by H. G. Adler
“Look, Vera, that is so because you don’t understand what I said to you, for there’s nobody here who understands, which is why I don’t want anything to do with you anymore. Life just doesn’t have any point to it. I don’t want to tell you any more fairy tales.”
“But Snow White …”
“Please, enough!”
“I don’t want to upset you. But Zerlina! Whoever gives up may nonetheless live, but it’s much harder, because he has nothing in which to believe!”
“I’m not talking about that! My father lived so well. He was a big kid. He had no idea how badly he had been treated. But I know it. I know what’s been done to us. I see it continually.”
“You are so unreasonable. You should be grateful that your father still has a grip on you. What could have been better for him than a relatively peaceful death after a long life?”
Zerlina is quiet. She should never have told these stupid women such fairy tales. She hears the talk around her as nothing more than senseless noise that is melded together with the sound of work and other noises into a mountain of sound, though there is nothing peaceful about it, instead it’s disturbing and unsettling, a delusion that bedecks all of the boxes with a poisonous dust. Yet the delusion contains nothing, it is only a halfhearted murky shadow that dissolves into an untraceable odor. It smells of the night, of bare trees, vermin, rubbish, the thin layer of dust left by the fog, and all of it falls into the pits. No one knows anything more about it because nobody survives. The witnesses to this destitute journey waste away as well. Only a lone black flag waves above them, the tar of misfortune, the impenetrable shadow of the heavy night, plague having broken out, against which there is no cure as it rains, the muck breaking over the banks, it being hunger, everything that happened, the father, the train station, death, the rain, the murder, the journey, and the endless hunger.
Against her will, Zerlina thinks of Vera. Maybe she was right, but only if one could fight back and actually do something. When all you had to do was to keep gluing together boxes, there’s nothing more to hope for. It’s better to just leave, not wait any longer, say nothing to anyone, today, right now, drop back and turn around, where there’s no guard, past Herr and Frau Lischka, then quick across the courtyard and through a passage in the wall in order to arrive at more light and bricks. There you can go through, avoid the barrier without escaping, no, just through. Nobody will ask questions, because nobody asks questions when someone disappears without a word. Unhampered freedom has been guaranteed to the people since the end of slavery and serfdom. This natural right is unassailable and sacred, since it is taught in the schools, and it remains so as long as one does not relinquish it oneself. Zerlina has done nothing wrong. Therefore she is free. Each and every person in Ruhenthal is also free and has had his freedom taken away unjustly. There is no one who is not free. If someone wants to stop Zerlina, it’s against the law and morally wrong. Complaints would then be made to the minister of justice. Zerlina would inform anyone what the law says. There has been no trial at all. Cruel fate is not a proper verdict. Therefore it is also not necessary to dress like a criminal on the lam.
Zerlina leaves without anyone stopping her. She sings a song about a happy wanderer. It was not right of Paul to squash all noise. Zerlina touches the wall, tapping it in hope, yet with determination. She presses at the wall with a key. The mortar is as crumbly as old cake because it is weatherworn and helpless to hold itself together. She rubs the wall with the key as the dry mixture of sand, dissolved chalk, and water crumbles away. The egg-yellow dust piles up on the earth. Soon the space in between is wide enough that the teeth of the key can fit between two bricks. The bricks themselves also give way. The key serves as a pickax as the bricks allow themselves to be taken apart.
“What are you doing there, Fräulein? You’re ruining the wall, stop it!”
“I’m making a hole. I’m about to leave.”
“You want to escape? That’s out of the question!”
“I’m not escaping. I have no intention to do that whatsoever. I’m simply leaving as quietly as I can and am taking along anyone who wishes to come. You’ll simply have to accept that, sir.”
“You’re crazy. Nobody leaves here. It’s simply not allowed. You must remain! You must remain or end up planted in the grass!”
“But I don’t want to. I’ve stayed here way too long already, almost two years. I’ve had enough of it already. I need a change of air, sir! You indeed look a bit pale to me as well. Without a change of air the plague will spread. To stay here any longer is dangerous to one’s health.”
