Berlin blood

The next time Ilse met Gunther was a few days later. The man was in one of the waiting rooms when Ilsa entered with a tray. She timidly knocked on another door, received a positive answer and entered. When she returned to the room with an empty tray, Gunther was standing near one of the walls and caught her eye. — Should I bring you anything? — Ilsa asked. Gunther shook his head in response, took a flask from his pocket and took a sip. Ilsa raised an eyebrow at his actions and asked briefly: — Is it that bad? Gunther took a long sip. He sighed sadly. “Everything is just terrible, dear Frau.” — His voice is saturated with bitterness. He felt that he needed reassurance. — Have the Russians approached the bunker? “Ilsa asked calmly, and Gunther was amazed at her restraint. Many of the people he met here had panic on their faces. “A little more and they’ll get there, it’s a matter of time.” Hitler is terrified, and we don’t know what he wants from us. Everything seems like a terrible dream. Sometimes I think that I sleep for a long time and keep waiting for someone to wake me up. That I would wake up from the delicious smell of my mother’s pancakes with lingonberry jam, or that she would wake me up herself, saying “sleepyhead, it’s time to get up.” — Gunther smiled sadly. — I often remember green meadows, beautiful clean nature, haze over the lake. But all this is in the past. We are dying, and our history is dying with us. “He took a breath, then continued: “How did we get to this point, Ilsa?” How did we, the people who invented airplanes, kettles, irons, medicines, how did we people get to tanks, bombs and much more that destroys our race? How did we get to self-destruction? At what point did we decide that there are too many of us and we need to destroy others in order to dominate ourselves? Ilsa shrugged. Gunther knew that none of them knew the right answer. “Perhaps there really are too many of us.” — Becker answered quietly. “And we decided that we cannot waste the planet’s resources on people, that others will not benefit society. — What’s the benefit? “Gunther was a little indignant at her thoughts. “And you and I really emanate usefulness.” A soldier who has no homeland, no flag, and a servant who came here with no other choice. Yes,” the pilot drawled, “you and I are of great benefit.” — But it still exists. — Frau objected hotly. Gunther pursed his lips. “As long as you have some sense and are used, as long as there is a demand for you, you will be needed.” But when you stop meeting the requirements of society, then that’s it. You will be thrown overboard, and no one will need you anymore. “But aren’t humans the only creatures who have achieved such a breakthrough in evolution?” Can we do this to each other? — You are naive, Ilsa. Look, we are paying too dearly for the decision to destroy half the world. — Maybe you need something stronger? “She abruptly changed the subject. “I don’t have anything stronger with me.” — Gunther sighed, calming down. — Yes, and there’s no point. I’m just waiting for orders from the general for now. “Screams and arguments from officers began to be heard from another corridor. Gunther looked thoughtfully at Becker. — At least I can move around, but you sit here all the time. Have you lost your mind? — No, I feel great, although sometimes I’m scared. Sometimes I think: what if we stay here forever? I wouldn’t really like to live underground, within concrete walls. It seems to me that, sitting here, we have distanced ourselves from the whole world and from what, in general, is happening in this world. It’s like we’re in a vacuum. And everything that I can come into contact with is very limited. It seems like I am in the most protected place, but with my mind I understand that it is also dangerous. I’m scared, but not for my life and not for the things I didn’t have time to do while I’m in captivity here, but because I’ll never leave here again. That I will never meet the sun, never look at the sky, never walk in the park or eat ice cream. Every time I wake up, I see the tiles on the ceiling, other people imprisoned in the same way, and I pray to come out into the light. Tell me, Gunther, how is it up there? — Becker looked at him sadly. Gunther hid the flask and took out a cigarette and lit it. — Terrible. — He answered honestly. — We’re in hell. In hell on earth. Sometimes it seems to me that God kicked Eve and Adam out of Paradise so that they ended up on earth, creating hell out of this world. “Gunther took a drag, then continued to say: “But to be honest, we are suffering huge losses, and I would advise you to think not about ice cream, but about what will happen after you leave here.” Sooner or later, but this will happen. And you will have to rebuild your life completely anew. Better think about how you will do this. Look for options, come up with backup plans. — What is the main one? — Death. — Richter answered briefly. — Do you want to die? — Frau said in amazement. “Like any soldier who understands that we lost.” I have nothing to cling to, except maybe love, but is it possible to love someone in such conditions, and even if it is possible, will I be able to take responsibility for a person whose life will completely depend on me? I am a soldier and it seems I have to serve my homeland, which I no longer have. And who needs me, anyway, in a vast Universe that doesn’t care about us. We are just a generation of people who came into this world with the war, and we will leave with the war. We are empty and meaningless. “We have professions, and at least we can distinguish something from truth and from lies.” The hardest thing is for the generation of fifteen and twenty year olds, they do not understand anything, they are the easiest to manipulate and go into battle indiscriminately, they fight because it is their nature and because they have nothing, life itself carries them. They had not yet had time to understand who they were and what awaited them; they have not yet managed to settle in this world and it’s hard for them, perhaps this generation will be completely ruined and, unlike you and me, will never wake up. They will have to carry their spoiled youth and their wasted years on their shoulders all their lives. They will always be in the middle, in the middle between war and peace. “Perhaps everything that is happening now will one morning be erased by the sun.” Still, it’s good that human memory is not eternal. I’m glad about this. I hope that the sun will erase my memories of the events that surround us now, of the dead, in whom I once knew friends and loved ones, perhaps someday they will return to my memory as living things, and not as corpses, who were dumped in crowds on the streets. I will fight, Ilsa. I once wanted to say goodbye to life, just like you, but now no, I won’t give up. I will fight for myself. -What will you do when the war is over? I know that many people have a