H. Adler - The Journey

Thus it’s time to head home. Paul only has to wait a couple of more days until the trains are running once again. One still had to walk a ways in order to catch a ride on a train. For that Paul would wait. He has already recovered, the mirror tells him so. People no longer draw back from him. The children don’t run away when he talks to them.

Paul roams through the surrounding area. He remembers how often on the march from Ruhenthal to Dobrunke he had wanted to peel away from the road and run freely through the trees in the forest. Now he could do that, there are no guards to prevent him. Nothing has happened here. Now and then he bumps into someone who also wants to be on his own. They look at each other then hurry off in opposite directions. The days are lovely and warm. Innumerable paths lead through the bushes and have no idea how close the destroyed city is. So lightly have the footsteps pressed into the countryside, they are only aware of themselves and they know nothing of the refugees either. There is fresh moss growing on the summit. There a strand of sunlight beams down and a pair of butterflies flutters. Logs lie across the path, the peeled-away bark shines red and smells fragrant. Is there nobody who needs wood in Unkenburg?

Paul should not go back to the strange city. He has stayed there too long; he might be too tempted by what it is best to avoid. It had been a mistake to talk to so many people there, to let just anyone in, yet it was an attempt to once again live in the world in order to figure out whether such talk would be allowed and bearable to others. Once he found that he could speak freely, that was enough. The country promised loneliness, its people too much to take; it would not work to remain here even among such kind strangers.

It could be that this road is forbidden, for a sign warned about something and threatened penalties, though the commands no longer mean anything. Paul is not worried about having to answer to some forest ranger. He walks on wherever he wants. He slips around a corner, turns around, stands there, closes his eyes, walks on for a bit, looks up at the sky, smells a leaf, a blossom, stops, closes his eyes again, blinks, then opens them again, feels the sun warm his back, enjoys the kind embrace of a bench, then jumps up again, reaches a fence whose boards hang loose and are painted honey yellow, walks past and sees tender saplings growing, the forest nursery, where the hand of the forester makes — once again a hand. Paul smiles, turns around quickly, and slips out of the nursery.

Then he climbs a hill. He wants to get to the top quickly, but he loses his breath, the steep incline requiring repeated stops to rest. On the top there stands a small viewing tower. A price is written down, which the curious wanderer is supposed to pay, though there is nobody there to worry about the deserted tower, the owner and the guard have left it. Had they been taken away and imprisoned? Or did no one else come who wanted to pay money to enjoy the view? The tower is unlocked. Paul feels free to enter; slowly he climbs each step and counts out loud. The stairs rise in a tight circle, and he counts eighty steps. The climb was hardly worth it, down below the view was better, though Paul can see Unkenburg again from above. The city is far enough away that one can’t see all the destruction. The intact outskirts of the city and its parks have not suffered any damage. The red roofs of the Kanonenberg barracks shine between the trees. The old part of the city is deeply embedded and hides its wounds, the cathedral appearing hardly touched at all.

Paul looks at everything matter-of-factly. He feels like a reporter who shares what he has to say free of any emotion. Yet to whom should Paul report? The Unkenburgers know all about it already and are not waiting for his story. The rest of the world has its own destroyed cities and doesn’t care about Unkenburg. Everyone has had enough of the news and doesn’t want to know anything about any journeys that might be offered up by a journalist to his readers. Paul no longer looks off into the distance, no longer at the city, but rather in front of him at the balustrade. It is made of wood, letters and names have been carved into it, along with dates. Was there ever anyone here whom Paul knew? He doesn’t think so, for the names seem strange, the dates don’t mean anything. Then he thinks of the names of his new friends in Unkenburg, though none of them have immortalized themselves here. Nor is the name Küpenreiter scratched in. The captain didn’t write anything either, he only saw the tower amid the battle and thought only about defenses and fighting and victory. Now Paul has won the tower, having taken it without a weapon in his hand.

Should Paul also lend his name to this tower? He has no knife with him, only a pencil; any trace of it would soon disappear. Paul plays with the pencil in his pocket but doesn’t take it out. Paul has paid no entry fee, the tower won’t allow his memory to be preserved. Paul has already started back down the stairs and then hurries away as fast as he can. He wants to go home to the Scharnhorst barracks. The day has shown him that he doesn’t want to stay in Unkenburg any longer. Life among complete strangers is much too easy. He can say whatever he wants, he can lie, he can inspire sympathy and friendship, he can experience this and that, yet have no responsibilities, no ties, be free of it all, always on the fly, and no price to pay. Paul knows many names that have been written down in a notebook. They are hoping that he will let them hear how he is sometime, and they will write back as well. But Paul will not write. They are just empty gestures that one exchanges, but soon they are forgotten. The road had caused their lives to come in contact with one another, then they had all gone their separate ways back to different countries, the ties between them dissolving amid all the changes.

Paul has gathered a small bouquet and wants to place it next to the mirror, which could not hold just Paul’s face alone forever. After an hour he arrives at the barracks and can see from afar that something has happened. The inhabitants are amazed that he has heard nothing, for everyone else already knew about it that morning. — Paul had not been there the entire day. — Then it was high time that he find out, because in three days prisoners will arrive at the barracks, both healthy ones and sick. Anyone who has set up house here on his own has to leave tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. Some have moved fast and are already gone. Others are still searching for a place to go, some wanting to go to the collection camp, where they will be taken care of. Paul is sad and out of sorts, though he pulls himself together and only says: “That seems kind of sudden!”

Someone asks, “Is this the first time in your life you’ve had something happen to you suddenly?”

Paul has to laugh, he was right: it’s always sudden. He knew enough people in order to find a place to stay for a couple of nights. But it would no longer be necessary. Paul decides to leave Unkenburg by the day after tomorrow, perhaps even tomorrow. The few things that will be of use for his trip he will pack in the morning. There isn’t much: a knapsack, a satchel, a small suitcase. If the suitcase is too heavy then he can leave it behind. The journey beckons, it is sure to happen. Today the first trains left. Paul has no idea at all how far they will travel, the main thing is that they are running. People warn that they are too full. Paul has no fear of that as long as he can leave Unkenburg. Already today he decides to go to the train station. There is no schedule, yet every day some trains arrive. They move slowly. Departure times cannot be given. The best thing to do is show up at the station early in the morning. One has to be patient, for it could take a couple of hours.