The Journey (42 page)

“You won’t have to suffer any longer once your husband is back, will you? Prisoners are being set free everywhere.”

“I hope so. One hears bad things about the prison camps. The people are fed badly. It’s horrible.”

“That’s right. Only soup. Nothing in it. Not even nettles. Nothing floating in it at all. But you can eat it if you have to. No, no thank you, no more schnapps!”

“Oh, come now …!”

“You’re still alive, Frau Wildenschwert. When your husband returns, then his journey will have arrived at a happy end. Two healthy sons await him. That’s lucky for you, two lively boys!”

“Only Herbert is ours, the younger one. The other is my nephew, Ludwig. His name is only fitting for this awful time, Ludwig Schmerzenreich.”

“Your nephew is named Ludwig Schmerzenreich? What a name!”

“I’m serious! It’s my parents’ name, my brother’s. What’s wrong?”

“It’s my mother’s maiden name, Caroline Schmerzenreich.”

“What a coincidence! Is your mother still alive?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? I already told you, lost, everything lost! She followed the wrong hand. She had to. My sister also had to.”

“The wrong hand?”

“The wrong hand! There the tall man stood in the cool glimmer of night. His face was pale, and his hand pointed unconsciously, for there wasn’t much time. Don’t you understand?”

“How can I understand? Your mother, your sister, they’re women! They don’t assent to what any man says!”

“They were women … they were! And as for assenting? They were hauled out of the house along with me, with my old father, with my sick aunt. All of us were taken away from the home in which we lived. There we had all of our things.… We had them just like you have them here.…
Our things, the things in our apartment, where you could look around, all of it, all of it! We were taken away without any questions asked. It was at night. We had to leave. That was four years ago.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand. There’s nothing to understand. You only have to know it because it’s simply what happened. We were no longer allowed to exist, and now my dearest ones are dead! Gone! Gone! That’s all you have to understand!”

“Have mercy on the children! Not another word! It can’t be true!”

“Why not?”

“It can’t be! Have another schnapps! It will give you strength. I have some cake. Unfortunately there are no eggs in it, yet there is real sugar. It will taste good! I also have some raspberry juice. The son of a Schmerzenreich … maybe we are related?”

“We most certainly are not! But thank you. At last I have seen an apartment again. That’s all I wanted. It’s very beautiful. My dear lady, that means a lot. It’s certainly well-swept. You’ve been very kind.”

“Wouldn’t you like to rest a little while longer? Make yourself comfortable, just like at home!”

“No thanks. Maybe I’ll stop by again in the coming days, should I want to see an apartment again. Maybe, if that’s all right with you. An apartment where everything is still …”

“You can stay! It’s nice to have you. You can stop by whenever you want to! Or is there anything you need? Maybe a shirt? My husband still has many shirts here, or a tie! You don’t seem to have one.”

“Please, let me be on my way. Perhaps you could be good enough to tell me the way to police headquarters.”

“Do you know the city?”

“No. I just arrived today. Twenty-four hours ago I was still a prisoner.”

“Ludwig will show you the way.”

Paul is already outside on the stairway. He holds on to the railing, for it’s a building with strong walls that has not been harmed. The stairwell smells of strangers. It’s better not to be here, but it’s hard to leave this place. Paul is happy that Frau Wildenschwert has at last closed the door. He doesn’t want to see her again, nor hear her sharp-edged voice again.
Every word was painful. The layout of the apartment seemed stuffy and musty. The air was much too heavy, it was like mildew, somewhat dank and cold, sort of like the sweet schnapps that Paul should not have had. How can he at last get free of this building? Ludwig might be big enough to help. Paul only has to whisper a word to the boy and he would do what he was asked. The boy’s tousled head stands boldly at the ready; this little Schmerzenreich is not afraid of Paul, but Paul moves on silently and motions with his hand that he wants to go soon. Ludwig understands right away; there is no need of a sign, because it only takes two steps down the stairs before he comes to a dead stop in order to figure out if the stranger is going to follow him or not. Thus they slowly reach the exit, and Paul is happy when Ludwig closes the door behind him with a clink.

