The first one was an insignificant tremor. I just took notice of it because of the waves on the surface of my coffee. It was the last coffee before going back to the factory for the night shift. No rest was allowed during a war. Anyway, if we hadn’t lost it yet, we were about to lose it, everyone knew that. If I had been younger, I would have surely returned to the trenches. I’d been there 30 years earlier. I had never felt great sympathy for the Nazis but, at first, I thought they could do something good for the country. My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden noise. Quickly another sequence followed, and, suddenly, a strong detonation broke the windows and made me fall off the chair. I thought it had exploded just over my head.
I knew what it was, I had heard about what they had done in Hamburg. Thousands had died. I was terrified, so much that I couldn’t even hear my own thoughts. I couldn’t hear anything really, just a high-pitched ringing in my ear. After a few seconds of shock, in the street, I decided to run to the air-raid shelter. Maybe I could get there and save my life. But, suddenly, I realized… that I couldn’t run, I was too old for that. After the war, I never thought that I would be killed by a bomb. But life is tough, and it is impossible to know what it may have prepared for you. However, I wouldn’t stay there standing, I was no coward, I would struggle. Another bomb fell. It blew my neighbour’s house. Nothing was left. I had no idea if they were inside. I had to get out of there. I turned the street, Pfotenhauer, and, there, I found him.
He was just a kid, aged no more than 10. He was soaked in blood, most of which probably was not his. He was crying. Tears and blood covered his face, around his tiny eyes, dying his white skin. He had lost his left hand. I hadn’t noticed it before. The pain had to be unbearable, inhumane. He strove to shout but only a fade sigh came out of his mouth. I left my body fall by his side. I tried to calm him. I was exhausted. I could not stand the weight of life. Miraculously, a young soldier ran across the street. I desperately begged him to take the kid to the hospital. He tried to make an excuse about his duty, but, finally, his human instinct was too powerful. He took the kid and run away. As soon as they vanished through the corner, I felt a lash of burning fire on my skin. Another bomb. I couldn’t stand it.
I laid down, my hands on the cold pavement. It was February. Would someone survive this horror? Probably someone would, but it seemed impossible under that mist of fire, smoke and death. I just wanted to rest, to sleep, to find peace. I would never see my beloved Elbe again. I had to say goodbye to my beloved Dresden. I was happy that Angela had not lived to suffer this. She had been cleverer than me, always. I loved her so much. Maybe I’d see her soon again. No one knew what came next. Cold. That was all I felt. And fatigue. And finally, I let it come to me. The cold and the fatigue stopped. I felt peace. Peace among the war, among the suffering, among the death. Peace. And, in the end, I felt nothing. I saw nothing. I heard nothing. Silence.
Carlos Nagore, author of the text says
The author recommends listening to Beethoven’s Symphony No. 7 in A Major, Op. 92 while reading the text to intensify the experience. Enjoy!