Ingo Schulze - New Lives

As I recall the passage about the sound the truncheons made, it was considerably longer. There were comparisons. In one of them Mario confused Roman legionnaires with gladiators. Whenever he fell silent he would tug his pursed lips to one side.

“Around 10:30 p.m. units of the army took up positions in the street along the front of the Central Station, roughly where the bus station is. Tightly linking arms, they spread out the full width of the street. There were approximately 10 to 15 rows, one behind the other. To a loud unison, ‘Left, 2, 3, 4,’ they set out at a quick pace, marching down the street in the direction of the Zeitkino. At this point, however, only a smaller group of citizens were gathered in front of the Central Station, where the situation could be described as relatively calm, whereas chanted slogans were coming from the direction of Leningrader Strasse.”

Something happened now that I hadn’t in the least expected. Mario smiled and shoved the pages across the table to Geronimo. I at once saw what I should have noticed all along: it was Geronimo’s handwriting, not Mario’s, which I had always envied for its even flow, the way it filled paper like an engraving.

Mario leaned back on the sofa. Geronimo arranged the pages to suit him.

“As a witness to the truth of my testimony,” Mario dictated, “I can mention my former classmate Johann Ziehlke, whom I met by chance on Prager Strasse. Do you have any objection?” Geronimo shook his head as he wrote. Mario spread his arms along the back of the sofa and, laying his head against the wall and gazing at the ceiling, continued to dictate. I also recall this passage differently and think I can spot the omissions.

“Nevertheless the uniformed men continued their relentless march and to no obvious purpose cleared the street before the Central Station (including the intersection). Behind them came an army vehicle called a Ural. Objects trailing smoke came flying from it and rained down on the crowd. I quickly realized this was tear gas. For about 10 to 15 minutes I couldn’t see much of anything, my eyes burned terribly, the stuff attacks mucus membranes — despite the fact that I immediately covered my face with a handkerchief. At that moment I realized that upon arrival earlier in the evening I had noticed the uniformed forces were equipped with gas-mask bags, but had paid the matter little notice until now. A short time later more men in uniform moved up from Prager Strasse, so that they had now encircled the large lawn across from the bus station. I had in fact previously moved to this open spot because only a very few citizens stood scattered across it.”

Did you catch it? During the minutes that Mario saw nothing or hardly anything, the scene goes blank. But that’s not how it was. Plus it was precisely at this point that the report lost its semiofficial tone. He and Geronimo had linked arms because they were afraid of being “collected like ladybugs with wings stuck together.” There were two, three humorously grotesque sentences in which he described the two of them running around blindly — there was mention of drunken chickens and the stench of rotten eggs. Suddenly Geronimo’s arm slipped out of his, he groped for him, shouted his name, and finally decided they were safely out of the tear-gas cloud. In the end he assumed Geronimo had remained behind, had turned back to look for him.

Geronimo hadn’t even looked up when Mario removed his arms from the back of the sofa, stared at him, and said, “You’d vanished from the face of the earth.” I thought Geronimo was just finishing up the paragraph before offering his explanation. But instead Mario resumed his previous position, put his head to the wall, and went on dictating.

“Very quickly, however, I realized that the uniformed men, banging away on their shields with their truncheons, were still advancing. Coming now from the direction of the bus station as well, they were moving down the street in a broad phalanx — there was no escape. Three or four youngsters tried to slip away to one side. A uniformed man made a dash for one of them and, lunging at full speed, purposely and brutally upended him. Then he began to whale away mercilessly with his truncheon, even though the fellow wasn’t even trying to defend himself. Another uniformed man hastened to lend a hand. Together they dragged their bundle back out of the way.” Mario described the actions of the uniformed personnel, the ebb and flow. Finally it was his turn. “Storm troopers started hunting and snatching up the last citizens still standing scattered about, dragging them inside their closed circle after first working them over. I heard someone shout: ‘There’s one!’ I didn’t notice that 3 soldiers were rushing me until it was too late. I turned around, looked around — no one else nearby. I realized — they’re after me. I took off. But because of that pause in my train of thought they were faster at getting at me than I was at getting away. So I just stood there, raised my arms, and shouted: ‘I’ll come voluntarily, I won’t put up a fight.’ Two uniformed men grabbed me, one put a head hold on me and squeezed very hard. The other pulled my right arm painfully up behind my back. They slugged me in the back 4 or 5 times and bellowed: ‘Shut your filthy mouth! Not one word, or you won’t be talking for days.’ They dragged me into the circle. ‘Don’t go easy on him. Or else I’ll help out!’ another soldier yelled. I was thrown to the pavement, with a booted kick in the back for good measure. Other citizens were already lying there, maybe 10 people. Somebody roared: ‘Face to the ground, arms spread above your head, legs spread, ass down!’ A man in uniform gave my rear end a kick and shouted: ‘Lower, flatter!’ I was able to read my watch. It was 12:25. The cold ground was slowly penetrating my clothing, I was freezing. Trucks (W50s) pulled up after a while. We were now frisked, all the while forced to hold the position I’ve described. To our right another soldier flung 2 bottles, one after the other, to the pavement. Some of the splinters flew dangerously near our heads. Soon, starting on the far right, they began dragging us one by one to our feet.”

Mario had spoken in a monotone until now, lowering his voice only at the end of each sentence. Given the already extraordinary situation, I wondered why neither ever looked at the other. As Mario described the tortures he was put through his voice grew more lively. Sometimes, as with the kick to his rear end, he even burst into laughter. Geronimo, on the other hand, bent farther down over his paper like a poor student. I remember Mario’s account, especially what comes now, as far less clumsy than it reads here:

“We were led to the truck and forced to climb in. That earned me more blows. 4 citizens were placed next to me. Swinging their truncheons 2 men in uniform sat down across from us. A soldier outside roared: ‘You’ll get yours, you filthy bastards!’ During the trip we weren’t allowed to look out the rear window and were ordered to hold our position. The trip lasted about 15 minutes and took a lot of curves. The 2 guards banged their truncheons against their bench as a threat. The truck halted. We were told to jump out. This was to be done in sequence, one by one. But on the other hand it didn’t go fast enough for our uniformed guards, they helped with a shove. We were on a military base. It was raining. We 5 were told to line up, hands clasped behind our heads, legs spread. I don’t know how long we stood there. Then we had to run up some stairs into a building, hands still behind our heads. We entered a room. Each of us had to stand with his forehead against the wall, legs spread wide but not touching the wall, hands behind our heads. We were frisked a second time. Each time, the uniformed men used the opportunity to make it even more painful to have your forehead bear your entire weight. Pockets emptied. After that each of us had to step up to the table and identify ourselves. Then we went into a larger room (the Officers Club?) with hardwood floors. Position: legs spread, face to the wall, hands behind the head. The room was filling up. I was able to glance at my watch again. It was 1:45 a.m. (Oct. 7th, ‘Republic Day’). We were guarded by 2 men. From somewhere in the background one of them gave us our instructions: ‘You are in a militarily secured location. Attempt to flee and you will be shot.’”