feeling of emptiness and lack of understanding of how to continue living. My father encountered this after the first war, when his time to fight was over. He had no idea where to go next, he couldn’t physically let go of the war, he had no idea about the world, and it seemed alien to him. He was eager to return to the war, he did not let her go. War was the only meaning for him in life. And no matter how we tried to help him master the post-war world, nothing worked out for us. “Ilse took a breath from her revelations and continued to pour out her soul to the pilot: “When Hitler’s campaign began, he joined the party and then went to war again.” I didn’t understand him then and I don’t understand him now. Why? Why couldn’t he let go of the war? Why was he eager to go there, like many other soldiers? Why can’t you just return from the front and plunge into ordinary life without blood, murder, and looting? “Ilsa exhaled and closed her eyes. Gunther looked away and replied: — The soul lives by blood. Once I came on leave from the front, it was forty-two, maybe forty-three, I don’t remember exactly, but it’s not that important. “He waved his hand and took a drag. “I came to the city where I grew up to visit my sister, but I couldn’t last a day there. Everything was foreign to me, and the food tasted strange. It seemed to me that everything that previously made sense to me remained there, somewhere behind the numerous seasons of the years I lived, and now my soul lives only in blood and bullets, war, discipline, a uniform with our distinctive sign. In war, you understand that there is only one life and, waking up every morning, you appreciate that you opened your eyes. You don’t throw it away, you value every flight and every victory. You see clouds and photograph moments of life in your memory so that you can remember them before you die. It is difficult for people from peaceful cities to understand this. But this is life. Living with understanding of the soul. — For me, life is the grass on which I walk in the early morning, when it has not yet dried out from the dew; it is a thunderstorm that is felt in the air in a field; these are ears of corn in which you lie with a feeling of complete love for the world,” Ilsa began to remember her childhood and her love for life. For too long she did not open the door in her soul, which led to this carefree time, to where her happiness remained. The door in the corridor opened, and Ilsa shuddered, pushing away the memories. “Don’t be afraid,” Richter said, noticing her excitement, “you won’t get hurt.” “The general came out of another room and beckoned to Richter with his hand. Gunther put out his cigarette. — I have to go. Thank you for talking. Goodbye. “He followed the general, hoping that the meeting with Ilsa was not the last. The general stopped around the corner. “Gunther,” he turned to the pilot, “the paramedics have just brought here a pilot who survived the crash of our plane, shot down by enemies.” I need you to go down and find out from him the positions of the Soviet troops. Gunther kept his cool. In fact, he did not want to go to the very bottom, where the hospital was located. It smelled of death, pain, despair. But Gunther nodded silently, turned around and marched with a marching gait to the most terrible place in this bunker. As he approached the hospital, Gunther’s nose caught the disgusting smell of rotting bodies and decomposing corpses. He covered his nose with the sleeve of his jacket, but this did not help much, and the smell began to appear even more clearly. The orderlies were scurrying about everywhere, some were taking their last breath, some were groaning, some were screaming in unbearable pain. Gunther’s eyes began to water, but he stubbornly continued to move forward to carry out the general’s order. Stopping one of the orderlies, Richter inquired about the pilot he had brought, and the orderly waved his hand to the very end of the corridor. Gunther thanked the nurse and quickly walked in the indicated direction. As soon as his feet brought him to the loneliest bed, he realized with horror that his old friend Wolf was lying on it. Or rather a white likeness of his friend. Gunther tried to pull himself together and squeezed out with a smile: — Well, hello, how are you here? “Gunther came closer to the bed, immediately realizing that Wolf only had a few minutes left. Wolf, the old warrior, was still trying to laugh. “It could have been worse,” he croaked with all his strength. “I might not have lived to see you come.” — Do not worry everything will be alright. “Gunther, of course, didn’t believe it. “Gunther,” if Wolf could have, he would have rolled his eyes, “you’re at the wrong time with your optimism.” “You and I survived thanks to my optimism and sarcasm.” At least now you’re not so sarcastic, and thank you for that. — Where should I go? Look, I’m dying, please shoot me, my back is burned. And my spine is broken, I won’t get up, and that’s the point of it all. — Wolf took a deep breath. — There were eight planes. This is the last thing I can tell you. “Wolf, that’s not what I came for.” — Yes, sure. We are all the same, Gunther, we are all bitter creatures who abandon the weak because we cannot do otherwise. The man looked at his friend, but he looked at the ceiling, and then with his last breaths he began to remember how they studied together. He talked about his first flight. About how he flew over the fields and rivers below, how everything floated beneath him, and it seemed to him that he was an eagle, that he was an almighty bird. Gunther listened to him, not daring to interrupt, realizing that this was the only desire of his late friend: to speak out. Wolf remembered his mother, father, his youth and his naivety, he remembered the fallen guys. At the end of his triad, he turned his gaze to Gunther and asked: — Do we have the right to life after allowing ourselves to become weapons in the hands of a madman? — Yes, we have. “Everything will be fine,” Gunther repeated. — Meet me on the other side of the horizon. Wolf smiled. And, looking at the ceiling, he died with his eyes open and raised to the sky. Gunther hoped that his friend saw airplanes, the sky and a wonderful life. Richter called the orderly, and the orderly responded to the call immediately. He closed the deceased’s eyes and covered his body with a sheet. After some time, the other two took Wolf away for good, and brought in a new wounded man in his place. The same doomed one. Gunther walked back along the corridor, trying not to notice the severed arms, legs, blood, IVs. He often asked himself the question whether they had the right to live, and immediately remembered Ilsa, and answered himself “yes.” They may be weapons, but even such weapons have a soul. And Gunther decided that as soon as the war was over, he would take Ilsa and sail with her away from here, to another place. To the other end of the world.