The Journey (45 page)

Paul asks him where he is from.—Oh, a little town that nobody here knows, yet it was a lovely town. Too bad that he can’t show it to him! There he had his own house, a villa with six rooms, in which the victor would be welcome if he ever had a chance to make the trip. Yet it’s all gone, even if the house itself were still standing. It was an old town, much smaller than Unkenburg, but certainly just as beautiful, the countryside lovely around it. Paul hears the name, Leitenberg, an episcopal see, a cathedral, a town hall, old arcades, the guildhalls, and in the middle of the plaza a column dedicated to Saint Rochus. Beside the town there flowed a river, which was deep blue and sometimes looked silver.

Paul asked about the opposite shore, whether there was a town there as well, smaller than Leitenberg and not as pretty. Yes, said the man, there was a town there, quite generously it had been cleared of its native inhabitants, the higher-ups having done so for the prisoners in order to help them. You couldn’t help but appreciate what an act of kindness that was, an entire town for prisoners, such that they could live there undisturbed and provide for themselves, no one to bother them, almost as if they were free, themselves feeling completely at home. The enemy had never done anything that honorable, but today there’s isn’t even a hint of thanks for those who have suffered so much, since all there is now is slander and lies taken as truth. The enemy’s newspapers write what they want, they are unmerciful.—Paul asks if this town was called Ruhenthal, an old fortress, dirty and unhealthy?—Ruhenthal, that’s right, but dirty and unhealthy? That’s not true! Certainly pleasant and simple, yet nice and clean. That the prisoners were not happy there, that could be, for that’s the way prisoners are, they can’t stand living with one another and are often dirty. But that’s their fault.—Had he known any of the people who lived in Ruhenthal?—Yes, he had seen many of them himself; many of them had worked in Leitenberg, a group of them walked leisurely each morning and evening through town, almost as if they were free; handsome men they were, who looked well fed. One noticed how pleased they were that nothing bad had happened to them.

Paul is on the brink of setting the man straight, yet he doesn’t do so. He’d like very much to ask him whether he himself ever went to Ruhenthal,
and whether he saw that funeral wagons were provided to the living, but for the dead there were none. And whether he had looked into the narrow rooms and saw the old people, crammed together and helpless, living upon what was left of their possessions? Whether he had seen the sick who were left untended and for whom there was no care available? Whether he had seen the hunger that ravaged faces, wasting away the living, erasing them? There was a lot he’d like to ask about, for Paul could see no end to it, yet he is now so far away from Ruhenthal, such that so much else had come between him and what no amount of questioning could ever touch upon. There is something today that is also omnipresent, something that years ago was only known as corrupt and unjust; now the entire country is a wasteland, and all countries have been laid waste along with it, suffering having broken out among all of those imprisoned, a plunge into the rubbish heap, a lone ark floating above like a wretched home, though it is leaky and gurgles as it sinks in the bubbling mud. Paul doesn’t ask a thing, he wants to leave the man to himself. No one can hear and feel what has happened to another, just as another’s guilt cannot be taken on. Only he who wishes to feel guilty will embrace guilt, yet it cannot be allotted. Perhaps this man from Leitenberg really is innocent and barely reaps expiation, as all men are implicated in the work and deeds of their brothers.

He is a guest in the barracks just like Paul, and so he plunders ownerless goods, which for Paul is loot that he takes from strangers, since they took everything from him, though for the man it feels like robbing his own people in Leitenberg. No, that’s unfair. There is no difference between them: everyone robs his neighbor, whether it’s his friend or foe. No one has anything, that’s why everyone takes something. The man from Leitenberg had to leave behind his belongings, just like Paul. Both of them were now refugees, so there was no distinguishing between them; one leaves because he cannot stay, the other is taken out of his house because he is not allowed to stay, but everyone has to leave. Whoever among those still alive is unwilling to beg has to take something when it lies there ready and in the open. Even the soldiers have to flee the barracks without having enough time to take the pictures of their loved ones down from the walls, the books they were reading from lying open on the table, the plates
from which they ate left behind unwashed, knives, forks, spoons, and glasses left unattended, there to save the lives to whom all these goods have been sacrificed. Paul is amazed that more people don’t arrive to take advantage of such a respite. Certainly that will happen soon. Most people in the city are still paralyzed; the inhabitants of Unkenburg move through the destroyed streets and look for their family members and what can be gathered of their goods among the rubble; thus the salvation of rubbish as it becomes goods once again.

