H. Adler - The Journey

At last Paul realizes that he is awake. If death is this easy then it’s not death at all but rather life itself that has arisen out of death and yet has nothing more to fear than the ever-present grave. All that needs to be overcome is the fact of having been buried alive, yet the hands are there, whose strength will not fail in clearing everything away that separates them from daylight. The first thing to do is to feel where the border is that demarcates the realm of the grave. Paul thrusts his legs forward carefully, one after the other. He lets one leg dip down into the depths, it trembles from a deep exhaustion, yet there is reason to feel, with caution, that he can stand. The foot sets itself on the ground, the other leg follows, the second foot soon securing a firm position. Now just to stand. It’s done.

The eyes find a small bit of light, which provides a direction Paul wants to trust. Then the doubt that had a hold of Paul begins to fade. No, it was not doubt, because Paul had not swayed. He simply was; without doubt, without pain the change had occurred, an easy, blesséd passage through which death was carried into life. Paul is alive, he cannot be dead, he has a direction that can be followed, and he remembers that he is in a room and is not decaying. Yet now he wants to know where he is. He knows that there was a yesterday during which he felt more exhausted than he had ever felt before in his life, so exhausted that he cannot recall just where he had found a place to get some sleep. It must already be day, the middle of the day, a time Paul did not need to be afraid of, yet certainly a day in which he needed to seek out others. He could not hesitate any longer, hunger stirred, a desire for things rose higher and higher, just small things, yet they were nonetheless irrepressible desires that needed to soon be fulfilled. Since Paul still does not recognize the room, he carefully feels his way with hands and feet toward the glow.

He reaches the curtain, the fingers feel rough cloth, which has kept Paul protected during the night. It takes a while before he succeeds at lifting the curtain, which hangs down tightly wound up and ends in a roll. Then there is light. Paul squeezes between the curtain and the window because he is not able to push away the heavy fabric. Before him stretches a huge, broad yard, which causes him to remember. He feels like he is back in the Scharnhorst barracks, but this does not make him anxious, for it is all so different than before, it’s now freedom’s camp. Paul smiles, aware of the contradiction between the barracks and freedom. Outside a bit of life stirs. It’s morning, though Paul is uncertain of the hour, nor is there any clock in sight. Paul is embarrassed to look around at the room that late yesterday afternoon fell to him with hardly any effort. He then turns back to the view outside. Nothing special is noticeable, but Paul is at peace because the broad yard calms him. Here and there he can see a person who casually moves about as if there were no other world but this one. Will Paul be able to move about in the same manner? There is still time to answer that question. Paul turns away from the window.

Paul is happy to have his own room that no one will hassle him about, at least for the next few days. It’s good that such a refuge exists in which one can prepare for the resurrection of the world. He looks around the room. Without avarice, without shyness, he feels the room is a gift. Whoever lived here before had left nearly everything behind, even his toiletries, a good bar of soap, a new toothbrush still in its case like it just came from a shop. Paul finds many little everyday objects, looking over them piece by piece, picking them up and then laying them back down. He’s as happy as a child and is grateful.

Paul catches a side view of himself in the mirror and stands there transfixed. An old, dirty man appears in the glass, older than Leopold on his deathbed and almost as used up. Paul lets out a scream then he quickly shuts up. Should he close his eyes? Should he look away? Throw the mirror out the window? No, don’t be a coward! Paul is spellbound, he can’t help but look. Even old women look into their mirrors and with great tact manage to console themselves. His eyes are set deep and look wild and confused, the mouth is small and bitter, the lips awfully pale, the skin dull and gray, the cheeks sunken, the brow wrinkled, the throat a ridiculous pole that can bow and nod. Paul wants to flee this wretched image, yet his gaze is completely spellbound, something bothers him about it, he doesn’t really know why and feels ashamed, though he cannot resist, nor can he prevent himself from sobbing constantly and crying helplessly and watching his own tears fall. Is it possible for an old man to lose control amid his own tears? Is he allowed to cry? Who is he crying for? What’s he crying about? Is Paul missing or is he what he used to be, has he been taken away or is he standing here alive? No, it’s not an old man, it’s not a child who is crying. It’s a silent, unstoppable weeping, an infinite sadness that has no reason at all and cannot cease.

Paul tries hard, feeling as if he must remember everything, although he remembers nothing; his consciousness remains empty, no matter how hard he tries. Does nothing make sense, such that he cannot find the key to unlock the secrets into which each day he had newly and unmercifully been initiated for years? Perhaps everything has been too deeply repressed, such that it won’t allow itself to resurface, so deep in fact that it has now become a part of himself, no amount of courageous will capable of bringing it out once more. Everything has collected in an abyss that no gaze can penetrate. There it is sealed like iron and incapable of being moved, nor can it be changed; it simply must be borne, it is the fruits of evil that fall to one’s lot because the weapon of wisdom was not forged in time. But now that Paul is free of the ark of affliction, how will he in fact free himself completely so that he can step away from the mirror once more, though not just from the mirror, but from the room, not just by looking out the window, but by heading out the door, down an unknown hallway, where the way is at last discovered that leads to an exit and then farther across the yard and out of the camp and into the city, whose suffering had just begun and which Paul now has to leave behind?

Now Paul can recall clearly the events of recent days, the tears swimming into the light and emptying out the past. Such sickness cannot be healed by any means, it can only be cried out in front of the mirror, which is why Paul doesn’t hold back any longer, the fruits of evil have burst open. The mirror once again stands open to the observer. Paul feels the glass with the tips of his fingers. He wants the mirror in front of his eyes constantly in order to touch it and recognize himself. Soon the face quietly becomes more real, a sense of safety making it possible to feel that a new era is about to begin. Years ago Paul had not liked mirrors and had avoided them. He doesn’t like the way his gaze is trapped here as well, but he will take this mirror along with him when he leaves this room. Then a decision begins to dawn inside him. Paul will not stay in Unkenburg any longer than he has to. He wants only to regain his strength and his wits before he prepares for the onward journey. The journey will have to take him back to where he was hauled off against his will. Nonetheless, Stupart is not the only destination. Paul wants to go farther, yet he knows he has to travel to Stupart, because only there will he find what was taken away from him on this journey. Finally conquering the storm of tears, Paul smiles at himself. It’s not a happy smile, but rather an end to this keening.

Now Paul finds his bearings in the room, finding as well what he is looking for, as if he has known this room for years. Every board and nail reconfirms the fact that he is safe and free to roam between the window and the door at will. Paul opens cupboards and drawers; the goods lie openly within them, everything just waiting to be picked up and made use of. Paul is the master of the day here; he knows how to treat as his own everything brought here and arranged by someone else. The strange is not strange if it can be of service to Paul; in his hands it will become something he owns and no one else’s. Paul reaches for a new shirt and his pants; he dresses absentmindedly and the moment he reaches the hall is ready to run off. Where can he find some water?