Chapter 34 should i

First came the Rukis, then the Goths and Gepids, and then the Kashubes, of whom Oskar is a direct descendant.Immediately afterwards, the Poles sent Adalbert of Prague.He came with a cross and was hacked to death with an ax by the Kashukou or Prutze.The incident happened in a fishing village named Gidanick.Jidanicke evolved into Dancek, and Dancek evolved into Dancech①. Later, when it was written, a letter "t" was reduced, and it is called Danzig Gdansk today. -------- ①The original text is Dantzig, later written as Danzig, and it is now translated into Danzig, but it is a wrong transliteration.The history of Danzig is described below.

However, before this wording was adopted, the dukes of the Pomeranians followed the Kashubes to Jidanick.Their surnames are: Subislaus, Shambor, Mestvin, and Swantopolka.The village became a small town.Then came the savage Plutzers, who wrecked the city a little.Then came the Brandenburgers from afar, also spoiling a little.Poland's Boleslav also destroyed a little learning: "Although the Yin Zhongjun is thoughtful, but his talent is partial, he suddenly mentioned "Fourth, the Knights also used the knight's sword to make the damage that has not been repaired become obvious again." up.

For hundreds of years, the dukes of the Pomeranians, the heads of the knightly orders, the kings of Poland and their separate kings, the counts of Brandenburg and the bishops of Włoklavek, Playing a game of destruction and reconstruction.Architects and demolition operators: Otto and Waldemar Bogusa, Heinrich von Plotzke and Dietrich von Alchenberg.The site of the Knights' Castle built by the latter, and the Polish Post Office in Rivelius Square, which was guarded by some in the 20th century. The Hussites came, set fires here and there, and withdrew.Then the priests were driven out of the city, and the castle was demolished, because there was no need for a castle in the city.The Poles took over and things weren't bad.The king who did this was named Kazimierz, known as the "Great One", the son of Vladislav I.Then came Ludwig, and after Ludwig came Hedwig.She married Yegielo of Lithuania and started the Yegielo era.Vladislav II was followed by Vladislav III, and then came Kazimierz.Although he had no appetite, he still fought with the Knights for thirteen years, squandering a lot of money from the merchants of Danzig.Johann Albrecht instead went to deal with the Turks.Alexander's successor was Sigismund the Elder, also known as Sigismund Stary.In history books, a chapter on Sigismund August is followed by a chapter on that Stefan Bathory after whom the Poles love to name their ocean liners.It can be read that he besieged and bombarded the city for a long time, but failed to capture it.Then came the Swedes, and they did the same with it.Siege of the city became a pleasure for them, and they made repeated comebacks.At that time, the Dutch, the Danes, and the English all loved Danzig Bay. Many captains of these countries sailed at the Danzig berth and became heroes of the sea.

Peace of Oliva - how beautiful and peaceful that sounds!It was there that the great powers discovered for the first time that the Polish lands were very suitable for partitioning.The Swedes, the Swedes, and the Swedes again—the Swedes' entrenchment characters include Mayer, Voltaire, Rousseau, Diderot, etc., and their characteristics are: no commitment, the Swedes drink, and the Swedes jump.Then came the Russians and the Saxons, because poor Polish king Stanislav Leszczynski was hiding in the city.Eighteen hundred houses were destroyed because of this one king.Leshczynski fled to France because his son-in-law Louis was there.For this, the citizens of Danzig had to pay a full million.

