The Journey (39 page)

I was also picked up, yet no one said much to me. What’s the difference?—There is no difference, it’s just the same; you just take it in stride and adapt yourself. It’s always true that you will be taken away the moment you believe you can be. They just call it something else and say, You’ve been picked up because we simply didn’t want to let you go. You shouldn’t be left alone any longer.—Yet when I was picked up I was left alone and locked up. At the end of the trip we were taken out and separated. The hand was there, all hands had flown off!—Get ahold of yourself. All have traveled your path. There are many destinations and many that die on any given day.—Some die every day.—That’s why you should celebrate no specific day, but rather every day. Think of birth and death. Mourn your friends and take joy in your grief.—But picked up and hauled off!—You know the truth. Protected and always in the same hands. Your future the same as all others.—The one hand …!—Renounce your urge to flee! Take the hand while it is still there! It’s not cut off. It points the way and all others point to it. Often it knows more than what the eyes can tell you, often it is all you have.

If we can rip tree trunks from the earth along with their roots and topple stylites, why shouldn’t we be able to haul you off? Anyone can be handed over at any moment.—To whom?—Just handed over!—But there’s no one to be handed over to.—He conjures it himself; now he can choose his journey.—So there’s no freedom after all?—Take it easy! What the hand chooses is still free because it is chosen. Only he who cannot decide will be sought and picked up. Freedom consists of orders and coercion, judgment and fate.—The choice sets in motion the future, it lies in the future, and it gives one a direction for its own reasons.—Now be reasonable, you little corpse, which we weigh within our hands. We can do with you what we want, and we can make it seem as if it was what you yourself wanted. But we don’t want to do anything. We’re just part of a chain. Above us is a hand. The first connects to the last because his hand connects through other hands. It’s the same throughout the world and for all times and will always be so.

Now he is close to town, two kilometers, one kilometer. It can’t be
much longer. Everything will be available in Unkenburg. The people have thought of hard times and prepared for them by storing up provisions in order to last out the worst of it. The fear of robbery is indeed very real, causing many to hunt for what they had hidden, yet no one bothers you if you search high and low. Paul doesn’t want someone else’s things, he seeks no revenge, only his own missing things. It’s not stealing when you take something out of a stranger’s attic. The goods become his own once they enter his own house. But is that still standing? The cracks in the walls are not dangerous, a little whitewash and they’ll be just fine. The security fortress still holds a lot. In the pantry you can find treasures stored there for ages, a little state seal on every glass! Everything is still there and has been well taken care of. Frau Lischka has her shortcomings, yet she does well at watching over the building.

“So you’re back, Herr Lustig! My husband has already opened a bottle of schnapps for you. But please, just carry on. The next floor up you’ll find the old doors, though there’s no longer a sign. But it doesn’t matter, Herr Lustig. It’s better this way. No one knew that you were gone.”

Nobody could haul off the apartment’s furnishings. Only the raspberry juice has spilled and left a nasty stain on the floor. But it’s not blood; a bit of hot water and soon the floor is clean again. If only the bed were still there; a mattress would certainly help a sore back.

“Where is my family?”

“Only Bunny is here. I fed him sausage and cheese myself. That way he stayed fat and round, and he kept a lookout for you. I said to the clever beast, ‘Herr Paul is such a good man, you will see him again.’ Then he was happy.”

“Quiet, Frau Lischka, I don’t care about any dog! The others! Are they back?”

“It’s a pity, they’ve been gone almost four years. They never sent even a single postcard. That wasn’t right. I was so worried for them.”

Frau Lischka would have liked to have known where their journey took them. Back then she could not see at night where the family had gone to. The streets were dark, it was almost midnight, the front door had to be closed. They had turned right, thought Frau Lischka, the right direction in which to head. A hand had pointed that way, and then there was nothing more to see. For a while you could still hear the heavy boots clomping
on the hard pavement. But only for a while, just a bit, and then they were around the corner. Then everything was quiet. Then they were indeed on their way. But where were they going such that it was forbidden …? Paul, didn’t you run after them? It wasn’t possible, his shoes weren’t up to it. And so he couldn’t reach his loved ones and fell. Now he is back. Yet whoever returns from the dead alone cannot be welcomed. He has no papers, for they have been taken away, having disappeared in the hand that grabbed hold of them and tossed them into the fire. It’s no surprise that no one recognizes Paul. Yet since he reached the edge of town he has been lifting his hand in greeting everywhere he has gone.

