H. Adler - The Journey

Everything human involves judgment, which is why it comes as no surprise to say that without judgment consciousness would not be possible. Man is a creature that judges. That’s why judgment must be experienced by him and endured until he receives his own final judgment and accepts it. Then the will disappears or is broken. A quarter of an hour passes, then another, as the hour strikes and the great journey begins that marks the conclusion of another great journey, the onset of perpetual motion, this journey being like all others. Everything becomes uncertain; each new decision that’s handed down is executed directly by the powers that be who carry it out without seeing the consequences, because even though what occurs later is set in motion on their own familiar turf, how it’s been decided and why remains unknown and has to do with the suppositions of the authorities. They themselves have no power; they only shout out the orders they are supposed to and thus bear witness to their faith in the system.

Now they turn their attention to Dr. Leopold Lustig’s household, which is to be vacated, though nothing more is sure. Even the officials carrying out their orders have no clear idea of the consequences of their commands as they scatter fates to the wind. A piece of paper brought along is taken out and handed over, the words themselves no longer important. Everything is destroyed, the bottle of raspberry juice falls over accompanied by a shriek as the carpet turns red. A weary hand reaches toward the bottle that rolls away after it falls and slowly lifts it and places it back on the table.

“It can’t be all that bad, for it’s not so far away, and at least we know where we’re going.”

But no one can sleep, the night is shattered. The blackout is useless when those in hiding keep their lights on and keep eternal sleep at bay. Yet sleep is not eternal, that is a fallacy, because if it were eternal it would not tolerate any interruption, and the validity of all official orders would be undermined. But for the living who follow the order for the journey to begin, there is no sleep, because everything must be relinquished. The keys cannot remain in the doors and are collected, the IDs that vouch for the names on them are separated from the nameless phantoms, because the permission for them to remain together must be denied, the result being the separation of belongings from their owners in Stupart, the reality of which is committed to paper in long lists. That’s what is ordered, and the main office won’t worry a bit about what’s left when those forbidden to stay leave the gutted houses. No one hesitates when the command is given, since it says in writing, “You are forbidden.…”

We are all forbidden because we are not what we wished to become, and we are not what we wished to become because we’ve been turned into something unwanted. Thus we are nothing more than extra baggage destined to become the tools of obedience, expectant travelers whose weariness is enough to put all of humanity asleep. Still, it’s astounding that the messengers are not tired. Only we are overtired. But sleep does not exist for those of us to whom time presents, so to say, an inscrutable and fast-approaching future.

Individual needs can be taken care of efficiently and without haste. Now that we’re here, at least they can’t take that from us. If we are to fulfill our duties we need sufficient time, as you can obviously see. You are not bad people, and you know that we’re not so bad either. In fact it’s all a mistake, yet the mistakes are already present and we have to suffer the consequences. Consciousness can practice, and is even capable of getting used to the fact that all experience is betrayed, as well as the need to conjure a tight-lipped smile amid an otherwise emotionless expression. But impatience! Impatience is what does us in.…

“Hurry up! Don’t stop moving! We have to be there by midnight at the latest!”

That is impossible, for that’s not much longer than an hour away. Everything still has to be prepared. Even Frau Lischka doesn’t see the need for such hurry. It’s still night, and the doctor is so old, and Frau Ida Schwarz has rheumatism. You should just see her hands. There’s no way they will leave at night, for that’s impossible. But the officials say that they can easily take off with the doctor and Frau Schwarz at a moment’s notice. The streetcars are still running and the others can leave, indeed as soon as possible, the bracing winter air will freshen everyone. So get going, get going!

And don’t you worry about that fat dog, the house lady can take care of it. What’s that, his name is Bunny? A dog named Bunny! Here’re some scraps for that hot dog, that should do him, it will only do the mutt good to land in someone else’s hands and not be so overfed. It doesn’t matter that he’s a dachshund; even for a broad-built animal he’s still too fat. The looks of him! All this idiotic love of pampered pets, how typical, how useless, what ridiculous sentimentality. Without that, this nonsense would quickly come to an end, for certainly dogs, cats, and canaries will have to be turned in within a few weeks. The Humane Society will take care of them and make sure the critters do not suffer. They’ll be in good hands, don’t worry, everything will be taken care of.

Alas, everything must be done by hand, even the stones that are still held together await the hands that will rip them apart later. The mortar between the individual bricks will tire of fending off the picks and will begin to crumble into dust. But that’s not yet the case, that will take time, that will be put off until later. There’s also no need for Frau Lischka to enter the living quarters. The cracks in the wall are not dangerous. Frau Lischka discovers in the living quarters the old flowery porcelain that Leopold’s grandmother had received as part of her trousseau. It’s all still in perfect condition, without a piece missing; one could even sell it for a pretty price. Yet one shouldn’t just barge in, but rather take greater care so that no cracks appear. Nonetheless, Frau Lischka carries off the tureen, gathering up the many plates with pious hands, since it would be such a shame if it was all carted off by the authorities.

Meanwhile Leopold is fitted out. Here he stands, stiff in a winter coat that otherwise he would never wear, a broad floppy hat on his head, demanding the umbrella he always has with him, come rain or snow, as he hurries to see his patients. This time, however, he leaves without his medical bag, for he can see that it will be a long journey, perhaps a return home possible after a number of months, though it could last a little longer, maybe a year, but no longer, everything will be over by then. That’s why this time the coat, hat, and umbrella aren’t enough; a small knapsack is also packed. Inside are his slippers, as well as whatever is needed to sleep in and to wash, because Leopold needs to feel comfortable. One bag is important, it’s not heavy, no, it doesn’t press upon his shoulder. There are good things to eat inside: bread with sausage and cheese, apples, and a nice cake.

Leopold, you must leave the house and Ida must go with you. Crippled hands and feet don’t matter, the street is dry and there’s no wind. So get going, there are no more houses for all of you to hide in. Your tired bones are dismissed. Ida, they spit on you and laughed about your rheumatism. Anyone can have it, there’s no shame in that. It’s not so bad that your bones are so twisted up, they said, for where you’re headed there will be good hospitals with many doctors and young nurses. Just go, Ida; Leopold can’t go alone, because he gets confused, but if you’re with him everything will be all right. We’ll follow behind. Go and enjoy taking the streetcar from Stupart, because there’s nothing left in this house that can still belong to you. That makes it easy to say good-bye. — But it was our house. — No, it was never yours, nor anything in it. You took it all, since you paid for it with money that didn’t belong to you; it was bribery that allowed you to enjoy the pleasures of this apartment. Four rooms altogether, a dark foyer, a kitchen, living quarters, a bath and toilet, cut off from the outside world because you hid behind a massive door with a flimsy bolt, as well as a dead bolt and chain to quell your fears, and a covered peephole, behind which a bad conscience lurked, climbing up and down the steps as if there were nothing to feel guilty about when away from your loot.