the namesWord格式.docx
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the namesWord格式.docx
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Islippedthefragmentsintoabinbythestation.Judgingfromthehollowcrash,thebinwasempty.Icutmyforefinger,butitisnotserious.
Weknowsolittleaboutanything,butnoonebelievesthis.Ifonlypeoplewouldbelievethisonesimpletruth,wemightbeginagain,likeaproperdawn.
*
WhentheSStroopscameintoValdaron,lookingfortheResistanceboysinCampIV,theyaskedifsomeonecouldtakethemtothefarmhousecalledLesPins.Moreprecisely,theybootedopenthedoorofthecafé
andpointedtheirgunsintothesilence.ThenthecaptainbarkedouttherequestinpoorFrench,mispronouncingthename.
Theyemergedfromthecafé
withHubertCros,agednineteen.HubertworkedatthetanneryontheriveratStMaurice.ThereasonhewasnotinGermanyasaforcedlabourerwashisrighthand:
itwaswithered.Hehadbeenbornlikethat.Youhavenoideahowlongittookmetodiscoverthatfact.
Hubertwasameekyoungman,whohadspentmostofhisshortlifeputtingupwithjibesabouthisdeformity.Hisgreatestwishwastowakeuponemorningwithaperfectrighthand.HewasnotamemberoftheResistance;
manylocalsviewedtheResistance,inanycase,asabandofleft-wingtroublemakers,disturbersofwhateverpeacehadbeenleftbytheoccupyingforces.Hekepthisheaddown,somethinghisnineteenyearshadalreadytaughthimtodo.
Buthedidknowtheareaaswellasanyone–heknewitsthickestwoods,itsobscurestpaths,itshighestpeaks.LikemostmeninValdaron,hehunted.Hehadhuntedwithhisfatherfromtheageofseven.Healsosetbird-traps.Despitethisactivity,onecansaythathelovednature.Heloveditbecauseittookhimawayfromthosewhofoundinhimabuttfortheirjokesandintoaworldinwhichhecouldfeelproudtobewhohewas.Helikedtostandinawood,aloneandfree,untilpeacehadsettledonitagain.Thentherustlingsandthebirdsongwouldstarttoreturn,andhewouldfeelacontentmenthefeltnowhereelse.
BeingSwedish,broughtupinVarmland,Icanunderstandthisfeelingfortheforest;
eventotheextentofstillsensingthepossibilityofbears,whentheonlybearsinVarmlandarenowinthezoo.MaybewhatIamsensingisthebears’collectivephantom,asonesensesthedeadonanoldbattlefield.Icanstillhearmyfathertellingvisitors:
ifyouseeabear,sing.Ifitcarriesoncomingtowardsyou,liedowninafoetalposition.
Noteverydangerinlifecanbesotreated,alas.Leastofalldeathitself.
*
TheGermansdrovewithHubertupthelongtrackwaythatrunsalongthesideofarangeofhillsfromthetopofwhich,onaclearday,youcanseeboththeAlpsandtheMediterranean.Idoubtthatanyofthesoldiersknewthis,orwereinterested:
Ihavenorealideawhatwaspassingthroughthemindsofthosemenastheymadetheirwayinhalf-tracktroopcarrierstothefarmhouse.Perhapsfear,perhapshatred,perhapssomethingwewillneverunderstandbutthatsits,darkanddreadful,inallofus.
OnethingIdoknow:
theyhadsetoutfromtheirbaseinNî
mesattwoo’clockinthemorning,withtherestofthe9thPanzerDivision,Waffen-SS.ItwasFebruary,thecoldmadeworsebythedrivingrain.Theyhadpenetrateddeeplyintoaconfusinglabyrinthofdarkgreenhillsandmountains,fromwhichatanymomenttheycouldexpectbulletsorexplosivesfromthehundredsoreventhousandsofconcealedterrorists.Inreality,ofcourse,therewasonlyaragtagscatteringofunshavenyoungmen,whosemainmethodofkeepingwarmwastoscratchattheirfleas.
Ialsoimaginethateverybumpandbendintherough,unmetalledroadswasanirritationtothesetroops,drivingvehiclesthatweresuperiortotheterrain,thatcrushedeverythingintheirpathwiththeircaterpillartracksandhugefronttyres,thatweremadetobedrivenwithacertainamountofwilledaggressionsothatatightcurvewasalmostaninsulttothem,perchedhighabovetheordinaryworldofmuddleandcompromise.Ibelievethesevehiclesalteredthoseinthemfortheworse,ascarsandmostespeciallythefour-by-fourtypedo,ofwhichwehavesomanyinSweden,andwhichareformetheverysymbolofaninhumancapitalism.
Andgiventhesemenwerealreadyaggressive,andwithouttheabilitytoempathisewithothers(themostimportanthumanquality,tomymind),thenthepicturewasalreadylookingverygrimforHubert,andfortheResistanceboysinCampIV.
Itwasajourneyofsomefivekilometresfromthevillage.
