Gertrude Hitzinger got out of bed, put on a coat and shoes and said, "The others have to see this, too. Wake them, Hilde! Hurry!"
A few minutes later a group of eight women was hurrying across the former parade ground, Hilde Reiter leading them. The moon was very bright now, the fog had lifted. The women crowded around the fence by the pillar. "Where is she?" asked Gertrude Hitzinger, peering out across the moor. "I don't see her!"
None of the women could see Fraulein Louise.
"But she was there!" cried Hilde Reiter. "She was there! On that mound!" 68
"Where?"
"On which one?"
"There are a lot of them!"
"That one over there, the one with the willows. No, not that one. More to the right. Next to that stunted pine. Can't you see her?"
"I can see the pine, but not the old witch."
"Then she must have gone away."
"Gone away? How could she do that? Through the swamp? Across the water? You're crazy!"
"It's impossible. Look—the sand ends here, just a few meters beyond the fence the moor begins, and in you go!"
They were all talking at once.
"She couldn't have walked on the swamp."
"There's no path!"
"But I've told you over and over again—Gertrude and I have followed her, and she always disappears after she's walked through the village," cried Hilde Reiter. "I swear it's true. She was out there and she was talking to men. I saw it! With my own eyes! Let God strike me blind if I'm not telling the truth!"
An hour later Fraulein Louise came back to the camp. The guard on duty waved a greeting from his barracks as she opened the small gate with her key and locked it again, nodded at him, and hobbled off. When she entered her room and turned on the light, she found eight women waiting for her.
"What's going on here?" she asked, startled.
"That's what we want to know," said Gertrude Hitzinger. "It's one-thirty. Where were you?"
"I—I—" Fraulein Louise was breathless. "I couldn't sleep so... I went for a walk."
"In the middle of the night?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"What do you mean, where?'"
"Where did you walk? In the camp?"
"Yes," Fr&ulein Louise said hesitantly. "In the camp."
"That's not true!" cried Hilde Reiter. "We told the guard to call us when you came back from outside, and he did. You were not in the camp, Fraulein Louise. Where did you go?"
She didn't answer.
"Where?" Gertrude Hitzinger demanded.
"That's none of your business," Fraulein Louise cried angrily.
"And if you don't get out of my room at once, all of you, 111 call Dr. Schall."
"We've already called him," said Gertrude Hitzinger, grinning maliciously. "And he wants to see you at eight in the morning."
Fraulein Louise sank down on her bed. "Oh, dear God," she whispered. "Dear God!"
15
"Fraulein Louise," said Pastor Demel, "we've always understood each other, haven't we? We're friends, aren't we?"
"Well, of course, Herr Pastor," said Louise Gottschalk.
She was sitting opposite him in his study. She was calm, completely controlled, and smiling innocently.
"You mustn't be afraid," said the pastor.
"I'm not afraid."
"Coffee?"
"Yes, please."
Demel took a pot of steaming coffee from a hot plate and filled two cups that were standing on the table. Then he lit a cigarette.
"Oh, but this is good," said Fraulein Louise. "Just what I wanted—a cup of coffee."
"Help yourself to milk. Sugar? One or two pieces?"
"Three, please."
Demel sat down again. "Fraulein Louise," he said, "I have to ask you something."
"Go right ahead, Herr Pastor. My, but this is good coffee! Anyone would give their eyeteeth for a cup of coffee like this."
"Hilde Reiter isn't with us any longer, so you don't have to be afraid of her anymore."
"I was never afraid of her, a deranged person who beats children. I'm not afraid of anything, Herr Pastor."
"That's good. But is it really true?"
"It's really true, Herr Pastor."
"But then why didn't you want to tell Dr. Schall where you were last night? Perhaps you're afraid of Dr. Schall?" 70
"It wasn't right of me to say I'm not afraid of anything," said Fraulein Louise. "There are things I'm afraid of."
"What?"
"Of some people. Those who don't understand me. I was afraid Dr. Schall wouldn't understand me. And that he wouldn't let me stay with my children if I told him everything." She bowed her head.
