H. Adler - The Journey

“So then a theater lover. Pardon me, but you seem somewhat upset. I don’t want to bother you.”

“What do you mean!”

“I see that you’ve had nearly as hard a time of it as me. Any sensible person today can’t help lamenting any destruction that occurs. Whether it has to do with a theater or with a museum, there’s really not that much difference.”

“Or people, the many, many people? If it has to do with a crematorium?… The difference, perhaps one can only flee the specter, no rest … the journey … taken away … rubbish, rubble everywhere … Forgive me …!”

“Are you all right?”

“I already said, forgive me! I’m tired. I have traveled too far. The image of the dead stage got to me.”

“I had a subscription.”

“Really? Tell me about this theater.”

“Even in the last year of the war the best plays were still staged in Unkenburg. Then came the tragedy — everything destroyed. You can see for yourself!”

“I do see! And yet you had a subscription?”

“As you can imagine, I was well off. But you have to bear what you have to bear.”

“Yes, yes, you have to bear it! It’s terrible! Everything is terrible! Please, just keep talking! Did anyone take a bow after the dead waltzed across the stage in their own blood? Was there a lot of applause? Were people moved?”

“My friend, you’re talking crazy! Theater is not reality, theater is art. What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?”

“No, no! But the applause? Was there any applause for the actors as soon as the curtain fell?”

“Yes, it was often wonderful! It really released tension, then people settled down.”

“Did you settle down?”

“Yes, of course I did. You should also settle down. You have to be able to forget. Only the exalted remains. It above all has to remain. One must seek out refinement, not rawness, which is served up today. Please, pull yourself together!”

“I am together. And haven’t you nonetheless settled down? Forgotten as well?”

“One has to! It’s the responsibility to do so that art demands. Only then will life be life once again. The ideal raises us out of the everyday, the pure joy found in the highest things.”

“Enough of that! The horror is still afoot. The voices call out. A hand points into the abyss. The long road. There are the refugees who stream out of the ark. They don’t want anything more to do with the theater.”

“I can’t make sense of what you’re saying.”

“I’m talking about rubble. It’s everywhere.”

“Ah, what does this have to do with rubble! The rubble will be whisked away. The need to rebuild is what matters.”

“My friend, the rubble, the rubble! You will not make a dent in it with picks and shovels. It stands in the way and will trip you up.”

“Bewilderment will get us nowhere. But we can deal with it. You can be sure of that.”

“No, that’s not the way it is. But I don’t want to quarrel with you. And the crematorium? I mean, the theater?”

“That will also be taken care of with time, at least I hope it will.”

“You mean the theater?”

“Certainly! That’s what you were asking about?”

“We’re still talking about that?”

“What else is there?”

“I’m talking about rubble.”

“I’m talking about the theater. I’m happy to talk about everything, but first things first.”

“You mean rubble, at last I understand. Theater or rubble, there’s no longer any difference.”

“You talk strange. It’s perhaps better if we don’t talk about this anymore.”

“It’s hopeless. I know that one of us is dead.”

“Forgive me, but aren’t you the one who is acting now?”

“I’m not acting. I see only the rubble of Unkenburg. I’m sorry, I don’t want to disturb you.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“How do I find police headquarters?”

Paul moves on and doesn’t look back. He passes other buildings, many of them without any damage. What would happen if he entered one? It doesn’t take him long to decide before his hand is already on a door handle. It gives way, the door is unlocked. The stairway is clean, the steps gleaming. People must still live here. Nothing at all has happened, on each door there is a nameplate. These are displayed in the usual manner. None of the names is familiar, but they are names that sound pleasant. Here nobody was taken away, time has stood still and has not been torn in two. People were not disturbed and walked in and out freely. They only had to put up with little raids, then they went back to their routine affairs. Maybe someone lives here who can help lift someone else from the rubble if you ask him to do so in a reasonable way. Paul adjusts his coat and wipes a hand across his face so that he looks refreshed and a bit better. He doesn’t want to frighten anyone, he is neither a beggar nor the bearer of bad news. He has only one wish, he wants to see the inside of an apartment, if indeed one really exists. On this nameplate is the name Wildenschwert. That’s as good a name as any, and so the address has at last been found. No need to walk the length of eight streets and around the corner. Here is the final destination, here lives someone who lives in his own home. He also has a doorbell, so he must get visitors. He cannot be completely surprised that someone should show up. There are many who come and don’t even attempt to ring the bell. One certainly opens the door for them. What need then for doors at all?

Paul presses the button and it rings. Someone is in the apartment. After a while Paul hears footsteps. The door is cautiously cracked open, the eyes of a woman look out, as a strong voice asks what the stranger wants, there’s nothing here to take. — Just a simple request, no need to be afraid. Just to see the apartment, nothing more. — There is nobody here, it’s not even my apartment. — Yes, but he wants to see it, he isn’t armed. — What a strange request. What’s the meaning of this? — Nothing really, just to come in for a little while, no, not to move in completely. Just a visit, in and then out. Not to confiscate anything or to steal anything. — There are so many who show up now who want something, all of it out of revenge, though that means you have nothing for yourself. — Paul shows her his empty hands and says imploringly that he wants to see an apartment, just to look, nothing but look at an intact apartment, an apartment free of rubble, if such a thing still exists. It’s been four years since the stranger has seen an apartment.

The woman decides to trust him and no longer denies entry to her unknown guest. Once she opens the door, Paul takes a step back in surprise, then gathers himself and staggers clumsily over the threshold. He is blinded and can see nothing and asks if a light can be turned on in the foyer. — No, unfortunately that’s not possible, for even though the electricity is still on in the building, there are no lightbulbs, there are none to be bought. The woman opens the door to the living room. Paul realizes he should walk in. The dog is tame, he doesn’t even bark once. He strokes the pant leg of the guest with his snout. He’s a good dog. What, Bunny? No, he’s not called that. That would be a strange name for a grown wolfhound. Two boys are there, whom Paul at first doesn’t notice; they stand there with mouths open. The children shouldn’t be afraid, he’s not a bad man. Big boys shouldn’t be afraid. The guest won’t be staying long and he likes children.

Would he like to sit down? He’d love to, he’s a little tired, but he’ll wait until later to sit, if that would be all right. His heart pounds loudly, he feels hot, he’s come a long way and at the end had climbed the stairs, which was a strain. That’s certainly the sitting room, but it’s been cleaned out, a bed put there instead. A refugee lives here, but luckily not a foreigner. It’s important to have someone you know when you take in people these days; the foreigners are so careless, the things they use here are not theirs, and so they ruin them, and nothing can be replaced anymore.