The Journey (26 page)

Onward a little farther. Maybe even backward. Leopold had often wished for that. After the war … that’s what he always said. That is not necessary, for even during the war one can travel. It does one good and enriches oneself to experience the wide world, for it nourishes life. You all can see for the first time how many towns there are in the countryside. There’s plenty of room for you, for you don’t need much. The horizons of travelers are broadened, and you always valued education so much. Can you appreciate the fact that we’re doing all of this for you for free? All we ask for in return is your life, thus the price is cheap, for what is your life worth? Used up and worth nothing! No one would think of buying it, and so it belongs to us, and we’re shipping you off. You have nothing to lose, and only something to gain. Whoever doesn’t know how to help himself otherwise, just go with the flow! Get yourselves ready and don’t be late, because in three days we’ll be picking you up. The song is over.

And so they selected Ida. She is a widow on her own who can travel. Nobody will miss her since she has no family here. A sister with children doesn’t count.—But Ida is so sick and helpless.—Doesn’t matter!—The terrible rheumatism that’s gripped her hands.—Doesn’t matter!—It says only those who can work.… Ida can’t because of her hunched back!—Doesn’t matter!—She can cook. She’s been darning stockings for
years.—One can’t just sit around quietly patching clothes in Ruhenthal. Off with you! Ida is number twenty. During the war small intimate bonds are ripped apart that no longer can be patched together. It’s not bad luck to have to leave. Soldiers travel, and so can Ida.—Where to?—The soldiers don’t know.—The course of the war can change.—Ida won’t die in battle, at least as a prisoner she’ll be looked after.—No, that’s not so. She can only die.—But anyone can die anywhere. With a knapsack on their back and a rifle.—Ida doesn’t know how to shoot.—Doesn’t matter! Anyone can learn.—She might keel over because of her hunched back!—It’s good when one bends one’s back. The bullets fly over and then she won’t die. Only the twentieth one dies.—But Ida is the twentieth.—But not out of those who die, only out of those who journey on.—Ida is not very fit.—We’ll turn her into a canteen woman.—That’s inhumane!—No, the war is very humane.

Be brave, Frau Ida, be brave. Back home there will be a welcome awaiting you when it’s all over, yes, back home. You say that you can’t imagine greeting anyone again? Don’t be ridiculous! Life begins at sixty. Your neighbors will take care of you. Does that mean you’ll be looked after? Why, of course it does, which is why we’re taking you along, in order to better look after you.—But Ida can indeed be taken care of here.…—No, that can’t happen. Whoever is looked after must willingly accept such care. But Ida doesn’t want it and bristles at the idea, needing to be coaxed like a young girl as she cries and complains. She doesn’t want to be hooked up to a freight car, she doesn’t want anything to do with a cold, heartless train. She loved the man whom she married, not like Caroline and Leopold. No, Ida most certainly will not travel, she has a heart condition, she isn’t up to the rigors of the journey, she is not even curious, she is handicapped, she has no interest whatsoever, none, really, it would please her much more to stay in Ruhenthal.—That’s nonsense, how can she just say that when she isn’t even convinced of it herself! Is it really all that nice here?—Of course it isn’t, yet she knows what she knows; unknown happiness hurts more than familiar pain.—Enough of this useless chatter! There it’s completely different, and Ida at least has the chance to make the comparison. After the war, after sharing her greetings once again, Ida can say what it was like back then and there, and what she found to be the nicest part.

Ida concedes that it’s a trap, a bad business with no good intentions involved. If it were not bad, they would not keep secret the journey’s destination. If one can get along here, what need is there to be elsewhere? There’s no reason for it, this journey is a waste of time.…—Useless considerations, Ida, for it’s better to just give in, because then you won’t worry your head about it all to no purpose, for nothing clever ever came of that. If we really did have bad intentions, as people assert, then the journey wouldn’t be necessary, the evil deeds could be done much more easily in Ruhenthal, for the fortress graves are wide and deep enough for all of the prisoners to fall into after being shot. No, there is no danger threatening anyone. The journey is taking place in order to answer the most pressing questions. Everyone who remains behind should be grateful, and even more thankful if they travel on, for they will have it much better. The table is already bedecked with white linen. The flowers stand in the vase giving off their scent. Old folks homes with silky gardenias. Sanatoriums with community rooms and numerous good doctors! Parks with comfortable benches on which to rest in the sun, in the shade, however one wishes. It will be a new home, comfortable, friendly, and healthy.