Judging by the light, it must be early afternoon. Paul has no more time to lose if he wants to reach the commandant, though he doesn’t have to spur Ludwig on, for the boy walks along and keeps up with Paul’s every step. Nothing happens fast, however; Paul can hardly feel his legs, but he keeps them on the move and marches on like a soldier whose new boots fall hard and loud on the pavement. It’s a way of walking that Paul once knew. It’s not how he walked as a free man, nor as a prisoner; it’s rather a pace by which everything is forgotten and yet at the same time also reflected upon. Paul feels the weight that he has carried without having to bear it any longer. He wonders why such a pace is maintained if indeed the answer has come to him already. Paul would be happy to renounce this path, and yet he had planned it out just that morning as he set out on the road. He felt it was his responsibility to get help for those still at risk inside the ark. He wanted to find someone he could trust to tell all of the details of his journey. Since Paul knew no one in this country, he decided to head to the nearest city he could find in the hope of getting the commandant of the victors to listen to him.

During Paul’s visit with Frau Wildenschwert he first began to doubt what good it would do to approach such a stranger just because he had been granted a certain power and was responsible for the fate of a conquered part of the country, for no doubt he would have no time for homeless visitors. To maintain command amid the rubble was the mission of the
foreigner. What could Paul expect, what kind of complaint could he raise when there were a hundred thousand people who were powerless and without hope and forced to play the part of victims? What could Paul say, as someone unknown who would make real his own suffering, to the man who only allowed an unintelligible and senseless word of thanks to be paid? What should Paul ask the commandant for? A train ticket to Stupart? Should the commandant make a special offer for Paul to be led off to a city with a secure detail, something that wasn’t even within the powers of the commandant to order? The only reason Paul had said he had to get to police headquarters was to get away from Frau Wildenschwert. He regretted asking which way it was and taking on the young Schmerzenreich as a guide. If Paul had gone off on his own, nothing would have prevented him from choosing which way to go himself. He might even head back to the friendly men who made music in their hallway while feeding Paul and showering him with gifts. Now it was too late to think about. Ludwig should not be insulted, especially after so willingly remaining at his side, nor should he get the idea that Paul was a liar who, he would say back at home, had only talked a lot along the way as he hurried toward police headquarters.

They neared a large office building that had hardly been damaged during the war. Paul did not have to wait for Ludwig’s advice. From afar he recognized that he had reached the wrong destination. Many people stood around there, both locals and foreigners, who had divided up into tight little cliques. Some stared up at the stars and stripes that stretched out above the gate, the bright banner of those in control. A row of military vehicles stood along the street, crusted over with mud. Noticeable was the way the victors hurried about, the pride they displayed, and the utter foreignness of their manner. Two soldiers stood watch before the entrance, and though they were armed, they stood there harmless and peaceful, as if it had been their job for years to guard the main police headquarters in Unkenburg. Paul thanked the young Schmerzenreich for his help, wanting to hand him a little something in the way one tips a guide. Out of habit he searched his pockets but found no coins there. Paul was ashamed and had to smile. He gave up and stroked the strange boy’s head. What was it about this boy who proudly and defiantly held his head high and shook it
in order to toss a stubborn strand of hair to the side? Ludwig was certainly pleased to have fulfilled his assignment. Once he saw that the thank-yous and good-byes were over, the boy turned and ran back as fast as he could.

Paul sees the open steps in front of him and starts to climb them. He sees the writing on the buildings that announces a great many things. Perhaps there was something there he would want to read. Yet a glance confirms there’s nothing for him, it all has to do with people from Unkenburg: they must obey orders, they are warned, they will be instructed and it will be expected. Paul cannot read everything that is being announced here, but certainly it has nothing to do with him. Paul stands before the gate, the soldiers look at him. Should Paul turn back? Is it forbidden to enter? Must one have a pass? Who is allowed? How can he get in? Paul grows anxious and breaks out in a sweat, his heart beats loudly. The amount of power housed here is awesome and will kill anyone who is not allowed to enter. Paul is not allowed, he had signed papers from Stupart. If they ask, what should he stammer on about? He has no reason to be here, he stands inside a vacuum, under no one’s command. This would be a good time to climb back down the steps, yet maybe that would cause more trouble, for it would only show that Paul did not belong in Unkenburg. And yet he stands there in the magic circle of foreign power and cannot hide, it is much too late to do so, and yet to Paul’s amazement no questions are asked. Others go into the building and are not asked, others come out of the door and are not questioned. The soldiers only appear to keep guard without being concerned about the continual traffic in and out. Why a guard is even posted here is hard to understand. Paul imagines that perhaps their watch ended long ago; the soldiers only stand there because they have forgotten that their duty is over.