HubertCrosmusthavebeenveryfrightenedasthetroop-carriersapproachedtheMasdesPinsonitssteepmountainside,theirenginesfumingandroaring,theirbulksendingoutsheetsofwaterwhenevertheyhitthelargepuddles.Therewasverylittlechanceforhimtoescape,despitehisintimateknowledgeoftheterrain;
itisusuallymoredangeroustotrytoescape.Hehadnochoicebuttoobey.
Itwasnotonlyverycoldandwet,butmistywithit.Therain,soakingthenarrowvalleysfordays,hadturnedthemintodark,cloud-webbedgorges,almostAmazonianinappearance.Perhapstheothersinthevehicleweremakingjokesthat,knowingnoGerman,Hubertcouldn’tunderstand:
jokesabouthiswitheredhand,orhisblood-drainedface,orthetannerysmellonhisclothes,orthelookhehadabouthim(intheireyes)ofasimplepeasant.Trappedunderthevehicle’starpinadarkfugofwetcollarsandsoakingboots,squeezedbetweenthoselonggreywintercagoulsandtheirhard-eyedowners,joltedandswayedbytheviolentmovementofthevehicleandwithagunpointedathisbelly,Hubertwouldhavebeenvisiblyshivering,ofthatIaminnodoubt.
Atsomepoint–probablywhenthewindingpathuptothemasleftthemaintrack–theconvoystoppedandmenpouredout,runningandcrouchingasinallthewarfilmsordocumentariesyouhaveeverseen,theirimpermeablehoodsupagainsttherainsothat,inthemist,theymighthavebeenspectres,ormadmonks.
Hubertwasforcedtorunwiththem,hishairstreaming.IknowthisbecauseIhaveinterviewedoneofthosepresent,livingcomfortablyinavillagenearDü
sseldorfuntilhisdeathin2001.Hebarelyrememberedtheincident,Ihavetosay,butwasinnodoubtthatHubertwouldnothavebeentreatedwithmuch–‘patience’,wasthewordheused,asheservedmemorecoffeewithanelderly,mottledhand,hiswifehoveringwiththehazelnutbuttercreamtorte.
Well,ifouryounghostagewasshowingextremenervousness,explainedtheformerSSsoldierinasimpleGermanIcouldunderstand,thatwouldhavemadethingsworse:
nervesarenotonlyinfectiousbutsomethingtobedespised,somethingthatawakenstheweaknessinoneself(theweaknessthatwasinthesemenespecially,beingthehiddenshadowofthebully–althoughmyowninformantwasthinandelderlyandnothinglikeabully,apartfromacertainobstreperousnessandawayofcuttingthedelicioustortetohisadvantage).
Whichiswhytheycouldshootinnocentpeople–evensmallchildrenandoldwomen–incoldblood.SomeoftheseverymensittingwithHuberthadalreadydoneso,mostlikely–ifnotinFrancetheninYugoslavia,wherethisparticularSSdivisionhadgobbledupshawledpeasantsandtheirsimple,thatchedhomesforbreakfast,lunchandsupper.
Sowhenthevehiclesstoppedatthebeginningofthepathandthetroopsbegantofanoutuptheflankofthewoodedmountain,wipingtherainfromtheirfacesandwonderingwhenthefarmhousewouldcomeintoview,Hubertwouldhavebeengrippedbyafirmhandincasehetriedtoflee.Itwasalwayspossible,afterall,thathehadmisledthem,thathehadbroughtthemsomewhereharmless,wastingmoreoftheirprecioustime!
Wherewasthisfarmhouse,anyway?
Thenitcameintoviewthroughthetrees:
big-stoned,tiny-windowed,addedtooverunrecordedgenerationssothatitresembledanuntidyaccumulationofrocks.
Itwasempty.
Ithadbeenempty,purelycoincidentally,fortwodays.Theboyswereonamissionelsewhere.Theonlytraceofthemwasbedsofbrackenintheupperrooms;
peelingsofvegetables;
alingeringsmellofroastedchestnuts;
afewcharredlogsinthevastfireplace.(Theyweretoreturntwodayslater,totheblackenedmesstheSShadmadeoftheplace.)
Huberthadnoideathefarmhousewouldbeempty.Neitherdidheknowwhetheritwasanactivecamp(theResistancekeptmovingcamps,anyway)oranoccasionalhideout.Hehadnotvolunteeredforthistask,hehadbeenvolunteeredbysomeoneelsepresentinthecafé
.Itisnottrue,asseveralinthevillagehaverelatedtome,thathewasatfirsttakenawaytothecommandeeredpolicestationandbeatenwithfistsuntilheagreedtoshowthem.Thatisaversionspunfrommisunderstandingorforgetfulness,andwhichbreedsevenmoredistortedversions,mostlyrelatedbythosetooyoungtohavebeenthereatallduringthewar.
Whathadhappenedwasthis:
theGermanshadburstintothecafé
theroomhadfallensilent,theSSofficerhaddemandedaguidetoshowthemthequickestwaytotheMasdesPins(thereweremanyobscurefarmhouseshiddeninthehills,thiswasonlysensible);
andafterabriefpause,brokenonlybytheofficerthreateningterriblereprisals,oneofthemeninthecafé
turnedhisheadtowardsHubertatthebarandsaid,‘Hubert?
’
Justthat.Nothingmore.Itwasnotpremeditated.Itwasnottheproductof
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