The Washington times., 1931-12-11
THE ROAD BACK
A Story Of the Aftermath
or the World War

the roots of the trees?
The Cycle Begins Anew
But the movement increases.
1t becomes regular. passes over
into breathing, pulsating; wave
returns upon wave and pours
Blackjack from the rivers,
trees, leaf and earth. The cycle
begins anew, but now it does
not impoveriSh, it brings ever
more in and 1t stays; it be-
comes vision, perception, feel
ing, hands, body: the husks
are no longer empty-the earth
again laps about my body, re-
leased, light and winged. I
open my eyes
Where am I? Where was I?
Have been sleeping? The
mysterious sense of union is
still there; I listen, not daring
to move. But it stays, and
ever stronger and stronger
grows the joy and the light
ness, the skimming, radiating.
I lie on the grass; the butter
flies have gone and more re-
mote the Sorrel rocks to and
fro; the ladybird has reached
its goal, the goSsamerS cling to
my clothes; the undulation,
pulsation remains; it mounts
into my chest, to my eyes. I
move my hands; what pleas
ure! I bend my knees, I sit
up. My face is wet; and only
then do 1 discover that I am
weeping, incontinently weep
ing, as if all that were now
over, gone forever.
I still rest a while. Then I
get up and walk off toward
the cemetery. I have not been
there before. Today is the first
time since Ludwig's death I
have ventured out alone.
An old woman goes with me
to point out Ludwig'S grave. It
lies behind a beech hedge and
is planted with periwinkle. The
earth is still loose and forms
a hill against which are lean
ing a few withered wreaths.
The gilt lettering of the in
scription has faded already; it
is no longer legible.
Not Afraid
I have been rather afraid to
come here. But this stiffness is
without alarms. The wind
blows slightly over the graves,
the September sky stands
golden beyond the crosses, and
in the plane trees a blackbird
is singing.
All, Ludwig, today, for the
first time, I have felt some
thing of home and peace, and
you are not here! Even now
hardly dare to believe it: still
suspect it is but weakness and
WEAKNESS. But perhaps it will
yield to us some day; we have
only to wait, perhaps, and be
silent, and it will come to us
of itself; perhaps just these
our bodies and the earth-per-
hapS these only have not aban-
doned us, and perhaps we need
do nothing but just listen and
follow them.
All, Ludwig And there we
were searching: we lost our
way and fell down; we looked
for a purpose, and we tripped
over ourselves; we did not find
it-and you have gone under!
And now. is it to be just a
breath of wind over the
grasses, a blackbird singing at
evening, that rallies us and
leads us back home? Can a
q cloud on the horizon, a tree
in summer, have more power
then, than so much will?
I do not know, Ludwig. I
cannot believe it, for I had
given up hope. But it is true
that we do not yet know what
surrender is: we have not felt
it's strength. We know only
power.
But if it should prove a way.
Ludwig-what is that to me?-
without YOU
Night is rising up slowly be-
yond the trees, bringing with
it again unrest and melancholy.
stare down at the grave.
Ito Be COntinued)
Copyright, Erich Maria Remarque,
1881; distributed by United
Feature Syndicate Incl