Paul finally pushes through and is in the hallway. There are no hands here, only arrows pointing this way and that. People are everywhere, weaving back and forth as if they know the point to and reason for existence, it having been revealed to them here. Everyone hurries along and is busy, keeps talking and has something to do, it’s a miracle that it all just goes on and on by itself. Paul can also move along any of the hallways without hindrance, reading the inscriptions on the many doors. On one it reads,
OFFICE FOR REFUGEES
. Soon Paul finds himself in a large room where many people are waiting. They are all tired and have knapsacks and boxes
with them and look like they have no idea what to do. A couple of kids keep on making noise with no one there to reign them in, no one can get them to quiet down. Paul considers how long he wants to wait, for it looks like things are unfolding here quite slowly, and he isn’t a refugee any longer. Where is he fleeing from? He is with himself, and his home is with him wherever he plants his feet. The people are given little slips with numbers so that those who are impatient won’t fight with one another about whose turn it is. As Paul considers whether or not he wants to stay, he tells the person in charge of keeping order that he does not want to take a number. Yet he takes one anyway, mumbling a couple of words of apology before he says that it looks like it will certainly be a while, so therefore he will wait outside in the hall.

Paul throws away his number once he is outside the door and laughs at himself for being so foolish to look for an office that meant nothing to him. He then comes to another door, where he sees faces that are familiar—dull, gloomy souls whose gazes are dead, yet full of hunger, then cast to the ground, full of anxiety and pain, unbearable, the smell of death, the burning cold odor of the horror of the hacked-off hands in front of the ark, voices without names that are suddenly there and then again not. Paul isn’t certain, although they greet him in a friendly and trusting manner, but yes, here was the right place for reparations, each would get something, just be patient, it wouldn’t be much longer, because here is the Office for Former Prisoners. Yet that is not for Paul, he is not a “former” prisoner. Paul wants to have an official designation for himself in the present, not an honor granted to the past. He shuffles farther along. Then up to another floor. There someone stops him. Only Americans are allowed here, or people who have business here. Paul has business here, he says quickly and forcefully, he needs to speak with the commandant, the situation can’t wait. The commandant is unavailable, it will be at least two hours, he learns, since right now he’s in a meeting where they’re discussing the temporary governance of Unkenburg. Paul doesn’t let himself be dissuaded. Eight kilometers, four years, right and left, then across the entire city, that’s too much; there has to be at least a deputy to whom he can talk.—Perhaps Captain Dudley.—Okay, fine, it doesn’t matter, Captain Dudley it is.

Paul is announced and doesn’t have to wait long. There sits the young
Captain Dudley at a desk, smoking like a chimney. Paul is no longer used to such smoky air, so it’s uncomfortable for him and he has to cough. The captain, however, already has company. Someone from Unkenburg stands hunched over before him. What can he do for him? He has brought a small box with him whose contents he unpacks on the table. The captain is very interested. He collects medals of the defeated. He’d be pleased to have all of them, the many lead shields in all their colors. He’ll give a hundred cigarettes for them. Is there any chance of getting more of them?—Yes, certainly, but it’s not easy now to get such loot, but the man from Unkenburg will come back again tomorrow, and not empty-handed.—He just needs to be on time, it’s important, the collection is not yet complete. Duplicates don’t hurt either. The captain is happy to pay, he’s not cheap, yes, cigarettes. Paul keeps waiting, he is exhausted and asks the captain whether he can sit down. Captain Dudley shakes his head. Paul doesn’t know whether that means yes or no, yet he sits down nonetheless and continues waiting.