“All that about the plague is nothing more than a rumor told in the latrines. I can assure you that you need not be afraid of anything. Should it happen that you come down with the plague or any other contagious disease, you will be quarantined. Then any danger will be prevented.”
“You are in my way. I am leaving. I’ve thought about it and I know the way.”
But Zerlina does not leave. The small hole that she has bored through the wall is no deeper than a finger. The wall has caused some nasty abrasions and yet stands solid and unshaken. Zerlina turns around. She lets it go for today. Tomorrow she will come back and bring along a file with which she can better bore than with the key. She will also remember to bring a hammer in order to knock out an opening that she can squeeze through. She won’t be put off or stopped. Then she will march off and follow the country road that Paul has told her about up through the hills. Soon she will leave the main roads, and soon she will be in the woods and will look for a place where she can hide herself until the end of the war. She will make a camp amid the moss and cover herself with brushwood. The fields and woods and meadows will supply her with nourishment. She will live like a little rabbit and feed on nourishing grasses and fruits. There won’t be any danger of feeling lonely, but rather the threat of inclement weather. Whoever is careful can gather many riches for the heart and spirit, the time soon passing into eternal memories.
Zerlina says to herself: I was there. I lived it and survived it. There is danger everywhere, but it can be dealt with and disappears. Today, now that it’s all over, it’s an indestructible good. Be happy all of you who live an orderly life today, though I really pity anyone who did not share my fears, for they have missed out on one of the deepest fears. But also to know none of it is lucky. Is it possible that there exists such an ability to forget? If so, then such horror never existed, only the confused heart that strayed too far and was overcome with sinful horrors that pulled it into the abyss. There the emptiness of sleep encompassed it and covered over everything. Yet darkness protected everything. Endless grains of sand trickled into the black tar and came to rest in the soft mud of the rumbling journey. Now they attained eternal peace as the persistent flow ceased and all the grains bonded together forever. A smooth path ran above the surfaces worn smooth as a mirror. On wheels that turned easily, coaches that rode on springs glided by silently. Buried beneath were slumberers who rested on feather pillows, but who did not feel constricted, because their thoughts while sleeping were always fixed on the blissful approach of the journey’s end, everything so far having been filled with a future that had no end.
Today no longer exists for Zerlina. She does not sense that things go on happening around her. She only lives for tomorrow and is free and healthy. The plague has spared her body. Left and right, everyone is sick and writhes with pain. Nurse Dora’s rooms are overfull, she can do nothing, Dr. Plato no longer risks helping the sick. Ulcerating sores break open, a disgusting stream spews out of all the rooms, down the stoop and into the yard where the drains are stopped up. The city health workers show up anxiously and vainly poke away at the drains in an attempt to release the deadly stream.
“There’s nothing we can do here. We’re lacking the proper tools, as well as a knowledgeable leader. We need Dr. Lustig! Dr. Lustig!”
Impossible, we can’t just dig him up! We did away with him. He’s no longer in Ruhenthal.”
“He’s no longer here. He’s not among us. Only his stethoscope is still here, Dr. Plato has it.”
“We don’t want the lifeless stethoscope. We want Dr. Lustig, but fast, before it’s too late!”
“Ask at the crematorium for his ashes if it means that much to you!”
“You’re joking. We don’t need a heap of ashes! We need Dr. Lustig!”
“You don’t want any corpses! Anyone dead is relieved of service and without further salary is placed in perpetual retirement.”
“That’s not possible! We need him because of this plague! We can’t let anyone die!”
“You should have thought of that earlier, my friend, before he lay on his deathbed. He starved to death. Nothing but uncooked barley for his weak stomach!”
“We don’t believe you! No one starves here among us! We share. We pass around. He got his measure of bread, his sugar!”
“Those who are dying are independent once they’re dead. That condition may have escaped your notice. The little feather before his mouth lost all color, but did not move.”