The American guards examine the new arrival for a long time and are amazed that Paul could be who he is, though no suspicions are raised against him.

“Where are you headed? The town is closed and is still in a war zone.”

“But I’m here and want to come into town.”

“Is this your home?”

“No, it’s just the first town I’ve come to. I have to get inside.”

“Transportation is not up and running. First, order has to be restored. It’s better if you don’t go in. There’s nothing here but hardship and misery.”

“Then that’s where I belong. I’m begging you, let me in, if you have a human bone in your body. I’m only looking for a roof over my head.”

“Don’t move! I’m warning you. Wait a bit, or better yet go on home! The war will be over soon.”

“But I’m here, home is too far away! I will head for it once I’ve regained my strength.”

“If this is not your home, I can’t let you in.”

“Then I will make this my home.”

“Even if you do have a home here, and I don’t care if you do or not, I’d still advise you to keep out of Unkenburg. It’s better for anyone to just head off for parts unknown, where things are better. It will also be better for you to put some distance between yourself and here.”

“Please, stop torturing me! I’ve already walked eight kilometers today. This is where I was headed today. I don’t have a home anymore. I can’t go any farther and just want to stay here where I am now. As you can see, I can’t go back. I can’t set foot on that ark again. The horror of it all: the
rubbish, the bodies, the burning, the ashes. I had to leave! I don’t want to stay long in Unkenburg, just a day, just a night, maybe a little longer, until I can go farther.”

“Okay then, go on in if you must. I warned you.”

Paul thanks him and quietly ventures in. How long since he had been in a city! Here is one at last; how easily it offers itself up and takes in any stranger. The first houses are still standing, their walls intact and appearing at peace. Nothing has happened here. Is it a dead city? Only a couple of strangers walk along and tread upon the street, openly astonished by this city as their steps forward an older fear and flight that cannot end and which still pursues them, although the fear has melted away. Doesn’t anybody live in this place like it’s their home? Hard to believe, the windows are so clean and there are flowerpots everywhere. It smells of imposed tidiness. Unkenburg is supposed to be beautiful, Paul knows, for he’d learned it in school. The city had a glorious history. The inhabitants are proud of it; the generations that followed had preserved it, the winds of war had blown through but now are gone. It was on display everywhere and a part of the city’s fabric. Hands pitch in and make sure that all of it is cared for and protected. This is not Leitenberg, no, it’s much nicer here, friendlier, the quality of life much higher.

Paul walks on. He’s pleased to be in the city. He feels lucky to have come from the dusty road into a city that can protect him, even if it’s a foreign city. It’s only fitting for one who was moved from his own city, who lost it, and is not part of it any longer. He is pleased by this foreign town and will be a guest who will appreciate much more deeply the sanctity of private property as a result of the distance gained through his experience, rather than shaming himself through the conquering gesture of an outstretched hand. Each and every house is encircled by a lovely garden lit with the brilliance of spring. The sidewalks are tidy and well taken care of. Paul can walk along them, which does him good, the embrace of the city warm and feeling wonderful.

He still sees but a few people on the streets who scurry along with shy and bashful steps. Their glances avoid Paul, as if they don’t want to grant such freedom to a stranger from whom they fear revenge. Paul turns somber. His terrible shoes are ashamed to walk on the pavement, his tired feet hurting more and more as they lead Paul’s anxious head
deeper and deeper into the city’s net. The streetcars are silent, various cars are tossed about and reveal their innards. There are only heads and legs in Unkenburg, as well as, out of habit, some hands. What had Paul expected? He had been warned and it would have been smarter to avoid this city. Now it’s too late. The stranger must take in what history has prepared for him, he who couldn’t wait until he could leave the ark for good.

