Die Wand Page #2

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and check off each day from the calendar.

This seemed very important to me.

I wanted no change in my life.

I do not know why I do this.

It is perhaps some inner compulsion

that drives me.

Maybe I'm afraid if I could do otherwise

I would slowly cease to be a human,

and soon would crawl around dirty and stinky

and emit unintelligible sounds.

Not that I was afraid of becoming

an animal, that would not be so bad.

But a human never can be an animal,

we rush past the animal in us,

into the abyss.

I don't want this to happen to me.

Lately this is my biggest fear.

And this fear is why I am writing

this report.

On 30 May, rained all day

a warm, fertile rain,

which forced me to stay in the hut

if I did not want to get soaked.

That evening

the cat came to my house.

So we were four.

The cow, the cat, Luchs and me.

Luchs was closest to me.

He soon became not only my dog,

but my friend.

My only friend in a world

of trouble and loneliness.

It's okay, Luchs.

Although I was confined to the

cabin with Bella,

I wanted to try and look around

a little.

I remembered a path that led to

an elevated hunting lodge,

and from there I could look down

into the opposing valley.

That's where I wanted to go.

Luchs! Heel!

- Wait, Luchs!

Now I had all the valleys researched,

which I could reach

in just a couple of days.

I could ascend to the pasture

and survey the land from there,

but further into the mountain range

I couldn't go.

Of course they could find me

if the wall was not there.

Yes, I had to assume they could

have found me in the end.

I could quietly sit at home and wait.

But again and again I felt driven

to do something about the uncertainty.

At noon I rested.

The misty forest reclined in the

midday sun

and warm clouds rose to meet me.

It was much quieter than it had been

under moonlight.

The forest was sleeping soundly

under a yellow sun.

A bird of prey was flying high above

in circles.

Luchs was sleeping with twitching ears

and the silence rang above me

like the sound of a great bell.

I wished to sit there forever

in the heat, the light,

with the dog on my feet

and the birds circling high above.

When I had to leave,

I did so with deep regret,

and very slowly I turned back into

the creature

that did not belong, into a mere human

with crooked thoughts and clumsy shoes

that buckled the branches,

returning to the bloody business

of a hunt.

It occurs to me I've never

recorded in my diary

the time I first shot a deer.

Now I remember also that it

disgusted me to write it down.

It was enough having to do it.

I called the little cat Pearl

because it was so white and bright.

In a few weeks I realized that

pearl, the ugly little thing,

was about to transform into a beauty.

Pearl was a small miracle

but even then I knew

she was born in the wrong place.

A long-haired, white cat in the forest

is doomed to an early death.

She had no chance.

Maybe that was the reason I liked her so much.

When I think back to that first summer,

I realize I had more concerns for my animals

than my own desperate situation.

With the disaster I lost great responsibility

but gained a new burden,

without knowing it at the time.

When I finally released my situation

I was beyond change.

I don't think my behavior came from

weakness or sentimentality.

I just followed an inner drive,

and I couldn't fight it without

destroying myself.

I don't know what is

dishonorable about

carrying the burdens imposed on us,

like every animal must,

and finally to die like one

in the end.

I don't even know what honor is.

To be born and to die

is not honorable.

It happens to every creature

and means nothing.

(Insects buzzing)

On 20 July

I started with the hay.

I took three weeks

to reap the meadow.

I blamed not only the changing weather

but my clumsiness and physical weakness.

I suffered a severe

attack of discouragement

and clearly recognized for the first time

which blow had hit me.

I don't know what would have happened

if the responsibility of the animals

hadn't forced me to do

what was necessary.

Very reluctantly I remember my labor.

It took me 14 days to bring myself back

and begin to live again.

The autumn was always my favorite season,

even though I never felt physically well.

During the day I was pretty tired.

At night I lay for hours in a fitful sleep

and my dreams were confusing

and more vivid than usual.

The Fall sickness didn't

spare me in the forest.

But my health appeared to be moderated.

Maybe I didn't have time to keep track

of it accurately.

Luchs was exhilarated and happy,

but a stranger probably wouldn't

have noticed a difference.

He was almost always cheerful.

I have never seen Luchs grumpy for more

than a few minutes.

He just couldn't resist happiness.

And life in the forest

was a constant lure for him.

Sun, snow, wind, rain,

everything was a cause for excitement.

I never could stay sad very long

next to Luchs.

It was almost shameful,

how happy it made him to be with me.

Perhaps the human owes his

hubris to his dog.

Sometimes I thought there had to be

something special about me

when I saw how happy Luchs was

to be with me.

Of course there never was

anything special about me.

Luchs was like all dogs

simply addicted to people.

Yes, you're my Luchs. Yes.

Good Boy.

Sometimes when I'm alone

traveling in the forest in winter

I talk to Luchs as I did before.

I don't even know that I do it,

until something startles me

and I fall silent.

I turn my head and catch the glimmer

of a reddish brown coat.

But the path is empty,

bare shrubs and wet stones.

It does not surprise me that I still

hear branches crackling behind me

under the light tread of his soles.

Where else should his little dog soul

haunt, but my tracks?

It's a friendly ghost,

and I do not fear him.

Luchs, nice, good dog

my dog.

Probably only my poor head makes

the sound of your footsteps,

the glimmer of your coat.

As long as I exist, you'll follow my trail,

hungry and yearning,

like myself, hungry and yearning,

following invisible traces.

On 27 October fell the first snow.

The onset of winter

lasted only a few days.

After that came the wind that licked

the young snow from the mountains.

It was uncomfortably warm,

and the wind blew night and day

snarling at the little house.

I slept badly

and listened to the roaring of the stags,

which descended during the rutting season

from the heights.

Both cats went out into

the warm, damp forest.

I lay awake and worried about Pearl.

The roaring of the stags sounded sad,

threatening, and sometimes almost desperate.

I just hoped the wind would not

last too long

and finally winter returned and

brought a little peace.

The warm winds lasted only three days,

just long enough to kill Pearl.

Pearl was buried,

and the wind died overnight,

as if fulfilling its task.

I have not forgotten Pearl.

Her death was the first loss

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