CHAPTER 3. EAGLE'S FLIGHT

April 3, 1936.

“How astonishing it is to look upon this world, upon humanity, from the height of an eagle's flight—now my being can, to some extent, grasp the very feelings the Führer’s Germany experiences as it looks upon other states and nations. We are succeeding in all branches of human life—our technical progress is phenomenal and uniquely distinct!” said the twenty-seven-year-old writer Hartmur Sauer with sincere admiration, stemming from his own belonging to the German nation. It must be mentioned that he was currently in the smoking lounge of the truly glorious “Hindenburg” airship with the twenty-four-year-old baker Arnim Gerhard. “And literature is by no means an exception to this! Even if I don't entirely agree with the methods and means of the current ruling party, I completely share the interests of the German people—such feelings cannot be experienced twice! Feelings! What wondrous sylphs! Who invented them in this world? Today I feel admiration, the highest sweetness, because I am an integral part of the German people—and yet, such feelings existed even before my birth; they were in someone before me, but now, right now, they are in me. Perhaps somewhere on earth someone is now experiencing something similar—and in this, in the feelings we experience, lies our hell and our heaven! In this, in fact, is the entire concept of heaven and hell in our world. A person cannot be completely without feeling: when I am angry, when I feel hatred and envy, my being is in hell, that is my hell, and when I feel love and a sense of euphoria, my soul is within the confines of the Garden of Eden—that is my heaven! Only I have the power to decide where my being will reside—in hell or in heaven. Only I myself choose which feelings to let into my own soul and life and which not to… Now, being on board the 'Hindenburg,' I feel indescribably pleasant feelings, and therefore, I am now in the realms of heaven. In addition, I know for sure that at this very moment some other people within the confines of this world are also experiencing the same or a slightly different degree of joy. That's why I've realized that in every moment of our lives in this world there are those who experience joys and sorrows that are as close to identical as possible to ours, even if we may never know those people—I know perfectly well that they exist for sure! Many of those who now inhabit our world, to our great regret, are entirely focused only on themselves and mistakenly assume that our world has turned against them... but that is not so! 'Let your sorrow not cloud your eyes—I say along with my alter ego, perhaps the greatest of philosophers—for you are not alone! Do not look at what cannot be seen—believe in what can be true and in what your eyes tell you: and these eyes are spiritual eyes! There is nothing that can be hidden, especially from those eyes that frantically desire to see!...'”

“You speak quite well... I would now like to see how you write...” the dark-haired Arnim Gerhard said slowly, with a certain mysteriousness.

“How I write? Yes... it's the same as how I speak—only the form of expressing my thoughts changes; their essence remains the same...”

“Then please, read me something you’ve written.”

Delighted by the sudden acquisition of a new listener for his own thoughts, the twenty-seven-year-old Hartmur Sauer hastily pulled a folded piece of parchment, covered in writing, from the inner pocket of his relatively elegant jacket. It was quite covered with crossed-out German words that, for that very reason, felt entirely natural.

“Well then... today I will read you some drafts for my new novella, and you... please!.. evaluate my words, thoughts, and feelings with unfeigned sincerity... So then... '...What am I doing here? Why is it so dark and damp? Who are these people whose breathing I can discern near me? Or perhaps they are not people at all? No, human breath is significantly different from the breath of an animal—you can distinguish notes of cruelty in it: not a primitive cruelty, but the cruelty of civilization... Argh! How it hurts! What is causing me this pain?... I hear the creak of a steel door—a few more people enter the room... What do they want from me? Is my suffering not enough for them? A rough, angry voice calls my name—a shiver runs through my body: my soul shivers even more in this moment. That voice asks me a question to which I do not know the answer, but, according to that voice, I must provide one—my lips are silent... In the darkness, an order is given—an order to beat me until inaction becomes action, and denial becomes an affirmation... In an instant, the room, which is completely filled with darkness, is illuminated by a blinding flame for a few seconds—someone has lit a cigarette: my being realizes that it is now in hell—the silhouettes of demons, who have taken on human form, are the clearest proof of this. Here, on earth, people do not act like this, and so... so I am definitely in hell! But is that really the case? Am I really in hell and not in a dungeon? Are there really terrible demons before my eyes and not just unremarkable people? Are there really hot tongs in their hands and not hellfire? Where am I? In reality or in semi-oblivion? This hell... this prison... they are horrible! It's impossible to escape your own thoughts and feelings here! No! That's it! I'm not in hell! I'm in reality! But this reality... is like hell! People have made reality into hell for me—there is no hell on earth, but people are capable of creating it... creating it anywhere! They demand an answer from me!... And in the moments of my agonizing groans, they talk among themselves...'”

“Germany is alarming me more and more, because now, under the rule of the Führer, there is less and less chance of bribing someone with each passing day—that's a sign that our country is losing its humanity and with gradual swiftness is becoming something mechanized, like a car, a plane, or... a tank!”