H. Adler - The Journey

Paul turns the key, steps out, and locks the door behind him. Then he thinks to himself that strangers might come who wouldn’t know that this is someone’s apartment. He wants to put up a sign. And so he goes back inside again. He’s already written his name, but it won’t mean anything to a stranger, so Paul adds FROM STUPART and DO NOT DISTURB! Now it’s in order; the sign is put up, he can go now. The yard stretches out in front of him, it is warmer today than yesterday with everything drenched in sunlight. It must be nearly noon. It doesn’t hurt him at all to walk, and soon he is at the front gate. The city greets the old officer who has resigned all of his commissions. A good commandant who now only gives orders to himself. He is a wanderer in search of his own nourishment. Paul doesn’t have to wander for long. He finds a soup kitchen. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t plead, he simply goes in. Earlier this was a school. Now full kettles say that not much learning goes on here any longer.

People stand there in long rows, shying away from Paul when he enters. Such is their feeling still toward an officer. Paul won’t have any of it and thus makes it clear that he’s not an officer. Then they laugh, for of course there are no officers, they are either imprisoned or have fled. Anyone dressed like Paul would not be allowed to stick around. So they give him a full bowl and utensils. Others sit around. On one side are the so-called officers, on the other a lot of people press together. The warm food makes Paul happy, he savors every bit. Yet he’s still not full. He should go back to the counter. He goes back, he goes back, he goes back once again. He keeps going back until he is full. He doesn’t ask about the check, yet nobody asks him if he’s going to pay either. He is a guest and thus deserves such treatment. He just needs to keep coming back until he regains his strength.

Paul walks along the streets again. Some people greet him, and he learns that he has other rights as well. Notes and cards are pressed into his hands. Paul takes on all the rights he desires. The day passes full of rights that are granted to him. All Paul has to do is walk down the street, picking them up or discarding them at his will. His pockets are full, there is no more hunger. Even breakfast is served to him because he has a right to it. And the time? When someone gives him the time it seems much too early. Yet Paul is well provided for and can now have his dinner in his own room. He walks through each district, each person shies away from him the moment they think he’s there to demand his rights. Then there’s even money in his hands, though he doesn’t know who gave it to him. Finally he grows tired and thinks of heading home. He wants to check on his rights, to see himself in the mirror again. Paul climbs the streets toward Kanonenberg, soon the officer is in front of the familiar gate, the master of the house steps through it with his rights intact, so quickly does everything revert back to normalcy, the yard, the steps. There appear to be a lot more people in the camp than there were at noon. They have all attained their rights, many rooms are now occupied. There are names on the doors, and Paul now has a neighbor, while across from him there are three people living in a room. Paul is pleased that he had first choice. He has a place to himself, alone and undisturbed in his room, everything like it used to be long ago, just needing a little tidying up so that it looks nice, though Paul is already so tired as it grows dark, the curtains are closed, it’s night once again.

Paul has turned into an Unkenburger able to find his way through every part of the destroyed city. He knows the parks that surround it, the forests nearby. He knows certain corners that he loves. He has people he knows and looks up and who hide nothing from him. He has become friends early on with Herr Brantel. Hungry, he had broken into a half-destroyed villa in which there was a lot to eat. He hadn’t asked if he could, but instead stole what he needed under the same right by which others had stolen from him when not allowing him enough food for years at a time. He wasn’t at all ashamed of what he’d done, nor would he ever regret it. The rightful owner arrived and saw Paul and other looters taking things from ample stocks that had been broken into. The owner said little, for quickly Paul’s look reduced him to silence. The owner just looked on and took in what was happening. Then they smoked cigarettes and left together. They walked along for many hours, Herr Brantel listening and not interrupting Paul’s talk. At the end Brantel asked him a question.

“Didn’t I see you sitting on a bench at police headquarters the day after the troops entered the city?”

Paul at first can’t remember, but then he realizes this was the stranger who had led him toward Kanonenberg. Now they are good friends. The Brantel family had found refuge among their relatives. Now Paul is often their guest. Wine is served that has been waiting for him to taste. He is asked to tell about what happened, so Paul talks about the journey. At last he can say what it was like. He quietly talks about it without emotion. It feels different than when he was with Frau Wildenschwert, whom he no longer visits. People listen and are quiet.

Once there had been a family. They had an apartment in a building. You went there and it was as it always was. Everything stood at the ready. When the clock struck, things were set in motion. The table was set. Each plate was familiar. Emmy, the maid, was spotless when she carried out the food. The food tasted good. Often the father was not there. Emmy had to keep the oven warm in the kitchen so that his food would be ready for him at any time. A doctor had his responsibilities, not just his rights. Everything was so similar to how it was in Unkenburg, there was nothing to fear. Clothes hung in the closets, Emmy ironed and cleaned. The sister’s name was Zerlina, she loved fairy tales. She sang songs out loud. She made beautiful little things, loved to paint, and had a good sense of tone. She made boxes for gifts out of leather or parchment, and they were lovely. This silver case lying here on the tablecloth would have really pleased her. Her mother was different, she loved to talk and have visitors, a lively woman who danced wonderfully, that was what she loved most. Yet the father had no feel for such things. The mother loved trinkets, she always had to have something new. Inside she was really a child. She seemed a lot different than she really was. She always kept something hidden inside. Zerlina, who looked like her, was not that way. She was simply an open book, perhaps too open. The father was the same way, but much simpler. He didn’t waste his time with brooding questions. He lived for medicine and was a good doctor who cared about nothing more than the care of his patients. Then came a wife and children. There was hardly ever much of a family life, and yet, between the four walls, it was a pleasant household full of an intimate yet subdued exchange. Then the mother’s sister came, a widow who had a good son who is perhaps still alive. He went to America to be a photographer. The aunt had a light touch and always smoothed out any differences between the others. Thus the fabric of everyday life in Stupart was probably no different than what it was in Unkenburg.

But alas, Unknenburg is just a shadow in comparison, Paul should have realized earlier. There is simply no comparing it to Stupart, though one could be happy living here. The song is over. In a hundred years the residue of the war will still be present. City hall cannot be rebuilt, even if they had the original plans for it. — Paul agrees. But the citizens have not suffered that badly despite the destruction, their families were not torn apart and will soon be reunited again. — Did Paul have any hope at all? What happened to his cousin? — My cousin? He must be somewhere, though Paul doesn’t want to talk about him. Even if the hand had pointed toward somewhere, there was no hope. It’s even doubtful whether Stupart came through it all intact. Paul had no idea, there still are no newspapers. There is nobody he could ask either. — Maybe there is. Someone said that two girls had recently shown up from there. They had fled early on. — What did they have to say? — The city had not suffered. All the buildings were still standing. The citizens had risen up and driven away the foreigners, but otherwise everything is still the same.