Chapter 36 grow tall in a freight wagon

Today, the pain is still tormenting me. Just now, the pain caused me to fall on the pillow.The pain made me feel the feet and knee joints clearly, and made me "crack," meaning Oscar had to grit his teeth so that he couldn't hear the rattle of the bones in the sockets of the joints.I looked at ten fingers and had to admit they were all swollen.The last time I tried playing the drums, it turned out that Oscar's fingers were not only a little swollen, but they were now unusable for this kind of occupation, and he couldn't even hold a drum stick. Even the fountain pen doesn't listen to me.I had to ask Bruno to put a cold compress on me.Hands, feet, and knees were covered, and a towel was placed on the forehead, so I equipped my orderly Bruno with pencil and paper, whom I would not lend a fountain pen to.Will Bruno, will he, will he listen?Would his retelling of the trip that began on June 12, 1945 be adequate?Bruno sat at the little table under the painting of anemones.Now he turned his head and I saw half of his face, his monster eyes looking to my left and right.He put the pencil horizontally between the thin parted lips, pretending to wait.Let's just assume he's really waiting for me to speak, for the signal to start recording!His thoughts were circling around his knitting.He was to use packing twine to weave it, while Oscar had the opposite task, to untangle my confusing story with the aid of rich words.Bruno now begins to write:

I, Bruno Münsterberg, from Altena, Sauerland, unmarried, childless, caregiver in the private department of a local sanatorium and nursing home.Mr. Matzerath is a patient under my care and has been placed here for more than a year.I also take care of other patients, so I won't talk about them here.Herr Matzerath is my most harmless patient.He never lost his self-control to the point where I had to call in all the other caregivers.He wrote too much and beat the drums too much.In order to be considerate of his overworked fingers, today he asked me to ghostwrite and stop making my knitting.Still I hid the thread in my pocket, and while he was narrating, I began to weave an image with my lower limbs, which I will name "Oriental Refugees" after Mr. Matzerath's story.This is not the first image I have taken from my patient's story.So far I have braided his grandmother, named Apple in Four Nightgowns; I braided his grandfather, the raftman, with string, boldly named "Columbus"; Weaving, his poor mother turned into a "fish-eating woman"; based on his two fathers, Matzerath and Jan Bronski, I weaved a pair of images called "Two Schatz fans"; I also braided the scarred back of his friend Herbert Truczynski with twine, and called this model "uneven lot"; individual buildings, such as the Polish Post Office, the Tower, the Municipal Theater, Armory Lane, Nautical Museum, Greve's Vegetable Cellar, Pestalozzi School, Bressen Swimming Pool, Sacré Coeur, Café Four Seasons, Baltic Chocolate Factory, many bunkers of the Atlantic Wall, the Eiffel Tower in Paris, I copied the Berlin Szczecin Railway Station, Reims Cathedral, and Mr. Matzerath's apartment where he first saw the light of the world, knot by knot.The railings and tombstones of the Saspe and Brentau cemeteries provided patterns for my cords to emulate.I weave thread by thread, let the Weixel and the Seine flow, let the waves of the Atlantic crash into the shores of my thread, let the thread become the potato fields of Kashube and the pastures of Normandy.The field thus produced, which I call "Europa," has also been settled there by several groups of statues.Example: Post Office Defender.Colonial Merchant.People in the pulpit.People in front of the pulpit.Elementary school students holding paper bags.The dying museum keeper.Young criminals preparing for Christmas.Polish cavalry before sunset.Ants make history.Frontline troupes performed for non-commissioned officers and soldiers.Standing people disinfecting lying people in Treblinka concentration camp.I am now starting to weave images of oriental refugees, and it is likely to evolve into a group of images of oriental refugees.

