The Journey by H. G. Adler

clearer. She could sense that she had forgotten a great deal, all of which a ringing skull did not help in the least. Was it time for Carnival? Was it New Year’s? Had she had too much to drink, let herself get carried away? Or had she been ill and simply been dreaming? Probably she was dreaming, even if it was with open eyes, for only in a dream could such a murky twilight descend and remain so endless.
    Caroline thought harder. Then it occurred to her that perhaps she had died, even if she didn’t seem dead; it was simply a dying that didn’t kill, and that was why she wasn’t lying in any grave, but instead stuck in a pantry full of bad air. But how could it be that other people were also here, even her own family? Had they all died? That couldn’t be. Only as a result of an earthquake would so many be dead. But there had been no quake. The buildings were still standing, no one had knocked them down. Frau Lischka had locked the door from the inside as Caroline was distracted by the decoys set by others. If the house was going to blow apart, it would come much later, and then the decoys would be angels who would lead the Lord’s loved ones to certain safety. In this way the expelled could rest assured, though for those who stayed behind in the supposedly guarded buildings, the final end was already ordained. Between the walls they would meet the enemy and be annihilated by a single stroke.
    Were the figures that surrounded Caroline really human beings? They weren’t at all, her imagination had simply run away with her as so often happened with the dead, Caroline told herself, and all she needed to do was gather her wits and stare truth in the face. Then it would be clear that Caroline was in the middle of a wax museum that someone had cleaned out and stored for safety inside the casemate. Caroline had been dragged along by accident. She had probably just entered the cabinet of curiosities when the order had come through for it to be cleaned out, a preventative measure that made a great deal of sense. Caroline had becomesick as the hands and feet of the wax figures were packed away; she fainted, her face turning a waxy yellow color, such that in the heat of their duty the officials made a mistake and took along the glassy-eyed Caroline and laid her out here in the wood shavings where the undead regained consciousness once again. She wanted to yell in order to get the attention of the guards outside. I’m not made of wax, I can’t stand the sawdust, I can’t eat it, it’s much too cold for me here among these figures.
    Caroline didn’t have the strength to yell and she could see that things looked bad around her. She could only hope that soon one of the guards would come so that with a sign she could make him aware of the disastrous mistake that had occurred. Yet the prisoner was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to give any clear sense of events if the guard, out of fear, wouldn’t let her speak. She remembered that simple souls often became afraid in front of automatons. Someone might take her for something like that the moment she stretched out her hand to them. Caroline was not the kind of thing you’d expect to see in a cabinet of curiosities. It was only because of someone’s goodwill that she had been included among the chosen figures that had been sculpted by artistic hands. Caroline was an ordinary display model. She stood in the department store and displayed girdles, dresses, and hats to distinguished ladies. No one was interested in her, only what she was wearing. Someone had not been careful while carrying around the mannequin and had broken off some pieces. But no one repaired her and she had been thrown onto the rubbish heap instead.
    Here there was nothing more to display. The sad fairy tale had come to an end, the song was over, Paul had kindly removed the ribbons of the lute for Zerlina, the mannequin was not where her dusty little clothes were, yet Caroline had survived everything