But where will it be, sir?—No, that we can’t reveal to you.—We’re ready to get away from here, we love the train station. Best would be if you just let us go free. Come on, just tell us, where is this long journey taking us?—It’s a surprise, dear children, a journey into the wild blue yonder. Soon you’ll be there and will see it all. Just get in here, for it will be a long, long train with an able locomotive placed at the helm. It’s whistle will howl out your song the whole way through so that every switchman and stationmaster will understand, Attention, attention, they’re coming, keep all tracks open in order that the train is secure and has a secure escort. Nothing can stop it. Our trains are reliable and have the lowest accident rates of any trains on the planet. The automatic signal system brings any train that is going the wrong way to a stop as soon as possible before any catastrophe occurs. Everyone knows this, of course, for even before this our train system was renowned.—Yet the question still stands, who knows where we’re headed? Someone has to know! You can’t just send us off into thin air, into just nothing!—How many times do we have to repeat what we’ve told you? Into the wild blue yonder, into the blue! Okay, that’s enough yapping, just get ready for a surprise! The final destination will please you all!

Ida got her little piece of paper. The messenger had not even knocked. He just stood there as the light was quickly turned on, because it was the middle of the night. There was nothing on the piece of paper except

That was all, and yet it made her cry. Caroline also wept. Everyone in the room wept. They are so sad in the middle of the night and cannot sleep, although nothing has happened. Just a piece of paper. Ida is exactly the same as everyone else in the room, one among twenty. What would happen if there were only nineteen? Could you hide out in the attic for three days? In the cellar? Sickness will certainly save you! For sick people the journey into the wild blue yonder is not healthy. Then the doctors show up, they look at the thermometer, look down the throat, they take the pulse, they do everything that doctors are supposed to do. Then they say: “Be patient! You will hear from us!” Ida should hide out among the dead. Being dead for three days is not too long. If you are not alive then you don’t have to leave. Then the journey is postponed and postponed once again. But Ida cannot die, because she is alive and there. She will have to take her own life, but that she does not want to do. And so she lives and will journey on, because the doctors have said that she can travel. Her life is not in danger; all she needs is some powder to take along the way, yes, the same powder that Dr. Lustig had ordered for her and which always helped. Certainly, as soon as she arrives she will have to be placed in a doctor’s care, though she will be looked after, for she can take a written referral with her so that one can be informed about the condition of her heart, excessive strain to be avoided at all costs, though they can do what they need to since there are good doctors everywhere who know their craft.

“It all depends on the choice of doctors, my dear sirs. Here I’m satisfied and am used to the ones I have.”

“That’s your mistake, dear Frau Schwarz. Whoever gets too used to things in these times must suffer.”

To wander is the miller’s joy.—That’s right, but a journey all the way to Jutland seems a bit much!—Who told you we’re headed to Jutland?—Supposedly Lippe-Detmold, a lovely town!—No, maybe Strassburg, by chance.… But that can’t be! Innsbruck, I must leave you! Ruhenthal, I must leave you! Oh world, I must leave you! Don’t leave anything!
Take it all with you! You’ll need it. I must travel, I fear, and say good-bye to my true dear. Singing is not allowed because of cramped quarters. Will you, my dear boy, come with me? I’m not a boy, I’m Ida Schwarz, widow, sister of Caroline, Caroline Lustig. Will you, Ida Schwarz, come with me? I don’t want to go; the song is over. I might catch cold. Impossible, the journey happens in sealed cars. This prevents any drafts. You can sit such that your heart points in the direction of the journey. Otherwise one sees nothing at night. The journey’s direction leads straight into the future. Only in large stations are there any lights, but only a few, because for the most part there are just freight cars. Even a heart condition does not allow you to lean out. So stay inside the car! Duck your head! Beware, high voltage! Touching wires, even by the downfallen, is dangerous. Keep your skull inside! The butterflies are flying around, though they’re actually moths. Don’t turn on any lights, otherwise they will burn their wings.

