H. Adler - The Journey

The man from Leitenberg starts to speak again, Paul’s silence has gotten to him. He wouldn’t want him to think … — No, Paul wasn’t thinking anything, there is nothing more that one can think. The man from Leitenberg had lived well, one could see it by looking at him. He had said so himself. Paul wants to know from him what he was? — The man from Leitenberg drew himself up. Would the victor believe him? He was the mayor of Leitenberg. He had run the town and sat in the town hall. Now he stands amid a hostile wilderness, a beggar in a strange town, which doesn’t have a mayor of its own either. What is it like now in Leitenberg without a proper town government to run things? It’s hard to imagine. No one knows who is leaving, who is staying. No news gets through at all. The people who used to live together have been separated and so scattered that no one can bring them together again. No one knows for sure how many are dead. There is no one in charge of the country, there are no leaders, everything is destroyed, it’s terrible! Nor is there any leadership whatsoever. It’s all done with and gone.

Paul says that Unkenburg already has a commandant and that order has been restored. The former rulers are not completely gone. Many officials are still alive, they have only ducked around the corner and will soon return, looking for their old desks. — Yet if everyone flees? You fled, otherwise the air raids would have done you in! — Doesn’t matter, there will be others there, the seat of government is still there. Someone will claim it when it’s time to do so. — Even in Leitenberg? — Even there it will be the same. There will be someone there to take power, the government never disappeared entirely. — But the mayor of Leitenberg no longer has a position. In Unkenburg no one needs him, no one here would even give him the time of day. They would laugh in his face. — If he is not needed here, then there are other positions elsewhere. In any case there is no need to stay in politics, there are other professions. — But when one is born to govern? — What do you mean born to? There’s no such thing.

The man from Leitenberg means that it doesn’t matter for the victor, for he will go home, he will arrive in a city where he belongs, where he has his rights. There’s no chance of that for the mayor. He has been taken away and has been banished for good, he cannot go back to Leitenberg, at least not for long, he wouldn’t survive it, or at least the mayor cannot expect that any such miracle can occur. He no longer has a home, Unkenburg is no home at all, nor can there be one anywhere. He doesn’t even know if he will be allowed to stay here. He is the last mayor in a long line of mayors, for eight hundred and two years they had held office. Two years before the mayor had spoken at the eight-hundredth anniversary of Leitenberg. The festivities were somewhat curtailed, it was the fourth year of the war. Back before the war everything had been planned, there had been an organizing committee. So much more had been planned, visitors from near and far were expected, tourists, special trains, renovations of the guesthouses, overnight stays arranged for with community members, the laying of a cornerstone for the new hospital, the Leitenberg archivist and the principal of the school thought big and composed a festival play in which the historic rise of Leitenberg from the darkness of the Middle Ages up until the brightness of the present was supposed to be depicted, the Beautification Association was supposed to take care of so much, old frescoes were to be uncovered, benches installed, the castle park behind the bishop’s palace was supposed to be connected to the docks on the shore by a new set of stairs, a broad expanse on the edges of the town that was more than just an adornment — it had been a dump full of dirt and ashes for many years — had been envisioned to be developed into an open park, drawings for which still existed in the Planning Commission of the town hall. The clearing had begun when the war broke out. The work had to be stopped, but one hoped for a quick victory, for then most of it would have been finished. Yet it was not to be. And so the celebration was a bit scanty. Because of the blackout, the torch parade that the children had been so excited about had to be canceled at the last minute. A couple of speeches were given with great vigor, a special edition of The Leitenberg Daily was issued with eight pages, rather than the hundred that would have been published in peacetime. In the schools the students were told about their history and the future. A gathering on the main square in front of the plague column was canceled, only a High Mass was celebrated in the cathedral. That was all.

Now there will be nothing more. Who will celebrate a nine-hundredth anniversary of Leitenberg?

“Such thoughts are superfluous today, Herr Viereckl. Perhaps the grandchildren.”

The mayor is taken aback and somewhat disturbed. How does the stranger know his name?

“Is the mayor’s name not Viereckl? If that’s the last mayor of Leitenberg, then that has to be the right name.”

Yet Paul has had enough of this talk. He turns toward the door and wants to look for a washroom. The mayor doesn’t want to let Paul go, but the latter doesn’t want to hear anything more. He turns back once again.

“Enough, Herr Viereckl, I know the town you’re from.”

Paul looks around and finds a faucet, but no water runs from it. He runs back to his room, gets a bucket, and goes to the pump in the yard. The handle is too heavy, Paul can’t lift it. Someone notices how weak he is, hurries over, and helps him pump. Paul thanks him and wearily carries back the bucket of water. Along the way he has to stop now and then to catch his breath. At last Paul is back in his room with his load. He’s happy to have a key and loves to turn it in the lock. Paul is at last his own master, he can now perceive the border between himself and the world. He has an address at which others can visit him. He will put his name on the door outside. Here lives Paul Lustig, please knock! Paul Lustig, resident of the Scharnhorst barracks here on the Kanonenberg in Unkenburg; that has a certain ring to it. The master of the house decides whether he will answer the door or not. No one who is not welcome here can darken this doorstep. This is private property, and it belongs to him. Whoever damages it will have to answer to the law. Now the barrier is once again erected that should stand between oneself and all others. A path can run between the two that is acknowledged by all, yet no one is allowed at the table who has not been invited.

Paul then cleans himself up. He washes himself a long time and scrubs his arms and legs. He has the best soap he can find and a soft washcloth, which is easy on his skin. Paul shaves off his disheveled beard in front of the mirror, before which he no longer cries. He laughs at seeing his face covered up with white foam. The brush is useless, for the brush hairs fall out and end up stuck to his cheeks and feel ticklish. The blade needs to be sharper. At last his skin is almost smooth, only the throat is still a little raw. Paul applies some powder, something he never would have used before. He will have to look for some new blades, there have to be some somewhere in the barracks. Paul chooses a pair of pants that pleases him; they fit once he uses a leather belt tightened halfway. He throws the old pair of pants out the window. He also dumps the water into the yard. Other shabby items are thrown out as well. There is no order to it, but it’s simple, the most direct route to the rubbish heap. Perhaps someone else will need what Paul throws away. It’s fun to get rid of so many unwanted things; they fly out the window one after another.

At last, after nearly four years, Paul finally looks good enough to once again appear on the street. Except for his shoes, everything he was wearing had not belonged to him the day before. He doesn’t even want the dark green coat anymore. Yesterday the soft fleece still seemed splendid, but today it appeared as if moths had gotten to it. Paul is now an officer, but more presentable than Captain Küpenreiter; the clothes provide him with a certain air. Only the silver insignia of the defeated officer looks ridiculous. It should go to Dudley, if he wants it. Paul takes off the coat once again and cuts off the shoulder insignia. He has resigned, he doesn’t want to command an army. Throw the weapons onto the rubbish heap, away with them! The soldiers have been granted permanent leave. They have deserted, but Paul won’t chase after them. They should just scatter, left and right and around the corner. No need to march in line anymore. Regulations are meaningless to those in chains. The war is over, the army is discharged, it has crawled under the earth, defeated. Paul looks once more into the mirror and salutes. The mirror salutes back. The two are very courteous to each other. Paul is grateful to the mirror, it has done a splendid job. Now the mirror can take its rest, for Paul is leaving, he wants some breakfast.