H. Adler - The Journey

Paul pauses in order to stand. The dust of the road has blinded him. So keep looking around! Cast a glance at the brindled fields. They lie there damp, some of them not having experienced the war at all. They are split up so nicely and must belong to no one. It’s certainly not as cold now as it was this morning. The day has cleared up, no more rain presses down. The clouds are balled up into white puffs, a good sign. They break apart and blue sky appears between. A beautiful day. Lovely weather. The sun shines on the troughs below the underbrush, the light lines thickening into wider bands of vegetation that spread over each acre. The sun disappears, a light shadow whisks away the brilliance with a cool shower of haze, but then the sun returns, then again the light is subdued as it flashes off in the distance, followed by streams of light that reach out powerfully from plumed clouds. The entire land is bathed in gold, the sun has won the day. Everywhere there is light. The last white streams up above dissolve into a light snow of blossoms that quickly blow away and disappear. The broken-up fields will for this day remain drenched with sun.

A little rest is needed. Nobody stops you from taking it, and no voice says you shouldn’t. There under that slope it’s nice and dry and is a welcome site to the wanderer. Little beetles are not afraid of him, because he is happy within himself. The flowers in the grass are happy to bear his weight. But why rest now? Paul rocks back and forth. Whoever separates his life from thought will not last. Whoever wishes to just wander along without thinking will meet his own death before he reaches his desired destination. By taking a step Paul had left the road, and his body followed along easily. The view that the eyes slowly take in tries to seduce him into the unknown. Another step. It could be a hundred steps or more. That way, not Unkenburg. No hand to point the way. To remain in the unknown would be a good way to simply be. No need to own anything, no need for a grave. It could be a hundred steps more or even farther. Any step could be the one to reach your destination. Just one little step more. The feet don’t have to be lifted, they can just slide along on solid ground across the soft grass. Yet Paul knows well enough that none of these steps can take it easy. All of them are in a hurry. They can’t worry about finding quiet and rest, for they are nothing but blind, irresolute steps that must serve him, though he himself feels ashamed. Why do you want to rest? Only the dead don’t want to go any farther, only the imprisoned. Those who are free have no demands. Don’t give in to your weakness, stick to your path! Yet what wouldn’t you give if only you could lie upon this slope for a week? What would you have given yesterday? Nothing! You can’t give anything. The question is pointless. Now that you carry along a little bundle, you don’t want to give anything away, nor should you. Paul leans sleepily toward taking a break as he slides along the softened ground, his feet gliding along, yet his body bends, the right arm thrusts out ahead, the hand stretches forward, as Paul comes to a full stop. He must not fall on this day. Yet he can no longer stand. Today he might not reach Unkenburg.

He must open his eyes in order to avoid the ditch along the side of the road. Just keep moving forward. Eight kilometers, so that’s how far it is. Seven kilometers, it’s less and less. It can’t be much farther. When Paul looks around a bit, he can make out the mud-spattered milestones. Six kilometers, four kilometers. Halfway there. It must already be less than that. The town is more and more visible. Here there are no more milestones. Does the town not want to reveal where it is? Or have the stones been gobbled up out of necessity? You shouldn’t still be on this road! Why didn’t you try out that bed of grass on the slope? Now look at what’s happened! We need you to be elsewhere, we really need you, you have to hurry up. You’re not unneeded, don’t get all wrapped up in your worldly pain. What are you complaining about? Only fools keep whimpering because they can’t get rid of old habits. Yet you have no more inner resources, that makes you appealing and of worth. We’ll pick you up and won’t ask questions for too long. It’s happened to you so often that you shouldn’t be at all surprised. You can trust us, it will do you good. Be grateful that we give you fair warning. With others we give no notice at all, we just pick them up and interrogate them.

I was also picked up, yet no one said much to me. What’s the difference? — There is no difference, it’s just the same; you just take it in stride and adapt yourself. It’s always true that you will be taken away the moment you believe you can be. They just call it something else and say, You’ve been picked up because we simply didn’t want to let you go. You shouldn’t be left alone any longer. — Yet when I was picked up I was left alone and locked up. At the end of the trip we were taken out and separated. The hand was there, all hands had flown off! — Get ahold of yourself. All have traveled your path. There are many destinations and many that die on any given day. — Some die every day. — That’s why you should celebrate no specific day, but rather every day. Think of birth and death. Mourn your friends and take joy in your grief. — But picked up and hauled off! — You know the truth. Protected and always in the same hands. Your future the same as all others. — The one hand …! — Renounce your urge to flee! Take the hand while it is still there! It’s not cut off. It points the way and all others point to it. Often it knows more than what the eyes can tell you, often it is all you have.

If we can rip tree trunks from the earth along with their roots and topple stylites, why shouldn’t we be able to haul you off? Anyone can be handed over at any moment. — To whom? — Just handed over! — But there’s no one to be handed over to. — He conjures it himself; now he can choose his journey. — So there’s no freedom after all? — Take it easy! What the hand chooses is still free because it is chosen. Only he who cannot decide will be sought and picked up. Freedom consists of orders and coercion, judgment and fate. — The choice sets in motion the future, it lies in the future, and it gives one a direction for its own reasons. — Now be reasonable, you little corpse, which we weigh within our hands. We can do with you what we want, and we can make it seem as if it was what you yourself wanted. But we don’t want to do anything. We’re just part of a chain. Above us is a hand. The first connects to the last because his hand connects through other hands. It’s the same throughout the world and for all times and will always be so.

Now he is close to town, two kilometers, one kilometer. It can’t be much longer. Everything will be available in Unkenburg. The people have thought of hard times and prepared for them by storing up provisions in order to last out the worst of it. The fear of robbery is indeed very real, causing many to hunt for what they had hidden, yet no one bothers you if you search high and low. Paul doesn’t want someone else’s things, he seeks no revenge, only his own missing things. It’s not stealing when you take something out of a stranger’s attic. The goods become his own once they enter his own house. But is that still standing? The cracks in the walls are not dangerous, a little whitewash and they’ll be just fine. The security fortress still holds a lot. In the pantry you can find treasures stored there for ages, a little state seal on every glass! Everything is still there and has been well taken care of. Frau Lischka has her shortcomings, yet she does well at watching over the building.

“So you’re back, Herr Lustig! My husband has already opened a bottle of schnapps for you. But please, just carry on. The next floor up you’ll find the old doors, though there’s no longer a sign. But it doesn’t matter, Herr Lustig. It’s better this way. No one knew that you were gone.”