Poland was then partitioned three times.The Prussians came uninvited and wiped out the Polish king's eagle on all the gates and painted their birds.No sooner had teacher Johannes Falk composed the Christmas song "Oh, you are merry..." than the French arrived.A general of Napoleon, Rapp, besieged the city in a disgraceful manner, and the people of Danzig had to honor him twenty million francs.There is no need to doubt that the period of the French was a terrible period.But this period lasted only seven years.Then the Russians and Prussians came and bombarded the warehouse island, turning it into a sea of ​​flames.That was the end of the free state that Napoleon had dreamed up.The Prussians again found the opportunity to paint their birds on all the city gates, and did things very quickly, and for the first time deployed the 4th Infantry Regiment, the 1st Artillery Brigade, and the 1st Engineer Battalion in the city in the Prussian manner. and the 1st Hussars.The 30th, 18th, 3rd Guards, 44th, and 33rd Light Infantry were once stationed at Danzig.The famous 128th Infantry Regiment was not withdrawn until 1920.In order to avoid omissions, it is necessary to report as follows: During the Prussian period, the 1st Artillery Brigade was expanded into the 1st East Prussian Artillery Regiment, which consisted of the 1st Fortress Artillery Battalion and the 2nd Infantry Artillery Battalion.In addition, the 2nd Pomeranian Infantry was added, which was later replaced by the 16th West Prussian Infantry.The Eighth Cavalry Regiment was not stationed within the walls of Danzig for long.Outside the city walls, in the Longfur district, the 17th West Prussian Training Battalion has been stationed.

In the days of Burckhardt, Rauschning and Greisel there were only security policemen in green uniforms in this free country.By 1939, under Forstall, things had changed dramatically.All the brick barracks were filled again with laughing men in uniform juggling weapons of all kinds.It is now possible to list the names of all units of troops that were stationed in and around Danzig from 1939 to 1945, or were shipped from Danzig to the Arctic sea front.Oskar, however, did not do this, but succinctly stated that after this, as we know, came Marshal Rokossovsky.As soon as he saw the intact city, he thought of his predecessors in all countries, and he set it on fire with one blow, so that those who came after him could give vent to their emotions in rebuilding.

-------- ① Burckhardt was a Swiss diplomat and historian, and was the High Commissioner for the League of Nations in Danzig from 1937 to 1939. It is worth noting that this time the Russians were not followed by Prussians, Saxons, Swedes or French, but this time by Poles. The Poles came from Vilna, Bialystok, and Lemberg with luggage and bedding in search of housing.It was a gentleman who called himself Feingold who came to my house.He stood there by himself, always pretending that there were many members of his family standing around him and that he was telling them to do this and that.Mr. Feingold immediately took over Colonial Warehouse and showed his wife, Luba, to see the decade scales, kerosene cans, brass sausage rods and empty cash drawers, and was delighted to see the stock in the cellar, except that his wife Neither showed up nor answered him.He hired Mariam the salesman as soon as he arrived, and introduced her to his imaginary wife, Luba, without a break.At this time, Maria took Herr Feingold to our Matzerath, who had been lying for three days in the cellar on a tent cloth, because many Russians were experimenting with bicycles, sewing machines and women in the streets here and there. We cannot bury him.

-------- ① These three cities were assigned to the Soviet Union, and later Bialystok was assigned to Poland. As soon as Mr. French Gord saw our abandoned corpse, he stretched out his hands and slapped it on the top of the head, which was the same gesture that Oskar had seen many years ago. Just as expressive.In the cellar he called not only his wife, Luba, but his whole family, whom he must have seen coming, because he was calling their names: Luba, Lev, Yakub, Berek, Lev. Ong, Mendel, and Zonia, told those whose names he called who was lying here and dying here.He went on to tell us that the people he had called just now were lying in this way, before going into the crematorium at Treblinka, and his sister-in-law and his sister-in-law The brother-in-law and the latter's five children, all of them lay like this.Only he, Mr. Feingold, was not lying down because he had to chlorinate them.

-------- ①Treblinka, an extermination camp set up by the German Nazis in Poland, from its establishment in 1942 to its closure in October 1943, killed 700,000 to 900,000 Jews with gas. He helped us carry Matzerath up the stairs and into the shop.At this time, his family surrounded him again.He asked his wife Luba to help Maria scrub the body.Mr. Feingold did not notice that Luba did not come to help, because he was busy moving the stock from the cellar into the shop.Mrs. Greve, who used to scrub Mrs. Truczynski, won't come to help us this time, because her apartment is full of Russians, and she can be heard singing!

