H. Adler - The Journey

Then the Society of Ruhenthal Veterans is founded. Every week they get together and play cards. Each dresses well and tells stories. Each member wears a badge that has the Ruhenthal coat of arms on it. Reunions are arranged, one weekend a year in Ruhenthal! Caroline will lead them. Everyone will come. The railroad will offer reduced prices. In Ruhenthal there is music and many speeches are given. Poems are written, the newspapers will cover it all. Everyone will say that he was there when it was so bleak and no one believed it would end well. The times change. No one will hide his joy. Most of all, Ida will laugh.

Caroline looks up. Ida looks at peace, almost pleased. She has slept for a little while. She is not as anxious about what will happen, but concedes that she can also get along there. You only have to maintain your patience, you cannot give up your courage and will to live. Ida promises Caroline that she’ll keep her will to live, there is no need for her to worry so, for it won’t do any good. Then the women see what Paul and Zerlina have done. Zerlina arrives and announces what she has heard, namely that the old people will indeed not be taken away, which means no one over fifty, because only really able people are needed there, not any sick ones, new guidelines have just been handed down. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief, the danger is gone.

“Ah, children! Now, that’s better! You’d think they could have told us sooner!”

It appears to be true, not just a rumor, everyone talks about it openly, Ruhenthal is full of good news. No one will have to go who is not really suited. No one wants to kill us, they only want us to work. Just as Paul picks and shovels away on the Dobrunke shooting range back in Leitenberg, so many of us will end up doing the same. Not everyone is needed in Ruhenthal, there are no factories here. They will have to go off to the countryside, and where one works is where one also meets other people. There our young people will not be so cut off from the land, so they won’t have to worry about sustenance. Caroline wants to unpack everything, but Ida resists doing so.

“I haven’t seen it in black and white yet. No one can be certain until the departure happens.”

No, nothing is certain. Additional news spreads. Everyone must go. Everyone must go who originally was supposed to go. The healthy will work, the sick will be taken care of. Thus Ida is saved, for she doesn’t have to work, though she has to go nonetheless. But that can’t be so bad. The journey won’t take that long, a day, then a night, maybe two days, three at the most, certainly no more than four. In any case it must come to an end sometime. As long as you are on the train, you only have to sit there and not worry about anything. There’s no getting off. That’s the advantage of the special transport. You get on and you get off. In between nothing happens, the train just keeps going. Afterward everyone can rest, especially the sick.

The travelers must gather together. Ida cannot remain, but she is still there. She can take a little while, no one will mind. No one will miss the train. It will wait for all of those who are traveling. Until the departure she will still be there, nothing will happen to her. She can remain there, she can indeed. She can laugh and cry, she can feel happy or sad, whatever she wishes. Ida can hardly walk because her feet won’t do what she wants. But the sick stand there waiting. The luggage is taken away. “Have you made sure to mark everything correctly?” Yes, everything is in order. With soluble chalk the name and date of birth have been scrawled onto the top of the suitcase. Anyone can plainly read it. This suitcase belongs to Frau Ida Schwarz, née Schmerzenreich, who first saw the light of this world on 6/1/1882.

Back then she was suddenly there. She left her hidden sanctuary and screamed for the first hour of her life. She was taken care of and her first warm bath was prepared. The midwife was a capable woman who understood her job. “It’s a girl, Frau Schmerzenreich!” she called out joyfully. And Caroline now had a little sister. The child was named after an aunt called Ida. She was a darling child, so good-natured and cheerful. The parents were overjoyed with little Ida. She grew up and was soon big and as beautiful as a flower in a poem. She went to school, learned how to cook and sew, she sang and danced, fell in love, got engaged, and then she got married. It went off in splendid style, for all the relations approved. The wedding table was decorated elaborately and looked even more beautiful than when Caroline was married. There were many guests, each with a flower in their buttonhole. Some had come from far off just to be there. All of them had brought gifts. Caroline and Leopold gave them a marvelous coffee service for twelve, white with a wide gold rim. Ida was taken aback and touched by the many expensive gifts and cried, as young girls often do. Soon Ida would be very spoiled, which suited her just fine. Her every wish was fulfilled. There was money in the house and it was transformed into decorative goods or jewelry. Lovely clothes were sewn and acquired, anything Ida’s heart wished for. A son was born, named Albert, and he grew splendidly. Then, unexpectedly, came a difficult time when she found herself a widow. Her husband died suddenly after dinner. He just stood up from the table, gave a little cry, followed by a heavy thud, a heart attack; he was already gone by the time Leopold arrived. Yet Ida was well looked after. There was a large building with a wonderful apartment, some savings, and a large insurance payment. Ida lived for her Albert and was happy, for the son grew tall and was good.

But one day it all came to an end. The good son suddenly took off for the haven of America. There they needed a talented photographer. Ida, who loved Albert above all else, was glad that he had left. Soon Ida had to move out of her luxurious apartment and in with Caroline. That was not too inconvenient, because Leopold’s waiting room stood empty and he could take her in, even if she wasn’t a member of his immediate family. That’s the way it was and no one could tell Leopold any different. Yet after a year had passed, Ida had to travel with Caroline and family to Ruhenthal. The good son was in America and could not know. As soon as the war is over, Albert will come back; a good son doesn’t let his old, sick mother wait an extra hour. That will be the loveliest day of Ida’s life. Yet she hardly talks about it, for just mentioning his name fills her with worry. Also, Caroline’s children can easily get upset, and Ida is careful around them. One talks about what is nearby and thinks about what is far off. Ida hears her sister say, “It’s good, Ida, that we are all still together. At least you’re not alone. Together we can better get through it all.” Ida agreed. She didn’t carry along the good son with her to Ruhenthal. He should not have a thing to worry about. She will never say his name until the war is over. Whatever will come to pass is inevitable. It’s only lucky that she can share such danger and privation with her next of kin, because a widow on her own in this world …

“We will never be apart, Ida! We won’t let oursleves be separated!”

“No, Caroline, a thousand times no!”

“Certainly not us!”

“No! No!”

And yet Ida is off. And you, my dear, remain here. You must, I must. There is no other way. Should we let Albert know? It would be too hard on him. She doesn’t pass on her greetings, instead she will see him again one day herself. The journey is inevitable. America is off in the wild blue yonder. Only in the blue. An invidious song. And even that is over. Leopold is so old. It will be hard on him. At least it’s fortunate that he no longer understands. The poor man. No, Ida has it much worse. One has to plead that she be allowed to stay, to do everything possible at the last moment. It’s never too late to try. The entire family can go with her. Certainly. There’s nothing to it, nor would it be too much of a sacrifice. Leopold is over seventy-five. No one will take him. Only up to sixty. Almost the very same age at which Ida must still leave. You can’t plunge an entire family into trouble just because of one person. But it’s not trouble! Who said anything about trouble? No, it’s not trouble, it’s orders. It can’t be helped. There is nowhere to hide, and that’s disappointing. You expect everything to be all right, but soon you find that bad things happen fast. You don’t get up. Better to just pull the blanket over your head, for that’s also warmer.