“Could the doctor have prevented it? Where was Dr. Plato? It certainly could have been prevented. The proper procedures should have been followed if something didn’t suffice.”
“The food! The food was useless. The patient refused to eat it. His stomach couldn’t take it, his intestines wouldn’t work. Everything just liquefied and was gone.”
“We’re holding you responsible. Bring the man back! If you had only handled things right it would have been possible to save him. It’s still not too late to try!”
“Save your whining! Point a finger at yourself! Get your dirty fingernails away from me! Don’t you have a nail file like cultured people with a fine upbringing? If you’re going to scrape away at all the walls, the least you can do is use a hose! Rinse yourself off! Douse yourself! Work is what makes life sweet!”
Zerlina is shocked by the intense exchange in the yard and leans out of the window, but the ones who were fighting are already off and gone, nobody else is there to overhear. Lightly the rain sprinkles on the uneven earth. The water dams up in deep puddles whose surfaces tremble. Small rivulets have formed, which, at first slowly then quickly, press through the irregular stones of the pavement. Whoever walks by below dirties his shoes, which will soon begin to rot. The old leather softens and no longer keeps out the moisture. You have to go barefoot. It’s miserable, however, to have the odd feeling of the muck clinging to your feet as continually pressed down mud squishes up between the toes. Mud baths are not recommended in this weather. There are no hoses available to wash away the slop, the water mains have been shut off. Also, large stoppers have been placed in everyone’s throats such that nobody can swallow any longer. Because of this stoppage even bread crumbs are inedible. The mouth fills up more and more, because any attempt to gulp does not allow even the slightest bit to pass through the gullet. The husks of barley cling to the tongue and gums and stop up all the gaps between the teeth, causing the gums to burn, the mouth now infected. Yet because the soul is hungry, the hand doesn’t hold back and continues to shovel another spoonful through the lips. Everything is sickness, everything is plugged up, everything is full of misfortune. The stomach is bursting and the intestines are blocked.
Help needs to be called. There must be someone who can perform an enema. The voice fails because of the catarrh on the vocal chords. The hair gets tangled in the cooked barley and hangs in the mouth in gnarled strands. The hands should try to pull it away, but they are incapable of gripping anything because they are knotted and bent in at the joints. After a great deal of effort the pewter spoon is allowed to fall, though there is not enough strength left over to grab hold of the windowsill. Zerlina can neither walk nor stand, nor sit nor lie. She cannot move at all. She is incapable of anything. The key and the nail file are not in her little purse. Did Frau Ilsebill avenge herself? Someone stuck them in the cardboard boxes. There are too many of them, Zerlina cannot open them all. Vera could help, but Zerlina fears that she will think her a laughingstock. Also, the workshop leader might take note. Right off she would call out, What’s going on there! Oh no, now they’re carrying off the beautiful boxes, they have to be distributed. Has Zerlina been fooled by freedom? Does salvation lie in the fact that there is no freedom? The moment the fishhook sets itself in the mouth, that’s when all salvation, all freedom is gone. It amounts only to a thought, and thoughts no longer mean anything. Cross-Eyes took away the brass ring, so therefore no wish can be fulfilled. Have people stopped having wishes? They are still there inside, viscous misfortune having completely tarred them.
Everyone has come down with consumption. The doctors are dead, nobody knows the words that will heal. Zerlina wants to find them. She wants to take the broom and sweep the room. The vermin in the cracks will be pleased. Cleanliness is half of healthiness. Lightly the broom hops over the floorboards and causes the dust to twirl in sharp little swirls. Disturbed fleas leap up in shock like the seven dwarves, seven times seventy-seven dwarves, though they know that it doesn’t mean all that much, for no one will scare them away. And so they let themselves fall again and smugly wait until the broom becomes tired.
