LITMIR.BIZ

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no longer behind him but at his side. The distant mountain chains in the east and west became clearer and clearer, but his eyes scarcely skimmed along their crests. All that was close to him made him happy: the waving grasses, the little pools where the clouds were mirrored. The lapwings circled round their damp hatching places, and he stood for a long time to watch their flight and to rejoice in their wailing cry. He had not seen any birds for so long.

      Sometimes he thought of his brothers, but not of the victors nor of his country. No general thoughts existed for him so far. His country drank the bitter dregs of the cup, and that was right. Others had drunk them for twelve long years, and with them, bitter death.

      “And not the dead, Herr Baron,” Jakob had said. Jakob’s people had been most numerous among the dead; his people had gone through the most terrible ordeal since the creation of the world. It was surprising that he could say such a thing. It was more than the small box of cigarettes which they found on the window ledge – much more.

      But he, Amadeus, would have to go on carrying his dead. He who did not love could not carry the living. They need love, which carries all.

      At noon he was lying at the edge of the moor. Beyond the empty, dazzling plain he could recognize the dark roof under which his brothers were now sitting. They, too, carried the trace of the years, a hard, deeply engraven trace. Aegidius was the only one of them who was not bowed down. That much Amadeus knew. Probably because he had driven the plow. He also was the only one who had been willing to sacrifice himself. He knew that the clod must be turned over. He was far ahead of them. They would never catch up with him. They were no longer enclosed together in the panels of the triptych. They had stepped out. They still held each other’s hands, but their eyes no longer looked up to God’s brow together. One of them was called by voices which died under the rolling iron wheels. The other called for the field which had been taken away from him. The third did not call, nor was he called. He was only there. The surging sea had thrown him up on the shore and there he lay, breathing heavily, and the water of the deep dripped down from him.

      The dappled flecks of sunshine played between the trees. There was a smell of resin and of deserted country all around, and Amadeus’ eyes closed. His hands lay open in the warm moss, and he moved his fingers slowly to and fro. They felt neither the moss nor the earth. It was as if they felt nothing but life, naked life that only existed, that did not desire or suffer anything. Pure existence as a child feels it when he has been forgotten in the sunshine.

      After two hours Amadeus got up and walked on. The light above the moorland had changed, the shadows fell differently, but it was still the same earth. An earth without human beings, without question or answer, nothing but space which opened willingly to harbor him. The red kite still built its nest in the high pine tree between the rocks of basalt, and the reed warbler called from the bog where it was deepest. They alone had preserved the burning earth from complete ruin. They alone, not mankind. There was no recurrence for them, nor any change. For them everything was still beginning: the first day, the first fear, the first love.

      Amadeus walked on and on; he felt as if he were walking into eternity. He would never get tired of walking over this soft, noiseless earth as long as grass and birds were there, the light breeze, and the vast sky. As long as there were no human beings, no victors and no vanquished. Men always demand something and always stretch out their hands toward the body or toward the heart. But grass and birds did not demand anything from him. They remained in their world. He could walk through them as through water. The water closed behind him and no track was left. And thus without leaving a trace he wished to walk over the earth from now on.

      The sun was setting when he returned. His brothers sat on the doorstep waiting for him, as they had done in their childhood. They had to be together before night could fall. The stars had to wait for their meeting.

      He sat down at an angle opposite them and looked back over the darkening moorland. He sat on the sawn trunk of an alder tree and supported himself with both his hands on the warm bark. He was tired now and looked forward to his bed before the smoldering embers of the hearth.

      “I have not met a soul,” he said. “It was beautiful.”

      “Nobody passes here,” replied Aegidius. “None of those who once cut peat here has come back. If any of our people should arrive, they can start at once; peat is nearly as precious as bread.”

      “Do you still think that anybody will come, brother?” asked Erasmus.

      “Yes, I think so, but it’s a long way, and probably all their shoes are worn out, or they are going barefoot.”

      The cuckoo was still calling and the first mist rose slowly. The evening star quietly appeared in the twilight. The frogs woke up. The nocturnal earth began to breathe gently.

      “Dear brother,” said Aegidius, “we have made up our minds to do what I am going to tell you now, and we beg you to leave it at that. We understand that you must be alone for a while, and it will do you good. We have moved to the forester’s house today, it’s only a ten minutes’ walk. It belongs to us now, and they have two nice, perfectly quiet rooms upstairs. They are very comfortably furnished, better than this, and they take us in very willingly – as a sort of protection. Probably you do not know that the forester Buschan has been arrested. He is in a camp, and I think he played a more or less important part hereabouts. He was a law-abiding man, but he has probably put one foot into the swamp, and he will not get out of the mess for some time.

      “We thought that we would come to see you for a while in the morning or evening. You must get used gradually even to us. You can eat with us or alone, just as you like. If you will give me your papers, I will notify the police in the village, and you will get your rations all right. The Americans look after all that.”

      “You’re doing this for my sake?” asked Amadeus.

      “Yes, of course, brother. But it is not hard for us to do it, you know. We shall manage very easily, and we don’t want you to sleep always on the floor. The most important thing is that you should sleep alone after all these years. We ought to have understood that at once.”

      “But why do you go there?” asked Amadeus.

      “It is near you, brother, and where else should we find any room? The woman was so happy that you had come back.”

      “Was she?” asked Amadeus.

      “Yes, really, I think she was always different from the other two. In their so-called politics, I mean. Only the daughter is difficult.”

      “The daughter, of course. I forgot – what is her name?”

      “Barbara.”

      “All right, she ought to have been called Brunhild. But at that time one did not know all about these things.”

      “Don’t you like the people, brother?”

      “I know them so little. The daughter once beat me on my hand with an osier switch. I thought I would never be able to move it again. She hit with all her might.”

      “Oh, but why?”

      “She had a picture of the ‘great dictator’ in her hand. One of those cheap post cards, and she asked whether I had ever seen anything more beautiful in the world. Of course, I smiled, and then she hit me. I held the post card on my hand and on that hand she hit me. She was thirteen or fourteen at that time.”

      “Yes,” said Erasmus, sighing. “The girls were the first to lose their heads.”

      “At least she does not side with the victors like most of them,” said Aegidius. “I think she would gladly poison the whole lot in the castle. Don’t worry about it, brother. So far you have seen little of what is happening here now. And Buschan has got his punishment. The camps are no paradise, from what one hears.”

      “I hope not,” replied Amadeus.

      He walked with them to the edge of the wood, and then his eyes followed them. The shadow of the trees and the wisps of mist enclosed and covered them. It looked as if they would never return.

      Amadeus

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