H. Adler - The Journey

The engine up ahead gives a pleasant snort, happy that it has been pulled out of the museum. Now it’s back in service. Do you hear the jolly whistle? That’s not Cross-Eyes. That’s the train, or wait, that’s the stationmaster who blows his whistle and is in charge of everything. Here he is much more important than the mighty heroes, to whom he doesn’t even pay attention. When one of the heroes comes up to him, he gives a careless salute. He believes that the last signal is about to be given. The travelers have been made comfortable. The engineers look ready. In a moment you’ll be on your happy way. Officials, nurses, and orderlies will ensure your fate and attend to your every need.

But we don’t expect any satisfaction from you, knowing you will just pull ugly faces. It hurts us that you’re so nasty, like naughty children, because we’re the ones who carry all the responsibility, for we have to pay for your guilt with our innocence. Since we have taken everything away from you, we are your guardians. Your souls are in our hearts, in our laps, in our mouths. We lead you by your little hand so that you can survive the struggle.

Now you are out of the snow flurries outside, wrapped up in your soft blankets, having found peace and joy. We lock the doors of the wagons and place the seal of our blessing upon them. Now you can’t get away. Pleasant journey, little sheep, but don’t sing too loud and don’t shout from the train, because the guards will shoot without warning at a moment’s notice. A little caution couldn’t hurt. We’ve secured the route, soon you will reach your destination. Nothing will happen to whoever is obedient. Only the bad ones will be shot. The good will be praised and will get some sugary snow. They are given some before they even purse their lips to ask for it. All in all everything is in place, a safe journey is guaranteed.

The stationmaster lifts his baton. The heroes turn away. Herr Nussbaum turns around and stares with his crossed eyes off and away. Away, away … a safe journey and security … guaranteed … though they will shoot, they’ll shoot … the house and the steps … the beautiful snow, the snowdrops … whoever doesn’t believe, whoever doesn’t believe … doesn’t believe … believe.…

The connection we feel to our surroundings is built on belief. Yet Caroline woke up unable to believe where she was, though it also must have been difficult for her to get her bearings, for in the cavernous casemate she could hardly see anything under the single lightbulb that was burning. No brightness came from it, but rather a turbid flickering. She had never seen an electric light quite like it; it reminded her of an oil lamp. Caroline could believe none of it. There was snoring and groaning all around her, the rustling of many little things. It was worms, that was it; they had fought their way through all the impediments, for only worms could thrive in this damp cave. This meant that one couldn’t keep any flour because the worms would ruin it and there would be no more bread. And yet it couldn’t be worms she was hearing, for she clearly heard someone whisper. It came from somewhere, one minute here, the next in the corner over there that the eyes couldn’t make out. So there were people here, genuine people, it occurred to Caroline as she rubbed her eyes in order to see better. Yet that didn’t help, the darkness didn’t lift and her eyes only burned. This was caused by the gooey flour that had formed in her eyes during sleep. But was there an eye doctor here who could rid her of this awful inflammation?

Caroline sat up in order to see better. She wasn’t able to see much more, but she could grasp where she was, and that yesterday they had been locked up here, she and her husband, her sister, the children, and at least a hundred others. They all must have arrived here and rolled around in the flour. No, it wasn’t flour made of grain, it was bran, but also not made of grain, rather moldy sawdust that produced an acrid smell, the flaky splinters pressing at you no matter which way you turned. If you stood up and shook yourself off, your neighbors would yell at you to watch out as the bran flew all around and everyone complained. Leopold said it was like being in the army, but outside in the field, not in a barracks, though now it would seem that everyone here was enlisted; you could only make do with whatever quarters you found, making sure that you had a roof over your head and were not stuck in some foxhole full of water. “Look, Caroline, they prepared a straw bed for us so that we would be more comfortable. They even made sure to take care of the lights.” It was good that Leopold was satisfied. At home things were never right. Caroline sat and placed her hands on the knapsack in order to better remember. But inside her mind the past was no clearer. She could sense that she had forgotten a great deal, all of which a ringing skull did not help in the least. Was it time for Carnival? Was it New Year’s? Had she had too much to drink, let herself get carried away? Or had she been ill and simply been dreaming? Probably she was dreaming, even if it was with open eyes, for only in a dream could such a murky twilight descend and remain so endless.

Caroline thought harder. Then it occurred to her that perhaps she had died, even if she didn’t seem dead; it was simply a dying that didn’t kill, and that was why she wasn’t lying in any grave, but instead stuck in a pantry full of bad air. But how could it be that other people were also here, even her own family? Had they all died? That couldn’t be. Only as a result of an earthquake would so many be dead. But there had been no quake. The buildings were still standing, no one had knocked them down. Frau Lischka had locked the door from the inside as Caroline was distracted by the decoys set by others. If the house was going to blow apart, it would come much later, and then the decoys would be angels who would lead the Lord’s loved ones to certain safety. In this way the expelled could rest assured, though for those who stayed behind in the supposedly guarded buildings, the final end was already ordained. Between the walls they would meet the enemy and be annihilated by a single stroke.

Were the figures that surrounded Caroline really human beings? They weren’t at all, her imagination had simply run away with her as so often happened with the dead, Caroline told herself, and all she needed to do was gather her wits and stare truth in the face. Then it would be clear that Caroline was in the middle of a wax museum that someone had cleaned out and stored for safety inside the casemate. Caroline had been dragged along by accident. She had probably just entered the cabinet of curiosities when the order had come through for it to be cleaned out, a preventative measure that made a great deal of sense. Caroline had become sick as the hands and feet of the wax figures were packed away; she fainted, her face turning a waxy yellow color, such that in the heat of their duty the officials made a mistake and took along the glassy-eyed Caroline and laid her out here in the wood shavings where the undead regained consciousness once again. She wanted to yell in order to get the attention of the guards outside. I’m not made of wax, I can’t stand the sawdust, I can’t eat it, it’s much too cold for me here among these figures.

Caroline didn’t have the strength to yell and she could see that things looked bad around her. She could only hope that soon one of the guards would come so that with a sign she could make him aware of the disastrous mistake that had occurred. Yet the prisoner was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to give any clear sense of events if the guard, out of fear, wouldn’t let her speak. She remembered that simple souls often became afraid in front of automatons. Someone might take her for something like that the moment she stretched out her hand to them. Caroline was not the kind of thing you’d expect to see in a cabinet of curiosities. It was only because of someone’s goodwill that she had been included among the chosen figures that had been sculpted by artistic hands. Caroline was an ordinary display model. She stood in the department store and displayed girdles, dresses, and hats to distinguished ladies. No one was interested in her, only what she was wearing. Someone had not been careful while carrying around the mannequin and had broken off some pieces. But no one repaired her and she had been thrown onto the rubbish heap instead.