Old Highlander was working as a master shoemaker in the first days of the occupation.He was replacing the soles of the boots that the Russians had worn out during their advance, and at first he was reluctant to nail the coffin.Mr. French Gord made a deal with him, exchanging Derby cigarettes from my store for an electric motor in the old Highland warehouse.So old Highland dropped his boots and picked up other tools and the last few boards of the box. We were living in Madam Truczynski's apartment, and things had been removed by the old neighbors and the Poles.We were driven out later, and Mr. Feingold left us the cellar.Old Hyland took the door from the kitchen to the living room off its hinges, because the door from the living room to the bedroom had been taken down for Madame Truczynski's coffin.Old Highlander made a trunk smoking Derbys in the yard below.We stayed downstairs, and I put the only chair they had left in the room against the broken window, and I was so annoyed to see the old man sloppily nailing the boxes and making them into small shapes that didn't follow the rules .

Oskar could never see Matzerath again, because when the box was carried to the widow Greff's flatbed cart, the lid of the Wittlo margarine box had already been nailed to the box, although Matzerath had not only Don't eat margarine and hate using it in cooking. Maria asked Herr Feingold to accompany us because she was afraid of the Russian soldiers in the street.Sitting cross-legged on the counter, Feingold scooped up artificial honey in a paper cup. At first he expressed hesitation, fearing that his wife Luba would be suspicious, but then he probably got his wife's permission and slid off the counter. , gave me the artificial honey.I gave it to little Kurt, who ate it up.At this time, Mr. Feingold also asked Maria to help him put on a black coat made of gray rabbit fur.He put on the top hat that Matzerath used to wear to weddings and funerals, which was too small for him, and locked the shop door, telling his wife that no one would open it. Old Hyland wouldn't take the flatbed to the municipal cemetery.He said he still had to resole the boots and didn't have time.He is only willing to go closer.At the Max Halbeplatz, where the ruins were still smoking, he turned left into Rue Bressen, which I had a hunch was heading towards Saspe.Russians sit in front of houses in the thin February sun, sort watches and pocket watches, polish silver spoons with sand, use bras as ear muffs, perform tricks on bicycles, use oil paintings, grandfather clocks, bathtubs, radios and clothes The hat rack forms an obstacle zone, and it goes around in the middle, letting the car get out of the "8" shape, snail shape and spiral shape, decisively avoiding children's cars, chandeliers and other things thrown out of the window by others, Their dexterity was applauded.The game stopped for a few seconds as we walked by.A few soldiers in women's clothing over military uniforms helped push the cart, and they also wanted to make an indecent move on Maria, but they were reprimanded by Mr. Feingold, who could speak Russian and had a certificate.A soldier in a lady's cap gave us a cage with a live budgie standing on a rail.Little Kurt, who was running and jumping beside the flatbed, immediately reached out to pluck the colorful feathers.Not daring not to accept the gift, Maria lifted the birdcage out of Kurt's reach and handed it to me sitting on the flatbed.Oscar thought the budgerigar was too fancy, so he put the cage and bird on top of Matzerath's enlarged margarine box.I sat on the back edge of the car, my legs dangling, looking into Feingold's face.This face was lined with wrinkles, as if thinking hard, and finally became frowning, as if the gentleman was reviewing an inexhaustible complex calculation problem①. -------- ①Meaning: to recalculate a complex plan that cannot be realized. I tapped a few verses on the tin sheet in a lighthearted rhythm, trying to dispel the gloomy thoughts in Feingold's head.But he kept his wrinkled face, and his eyes were directed somewhere I don't know, perhaps to faraway Galizen.The only thing he can't see is my drum.Oscar then stopped knocking, and people only heard the sound of the wheels of the flatbed truck and Maria's crying. What a soft winter, I thought.By this time the last houses of the Langfur district were behind us.I glanced at the budgerigar, which was fluffing its feathers in the afternoon sun over the airport. The airfield was heavily guarded and the road to Bresen was blocked.An officer spoke to Mr. Feingold, holding his top hat between his spread fingers, revealing his thin red-blond hair blowing in the wind.The officer knocked on Matzerath's box as if to check, teased the budgerigar a few times with his fingers, and then let