Free Not I by Joachim Fest Page B

it.
    At three o’clock in the afternoon we crawled into the coffinlike case, and the packer Loisl handed us the lid with which we could close and open the box from inside. We were driven to the crane, heard commands, and felt ourselves being lifted up and to the side until, with a jolt which shook the whole box, we were set down on a flat surface. A little later we heard steps and muffled voices. “Is there anything else?” asked one, and immediately after that we heard another: “We’re loading the asbestos now. That’s the end of any communication.” After we had thanked them, we heard several “Safe journeys!” and “Say hello to home from me!” Then the boxes rumbled up and our container trembled as they were put down in the wagon.
    The waiting began. As long as the work details were busy around the railway tracks and the daytime bustle dominated we could move about with a degree of freedom. But at some point we became increasingly aware of our arms, legs, and their suddenly numerous extremities; we were all the time knocking into each other. Hour after hour passed. We tried to while away the time, but repeatedly got in each other’s way and struggled with ournumbed limbs in the confined space. In stories which were as drawn-out as possible we talked in stifled voices about childhood experiences, remembered our parents, teachers, and friends, and I got on to my admiration for Rapid Vienna and Admira Vienna with Sindelar, Pesser, and Hahnemann. Once I even tried to recount Karl May’s Treasure of Silver Lake and The Shadow of the Padishah ( Durch die Wueste ) and to recite Wilhelm Busch’s verses, while Münkel again and again came back to the beautiful Archivolde, whom he had got to know as a soldier in Holland and who had become his great love, the bitter opposition of her family only increasing the mutual attraction. Once we tried to make as many words as possible out of the word Sardellenbüchse (anchovy can), but didn’t get far. There was no end to the pushing around in our wooden box. Nor to the pain in our limbs.
    All that ended in the evening and at night. In the weeks before we had repeatedly inspected the railway yard after nightfall and noticed the loud echo produced by the concrete surface. This observation forced us to be as quiet as possible during the nighttime silence, and we could only permit ourselves a few words; now and then we cleared our throats or shifted our bodies from our left side to our right every forty minutes or so when a passenger train thundered by. Only when the daytime sounds began did we feel halfway safe again. Then the train was usually shunted onto another track. That was the best opportunity to freshen up, which consisted of a few drops of water on a towel with which we wiped face, neck, and hands.
    Until then every goods train had left the depot on the third day after taking on a load, but this time some trouble seemed to be holding it up. At any rate, we began to worry about our stock of provisions. If even on the next day we noticed no preparations for departure, I said, surprising even myself, I would go over to the camp to get hold of at least a couple of cans of corned beef. With the food that was left we would arrive hungry in Germany, although we needed as much strength as possible for the subsequent part of the flight, wherever it took us.
    Münkel thought my plan was pure madness and raised countless, mostly sound objections. But I argued that a pinch of “madness” was something like the salt in the soup of life. Several times we became so agitated that each begged the other to limit his outbursts to those moments when a train passed. Then again, we sometimes laughed out loud, and as I warned him to be quiet, he said merely, “Another joke! What’s wrong?” “There is a crisis,” I replied, “in every risky undertaking.” The following evening, without saying another word, I undid the catches of the box lid, forced myself through the escape path,