Panorama (24 page)

Then the pupils finally march off, not through the vestibule exit but directly from the courtyard into Rosenbühlstrasse, after which they hike through the streets, it being deadly boring, standing still not allowed unless it’s at a crosswalk, where one has to wait, “Stay in line” often heard so that no space opens up in the lines, most often their path taking them over the bridge known as the Blue Wonder, and then up the mountain through the settled suburbs where Professor Felger lives, though they don’t pass his villa. Farther on they head into the forest, which is quite desolate, even when the forest is beautiful, for you have to keep pressing on and cannot stray from the path, it only being rarely allowed for the two rows to stop to rest, but only for a little while before they are formed again. During the hike Josef feels more unsure of himself than he does at The Box, for during a hike there’s nothing to do but hike, until finally you reach the destination that the inspectors say is their goal, it always being a coffeehouse, where one can rest and sit in the garden along with a couple of day-trippers who gawk at the pupils in their brown caps, some of them even knowing that they are
from The Box, as the inspectors go to the innkeeper and order coffee for everyone that is nearly as bad as that served in The Box, the pupils opening up their snacks, making sure to throw the paper in the waste can, the snack over before you know it. Then someone again yells “Line up!,” the hike is about to move on, though at least it’s now headed back to The Box and goes along a different route, since it’s better to hike two different paths, but it doesn’t really matter what path you hike on, since it’s all so miserable. Then finally you cross the Blue Wonder once again and head back into the city, Rosenbühlstrasse soon approaching and The Box, the gate to the yard standing open, then once more closed, the inspectors satisfied since they enjoyed the hike, yet only they enjoyed it, the pupils running from the yard as fast as possible.

Many are tired from the hike, Josef as well, and sit down wherever they can, the evening meal soon following, after which all the pupils who had a pass return, as the evening passes quickly by, the bell rings, eight-thirty already, time for bed, as they head upstairs to the dormitory to lay their clothes on a stool, the pupils pulling the blankets over them, the big light turned off, the green light appearing once again. Now Josef feels alone, though it’s not so bad, as he thinks about everything that goes on in The Box, and why it is the way it is. He sees The Bull as he stands below, next to the main staircase, people clicking their heels to him, followed by Inspector Faber, who always wants to parade, Josef seeing everything that goes on in The Box, his feet somewhat sore from the hike. Josef knows only that he wants to leave The Box, for he’d rather not grow up to be the kind of proper man who, above all, will do honor to The Box, nor does he want to join the society of alumni, for as soon as he can get away from The Box he never wants to see it again, he never wants to pass by the castellan Herr Lindenbaum again, even if he has never done anything to him, since he’s not a bad man. Even if Josef should one day see this city again, he’ll never visit anyone in The Box, nor does he ever want to set foot in Weimarerstrasse again, Professor Felger being the only one he’d like to see, if he is still alive, so that he can show him the garden with the destroyed pump, under whose roof songbirds had nested until the brittle pump fell apart and became just a memory. From far off Josef can hear the song “Now for the Last Time” in
his ears, though already he has forgotten almost everything, he knowing nothing more of The Box and thinking no more about how much he has been yelled at here, his eyes closing instead so that he no longer sees the green light, or hears the night attendant who sits up on his chair in front of the toilet in the foyer, everything going out inside Josef, because it’s quiet, as he falls into a dreamless sleep.

E
XACTLY HALFWAY BETWEEN
A
DAMSFREIHEIT AND
L
EINBAUM, A LITTLE
building stands in the open countryside, this the train station for Adamsfreiheit, with its three tracks running between tufts of grass and weeds, two of the tracks lying free, while on the third stands a couple of freight cars in front of the loading dock to the warehouse. Each day three passenger trains and a freight train use this narrow-gauge track. The manager’s office, which also sells tickets, is staffed by two men, though otherwise the station is completely empty if no train is scheduled to arrive, while even then only a couple of people get on or off, the journey a slow one since the area is mountainous, not much attention having been paid when the tracks were laid, for they had to conquer unnecessary and considerable rises in elevation. Reddish-brown cresses grow in hanging pots at the station, next to it a little garden with fruit trees, between which vegetables and flowers flourish, while chickens strut and peck at the ground, the manager’s dog now and then roaming about.

Downhill from the station the road travels past fields and meadows to a
small village, which is Leinbaum, a somewhat neglected though not really poor village that is nonetheless active, and yet in which strangers are rarely seen, the entire area quite remote, which is surprising, when you consider what a well-known realm it is that Ranger Brosch oversees, one where two thousand years ago this area covered by dense woods was home to dreamy, sparsely populated villages, the
legio decima
of the Romans roaming the countryside, though today since the area of Adamsfreiheit is not known to the world and has no mining, but instead farms and livestock provide a humble living, the villages have few inhabitants, possessing neither industry nor any specific trade, the next small town over ten kilometers away. Adamsfreiheit is a tiny market town, its majority of single-story houses giving it the appearance of a village, its little church made of gypsum also looking countrified, the school homely, the post office and telegraph depot hidden away in a neglected shop, the two shop owners carrying only the most essential goods in order to cover the reduced demand, while if one wants something special the reply is always “We don’t have it.”