Whoever is cautious journeys the longest. The Italians know this already,
chi va piano va sano
. No, no
piano
. That creates dust. It’s forbidden to bring along musical instruments because they disturb the peace. Whoever stows away a violin will be thrown out, the song is over.—If it were a journey to Italy I’d have no trouble traveling without a piano. Sun and seaside resorts help my rheumatism.—Yes, but they’re supposed to be bad for the heart.—Excuse me, but will we be allowed to send mail from there even if it’s not Italy?—No, it won’t be necessary, because you’ll have everything you could ask for.—As a child, Caroline collected postcards.—Nonsense, she is not a child.—Fine, but she still needs to know how I’m doing.—There’s no need, no one will feel lonely!—But not to be in touch by mail is horrible!—You can live without mail. Just think of yourself as dead and the appeal of correspondence will soon be lost.—But you’re mistaken, I’m not dead. Which is why I was shipped off.—Yes, of course, that’s right, pardon me, I forgot that.…

“Excuse me, Frau Schwarz, sorry to bother you, but now you really need to think about packing!”

Ida and Caroline get up. They realize that this day’s journey can no longer linger in a dream. Maybe Ida will still be able to stay if a miracle occurs. But one can’t count on that, and so it’s best to get ready. Ida must not overexert herself. She must above all take care of herself, and mind her
hands. Yet she still has to sort through all her things. It’s lucky that they can still talk. Only the orders shouted into the room are a disturbance, but afterward it’s quiet again for a little while and one can catch one’s breath. Ida needs to eat regularly. No, don’t give anything away!

“So this frock can stay here, Caroline, you can have it. Maybe Zerlina can alter it if it doesn’t fit you.”

“No, Ida, take it with you! You’ll need it, especially when it rains. It will be very damp there.”

“The suitcase is too full for me. I can’t carry that much. I’m wearing what I need most.”

“Fine, but the frock hardly takes up any room, so you can surely pack it.”

“I most certainly won’t need it there. You can exchange it for some bread in order to have more for Leopold and the children. It’s made of lovely material. Just feel how soft!”

“No, Ida, that’s a practical piece to have with you, you look so lovely in it! You also need to have something beautiful to wear in order that you don’t look like a poor beggar woman. Maybe you’ll have even better luck bargaining for something there.”

“For bargaining I already have my silk shirt and my boots. They’re very good ones.”

“But they take up a lot more room than the frock. Take my advice, Ida! You also need to hide something away for yourself. As well as a supply of food.”

“I prefer to have that in my pockets so that I can have it with me on the train. You never know if you can keep your suitcase with you. I like to have everything right on me.”

“You’re right. And don’t forget your medicine, the drops for your heart.”

Paul runs around. Zerlina runs around. They want to prevent it all from happening. It is also said that the journey will not happen. That it will at least be postponed. There were still no wagons waiting.—But they will come.—You can’t say that. As long as they’re not here there’s still hope.—There’s nothing to hope for!—Whoever just gives in to his fate might as well let himself be buried.—That would probably be for the best.—Please, be patient! Maybe the war is over. Miracles do happen. It’s
not so rare after all!—No more miracles will happen today. They’re long over.—There are black flags hanging. They seem to be mourning something. The war is going badly for them. They’ve lost another thousand aircraft.—That doesn’t matter. It’s all happening a bit late for us. That’s why it doesn’t matter who wins the war or who loses, because we have already lost it.—But there are still so many here in Ruhenthal!—Only for a while longer! Soon they will come for us. They’re just waiting for the schedule. By the end of the war nobody will be left here. Only a fool would think otherwise, no one will escape.—They just need able workers.—That’s a joke, for they’re only sending away people who are really sick. Ruhenthal is not a safe place to hide.

“So, Paul, what have you heard? Have you arranged anything?”

“No. Nothing for sure, yet. But maybe. I spoke with someone. If he can, he said he will.”

“Have you promised him anything?”

“I have. In fact quite a bit. I don’t even know where I’ll get it all. I’ve set something aside. I told him I could get the rest to him after the war.”