CHAPTER 24. LIFELESS ASH.

January 24, 1943.

Hurriedly pressing his left, extraordinarily muscular shoulder against the lifelessly dull, leaden wall, Axel Fiedler with indescribable satisfaction took a long snow-white cigarette from the very limited depths of one of the pockets of his gloomy attire—instantly presenting an exceedingly acrid aroma, to any non-smoker but not to a heavy smoker, to his exceptionally keen sense of smell, the relatively young man experienced a truly sincere kind of happiness: he was young, he had a cigarette in his mouth, he held power in his hands... he was in love! Happiness! In his soul now it was instantaneous, momentary—as if it had never existed at all: in his soul now it was equal to the length of the cigarette in the man's mouth—and after it, it left a similar kind of trace in his soul! This trace was lifeless ash. But what were these moments? Why was Axel Fiedler feeling happy? Was it because a snow-white, continuously smoldering cigarette was in his mouth? Or, perhaps, because a similar kind of snow-white, but, like the cigarette, continuously smoldering, thoughts were in his mind—thoughts that were smoldering with a grim irrevocability, thereby bringing this man closer and closer to a misty, not because of the cigarette smoke, reality? Be that as it may—it did not matter. He was happy—he would never experience a similar feeling again: it could be similar to this, but it would never be the same. And the reason for this was by no means subjective circumstances—it is precisely objective circumstances that do not allow a person to enter the same sea, the same river, the same lake twice. He was happy. He was reflecting. The bluish-grey cigarette smoke, ceaselessly rising upwards, seemed to carry away all the young man's thoughts with it into the heights—now he was far from reality, now he was far from genuine human suffering.

"I love her, I sincerely love her, even though I realize, even though I perfectly realize that I should not love her, but... I cannot help but love her, for my heart objects to this—my mind, however... is a traitor! I should not love her, but... but I love her! And that makes me happy! And that makes me, at the same time, unhappy, for it is impossible to be happy when you are acting either against the command of your mind or against the command of your heart! She... she is extraordinarily lovely, but her father is extraordinarily cruel! She is majestic! Her father, however, despite his high position, is base. She will be by my side in the future—this cannot help but delight my heart. She will be by my side in the future—this cannot help but sadden my mind. I... I love her! These feelings most directly elevate my being to the top of the world—they burn brighter than the lighthouse of Alexandria... but now... their open presentation to this sublunary world is constrained by my grey, merciless uniform. I feel that now I am extraordinarily sensitive—extraordinarily sensitive, like a lover from a novel by Jean-Jacques Rousseau... however, a lover who is dressed not in pastoral, and therefore free, clothes, but... in a dark, metallic, insensitive field-colored tunic. I love her! I love her so much that my lips yearn to constantly shout about it: if they utter a single word about my love—I am finished! Such are the times! Today, one cannot speak of love, just as one cannot speak of freedom... and even more so—speak aloud! But... but I love her! I love her to the same extent that I hate her father!

I love... I love! Ah! My love, how much I want to tell you—how little I can express to you... express only in my mind: public opinion, which is now the opinion of the whole people, of the whole state, does not allow me, no matter how much I would wish it, to act otherwise. I love you! I love you, although I continuously feel that at times I am acting... if not against my mind, then, what is important, against my will! But... but at least I am alive! Even if my being is unable to openly love now, it is still alive! Even... even if at times I despise myself for my restraint... but there is a reward for that too—every morning I wake up in a warm, soft, cozy bed... although without you! Even... even if I cannot be physically next to you, but mentally... you are always with me, for by dwelling in my thoughts, you also dwell in me! I am alive! Alive! And consequently, I can think of you! It is this that nourishes my tirelessly waning strength—it is this that suppresses my... most exceptional kind of... aversion to life! For this reason... no, I am not a hero in my own eyes... I do not wish to be one in anyone's eyes at all... for all heroes have one fate!... I will be what society requires... or rather its good: I trust my state to the same extent that I trust you... I perfectly realize, with each passing day I realize more and more... that the state is my love, while you are my doom... And all this is thanks to you... all this is thanks to your father!

You... it is precisely because I want to be with you... that I am here. It is precisely because I want to be with you... that I am forced to gain public consent through my service to your father—public consent for the right to love... and be loved! So... that is how I ended up in the war—in a war not only of feelings, but in a war of views, positions, opinions, prejudices and, what is important, in a war of superstitions! War... inhaling the countless days of war... I... believe me, my love... have seen many victims... obstacles and barriers—I have died as many times as I have seen deaths before my eyes: that is how I became a living corpse... but you... if it weren't for you... Despite the fact that I sometimes obey... I never give in—even from what I do... compulsively... I always gain some benefit for myself: one way or another... at least... I gain experience... and that is already... not only a lot, but also, what is important, not bad!