Thousand Days: Fragments of a Soldier's Life of 1939 and 1940 (part 3 of 6)

Iron Cross 1st Class and Arthur Schopenhauer

read part 1 here, read part 2 here.

The next day was December 23, the day before Christmas Eve. Many people went on vacation, but not me. In the evening, at eight o'clock, when it was already dark again, the men were dragging the last Christmas trees through the streets, the women were carrying their few gifts home in silver wrapping and tied with colorful strings, and I set off again. I put on my steel helmet and secured the pistol and searched for the third address. I knew the way. It was not so cold anymore, but I shivered and turned up the collar of my coat. I felt bad. When I rang the doorbell, a girl of about 17 opened it for me. She had such youthful beauty as I have rarely seen. I asked for her mother, because on my list there was a woman’s name as the head of the family and the owner of the apartment. The girl asked me into a room and I waited. I looked around. There were a few Polish art books on the table and Schopenhauer between them. There was a half-decorated Christmas tree on a round table. When the door opened and the mother came in, I saw that they were in the kitchen baking a few cookies and a small cake with what little they had. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. The mother was a fine, delicate woman who was so frightened at the sight of me that she had to hold herself from weakness. Her husband entered behind her. I was a little surprised and looked at my list again, but I was not mistaken. It had a woman’s name on it. I turned to the mother and asked if that was her. She shook her head and pointed at her daughter. When I asked her if her daughter was the owner of the house, to my surprise, she again said no. I took out my credentials and showed them. Both parents nodded while the daughter stood silently staring at me. “You know what this means, you know why I’ve come,” I asked. The two aged people looked at me in confusion without saying a word and shook their heads. I know, said the daughter, we are to be transported away. My eyes fell on the Christmas tree and on the Schopenhauer and finally on the faces of the three people. I gathered my courage and said: “It have the task to tell you that you have to leave the apartment within two hours. Each of you can take two suitcases, jewelry and money with you. At 10 o’clock a truck will stop in front of the door to take you away.” At my words, the mother buried her head in her hands and began to sob. Her husband was so distraught that he was unable to respond. I looked away. Go ahead, I concluded, it is no use. Begin. The girl went to her mother and stroked her, then she said to me: Give my parents some time. I promise you we’ll be ready on time. You arrived just as we were about to decorate the tree for Christmas Eve. We also baked something and it’s still in the oven. It’ll be ready in two hours anyway. I’ll give it to you and you can take it with you. It’s a few cookies. She smiled as tears fell down her face and then left the room.

Suddenly, the father woke up from his stupor. He went to a desk and pulled out a small box and took something out of it. He approached me and showed it to me. It was the German Iron Cross 1st Class from the World War. In a somewhat hoarse voice, but calmly, he said: You have a terrible task, sir. In an hour like the one I am experiencing now, your whole life passesb before you once again, as do all the questions of right and wrong. I know well what you as a German can answer me, I know all of these words, I also know our own guilt, but that is little consolation. I can not believe it. Do you know this medal? Yes, you must know it, it is the Iron Cross. I fought as a Pole on the German side against Russia in the World War and received this decoration for bravery, but I had to suffer and atone for it when the Poles came, even though I was and remained a Pole in my heart. Now that the Germans are coming, I have to suffer again. There is no God anymore.

He was silent for a while and then continued: “You do not know what will happen to us, do you? Well, it wouldn’t change anything. I just wanted to ask you to only take us old people with you. We would have gotten over it soon. I wanted to ask you to leave my child here, she is young, she could choose Germany and become German. But I won’t ask you, I’ve come to my senses. I believe that I cannot improve my child’s fate because this war is far from over. I have experienced how it tosses people back and forth and there is no peace anywhere, not here nor there, no rescue anywhere and no peace anywhere. Today you are the victors, tomorrow others, the day after tomorrow you again, I am tired of it.” He put his hand on Schopenhauer and said: This man is my comforter, but he can no longer accompany me. But no one can take him away from my memory, nor all the wonderful things of beauty and thoughts, which I have enjoyed and possess and can no longer lose. I like to go myself. He then went to his wife and kissed her. Not really, he continued, are you coming with me? We’ll stay together until the end.

