H. Adler - The Journey

“You won’t have to suffer any longer once your husband is back, will you? Prisoners are being set free everywhere.”

“I hope so. One hears bad things about the prison camps. The people are fed badly. It’s horrible.”

“That’s right. Only soup. Nothing in it. Not even nettles. Nothing floating in it at all. But you can eat it if you have to. No, no thank you, no more schnapps!”

“Oh, come now …!”

“You’re still alive, Frau Wildenschwert. When your husband returns, then his journey will have arrived at a happy end. Two healthy sons await him. That’s lucky for you, two lively boys!”

“Only Herbert is ours, the younger one. The other is my nephew, Ludwig. His name is only fitting for this awful time, Ludwig Schmerzenreich.”

“Your nephew is named Ludwig Schmerzenreich? What a name!”

“I’m serious! It’s my parents’ name, my brother’s. What’s wrong?”

“It’s my mother’s maiden name, Caroline Schmerzenreich.”

“What a coincidence! Is your mother still alive?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? I already told you, lost, everything lost! She followed the wrong hand. She had to. My sister also had to.”

“The wrong hand?”

“The wrong hand! There the tall man stood in the cool glimmer of night. His face was pale, and his hand pointed unconsciously, for there wasn’t much time. Don’t you understand?”

“How can I understand? Your mother, your sister, they’re women! They don’t assent to what any man says!”

“They were women … they were! And as for assenting? They were hauled out of the house along with me, with my old father, with my sick aunt. All of us were taken away from the home in which we lived. There we had all of our things.… We had them just like you have them here.… Our things, the things in our apartment, where you could look around, all of it, all of it! We were taken away without any questions asked. It was at night. We had to leave. That was four years ago.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand. There’s nothing to understand. You only have to know it because it’s simply what happened. We were no longer allowed to exist, and now my dearest ones are dead! Gone! Gone! That’s all you have to understand!”

“Have mercy on the children! Not another word! It can’t be true!”

“Why not?”

“It can’t be! Have another schnapps! It will give you strength. I have some cake. Unfortunately there are no eggs in it, yet there is real sugar. It will taste good! I also have some raspberry juice. The son of a Schmerzenreich … maybe we are related?”

“We most certainly are not! But thank you. At last I have seen an apartment again. That’s all I wanted. It’s very beautiful. My dear lady, that means a lot. It’s certainly well-swept. You’ve been very kind.”

“Wouldn’t you like to rest a little while longer? Make yourself comfortable, just like at home!”

“No thanks. Maybe I’ll stop by again in the coming days, should I want to see an apartment again. Maybe, if that’s all right with you. An apartment where everything is still …”

“You can stay! It’s nice to have you. You can stop by whenever you want to! Or is there anything you need? Maybe a shirt? My husband still has many shirts here, or a tie! You don’t seem to have one.”

“Please, let me be on my way. Perhaps you could be good enough to tell me the way to police headquarters.”

“Do you know the city?”

“No. I just arrived today. Twenty-four hours ago I was still a prisoner.”

“Ludwig will show you the way.”

Paul is already outside on the stairway. He holds on to the railing, for it’s a building with strong walls that has not been harmed. The stairwell smells of strangers. It’s better not to be here, but it’s hard to leave this place. Paul is happy that Frau Wildenschwert has at last closed the door. He doesn’t want to see her again, nor hear her sharp-edged voice again. Every word was painful. The layout of the apartment seemed stuffy and musty. The air was much too heavy, it was like mildew, somewhat dank and cold, sort of like the sweet schnapps that Paul should not have had. How can he at last get free of this building? Ludwig might be big enough to help. Paul only has to whisper a word to the boy and he would do what he was asked. The boy’s tousled head stands boldly at the ready; this little Schmerzenreich is not afraid of Paul, but Paul moves on silently and motions with his hand that he wants to go soon. Ludwig understands right away; there is no need of a sign, because it only takes two steps down the stairs before he comes to a dead stop in order to figure out if the stranger is going to follow him or not. Thus they slowly reach the exit, and Paul is happy when Ludwig closes the door behind him with a clink.

Judging by the light, it must be early afternoon. Paul has no more time to lose if he wants to reach the commandant, though he doesn’t have to spur Ludwig on, for the boy walks along and keeps up with Paul’s every step. Nothing happens fast, however; Paul can hardly feel his legs, but he keeps them on the move and marches on like a soldier whose new boots fall hard and loud on the pavement. It’s a way of walking that Paul once knew. It’s not how he walked as a free man, nor as a prisoner; it’s rather a pace by which everything is forgotten and yet at the same time also reflected upon. Paul feels the weight that he has carried without having to bear it any longer. He wonders why such a pace is maintained if indeed the answer has come to him already. Paul would be happy to renounce this path, and yet he had planned it out just that morning as he set out on the road. He felt it was his responsibility to get help for those still at risk inside the ark. He wanted to find someone he could trust to tell all of the details of his journey. Since Paul knew no one in this country, he decided to head to the nearest city he could find in the hope of getting the commandant of the victors to listen to him.

During Paul’s visit with Frau Wildenschwert he first began to doubt what good it would do to approach such a stranger just because he had been granted a certain power and was responsible for the fate of a conquered part of the country, for no doubt he would have no time for homeless visitors. To maintain command amid the rubble was the mission of the foreigner. What could Paul expect, what kind of complaint could he raise when there were a hundred thousand people who were powerless and without hope and forced to play the part of victims? What could Paul say, as someone unknown who would make real his own suffering, to the man who only allowed an unintelligible and senseless word of thanks to be paid? What should Paul ask the commandant for? A train ticket to Stupart? Should the commandant make a special offer for Paul to be led off to a city with a secure detail, something that wasn’t even within the powers of the commandant to order? The only reason Paul had said he had to get to police headquarters was to get away from Frau Wildenschwert. He regretted asking which way it was and taking on the young Schmerzenreich as a guide. If Paul had gone off on his own, nothing would have prevented him from choosing which way to go himself. He might even head back to the friendly men who made music in their hallway while feeding Paul and showering him with gifts. Now it was too late to think about. Ludwig should not be insulted, especially after so willingly remaining at his side, nor should he get the idea that Paul was a liar who, he would say back at home, had only talked a lot along the way as he hurried toward police headquarters.

They neared a large office building that had hardly been damaged during the war. Paul did not have to wait for Ludwig’s advice. From afar he recognized that he had reached the wrong destination. Many people stood around there, both locals and foreigners, who had divided up into tight little cliques. Some stared up at the stars and stripes that stretched out above the gate, the bright banner of those in control. A row of military vehicles stood along the street, crusted over with mud. Noticeable was the way the victors hurried about, the pride they displayed, and the utter foreignness of their manner. Two soldiers stood watch before the entrance, and though they were armed, they stood there harmless and peaceful, as if it had been their job for years to guard the main police headquarters in Unkenburg. Paul thanked the young Schmerzenreich for his help, wanting to hand him a little something in the way one tips a guide. Out of habit he searched his pockets but found no coins there. Paul was ashamed and had to smile. He gave up and stroked the strange boy’s head. What was it about this boy who proudly and defiantly held his head high and shook it in order to toss a stubborn strand of hair to the side? Ludwig was certainly pleased to have fulfilled his assignment. Once he saw that the thank-yous and good-byes were over, the boy turned and ran back as fast as he could.