Behind Leinbaum the immense forest district begins, Ranger Brosch’s realm stretching out far and wide, full of unknown reaches and covered in dense woods. If from Leinbaum you take a right, you avoid the forest and come to Sichelbach, behind which stretches Sichelbach Lake, whose length presses deep into the forest. To the left of the lake runs a cart path that later disappears into the forest and winds left and right, while on the other shore of the lake after half an hour you reach a high clearing where there is another lake and a settlement consisting of just a few farms, and just a little ways away, directly on the lake, stands a splendid Baroque church with a rounded onion-domed tower. The church is bright white, its large windows containing clear glass, the single entrance consisting of a massive portal and some open steps, the church facing the lake, in whose glassy surface the bright walls and the red tower are reflected, only the front of the church cannot be seen, since it happens to be encompassed by a cloister that contains a large fruit garden and a high wall, the settlement also called Cloister in return. The interior of the church is quite bright, possessing only a barrel roof that is nonetheless powerful and brighter than is often seen in these parts, the main altar and the side altars built from dark-black wood in the same style and decorated, the ornaments made of silver without a spot of
gold anywhere, the frame of the strong altar painting helping to set off its radiance in contrast to the silver and black, as well as the sunlight pouring in, though the monks perhaps do not realize how beautiful their church is, for they think the catacombs are worth looking at much more than the building itself, even if there is nothing striking about them, though the monk on duty will quickly approach to ask whether you would like to visit the catacombs, to which you agree in order not to upset the monk. Then he lights a candle and leads the stranger down a narrow set of steps into a damp, murky hallway, the cold dampness clinging to your skin, the monk holding the light up to coffins piled one on top of another, though there’s nothing else to see here, and so you thank the monk, hand him a bit of alms, and breathe again as soon as you reach daylight.

If you don’t take the road to the Cloister, but head left, you enter a lovely grove of black spruce, between which there also grows some beeches, alders, and deciduous trees, the forest opening up a bit here and there in reverent forest glades, followed by more woods, until finally you reach a crossing at which a devotional image is covered in glass and nailed to a fir, a clearing opening up a little where this year the Wanderers have set up their summer camp. If at the crossing you head left, after about half an hour you will reach the forest ranger’s house, but if you head right you will soon be surprised to come upon an open forest meadow in the basin of a gentle hollow, a little creek flowing along its edge which is fed by Sichelbach Lake. The water is cool and fresh and safe to drink, though the Wanderers use it only for cooking and washing, hauling their drinking water from one of the many surrounding springs. If you head straight across this forest meadow you enter diverse woods, after which you pass through a valley that is not very deep, but which is surrounded by steep cliffs, the valley opening up farther on, the forest retreating as you soon enter an ancient village. Any stranger who shows up here is such an unusual sight that not only the children but also the grown-ups come out into the street to stare silently at the visitor, especially if it should happen to be such a wild bunch as the Wanderers in their yellow smocks secured with a brown belt, all of them in short pants, though of no uniform cut, all of them bareheaded, even when it rains cats and dogs. To look at this village, which is called Altstadt, you would think that time has forgotten this place, for where can one find now the
glory of the Roman
legio decima
or hear about Altstadt, which until the days of the Hussites—or was it as late as the Swedish invasion?—was supposedly a thriving city. That is long ago, nothing left now but a mighty Gothic church with a defiant, freestanding tower as a memorial to earlier times, though only the building remains, the church now desolate on the inside, no antiquities hidden away within it, but instead looking quaint and devoid of any special features, the church never even full during Sunday service. Even if everyone in the parish came to Mass, the church would still remain half empty.

If you head back to the crossing above, where the Wanderers are camped, the path continues to run along level and then begins to climb the mountain, winding back and forth as it rises, then descending more sharply, revealing to the left the view of a mighty hill that rises up, not that high, but crowned by an imposing castle, which are the ruins of Landstein Castle, though the path doesn’t lead to it, bending right toward a hollow instead, where it comes out in the little village of Markl, with its sixty inhabitants. If you want to get to the castle, you must climb a steep path that leads to a forebuilding that houses a couple of people who hardly pay attention to the rare visitor, only a woman calling out a warning to be careful, since Landstein is in ruins, and no one should risk the crumbling steps and fragile walls. The lofty edifice is immense, but the cracks in the walls are deep and wide, debris from the collapsing walls having piled up, the round bulk of the detached tower well protected, nor would it even be possible to climb it, though in more astounding fashion a single wall still contains some austere windows from the early Renaissance. About the men of Landstein hardly anything is known, the castle having been abandoned and let fall into ruin since the Thirty Years War, if not earlier, no one doing anything to keep it up.

The view from Landstein Hill has shrunk and is also smaller than it used to be from the tower, since the surrounding trees don’t allow a panoramic view, yet the Wanderers love the castle and would like to save it, though they don’t know how they would go about doing so. During one of their sojourns they had discovered it, and they were so taken with the castle and Altstadt and Cloister and Sichelbach Lake and everything around them that they wanted to set up their summer camp here, thinking right away of
the clearing up above at the crossing, though they wondered if they would have enough privacy and could stay hidden. In Markl someone pointed them out to Ranger Brosch, who smiled and explained that if ten people a day passed by the crossing it would be a surprise, so he thought it a good spot, it had good water, it was well situated, there were plenty of wild berries and mushrooms, so the Wanderers should come if they wanted to, there being plenty of fallen limbs for firewood in the forest, as well as a vast amount of brushwood that cannot be exhausted even after years of continual gathering. Indeed, the group of Wanderers made up of twenty-four voices decided to set up their summer camp here, calling it Camp Landstein.