“Where does one find the city’s commandant?”

“I don’t know.”

“Someone said police headquarters. Which way is it?

“Sorry! I’m a stranger here, just got to Unkenburg yesterday.”

“Which way? There has to be one!”

“Maybe. Ask someone else.”

No one knows. Everyone is like Paul, they’ve just arrived. Unkenburg is just a stopping point, a way station. Again onward. No one stays. Yet questions, questions. Paul finds nobody who is from this city. Have they all been taken away? He must ask at each house, but he doesn’t feel comfortable doing so, he’s too shy. Perhaps it’s forbidden to do so. Perhaps the buildings won’t stand for his presence within them. Paul, however, is tired and wants advice. No one can give him anything but a piece of bread. He must be hungry, it’s obvious. Someone hands him some sugar, another some chocolate. Now everything is available. He just needs to keep walking slowly in order to get everything he needs. There’s no need to find the commandant. Here is a bottle of wine. Paul stuffs it into his bundle, thanks, he won’t drink it now, maybe later. He has to keep going, time is wasting.

Paul walks on. The middle of the city must be somewhere. But as he presses on, the rubble begins to rise around him. There’s a building that’s been hit, the roof is caved in, the rafters protruding starkly, though the walls have not suffered much damage. There are people living in the basement. Over there another building has been hit, but the damage only looks slight. Two boys are stacking bricks. Just a bit of fresh mortar and they can be used again. People are on the move, the buildings will survive their wounds. Paul looks at other buildings that have been blinded. Or are their eyes just sick? The windows are covered over with wood and sheet metal; they will need good glasses. A little lookout remains open for the
pupils. Is there someone looking out? Here is a building, only half of which still stands, the other half having toppled to the street, though it still has a roof above the exposed rooms. The table stands, and around it many household articles. A coat hook with a hat and flowery decorations, looking as if someone had carefully laid them there. A picture with a golden frame still hangs as expected on the wall. It’s the parents, the father tall and stately, the mother soft and happy in her veil, a wedding picture, as anyone can see. The people in front of the building have a lot to do. They are rescuing treasures, a bureau with underwear still in it that is pitched into a basket.

Paul walks farther. Here the streets appear to not even exist anymore. But whoever, like Paul, is not afraid can keep going. Perimeter walls stand untouched, displaying their plaster covered with colored paint, little angels on each window’s gable smile their protective smiles, the gutter work running the length of the walls as the rushing sound within them hurries to the ground. Everything is as it always was, only the homes that should exist behind the walls have disappeared. They have been taken away; only here and there a smokeless chimney towers, crowned by the open wind guard. Below in the cellar holes are white arrows pointing to where one must dig in order to retrieve the former inhabitants who together have gone to their salvation. Is there no point in the rescue squads trying to free them? It appears they have come at the right time, because here someone has scrawled in chalk:

The dead buildings are the identification cards of the living, even if they cannot live there any longer. Some had been taken away from the buildings and were alive; others, who were alive, saw the buildings taken away from them. Is that revenge? What is revenge? Paul didn’t hear any voices. It happens, but vengeance doesn’t exist, nor does Paul sense any vengeance within himself. Then he looks around, everything is silent. The city is strange, and doubly strange is its collapse. Paul reads the newspaper that hangs upon a wall word for word. “We are alive! Look for us eight streets left, then around the corner to the right, number fourteen, in the house in the back by such and such.…” Joy answers doubt: they’re alive! Indeed taken away from here, souls carried off in thin hulls, yet stored
away there, taken care of. Oh, what joy that you’re alive! But who will go looking for you? Who do you expect? “We’re alive, even though we’re elsewhere!” The ashes have not been tamped down, nor is the fire put out. They were just too weak to carry off all the rubbish, which overpowered them. They gave up and simply crept away from one heap to another in a different street. Why didn’t they leave the city and the area? Did Unkenburg put a spell on them and keep them from leaving? Isn’t there a law that says there is nothing to protect you if you aren’t here? You must want to live to be saved, even if it’s several streets off, left and right.