"And that's why you wouldn't answer him?"
Fraulein Louise nodded.
"But if I tell you that Dr. Schall has asked me to speak to you because we know each other better, and if I tell you that he considers you one of the most valuable employees of the camp, and that he has no intention whatsoever of dismissing you, for the simple reason that you've done nothing wrong—will you tell me where you were last night?"
"Did he really say that? That he thinks I'm one of the most valuable employees and that he won't dismiss me?"
"He did, Fraulein Louise. That's exactly what he said. So now will you tell me?"
She raised her head and her big blue eyes were filled with confidence and relief. "Of course I will, Herr Pastor. I'll be glad to. I'll tell you anything you want to know because you'll understand. We're friends and I know you wish me well."
"So where were you?" asked Pastor Demel.
"I was on the moor," said Fraulein Louise. "Way out. That's where I always go to see my friends. You see, Herr Pastor, I still have friends, better friends than most people."
"Who are they?"
"Well," said Fraulein Louise, "there's the Russian soldier from the tank corps. He drove a tank. And the American pilot. He flew a bomber. Then there's a Czech radio operator. He fought in the British Army. And a Polish soldier. He was with the artillery. And there's the Ukrainian who had to work in a labor camp, and a German SS leader, and a Norwegian Communist, and a German—he's a Jehovah's Witness. Then there's the French soldier—he was in the infantry—and a Dutch socialist and a German from the Reichs Labor Corps— Let's see now. Is that all of them? One, two, three... eleven. Yes, eleven in all. That's right. They've all had their troubles; sometimes they tell me about them. The French one had asthma. Dreadful asthma. Of course he doesn't have it anymore."
There was silence for a while in the pastor's room. FrSulein Louise finished her coffee, smiled happily and asked, "Could I have another cup, please? It's such good coffee."
"Of course, right away," said Pastor Demel as he fetched the coffee pot, still in a slight state of shock. While he was refilling Fraulein Louise's cup he said, "That's a lot of friends you have out there, and from such different countries."
"Thank you," said Fr&ulein Louise. "Ill help myself to milk. And may I have three lumps of sugar again? Yes, from so many countries. And they're all different ages. The Reichs Labor Corps man is the youngest; he's only twenty-three—not quite twenty-three. He died in 1935." She drank her coffee noisily. "Did you know that this camp was here then?"
"No."
"It's been here since 1934! That's the way it is. When they build a camp with barracks in Germany, it's here to stay. And there's always someone to imprison in it. Let me tell you all about it. First it was a camp for the Reichs Labor Corps. They were supposed to drain the moor. They didn't stay long—only till 1937. Then it became a camp for political prisoners, Germans first, later on from other countries, too—the countries Germany conquered. A concentration camp. Yes, Herr Pastor, that's how the German Jehovah's Witness got here, the poor fellow, and the Norwegian Communist and the Dutch socialist. They all died here and are buried in the moor. Yes, yes, Herr Pastor, don't look so surprised. You have no idea how many dead there are, lying out there on the moor. Hundreds! The moor is full of
dead. It suited the Nazis very well that the moor was here. It made things so simple for them."
"I'm sure it did," said Demel. He noticed that his cigarette had burned down to his fingers and hastily put it out.
"Well," Fraulein Louise went on, "after the politicals, they used the camp for prisoners of war, and they came from all over the place. The Czech—my compatriot—the Frenchman, the 72
Pole, the Russian... and they sent people here from other camps. Neurode is so big, as you know. And they died here, too—the prisoners of war I mentioned. Then when all the camps got so overcrowded that they didn't know where to put the poor wretches, the Nazis divided this camp and made two camps of it. They filled one half with forced labor groups. That's how the Ukrainian got here. He died of pneumonia. And then, at the end of the war, they brought pilots here who had been shot down. They were kept in the other area at the end of the camp, English and American pilots. That's how my Ami got here."
"And died here?" Paul Demel asked softly. Outside they could hear children laughing.