The woman was convulsed with tears and could not speak. She clutched her husband and hid her head in his hands. I could not watch this any longer. I left the room and entered the kitchen. The girl had calmly and thoughtfully put the cakes in the oven and was about to get her suitcases and rucksacks out of the room. When she saw me enter, her posture also collapsed, she sat down and cried. But it only took a few seconds for her to compose herself again and ask me if it wasn’t possible to take just her with us and leave her parents here. I too was at the end of my strength. I took her by the hand and led her back to the room where her parents were still waiting, just as I had left them. With the most evil face I could muster, I said: Stop crying now. My written order contains your daughter’s name as the owner of the apartment and head of the family. I have to follow this order. Is your daughter the owner of the apartment? They said no again. Then, I continued, there is an error which is unfortunate but which does not interest me. I am to confiscate the apartment in that name, it does not exist. I am to have the family of which she is the head transported away. This family doesn not exist. So everything is all right. I put my steel helmet back on and left the room. The daughter hurried after me and wanted to ask and say something back, but she couldn’t get a word out. As I stood at the door, I turned back again and said: Tell your father to take up some service with the German civil administration immediately and as quickly as possible, no matter what, even if it's shoveling coal. He should get an identity card and go to police headquarters immediately. That is the only rescue. More, I told her two important names. Then I shook her hand and left. The transport van was still waiting outside the police station, ready to go. I shouted to him that he did not need to drive to my address, that there had been a mistake. The man behind the wheel nodded and crossed the name off his list. I turned up my collar, put my hands in my pockets, and stomped home through the darkness. I was the first to return, I immediately undressed, laid down on my bed and turned off the light.

What I had prepared days ago for Christmas Eve and for which I suddenly could not muster up the mood for, now came to me without a second thought: I had ordered cakes in Poznan and they arrived. A small Christmas tree was brought for the room, I was asked to decorate the hall in which the evening celebration was to take place, and where a large tree was also erected, a piano had been found and brought from far away, and finally I was persuaded to fill the walls with drawings and caricatures of the officers and men on large sheets of paper. I did this, and apparently quite well, because after the party the caricatured and pictured people stole all the drawings from the walls at night and put them in their suitcases.

Christmas Eve came, we had no service, but I could not forget the last service. Towards the evening we all gathered in the hall, there was singing, some talking, some music. Someone then rehearsed a few satirical scenes, I also remember that the “natural artists” performed, the Hamburg stevedores lifted up oak tables with one hand, walked on their hands with their legs crossed over their shoulders, talked ventriloquistically, jokingly slapped each other so hard that they literally fell against the wall, and at the end one of them whistled the England song in two parts. The commander, Major Schulz, was present and donated a few promotions in exchange for the cigars and hours of entertainment. He chose the wrong people with sure instinct, not because I was not among them, but because we knew the right ones better. I wasn’t always there with my thoughts, they were in Berlin and even further away. At some moments everything seemed so terribly lost and strange to me as in a waiting room at night, where the doors open and close, some groups stand shivering in the dark corners and others come in and out noisily and carefree, and where you don’t know where they are all going and what kind of people they are who wander around on nights like this. After the celebration, and after the commander’s car had already left, I put on my coat again and went away. It was a starry winter’s night, the night in which, 1939 years ago, a person was born who conquered the world with his word of love and peace on earth. The streets were lonely and quiet, I walked through the whole towny and suddenly found myself in the Vistula lowlands in front of the Poles’ house. The light of the candles from the first floor fell on the bare trees and the snow-covered street. But no one could be seen behind the windows. I forgot that I had been standing there looking up for quite a while.

When I got home, the hall was already empty, but the lights were still on in all the rooms. The high school graduate, the fat businessman and the master painter had brewed punch and were sitting around the table by the window. They did not speak, but drank and smoked quietly, and I realized that I could do that too. At midnight we went to sleep. Christmas Eve 1939 was over and the first wartime Christmas day was beginning.