us pass, but sent two men who were no more than seventeen years old, wearing boat-shaped caps that were too small, We were watched or accompanied by lads with oversized machine guns. Old Hyland drove the car without even looking back.He can light a cigarette with one hand while pulling a car without stopping.Airplanes hang in the sky.The sound of the engine was clearly audible as this was late February, early March.Only a few small clouds linger near the sun, gradually turning pale.Bombers were flying towards the Hera peninsula, or back from it, where remnants of the Second Army were still fighting. The weather and the rumble of the planes make me sad.What could be more boring and tiresome than a March sky filled with rumbling and dying planes?Besides, the two Russian boys tried in vain to keep pace all the way. On the way of driving, we crossed the gravel road first, and then the asphalt road with bomb craters. Under the bumps, some slats of the hastily nailed boxes came loose, and we were driving against the wind, and we could smell the dead people in Matzerath taste.Oscar was delighted when we arrived at the Saspe cemetery. We couldn't pull the car all the way to the high ground surrounded by the iron fence. A burnt T-34 tank lying on the side not far from the cemetery blocked the way.The rest of the tanks had to make a detour in the direction of the new channel, leaving marks in the sand on the left side of the road and knocking down a section of the cemetery wall.Mr. Feingold asked old Heyland to lift the slightly curved coffin in the middle, and let him walk behind, struggling to walk over the rubble of the overturned cemetery wall, exerting his last strength on the fallen and tilted tombstones. Walk through the last section of the road.Old Hyland sucked greedily on his cigarette, blowing the smoke towards the end of the coffin.I hold the budgerigar cage.Maria lugged two shovels.Little Coulter took the pickaxe, swinging it back and forth, side to side, bumping himself into danger against the gray granite until Maria snatched it away and went to dig the grave as hard as the two men. Luckily, I thought, the soil was sandy and unfrozen, as I went behind the north wall to find where Jan Bronski had passed.It must be in this area!But it is no longer certain, the change of seasons has weathered and grayed the newly painted limestone at that time, and it is indistinguishable from all the walls of Saspe.I came back through the rear gate, looked up at the disabled pine tree, and in order not to wander about insignificant thoughts, I thought, they are burying Matzerath.I searched and partly found the meaning of the setting, under the same sandy soil lay the pair of Schkatters, Bronski and Matzerath, though without my poor mother for their company. Some funerals are always reminiscent of others! Conquering the sand, of course, requires skilled gravediggers.Maria stopped to rest, panting heavily, propped up by the pickaxe.She cried again because she saw little Kurt throwing stones at the budgerigars in the cage from a distance.Coulter Jr. missed the throw, he threw it too far.Maria was crying, crying, because she had lost Matzerath, because, in my opinion, she saw something in Matzerath that he did not show, which she knew perfectly well, and Will always be worthy of her love.Mr. Feingold spoke comforting words and took this opportunity to take a break too. Digging the soil took up too much energy for him.Old Hyland seemed to be looking for gold. He evenly used the shovel, threw the scooped up sand behind him, and puffed out puffs of smoke at equal intervals.A little farther away, two young Russians were sitting on the cemetery wall, chatting against the wind.Plus there are planes and a growing sun. They want to dig a meter deep.Oskar stands idly and helplessly among the aged granite, among the crumbling pine trees, between Matzerath's widow and little Kurt throwing stones at budgerigars. Should I?You are twenty-one years old, Oscar.Should you?You are now an orphan.It's finally your time.You've been a half-orphan since your poor mother was gone.You should have made up your mind then.Later, they let your imaginary father lie beneath the surface of the earth.You were a hypothetical total orphan, standing here, on this sandy land called Saspe, with an oxidized cartridge case in your hand.It was raining and a Junker 52 was landing.At that time, if it was not in the rain, it was in the roar of the landing of the transport plane. Wasn't the question of "should I" already clear?You say to yourself, this is the sound of the rain, this is the noise of the engine; this monotony you can add to any text you read.You need to make things clearer rather than assuming how-to's. Should I or shouldn't I?Now they are digging a hole for Matzerath, your