"And died here. And the war was scarcely over when the British came, and they took over the camp. They liked the loneliness and decided it was the ideal place for the Nazi big shots and the SS men. That's how my SS leader got here. Yes ... for three years it was a camp for Nazis; then came the Blockade and the first refugees from East Germany. The Germans took over again and tore down the watchtowers and de-electrified the barbed wire. They painted the barracks, planted a few flowers so that it would look brighter, and in no time the camp was full again, this time with children and young people. And that's where we're at today, one can say 'thankfully,' Herr Pastor. No, this camp hasn't stood empty since the day it was built!" The thought made Fraulein Louise laugh.
"So your friends are all lying dead in the moor," said Pastor Demel, looking bewildered, but he did manage a smile.
"That's what I've been telling you." Fraulein Louise nodded brightly. She seemed to find everything she had told perfectly natural and reasonable.
Pastor Demel decided to look through Fraulein Louise's file and see if she had ever been under psychiatric care. "How do you know all this about the camp?" he asked.
"The older peasants told me. They remember it all."
"And for how long have you visited your friends in the moor?"
"Well, I'd say about two years now. But before that, three years ago, they spoke to me and introduced themselves and told me who they had been before they died."
"But then you only heard their voices."
"That's right. Only their voices. But I soon could tell to whom each voice belonged. Like today. They're often with me when I'm working. Or at night. Especially at night. The voices, I mean.
I can't see them in the camp, not even today. You see, in the camp they're invisible."
"I see," said Pastor Demel. "But they speak to you and sometimes you answer them."
"That's right, Herr Pastor."
"Right now—I mean at this moment, is one of your friends here in the room?"
Fraulein Louise cocked her head to one side, listened for a moment, her eyes with a faraway look. Then she nodded. "Yes, Herr Pastor. The Frenchman and the Ukrainian. I had to wait for them to tell me that it would be all right to let you know. They say it's all right. They approve of my telling you everything. And why not? You're a good man, they say, who will understand."
"Well, now—"
"Yes, yes," cried Fraulein Louise, with another swallow of her coffee. She looked happy; Pastor Demel had never seen her look so happy. "And so," Louise Gottschalk went on, "two years ago the student came to me one night. He's my favorite. When I see him, it breaks my heart."
"For joy?"
"For joy and sorrow, too. Both at the same time. I don't know why. When I see him, it seems as if I see my whole life, just the way it was, the poor, thin little fellow. I know it sounds stupid, but I'm just a stupid old woman. You understand, don't you, Herr Pastor?"
Paul Demel nodded and thought how lonely a person had to be to create people out of sheer imagination.
"So he came to me—the student did—and asked me why I
didn't come to visit him and his comrades, the way they visited
»» me.
"He wanted you to visit them on the moor?"
"Yes. On the moor. That was the evening I saw him in the
camp for the first time. Strange, wasn't it? He was wearing his
work clothes, overalls and boots. He's not tall and so terribly thin.
My God, how his shoulder blades stick out! Probably never had
enough to eat. But smart! Did I say already that he was my
favorite?" "Yes."
"I like all of them, very much, but I like the student best." "So where were you supposed to meet them?" the pastor
asked uneasily.
"On the mound with the eleven osier willows growing on it.
You know the place I mean. It's pretty far out on the moor."
"But there's no path leading to it. Nobody can get out there! It's all swamp."
"That's what you think, Herr Pastor." Fr&ulein Louise laughed. "There is a path. There are paths on every moor. Usually only the peasants know about them, the ones that go out in the winter to cut rushes for the floors of the stalls. Because they have very little hay here. A peasant showed me the path. You have to go through the village. Then, about fifty meters farther along, the path starts. You can hardly call it a path, it's so narrow—more like a ridge—"
A ridge, thought Demel. And she had been walking on this ridge for two years now, balancing on it, on either side of which ... He forced himself to stop visualizing it. "But weren't you ever afraid, Fraulein Louise? That's terribly dangerous I"
"Not for me, Herr Pastor. Because I'm going to see my friends. They're waiting for me to join them on that little mound."