The man from Leitenberg starts to speak again, Paul’s silence has gotten to him. He wouldn’t want him to think …—No, Paul wasn’t thinking anything, there is nothing more that one can think. The man from Leitenberg had lived well, one could see it by looking at him. He had said so himself. Paul wants to know from him what he was?—The man from Leitenberg drew himself up. Would the victor believe him? He was the mayor of Leitenberg. He had run the town and sat in the town hall. Now he stands amid a hostile wilderness, a beggar in a strange town, which doesn’t have a mayor of its own either. What is it like now in Leitenberg without a proper town government to run things? It’s hard to imagine. No one knows who is leaving, who is staying. No news gets through at all. The people who used to live together have been separated and so scattered that no one can bring them together again. No one knows for sure how many are dead. There is no one in charge of the country, there are no leaders, everything is destroyed, it’s terrible! Nor is there any leadership whatsoever. It’s all done with and gone.

Paul says that Unkenburg already has a commandant and that order has been restored. The former rulers are not completely gone. Many officials are still alive, they have only ducked around the corner and will soon return, looking for their old desks.—Yet if everyone flees? You fled, otherwise the air raids would have done you in!—Doesn’t matter, there will be others there, the seat of government is still there. Someone will claim it when it’s time to do so.—Even in Leitenberg?—Even there it will be the same. There will be someone there to take power, the government never disappeared entirely.—But the mayor of Leitenberg no longer has a position. In Unkenburg no one needs him, no one here would even give him the time of day. They would laugh in his face.—If he is not needed
here, then there are other positions elsewhere. In any case there is no need to stay in politics, there are other professions.—But when one is born to govern?—What do you mean born to? There’s no such thing.

The man from Leitenberg means that it doesn’t matter for the victor, for
he
will go home, he will arrive in a city where he belongs, where he has his rights. There’s no chance of that for the mayor. He has been taken away and has been banished for good, he cannot go back to Leitenberg, at least not for long, he wouldn’t survive it, or at least the mayor cannot expect that any such miracle can occur. He no longer has a home, Unkenburg is no home at all, nor can there be one anywhere. He doesn’t even know if he will be allowed to stay here. He is the last mayor in a long line of mayors, for eight hundred and two years they had held office. Two years before the mayor had spoken at the eight-hundredth anniversary of Leitenberg. The festivities were somewhat curtailed, it was the fourth year of the war. Back before the war everything had been planned, there had been an organizing committee. So much more had been planned, visitors from near and far were expected, tourists, special trains, renovations of the guesthouses, overnight stays arranged for with community members, the laying of a cornerstone for the new hospital, the Leitenberg archivist and the principal of the school thought big and composed a festival play in which the historic rise of Leitenberg from the darkness of the Middle Ages up until the brightness of the present was supposed to be depicted, the Beautification Association was supposed to take care of so much, old frescoes were to be uncovered, benches installed, the castle park behind the bishop’s palace was supposed to be connected to the docks on the shore by a new set of stairs, a broad expanse on the edges of the town that was more than just an adornment—it had been a dump full of dirt and ashes for many years—had been envisioned to be developed into an open park, drawings for which still existed in the Planning Commission of the town hall. The clearing had begun when the war broke out. The work had to be stopped, but one hoped for a quick victory, for then most of it would have been finished. Yet it was not to be. And so the celebration was a bit scanty. Because of the blackout, the torch parade that the children had been so excited about had to be canceled at the last minute. A couple of speeches were given with great vigor, a special edition of
The Leitenberg Daily
was issued with eight pages, rather than the hundred that would
have been published in peacetime. In the schools the students were told about their history and the future. A gathering on the main square in front of the plague column was canceled, only a High Mass was celebrated in the cathedral. That was all.

Now there will be nothing more. Who will celebrate a nine-hundredth anniversary of Leitenberg?

“Such thoughts are superfluous today, Herr Viereckl. Perhaps the grandchildren.”

The mayor is taken aback and somewhat disturbed. How does the stranger know his name?