Fat Schmidt and the master painter were already asleep when I was still awake and could hear Kowalski still moving. I asked quietly if he was still awake. Yes, he replied. I asked him what he was thinking about. He replied: Oh, nothing in particular. I was thinking about this—I was thinking about this whole mess in the world, you know. Today of all days I was told that our company has to provide six men for a firing squad, and I'm one of them. He was silent and puffed through his nose and seemed to be getting ready to sleep. But suddenly something occurred to him. He straightened up and said, “Hey, I have an idea. Tomorrow I’ll go to Leuenberger (our company commander) and try to convince him that we absolutely have to set up a non-commissioned course.” He woke up completely: “If that works, I’ll try to get in and then I’ll automatically be exempt from any duty. Don’t misunderstand me, I don’t want to shy away from what’s necessary, and the person who is about to be shot will probably deserve it. At least we don’t have to worry about it. Because what he has conjured up for himself, death, is probably also in the lottery for all of us. But you know, I don’t like to be there. I’m ready to be a soldier, but not an executioner. God knows why such such convicts have to be shot by their own comrades. Well, goodnight, Merry Christmas.”

The holidays were over, the NCO course was announced. It was due to start in two days. Our officers had already posted four or five names on the notice board of those chosen for the NCO course. The high school graduate was among them. A new one was added almost every hour. Suddenly my name was there too. An anxiety, a nightmare was relieved. At the beginning of the course, twelve of us were appointed lance corporals. I had reached the first stage of my military career. During those days, a lot of snow fell from the sky, and an hour or two of drilling in the meter-deep snow made us so tired that we could hardly lift our legs. The melted snow ran into the jackboots and the twelve figures steamed from exertion and heat. But the decisive factor was that the training officer, Lieutenant Kurzke, of whom I have so many memories, was so dashing beyond measure that even in the harshest winter he did not wear warm underwear, because otherwise the tailored uniform would not have fitted him. He never wore a coat either, because then the uniform would not have been seen. As we stood there, enveloped in the clouds of steam, his whole body shivered with cold. In this way, duty usually ended after two or three hours. Then we went back to our rooms, which were empty because the others were on guard or evacuating or shooting. When the whole horde of nail-studded boots returned at the changing of the guard and clattered up the stone stairs, we stood at the top with our legs apart in felt shoes, bathed and pink. This time was very nice, even if, I have to admit, it didn’t contribute much to the victory. Meanwhile the end of the year came and with it my first vacation. On New Year’s Eve I sat on the train and rolled through the night to Berlin.

I have no memory of any great things happening in the world during those days. I think I remember that when I arrived on New Year’s Eve, Berlin was as it always has been, busy, bustling, peaceful and content. The people were actually not very worried. The Polish campaign had been beaten, the war, at least the war on the German side, seemed to be over. Hardly anyone had any idea how people were working behind the scenes and how things were boiling under the surface. Hitler made his speeches, Roosevelt chatted by the fireside, Churchill spoke in the House of Commons, it all went by rather unnoticed and everyone seemed to me to live in a vague confidence that the war had passed over Germany’s horizon. I saw some women in mourning on the streets of Berlin, and everyone was watching them. You could also see the first Iron Crosses, the little black-white-red ribbons in the buttonhole, and everyone looked at them. The shops were lit up until dusk, the trams, buses and the metro raced with their crowds from north to south, east and west, everyone seemed to want to go where they weren’t at the moment, but gradually it became quieter, the bottles of wine and liqueur, which were already rarer back then, were brought out, the cakes were put on the table, the windows were closed, the church bells rang for New Year’s Eve, and when it was over, the streets became emptier and quieter, and around one o’clock Berlin went to sleep. The new year would bring peace.

After six days my vacation was over. I was back on the train and rolled into Posen. As I climbed the stone steps of the seminary, it was as if I had not even been away. People went on guard duty, evacuation and drill. In the last days of January and the beginning of February there was another severe cold snap, and we moved from the field into the corridors and parlors with our NCO course. For the next few weeks we sat hunched over our notebooks, over the training sandbox and in front of the blackboard, day after day, and learned the craft of war.

TO BE CONTINUED…

read part 4 here.