Ein Fenster mit Blick auf den Hügel

      On that warm summer's day, Adler, Bruno, and I decided to take a walk through the woods near the hill. With the rustle of leaves and grass beneath our feet, we made our way to our favorite spot—a stout beech tree with its sprawling crown. There, we would sometimes spend our time in peaceful conversation, fooling around, or simply resting from the noise of the city and its people, feeling truly free. And so it was that now we sat in our white shirts, smoking, watching the clouds and the blue sky, while around us whispered the golden, sun-drenched stalks of wheat, and the air smelled of fresh dew. Life was beautiful. Though lately, Adler had become terribly withdrawn, always walking around subdued and gloomy, no longer even making jokes. I asked him what was wrong, but my friend would just brush me off and say he was feeling unwell. Though any fool could see it wasn't sickness that ailed him. We had decided not to speak directly to Bruno yet about our changing views. We had to lead him to the topic softly and gently, so he could comprehend and understand it all, not just jump up nervously and run to the nearest SS man to report us. But today, something extraordinary happened, something we could never have expected from the patriotic and upstanding Dillay.              — Guys, well, I brought a book. But please, don't tell a soul. Here, let me show you... He pulled a small, tattered book from his bag. The title read: "All Quiet on the Western Front." By Erich Maria Remarque. Adler whistled.       — Whoa, where did you dig that up? I thought they'd burned all his books in the bonfires.       — In the trash, — Bruno replied. "You can find a lot of interesting things there. I asked him to give me the book, and my friend didn't refuse. Opening the first page, I read the preface: "This book is neither an accusation nor a confession. It is only an attempt to tell of a generation that was destroyed by the war—even those of it who survived the shelling." "Quite pessimistic," I thought. No wonder it was banned.       — I propose, — Bruno began, — that we start reading it today. Aloud.       — I agree, — Schultz nodded. "Perhaps it will teach us something. After these words, he looked at me. Was he suggesting I start reading? Well, alright. I cleared my throat and began.       — "We are standing nine kilometres from the front line. Yesterday we were relieved, and now our bellies are full of beef and haricot beans. We are satisfied and at peace. Each man has another..." A picture began to form clearly in my mind: cheerful young men, our peers, standing in a line with their mess tins, eating, joking... just like us. For now, the beginning promised nothing bad. We took turns reading by chapters, to be fair, and each time I was struck by how subtly and sensitively the book was written.       — "Perhaps they'll send you to the convalescent home at Klosterberg, Franz, among the villas. You can look out from there over the fields, right to the two trees on the horizon. It's the most beautiful time of the year now; the corn is ripening, and in the evening the fields glow in the sunlight with a pearly lustre. And the avenue of poplars by the Klosterbach, where we used to catch sticklebacks! You can have an aquarium again and keep fish, and you can go off without having to ask leave, you can even play the piano if you want to." Adler read, his voice suspiciously hoarse. I too felt a sting in my nose. Bruno sat pale, trying not to sniffle. Adler continued reading:       — "An hour passes. I sit in suspense and watch every movement of his face in case he may perhaps say something. If only he would open his mouth and scream! But he only cries, his head turned to one side. He does not mention his mother or his brothers and sisters, he says nothing; all that seems to be past now; he is entirely alone with his little nineteen-year-old life and weeps because he has to leave it." You know what the most terrifying thing is? The realization that everything you believed in is absolute nonsense. He was already sobbing; I too felt a tear on my cheek; Dillay covered his eyes with his hand. So this was why it was banned. They were just children! It was too early for them to know the horror of war. They should have been walking, loving, enjoying life, and breeding fish in an aquarium, not lying in dark, filthy trenches, thinking of nothing but how not to die. What fools we were, to romanticize life in the army on the front! The final lines for today, read by Bruno, knocked me completely off balance. — "We don't talk much, but I believe we have a more complete communion with one another than even lovers have. We are two men, two minute sparks of life; outside is the night and the circle of death. We sit on the edge of it, both in danger and in shelter, the greasy drippings of the goose are on our hands. We are bound to each other by a feeling of living, and this hour, this room is an island—the soft light of the candle and the shadows of our feelings flitting across it. What does he know of me... what do I know of him—formerly we should not have had a single thought in common—and now we sit with a goose between us and feel in unison, are so intimate that we do not even speak." ... "That's it, I can't go on!" He snapped the book shut and with a kind of anger stuffed it back into his bag. All three of us sat for thirty minutes, crushed and pensive. Adler nervously chewed on a stalk of wheat and then suddenly cried out:       — War is an asshole. I'd rather die here, with you, than in that hell! In one swift, sudden movement, he pulled out a pistol and put it to his temple. We didn't have time to understand. We didn't have time to react. Adler said, "Farewell," and fired. A muffled sound shattered the silence of the forest. Drops of blood spattered our white shirts.       — NO!!! Was that me screaming or Bruno? It didn't matter anymore. I saw nothing, only darkness, and before me lay my best friend, Adler Schultz. With a bullet through his head. Dead. His open brown eyes stared unseeingly into the blue, serene sky, and tears stood in them. They were the last tears in the life of Adler Schultz. As if in a dream, I rushed to him—his body was still warm—I clutched the fabric of his shirt, pressed my forehead against him, and began to weep. So bitterly, so loudly, so desperately, that I felt my heart would break into pieces. I held onto him with a death grip. Bruno—tears tracing paths down his face—put his arms around my shoulders, trying to pull me away from the lifeless body; he was crying too, sobbing, though less loudly. I turned to him, we embraced, and both cried. Two boys who were far too young for this. Two boys with whom fate had played a cruel game. Two boys who had lost their best friend. I kept crying and crying along with Dillay, unable to calm down. The image of Adler, still alive and smiling, stood before my eyes, telling jokes. He had said he wanted to leave, but I... I just hadn't thought it would be like this. I simply hadn't wanted to think it. Bruno pulled away from me, walked over to Schultz, and closed his eyes.       — Adler Schultz... You were a good guy. I am so glad I had the honor to be your friend. Going wild and chasing around on bikes with you was something wonderful... Rest in peace, buddy... He turned away, squeezing his eyes shut, walked to the tree, and began to beat against it furiously with his feet and hands. After battering his limbs until his knuckles were bloody, he leaned against the trunk and let out a loud cry of pain—not physical, but of the soul. A heart-rending scream. I walked up behind him and gently led him away from the tree. He collapsed onto the grass, weeping. I sat down beside my friend's body and took his hand, already growing cold.       — Now you are free. We will meet again. But not now... Not now. I walked away from him and looked up at the sky, pure and infinite. Adler had helped us make the right choice and had left, leaving behind only good memories. As he had wanted. I smiled.       — We have to, — Bruno rasped, — tell his parents... bury him.       — Yes... We covered him with Bruno's jacket. Am I walking? Had my legs not given out yet? I raised my eyes, looked around, turned with the world as it spun, and spun, and stopped. Everything was as usual. Only my friend Adler Schultz was dead. We walked to his parents' house; on the way, we passed a group of dancing people. They laughed, smiled, made merry to lively music, unaware that somewhere in this world, one good man had ceased to be. Bruno and I arrived at Adler's three-story house and knocked. A minute later, the door was opened by a prim man with slicked-back hair and an ugly little mustache. He asked what we wanted; hearing that we needed to see Herr and Frau Schultz, the man frowned.       — They are very busy at the moment, especially the Herr. If you wish, you can wait until tomorr—       — We need to see them now! — Dillay growled. — It's about their son!       — Why should I believe a couple of boys? Perhaps you are brazenly lying? I began to tremble.       — Listen, you bastard, — I hissed with fury, — let us into this goddamn house. Bruno cracked his knuckles. His handsome face was twisted with grief and anger. The man faltered and let us into the spacious, wealthy house. But I didn't give a damn about its furnishings, and neither did Bruno. The lackey led us to the third floor and stopped at massive doors, telling us to wait. He returned almost immediately.       — The Breichsleiter will see you now. The study was large and spacious, with a big glass-fronted cabinet holding many books. Behind a wide oak desk sat a man, as sturdy as Adler had been, with brown eyes and a severe expression.       — You wished to speak about my son. What has happened? I began first.       — Herr Breichsleiter...       — Let's dispense with formalities. You are his friends, are you not? Ralf Stellmacher and Bruno Dillay? He spoke of you. Just call me Herr Schultz.       — Alright. Herr Schultz. Your son, he... I couldn't continue, and Bruno finished for me.       — He is dead. Adler's father's eyes flew open, and he clenched the pen in his hand. His breathing quickened.       — What... But how?       — He shot himself. He didn't want to go to war...and these days he wasn’t himself, something was wrong with him. The Breichsleiter fell silent. Didn't know what to say. He just stood up sharply, strode swiftly past us, and left the study. We didn't know how to react, so we just stood there, shifting from foot to foot. Three minutes later, footsteps were heard, and Adler's father entered the study again, followed by a slender woman with severe features, apparently our friend's mother.       — Tjaden, what do you mean, 'shot himself'? Our son could not do such a thing. I raised him as befits a true Aryan son...       — Ask these boys, — Tjaden Schultz said wearily. And we had to her them everything from the beginning, only omitting the part about Remarque. The woman pursed her lips, and the man seemed to have aged five years in an instant, grown frail.       — He was weak, — Frau Schultz said mercilessly. — Adler was not worthy to call himself a son of the Reich.       — What are you saying, woman?! — the Breichsleiter cried out. — He was our child!       — After shooting himself, I no longer wish to consider him my son! I choked with anger. How dare she!       — Don't you dare, — Bruno said, quietly and threateningly. — Don't you dare speak of him like that. He was a hundred—a thousand times better than you! Adler was a good, brave, and just boy who wanted to live, not think about death! And you... you understand nothing at all!       — Watch your tone, pup," Frau Schultz frowned. "Only a weakling ends his own life. And Adler was just that—       — Enough! The Breichsleiter raised his voice. Everyone fell silent at once.       — We will bury Adler with full honors. I... am deeply sorry I could not help him. This is all my fault... Leave me. Bruno and I left the house, having first told them where we had left our friend's body. It felt like I couldn't breathe. The world seemed to have ended for both of us. There were two of us left. Two unhappy children. Evening was falling, the leaves of the trees rustled, and it seemed to me they were whispering his name. The name of Adler Schultz, and that he was now walking beside us, smiling and making silly jokes, and we were laughing. But that would never happen again. Only in our memories.       — I think we should finish the book, — I said. — Adler would have wanted that. He nodded. Lit a cigarette and gave one to me. Of three cigarettes, one remained—for Adler. My friend's eyes filled with tears.       — I will always leave one. It will make me happy to think he is with us. He gave a gentle smile. I clapped him on the shoulder and sighed. And so we walked on and on, until we reached my house. We couldn't part now, not for anything. Father was surely in his study filling out papers, so we quietly went up to my room. I asked my friend to take my bed; he refused, saying he'd sleep just fine on the floor. Bruno spread out a blanket and fell asleep almost immediately. And I looked for a long time out the window, at the swaying curtains, unable to stop thinking about the day. After an hour of agonizing reflection, I fell into a troubled sleep.