To set the whole miserable place on fire would be the only solution. Yet the stationmaster’s daughter looks out her window and cries and waves and calls out. The sparks are dangerous, the woods will burn! Zerlina would not be happy about such a fire, but she would accept it in order that some good be accomplished. The railway will not be disrupted just because some sparks have set off a fire! Unfortunately the train will have to suffer the consequences. Through night and through fog, as the train rages across the countryside, its end already looms before it as the wild machine leaps off its tracks, a peal of thunder rumbles in the sky, the wagons split apart with a dull crack, dead and wounded are everywhere, covered in coats and suitcases, this the penalty for their sins, which settles the score.
Zerlina, however, saves herself. She also soon takes care of her mother and aunt. The others? That’s a difficult question; everywhere there are courageous people who sacrifice themselves in order to save others, for where there’s a will there’s a way. Paul also wants to do what he can and not just passively succumb to his own demise. Almost every day he leaves Ruhenthal, arriving at the blossoming hillsides on the other side of the river, there in Leitenberg where it’s easier to outrun the constables. There must be good people among the inhabitants, for Leitenberg is a town with a long history. Eight hundred years, which Paul had noted himself. Zerlina had once visited Leitenberg seven years earlier and had made good friends there who told her how nice it was to live there. Paul should go to them and ask their help to escape. He could do that if it wasn’t for his pride. No, he cannot do it, for the friends are long gone, adrift in all directions, they no longer live there, they have ceased to exist. But Paul doesn’t need such poor friends who no longer exist; he will find another way to save himself.
The guards won’t notice it if Paul drops out of line, he being clever and quick, always a champion at running, and now soon disappearing into a side street, slipping around a corner, quickly, quickly, and then into a house, saying only that he’d made a mistake. He will then be greeted warmly, a chair offered to the guest before offering him some tasty food as refreshment. He will stay here, for he can also be of help, he knows his way around both a house and yard and will certainly earn his keep, they being only too happy to take him in, clothe him, and forward the colorful adventure of his escape. In such manner Paul will happily await the first day of freedom. In Leitenberg everything is as always, people live freely and hear hardly anything of the war. The houses stand bedecked and undisturbed, no one would want to destroy a small town full of retirees. In addition they will also respect the historic buildings, the tall cathedral, the splendid town hall, the famous arcade in the marketplace, the old guildhalls. A bishop’s see is a consecrated place that all respect.
If e
verything else fails, Paul will hide out in a cloister or in a bishop’s palace. People of the church demonstrate understanding when a refugee asks for help and says: “Benedictus qui venit in nomine Dei.” A friendly “Pax tecum” is said in return, after which the portals to the refectory open as the song “Qui Tollis” is heard. Singing is heard everywhere, the sins of man are atoned for and forgiven in that holy place. The church is powerful, it guards the oppressed and the hunted. The great misfortune of the world will be transformed into the pure gold of charity. Thus Paul is dressed, the lay brothers’ robes suit him well. The cell is indeed small, but clean and airy, the window looks onto the quiet, sunny fruit gardens, the high walls entwined with green steeply descending to the shore road, the poplars bordering the length of the embankment next to the silver-blue stream, the soft meadowlands stretching out on the other shore. And in the cell there stands a brown bed, a dish, a stool made of oak, and a small dresser. The threshold is painted white, such that no illness can cross over it. Paul will study there, but when he grows tired of that, he thinks of ideas for journeys he’ll make in the future after the war, while each morning after breakfast he reads The Leitenberg Daily.
From the papers much can be gleaned if one understands a little of the subtext, which the bloated claims of success seek to cover up. Secrets are not allowed to be talked about in the open, yet what is implied reveals much more than sentences full of enthusiasm. The enemy slowly draws near, Leitenberg lying smack in the middle of both east and west. Because of this the prospects are good for a certain end. Even if everything is wiped out by the advance, Leitenberg will hardly suffer. Before it is conquered, the peace will be decided, and then Paul will hurry to the survivors of Ruhenthal and lead them to freedom. In the time before then he must only wait and not lose heart, nor submit blindly and without hope himself to fate, but rather remain ready. Even though the days pass slowly, they still won’t last forever.