second imaginary father.As far as you know, there is no third imaginary father.But why are you still playing with these two green glass bottles: I should, I shouldn't?Who else do you ask?Ask the crippled pine tree?They are all problems in their own right. I found a long, narrow cast-iron cross with weathered curlicues and peeling letters: Mathilde Conkel—or Ronckel.I'm in the sand - should I or shouldn't - betwixt flyweed and philodendron - I should - find three or four - I shouldn't - saucer sized rust peeling metal Corolla--I should--formerly may have appeared as oak-leaves or laurel--or I shouldn't--aiming--I should--end of the standing cross--or I--its diameter--shouldn't-- Maybe four centimeters - no - I stand two meters away from it - should - start throwing - no - toss aside - I should again - the iron cross is tilted - I should —Her name is Mathilde Kunkel or Ronkle—Should I call her Kunkel or Ronkel—this is the sixth time I allowed myself to throw seven times and miss six times , throw it seven times—should, hang it on it—should—wreath Mathilde—should—laurel to Miss Conkel—should I?I asked young Mademoiselle Ronkel—yes, said Mathilde; she died young, aged twenty-seven, born in 1868.I was twenty-one years old and I hit it on my seventh try.I reduced that "Shouldn't I?" to a proven, wreathed, hit, earned "Should I!" When Oscar had "I should!" on his tongue, "I should!" Feathers fell.I asked myself, what kind of question prompted my son to throw pebbles at a budgerigar for so long, and didn't stop until he finally hit the ball and gave him an answer? They had pushed the box to the edge of the pit, about twenty-one decimeters deep.Old Hyland wanted to hurry, but had to wait because Maria was saying Catholic prayers.Herr Feingold raised his top hat to his chest, and looked at Galizen from a distance.Little Kurt was also coming closer now.He may have made a decision after hitting the target, for one reason or another, but walked to the grave as firmly as Oscar. An indetermination tormented me.Was it really my son who just made a decision for or against something?Is he determined to love me as the only true father?Does he now—too late—make up his mind to beat the tin drum?Was it his decision to execute my imaginary father Oskar, who killed my imaginary father Matzerath with a party emblem, because Oskar hated the word fathers?The affection between fathers and sons is worth pursuing, but will he also turn it into a fatal blow when expressing this innocent affection? Oskar admitted when Old Heiland pushed the box along with Matzerath, the party emblem in Matzerath's trachea, the bullets from the Russian machine gun in Matzerath's stomach instead of slowly lowering it into the grave He deliberately killed Matzerath, because that man was not only his imaginary father according to all probabilities, but his actual father, because Oskar hated having to drag a father around all his life. It's not true that the pin of the party emblem was already open when I grabbed the piece of fruit candy from the concrete floor.The pin opens when pinched in my hand.I gave Matzerath this stinging, jamming fruit candy.That way, they were able to find the badge in his hand, and he put his party badge on his tongue, and he got stuck and suffocated by it—by his party, by me, by his Son, because this situation must end! Old Highlander started shoveling again.Little Kurt helped him shovel awkwardly but eagerly.I never loved Matzerath.Sometimes I like him.He looked after me more as a cook than as a father.He is a good cook.If I still think about Matzerath sometimes today, what I miss is his Konigsberg meat nine, sour pork loin, carp with radish and fresh cream, as well as green vegetable eel soup, Kassel Ribs with sauerkraut and all kinds of unforgettable Sunday roasts, which are still on my tongue!He turned emotions into soup, and we forgot to put a kitchen spoon in his coffin, and we forgot to put a deck of skat cards in his coffin.He was a better cook than a poker player.But he was better at poker than Jan Bronski, and almost as good as my poor mother.This is his ability, but also his tragedy. I never forgave him about Maria, although he treated her well, never beat her, and when she couldn't help arguing, he mostly gave in.He also did not hand me over to the Reich Ministry of Health, and signed the letter when the post office was no longer delivering letters.When I was born under a light bulb, he decided he wanted me to be in business.In order not to stand behind the counter, Oscar stood behind about a hundred red and white lacquered tin drums for seventeen years.Now Matzerath lay down and would never get up again.Old Heilander was shoveling and burying him, smoking Matzerath Derbys.If only Oscar could take over the store now.But Mr. Feingold