The Washington times., 1931-11-05

0AAA VA lay Wdy 4AOn4 OA4C
station to visit Adolf Bethke.
I know his house at once-he
has described it to me so often
out there.
A garden with fruit trees. The
apples have not all been picked
yet. There are a lot lying in the
grass under the trees. In an
open place before the door is
an immense chestnut tree and
the ground beneath it is COW
cred over and over with russell
leaves, the stone table below the
bench also. The pinkiSh white
Of the burst, spiky huSkS, the
lustrouS brown Of the fallen
nuts among the leaves: I take
up one or two and look at
the lacquered, veined, mahogany
rind and the lighter colored,
germinal spot underneath. To
think such things exist! I look
about me. To think that there
is still all this: these gay trees!
blue, misty woods-yeS, woods,
not mere shattered tree stumpS;
this wind over the fields, with
out fune Of powder or stink
Of gas; this greasy, glistening,
plowed earth with its pungent
smell; horses pulling plows, not
gun limbers now, and following
behind them, without rifles, the
plowmen, home again, plowmen
in soldiers uniforms.
A Cloudy Day
The sun is hidden by clouds
floating above a little copse, but
pencils of silver light shoot out
from behind them. Children's
gayly colored kites sway high
up in the air. Lungs breathe
deeply, the cool air streaming
in and out-no guns, no trench
mortarS now; no pack cramp-
ing the chest, no belt hanging
heavy at the belly; gone from
the neck the taut sense OF
WEAKNESS and watching, gone,
too, the haH-slinking gait that
may be changed within the Sec
ond to falling and lying and
horror and death. I walk free
and upright, with swinging
shoulders, and feel the strength
and the richness Of this mo-
ment-to be here, to be visiting
Adolf, my comrade!
The door of the house stands
half open. On the right is the
kitchen. I knock. No one an
swers. Good day!" I call.
Nothing stirs. I go in farther
and open yet another door.
Somebody is seated alone at the
table-now he looks up, dis
heveled, an old uniform, a
glance: Bethke-
'Adolf!" I exclaim happily.
Didn't you hear me? Asleep,
were you, eh,"
without shifting his position
he gives me his hand.
Thought I'd come over and
see you, Adolf"
That's good of you, Ernest"
he says, gloomily.
IS ON e thing the matter,
Adolf?" I ask in surprise.
Zach, don't ask, Ernst.
7 sit down beside him. But
Adolf. old man. what's the mat
ter with you?"
Quite All Right
He parries. Nothing, I'm all
right; leave us alone, Ernest,
can't you? It's good, though
it's good one of you has come
at last" He stands up. 1T
makes a man crazy, being alone
here like this"
I look around. There is no
sign Of his wife anywhere.
He remains silent a while
then suddenly says once again,
''It'S good you nave come" He
hunts about for some schnappS
and some cigarettes. We have a
spot out of two thick glasses
with a pink inset underneath.
Before the windows lies the
garden and the path with the
fruit trees. There is a gust Of
wind and the garden gate rat
ties. Out of the corner a
dark, weighted grandfather
clock sounds the hour.
GOOD health, Adclf!''-"Good
health. ERNST"
A cat steals across the room.
It jumps up on the sewing
machine and begins to purr.
After a while Adolf starts to
talk:
They come here and talk,
my people and her people-and
they don't understand me and
I don't understand them. It's
as If we weren't the same per-
sons any more" He props his
head in his hands. "You under
stand me, Ernest, and YOU
but with these people, it's as if
there were a stone wall between
U.S."
That at last I hear the whole
story.
HOme-and Wife!
With his pack on his back
and a whole sack full of good
things, coffee, chocolate and a
length of silk even, enough to
make a whole dress, Bethke
came home.
He meant to come softly and
give his wife a surprise, but the
dog starts barking like mad, al
most upSetting his kennel. Then
Bethke can restrain himself no
longer. He runs down the path
between the apple trees-hiS
path, his trees, his house, his
wifel His heart is thudding in