"Between the willows," said Demel.
She shook her head and smiled again. "When I get there, they aren't willows any more. They're my eleven friends. It's an illusion, you see, for those who can't see my friends. I suppose for all people. I guess they also see nothing but the willows when I'm out there. Those willows are my friends. The trees disappear while we're standing there."
"But Hilde Reiter didn't see willows," said Pastor Demel. "She saw people. Men."
Fraulein Louise had to give this some thought. "That's right," she said, sounding astonished. "So she did. Such a wicked woman, of all people. How could that have happened? / think she saw willows and thought they were men. Because she wanted me to be out there talking to men, so she'd have something bad to tell about me. That's what it was. Wicked people are powerful, too, Herr Pastor, you know that."
"Yes," he said, and sighed. "So out there, on the mound, you are united with your friends."
"United! That's right. Out there I'm safe. They protect me. Nothing can hurt me. That's why nothing's ever happened when I walk out on the ridge, because I know and believe so firmly that nothing can happen to me. And nothing ever will!"
"When you get there, are your friends always waiting for you?"
"All of them—yes."
"And what do they look like?"
"Well, just the way fhey looked when they were alive. I can sense the spirit in them, that's why I can see them clearly."
"So they are still on this earth? They haven't found peace yet?"
"No, no! Of course they have found peace, a marvelous peace, Herr Pastor. Let me explain it to you just the way they explained it to me: When a person dies, he wanders all over the earth for years after his death, because he is of this earth. And during this time he can appear to people until at last he enters another world, but he enters this other world on its lowest level."
"Level?" asked Demel.
"Yes. You have to see it like a broad stairway with many steps, Herr Pastor." Fraulein Louise was terribly excited. Her cheeks were red, her blue eyes blazing. "At the very bottom of the stairs—that is the human being. And on the very top of the st
airs is the God-being. That's where the blessed are. My friends are on a
step in between "
I see.
"Not with the saints. Not yet. But a few steps below them."
"In a preparatory stage?" said Demel, coughing as he inhaled the smoke of his cigarette.
"In a preparatory stage! Yes! That's a beautiful way of putting it. And what's so wonderful about it, Herr Pastor, is that in the stage my friends are in, there is nothing but friendship and peace, and only good can happen there."
"So all your friends must have been good people."
Fraulein Louise hesitated. "Well, no. You can't exactly say that. Now they are good—yes, or they would never have reached this stage. You understand?"
"I understand."
"I mean, if all meanness hadn't fallen from them. In the stage on which my friends live, between human-being and God-being, they can still remember the life they lived on earth—the positions they held there, their nationalities, their professions, too. The Czech, for instance-—he was an architect in Brunn. The Norwegian was a cook. The Dutchman was a book publisher in Groningen. The American was an advertising man in New York, on Madison Avenue." She spoke the foreign words correctly. How can this be possible? thought Pastor Demel.
"And so on. The SS man had a pickle factory in Seelze, near Hannover. The Russian was a clown in a circus in Leningrad. The Pole was a mathematics professor at Warsaw University. The 76
Ukrainian was a peasant. The Frenchman was a court reporter for a newspaper in Lyon." All pronounced correctly by Fraulein Louise, who couldn't speak German without an accent.
"The Jehovah's Witness was employed at a savings bank in Bad Homburg, and the labor camp fellow, the youngest, who's been dead the longest—he was studying philosophy. He came from Rondorf, near Cologne. Would it be terribly forward if I were to ask for another cup of coffee?... No?... You are an angel, Herr Pastor."
"Go on, Fraulein Louise," said Demel.
"Well, all of them remember this, and they remember what they were like, their personalities—yes, I guess you could call it that. They still have their personalities, but—and this is the wonderful thing—they're all friends, a group of friends, because they're on a higher level. There's nothing mean where they are, no jealousy, no hatred, no aggression, no sexuality, no desire of any kind."
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