through in order to figure out how to make the proper connections so that you got the proper travel permits despite the imposing obstacles placed in your path. Exhausted, you would have collapsed and sunkinto the rubbish that was brought along on the journey because it was already too late. In this manner you would have found no peace, and the potential agony of the subjugated remains always small when compared to the agony of the lone wolf who never knows what will happen from one moment to the next.
And so you looked at the inhabitants of Leitenberg who wandered around the streets of their town naturally uncertain. You and others marched four abreast between the rows of buildings and across the market square. You were not allowed to stop nor to step onto the platform at the station, but were forced to hurry across the tracks as if you yourselves were a train waiting to serve its master’s every wish and desire rather than its own volition. Essentially what awaited you was an open question, for there was nothing you had to worry about. To the extent that you were buried in your own cares and worries, you were aware of no one else but yourselves, the worries themselves superfluous simply because you had not yet learned to give up your dear old sense of normalcy.
Even if it wasn’t quite right, Leitenberg was nevertheless indifferent to your plight. It was a town through which you were led like so many times before, this being perhaps not the last time either. What strange fate awaited you that perhaps you were not aware of? A town, fine, a town—but there are plenty of towns. No curious onlooker claps the restless, runny-nosed traveler on the back to help him breathe better. No sooner did you reach a town and you left it behind, so it was no use tossing pebbles at a window to try to find out the secrets to some stranger’s home cooking. The severe penalty you’d have to pay for such a misdeed would not have been worth whatever unlikely relief you might have gained, and the penalties might have meant your own end, one of pure misery.
Leitenberg is not your town, no matter how many times you may have been led through it, for it offers you no view of itself but the backyards of houses on the outskirts that for years you quietly passed almost every day on the train. In the dark, or even in your sleep, it’s enough for you to think that you’ll soon be there, just a little longer, just another half hour before you reach your stop, the one meant for you alone, and so you stand and move on, almost home. You could also wander through Leitenberg with your eyes almost closed, or you could lower your gaze to the ground and count the paving stones and your steps. Soon you will know, having passedthe last houses and reached the open field. Leitenberg is only a dream, or no, an accident, which you can no more avoid than the train can leave its tracks; only by jumping the tracks could it plunge into the strange town and disappear.
Only certain views meet certain faces. Everything else remains hidden and buried in impenetrable murkiness. At first you wander along a river valley where there are poplars and vegetable fields. The land is wet and lush. Its owners are unknown to you, unknown also to you is how they tend the fields and nurture the fruits and vegetables. You’ve no idea if there has been enough rain or sun this year to guarantee a good harvest, because you know no one who will enjoy the yield, and it’s even questionable if there is indeed anyone who takes care of what grows here. Seeing the blossoms on the weeds makes you happy and would continue to do so if you were allowed a brief stop. You’re just happy that it’s not raining, for your shoes are rotted, the puddles of mud make your steps difficult. Quietly your gaze takes in the plants that required such incredible toil, the kind generated by either great hope or bitter need. A hailstorm could destroy it all, bursting the soft melons and battering the cucumbers,
And so you looked at the inhabitants of Leitenberg who wandered around the streets of their town naturally uncertain. You and others marched four abreast between the rows of buildings and across the market square. You were not allowed to stop nor to step onto the platform at the station, but were forced to hurry across the tracks as if you yourselves were a train waiting to serve its master’s every wish and desire rather than its own volition. Essentially what awaited you was an open question, for there was nothing you had to worry about. To the extent that you were buried in your own cares and worries, you were aware of no one else but yourselves, the worries themselves superfluous simply because you had not yet learned to give up your dear old sense of normalcy.
Even if it wasn’t quite right, Leitenberg was nevertheless indifferent to your plight. It was a town through which you were led like so many times before, this being perhaps not the last time either. What strange fate awaited you that perhaps you were not aware of? A town, fine, a town—but there are plenty of towns. No curious onlooker claps the restless, runny-nosed traveler on the back to help him breathe better. No sooner did you reach a town and you left it behind, so it was no use tossing pebbles at a window to try to find out the secrets to some stranger’s home cooking. The severe penalty you’d have to pay for such a misdeed would not have been worth whatever unlikely relief you might have gained, and the penalties might have meant your own end, one of pure misery.
Leitenberg is not your town, no matter how many times you may have been led through it, for it offers you no view of itself but the backyards of houses on the outskirts that for years you quietly passed almost every day on the train. In the dark, or even in your sleep, it’s enough for you to think that you’ll soon be there, just a little longer, just another half hour before you reach your stop, the one meant for you alone, and so you stand and move on, almost home. You could also wander through Leitenberg with your eyes almost closed, or you could lower your gaze to the ground and count the paving stones and your steps. Soon you will know, having passedthe last houses and reached the open field. Leitenberg is only a dream, or no, an accident, which you can no more avoid than the train can leave its tracks; only by jumping the tracks could it plunge into the strange town and disappear.
Only certain views meet certain faces. Everything else remains hidden and buried in impenetrable murkiness. At first you wander along a river valley where there are poplars and vegetable fields. The land is wet and lush. Its owners are unknown to you, unknown also to you is how they tend the fields and nurture the fruits and vegetables. You’ve no idea if there has been enough rain or sun this year to guarantee a good harvest, because you know no one who will enjoy the yield, and it’s even questionable if there is indeed anyone who takes care of what grows here. Seeing the blossoms on the weeds makes you happy and would continue to do so if you were allowed a brief stop. You’re just happy that it’s not raining, for your shoes are rotted, the puddles of mud make your steps difficult. Quietly your gaze takes in the plants that required such incredible toil, the kind generated by either great hope or bitter need. A hailstorm could destroy it all, bursting the soft melons and battering the cucumbers,
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