“Is the mayor’s name not Viereckl? If that’s the last mayor of Leitenberg, then that has to be the right name.”

Yet Paul has had enough of this talk. He turns toward the door and wants to look for a washroom. The mayor doesn’t want to let Paul go, but the latter doesn’t want to hear anything more. He turns back once again.

“Enough, Herr Viereckl, I know the town you’re from.”

Paul looks around and finds a faucet, but no water runs from it. He runs back to his room, gets a bucket, and goes to the pump in the yard. The handle is too heavy, Paul can’t lift it. Someone notices how weak he is, hurries over, and helps him pump. Paul thanks him and wearily carries back the bucket of water. Along the way he has to stop now and then to catch his breath. At last Paul is back in his room with his load. He’s happy to have a key and loves to turn it in the lock. Paul is at last his own master, he can now perceive the border between himself and the world. He has an address at which others can visit him. He will put his name on the door outside. Here lives Paul Lustig, please knock! Paul Lustig, resident of the Scharnhorst barracks here on the Kanonenberg in Unkenburg; that has a certain ring to it. The master of the house decides whether he will answer the door or not. No one who is not welcome here can darken this doorstep. This is private property, and it belongs to him. Whoever damages it will have to answer to the law. Now the barrier is once again erected that should stand between oneself and all others. A path can run between the two that is acknowledged by all, yet no one is allowed at the table who has not been invited.

Paul then cleans himself up. He washes himself a long time and scrubs his arms and legs. He has the best soap he can find and a soft washcloth,
which is easy on his skin. Paul shaves off his disheveled beard in front of the mirror, before which he no longer cries. He laughs at seeing his face covered up with white foam. The brush is useless, for the brush hairs fall out and end up stuck to his cheeks and feel ticklish. The blade needs to be sharper. At last his skin is almost smooth, only the throat is still a little raw. Paul applies some powder, something he never would have used before. He will have to look for some new blades, there have to be some somewhere in the barracks. Paul chooses a pair of pants that pleases him; they fit once he uses a leather belt tightened halfway. He throws the old pair of pants out the window. He also dumps the water into the yard. Other shabby items are thrown out as well. There is no order to it, but it’s simple, the most direct route to the rubbish heap. Perhaps someone else will need what Paul throws away. It’s fun to get rid of so many unwanted things; they fly out the window one after another.

At last, after nearly four years, Paul finally looks good enough to once again appear on the street. Except for his shoes, everything he was wearing had not belonged to him the day before. He doesn’t even want the dark green coat anymore. Yesterday the soft fleece still seemed splendid, but today it appeared as if moths had gotten to it. Paul is now an officer, but more presentable than Captain Küpenreiter; the clothes provide him with a certain air. Only the silver insignia of the defeated officer looks ridiculous. It should go to Dudley, if he wants it. Paul takes off the coat once again and cuts off the shoulder insignia. He has resigned, he doesn’t want to command an army. Throw the weapons onto the rubbish heap, away with them! The soldiers have been granted permanent leave. They have deserted, but Paul won’t chase after them. They should just scatter, left and right and around the corner. No need to march in line anymore. Regulations are meaningless to those in chains. The war is over, the army is discharged, it has crawled under the earth, defeated. Paul looks once more into the mirror and salutes. The mirror salutes back. The two are very courteous to each other. Paul is grateful to the mirror, it has done a splendid job. Now the mirror can take its rest, for Paul is leaving, he wants some breakfast.

Paul turns the key, steps out, and locks the door behind him. Then he thinks to himself that strangers might come who wouldn’t know that this is someone’s apartment. He wants to put up a sign. And so he goes back
inside again. He’s already written his name, but it won’t mean anything to a stranger, so Paul adds
FROM STUPART
and
DO NOT DISTURB
! Now it’s in order; the sign is put up, he can go now. The yard stretches out in front of him, it is warmer today than yesterday with everything drenched in sunlight. It must be nearly noon. It doesn’t hurt him at all to walk, and soon he is at the front gate. The city greets the old officer who has resigned all of his commissions. A good commandant who now only gives orders to himself. He is a wanderer in search of his own nourishment. Paul doesn’t have to wander for long. He finds a soup kitchen. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t plead, he simply goes in. Earlier this was a school. Now full kettles say that not much learning goes on here any longer.