[European style] go home

When I woke up, the hour hand was already pointing between 10 and 11.The strong yearning for home made me jump up and run to the train station here.In this way, I managed to catch the 11:09 train from Magdeburg to Dessau.After last night's airstrikes brought down some buildings at the train station, it's incredible to me that after a night of cleaning and restoration, it's miraculously back in operation.

The scenery here finally made me feel comfortable in my body and mind.The railway runs almost parallel to the Elbe (①), that is to say, we are going upstream along the river.The Bod Plain covered by greenery makes me feel at ease, the low hills, the undulating green fields, the farmhouses with smoke from the chimneys, everything is so familiar, so peaceful, as if what I have experienced in the past six months is just Just one long nightmare.

After more than half an hour's journey, I finally returned to my hometown, Dessau, a small city in eastern Germany.And this three-day trip home has finally come to a successful conclusion.

There is almost no sense of war here.People live and work in peace and contentment as before the war, and life here is still as slow and leisurely as it was 1000 years ago.However, even in such a small city with nothing to contend with, long and hideous swastika flags are hung everywhere, as if the residents here are all fanatical supporters of the Führer.In fact, citizens throughout Germany have become part of it.

I followed my memory back to the street where I grew up, straightened my collar at the street corner, and brushed off the dust from the rescue before stepping in.But my original dark green military uniform was still covered with a gray tone, and my once shiny military boots no longer reflected light. medal.

Step by step, I walked slowly to the small building with white walls and red tiles where I grew up, and softly called out to my father who was installing new glass windows on the second floor: "Dad."

The man standing on the wooden ladder was obviously taken aback for a moment, then turned his head and looked at me with confusion in his eyes, which then turned into surprise, and then into ecstasy.He quickly shared this happiness with his wife who was cleaning the house.Within 2 minutes, I was sitting on the sofa in the living room at home, surrounded by them asking this and that like a five-year-old child.

When I told them all about how I transported supplies, dug trenches, and even shoveled snow at the front, my mother's eyes filled with tears.She took me into her arms like she did as a child: "Oh Albert, my boy, we're so proud of you."

"Mom, how's Helmut?" I asked.

"He wrote a letter a few days ago!" Mom gently stroked the top of my head, such soft comfort seemed familiar, "He is fine. He is now attacking the enemy's bombers every day."

"That would be great! You know, our windows were shattered again yesterday," Pa complained. "Damn Americans!"

In fact, for each other, why don't we "damn" it?It is said that when the British Isle was bombed, all the innocent citizens who took cover in the subway stations drowned because the bomb hit the water pipes in London.What justice is there in such a war?To us the Bolsheviks were undeniably evil; but our enemies believed in what they considered a just cause, and for this they voluntarily surrendered themselves to death, which to them was but a certain purity of their convictions ceremony.This is what a veteran of the company told us. If I wanted to, I could go to the gendarmerie and denounce him for his defeatist remarks, which was enough to get him executed in situ (②).

But I didn't do that.I even thought about what he said and put it in the category of truth.That's why I had to hide this first draft in a hidden corner—it's always humiliating to die in one's own prison anyway.

At noon that day, my mother went to the street to buy some ingredients, and made a hearty lunch with ingredients that were not abundant or even monotonous during the war.She's way better than the poor cooks who can't cook potatoes well!

I am treated like the most honored guest in the house, but I would be ashamed to sit around all day while my friends are bleeding and sweating at the front.I must find something to do for myself.

At first, I planned to go to Bitterfeld.But I knew I wouldn't be able to face Erich's heartbroken parents as a lucky survivor, so I eventually dropped the plan.

That's why I picked up a pen and wrote this article.I want to leave some memories of this war, some of which may be painful and suffocating, but these are the things I hope to pass on to posterity.My will was gradually worn out at the front, and my spirit was gradually destroyed there, so that I thought I had gone mad.Soldiers who have had the same experience abound in the army.

During my ten days in Dessau, I didn't go anywhere.From the moment I wake up in the morning and regain consciousness, I take my pen and write these statements on a blank sheet of paper until I go to bed at night.When writing the most painful parts, I need to stop several times to take a deep breath to calm me down, or to free my hands to wipe the tears from the corners of my eyes.

During my time at home, even a small town like Dessau was bombed twice.In those two peaceful nights, suddenly, the harsh air raid siren sounded like a train departure whistle, and then everyone walked out of the room in panic, and hid in the basement with their most important treasures.I heard the roar of the US military aircraft in the dark underground, followed by the loud sound of the bomb falling nearby. The bomb must be no more than 300 meters away from us.I hugged the pen and notebook in my arms tightly, and they seemed to be my most precious things when I was without my portable rifle and my sweetheart.

It rained a lot today, I sat by the window of my bedroom and stared blankly at the window, the pattering raindrops scrambled to hit the red roof of the neighbor Polman’s family, my thoughts suddenly drifted to the younger generation of their family On: The Polmans have three children, two daughters and a son.Their boy, Martin, who was a year younger than me, had played with me and Helmut since childhood.According to my memory, he should still be in high school, but I didn't catch him when I went home this time.

Just as I was thinking wildly, the door of the house was suddenly opened, and my mother put away the wet umbrella and told us a sad and unfortunate news: "This morning, Mrs. Polman received a notice of her son's death. God, she Crying like hell."

I remember that Martin was not yet seventeen, but his life had stopped, just as Erich's life had stopped in the first month of eighteen.The little boy who was always between me and Helmut when we were a child, disappeared forever.

This sudden bad news made me start to think, if I died on the front line, would my parents cry for me?I think the answer is yes.But at least they were better off than poor Mrs. Polman, because there was a boy with my face in the world with them.

I think of the suicide note that I tore up, and I had a keen aversion to anything that looked like a curse or a prophecy.I don't go a day without looking forward to the end of the war. I'm afraid that tomorrow the people I cherish will leave me unexpectedly. Of course, these defeatist words will always rot in my stomach, or I will be caught by the military police Arrested, tried by court-martial, inscribed on the national pillar of infamy, and finally hanged without dignity.

The wet rain made my wound ache, so I gritted my teeth, put my hands on my chest, and lay down on my cot to rest.But the pain from the heart didn't seem to diminish in the slightest.The act of heroism involved in the rescue the other day almost made me forget that I was a man who had one foot in hell.

What am I hurting for?As much as I've tried to forget that bad luck, I know I can't shake it from my memory any more than I can erase this unsightly scar on my chest.

The author has something to say: ①Elbe River: One of the main shipping waterways in Central Europe.The Spree River, a tributary, flows through Berlin.

②"Defeatism...executed in situ": During World War II, the Nazi government imprisoned all citizens who made defeatist remarks, and even sentenced them to death.