från offrens tänder och fyllningar i ett nazistläger, och att någon retribution krävdes på de som kom i kontakt med den. Jag trodde titeln kan vara "Martyrs guld" Men jag kan inte hitta denna historia någonstans. Vilken kunskap eller hjälp uppskattas
"Martyrs substans" av William Sambrot , publicerad på december 1963-utgåvan av Rogue , omtryckt i 1965-antologin Alfred Hitchcock presenterar historier inte för nervös , tillgänglig online från KCK Literacy Curriculum .
“Can’t you guess where that gold came from?” Dumphrey said. “Hohler was one of the butchers of Dachau. Stripping the rings from his victims’ fingers as they were led wailing into the gas chambers. Wrenching the gold teeth and fillings from their lifeless mouths as they were fed into the furnaces. Accumulating his pile of gold, melting it down into bars—“
Jag tycker att det måste vara den historia du ville ha. Däremot matchar inte delen om "retribution" exakt. Några kristna har oskyldigt gjort guldet till en ny korsfästelse för deras kyrka, som inte känner till guldstångarnas sanna ursprung och trodde att guldet skulle vara från deras gamla korsfäst som hade stulits av nazister och som de felaktigt trodde hade varit gjord av guld. Och långt ifrån att vara "förbannad":
Above the altar that strangely serene, that powerful golden figure enveloped them in a warmth they’d never known before.
And as if to prove that God was indeed among them, there occurred then the first of the miracles attribute to the golden Christ. A child, a victim of a shelling attack, had been brought to the service. The child had been buried alive in the ruins of his blasted home, pinned beneath the bodies of his parents. When they’d dug him out, he had shrieked once, then it was as though a light had been extinguished within him: his eyes went blank. He became mute, an unresisting, and unsmiling creature, with no spark of humanity.
But in the church he’d look upon the golden Christ. A faint light leaped into his eyes. He stared. His eyes became brighter. Brighter. And suddenly he screamed, a terrible, piercing scream. He began to cry. The tears were real, genuine tears of emotion. He was alive again, a thinking, feeling human soul; in great anguish—but sane.
“He is a strong young man now, with children of his own,” Dumphrey finished, as we walked down the worn stone steps and back to the car. “His was the first, but there have been similar . . . cures.”
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