popped up on the way and took over the store with his invisible family of many.I'm left with Maria and Kurt Jr. and my responsibilities to those two.Maria was still crying heartily and praying Catholic prayers.Herr Feingold was in his Galizen, or perhaps working on his tricky arithmetic.Little Kurt was tired, but he shoveled the soil firmly.On the cemetery walls sat young Russians chatting away.Old Hyland was jolly and evenly shoveling the Saspe cemetery sand onto the margarine-box slats.Oskar can also read the three letters of the word Vitello.Then he took the iron from his neck, and instead of saying "Should I?" said "Must!" and threw the drum over it, for there was enough sand on the coffin to make no thud.I threw the drumsticks over too.Drum sticks stuck in the sand.It's a drum from the Ash-Scatterer period, and it's the stock of the front troupe.Bebra gave me these iron sheets.How would the master evaluate my behavior?Jesus had knocked on the tin, and so had a box-shaped, coarse-pored Russian.It's not much use anymore.But when a shovelful of sand was thrown on its face, it buzzed again.When the second shovel of sand was thrown, it was still making noise.When the third shovel of sand was thrown over, it stopped making any noise, and only a little white paint was exposed.In the end, the sand made it like any other sand.The sand builds up on my drum, more and more, piles, grows - and I'm starting to grow too, as evidenced by profuse nosebleeds. It was Kurt Jr. who discovered the blood first. "He's bleeding, bleeding!" he cried, calling Herr Feingold back from Gallizen, dragging Maria out of her prayers, and even forcing the man who had been sitting on the fence chatting in the direction of Bresen The young Russian looked up at the frightening sight. Old Hyland stuck the shovel in the sand, picked up the pickaxe, and let me rest the back of my neck on the blue-black iron.The cooling really works.Nosebleeds are rare.Old Hyland went to shovel the soil again, and there was not much sand beside the grave, and the nosebleed had completely stopped at this time.But I'm still growing, and the signs are the crackling and rustling and crackling inside me. Old Heylander repaired the grave, pulled out a mossy, uninscribed wooden cross from someone else's grave, and inserted it in the new mound, approximately between Matzerath's head and my buried drum . "It's over!" said the old man, picked up Oscar, who couldn't walk, carried him on his back, and led the rest of the people and the young Russians with machine guns away from the cemetery, walked over the overturned fence, and followed the tank ruts. Go to the place where a tank is lying on the tramway and find the cart.I looked back towards Saspe Cemetery.Maria was carrying the budgerigar cage, Mr. Feingold was carrying the tools, little Kurt was empty-handed, two Russians were wearing boat caps that were too small, machine guns that were too big on their shoulders, and the beach pine trees were hunched over. From the sand to the asphalt road.On the wreckage of the tank sat Sugar Leo.High in the sky, the plane flew from Hera and flew towards Hera.Sugar Leo took care not to blacken his gloves with the burnt T-34.The sun sets with small fluffy clouds on Tower Hill near Sopot.Sugar Leo slid off the tank and straightened up. Old Hyland was overjoyed to see Sugar Leo.He said: "Who has ever seen a second person like you! The world is sinking, but the good Geer Leo is safe." He was full of enthusiasm, freed a hand, and patted on the black jacket , explaining to Feingold: "This is our Shuger Leo. He wants to take pity on us and shake our hands." Then, Leo took off the glove and let it flutter in the wind.Drooling as usual, he expressed his condolences to those present, and then asked, "Have you seen the Lord? Have you seen the Lord?" No one saw.Maria gave Leo the budgerigar and the cage, for what I don't know. Sugar Leo walked towards Oscar, and Old Hyland had already let him lie on the flatbed.Leo's face seemed to be shattered.The wind blew his clothes, and his legs swayed and danced. "Lord, Lord!" he cried, shaking the budgerigar in its cage. "Come and see God, he is growing, behold, he is growing!" As a result, he was thrown into the air together with the cage.He ran, flew, danced, staggered, fell, fled with the squeaking bird, became a bird himself, spread his wings, and flew across the field towards Rieselfeld.We heard him shout through the sound of two machine guns: "He's growing! He's growing!" When two young Russians had to reload, he was still shouting: "He's growing!" Grow!" Even when the machine gun fired again, when Oskar fell from the stepless ladder into a growing, absorbing stupor, I heard the bird, the voice, the crow—Leo Declare: "He's growing, he's growing, he's growing..."