Mr. Matzerath set off from Danzig, which was already called Gdansk at about 11:00 am on June 12, 1945.He was accompanied by the widow Maria Matzerath (my patient called her his former lover) and Kurt Jr. (my patient's imaginary son).In addition, there are said to be thirty-two people in this freight wagon, among them are four Franciscan nuns in religious uniforms, a young girl wearing a headscarf, and a synchronic Sexual research method and historical, Herr Oskar Matzerath wanted to identify her as a young lady named Luzi Lunwand.After many questionings, my patient admitted that the girl's name was Regina Laeke, but he went on to talk about a nameless triangular fox face, and later called her name, Luzi, which is not true. It prevents me from still calling the girl Miss Regina and recording it.Along with Regina Laek were her parents, grandparents and an uncle who was ill.This person not only took his family, but also took his stomach cancer to go to the west. He talked a lot, and pretended to be a former member of the Social Democratic Party as soon as he drove.As far as my patient can remember, the journey up to Gdynia (which for four and a half years was called the Port of Gothen) was uneventful.Two women from Oliwa, many children, and an older gentleman from Langfur, wept just after Sopot, and the nuns murmured prayers.In Gdynia, the train stopped for five hours.They put two women and six children on the wagon again.The Social-Democrats protested against this, saying that he was ill, that he had demanded special treatment as a Social-Democrat since before the war.He refused to give up space, and a Polish officer in charge of transport slapped him and said in fairly fluent German, Social Democrats, he didn't understand what that meant.He had been in many parts of Germany during the war, but he had never heard the word Social Democrat.The Social-Democrat with stomach cancer did not have time to explain to the Polish officer the meaning, nature, and history of German Social-Democracy, because the officer had already got out of the wagon, closed and locked the door.

I forgot to write, all of them were sitting or lying on the hay.In the afternoon, when the train left, several women shouted, "We're going back to Danzig again." But this was an illusion.The train just tuned, then headed west toward Stolp.It took four days to get to Stolp, because the train was often stopped by former partisans and gangs of Polish youths on the stretch of road outside the station.These young men opened the doors of the wagon, let in a little fresh air, and took the stale air and some travel luggage out of the wagon.Whenever young people occupy the wagon where Mr. Matzerath is, the four nuns always raise their hands and hold the cross hanging in front of the nun's clothes.The four crucified Christs impress the youth.They made the sign of the cross before throwing passengers' backpacks and boxes onto the railway embankment.

The Social Democrat showed the boys a paper certificate.This is a document from the Polish authorities certifying that he was a dues-paying member of the Social Democratic Party from 1931 to 1937 when he was in Danzig or Gdańsk.The boys didn't sign the sign of the cross, but slapped down the certificate in his hand, and took away his two suitcases and his wife's backpack.Even the big checkered winter coat the Social Democrat wore was carried into the fresh Pomeranian air. Still, Mr. Oskar Matzerath said that the boys struck him as competent and disciplined.He said this was due to the influence of their leader, who, although young, was just sixteen years old. Rationalism is "rationalism." , but already looks like a character.This reminded Herr Matzerath, with pain and joy, of the leader of the ashes-scatterers, of the Stieterbeck.

When the young man who was so much like Stieterbeck was about to snatch the knapsack from Mrs. Maria Matzerath and finally snatched it, Mr. Matzerath snatched it from the knapsack at the last moment and fortunately put it in the That family photo album on top.The gang leader was furious.But my patient opened the photo album and showed the boy a picture of his grandmother Koljacek.The young man may have thought of his grandmother, so he put down Mrs. Maria's backpack, put his hands on his Polish hat, and said to the Matzerath family: "Goodbye!" He grabbed the suitcases of other passengers Instead of the Matzerath family's backpack, he took his men out of the wagon.

In the knapsack that the family had left in the family thanks to the family photo album contained, in addition to a few changes of clothes, the account books and sales tax receipts of the colonial merchandise store, a savings passbook, a string of items that originally belonged to Matzerath The ruby ​​necklace of Mrs.'s mother, hidden by my patient in a bag of antiseptic, and the textbook, which is half Rasputin's chapters and half Goethe's writings, went west together.My patient said that throughout the trip he had the family photo album on his lap for the most part, and sometimes the textbook, flipping through it, and that despite the severe pain in his extremities, these two books gave him many pleasant, contemplative moments. hour.

My patient asked me to go on like this: Shaking and vibration, driving over switches and crossings, lying sprawled over the quivering front axle of a wagon all contributed to his growth.He no longer grows in the width as before, but grows in the height.The swollen but not inflamed joint loosened.Even his ears, nose, and genitals conventionalize a relativistic view of truth.One of the founders was French mathematics, which, as I heard, also lengthened when freight wagons hit the gaps in the rails.Herr Matzerath apparently felt no pain as long as the transport trains were driving in the open.Whenever the trains stopped and guerrillas and youth gangs visited again, he would suffer from stinging and pulling pains, which he countered with an analgesic photobook, as already mentioned.

According to him, besides the Polish Stuartbeker, many other young bandits and an older partisan had taken an interest in the photo album.The veteran soldier even sat down, lit a cigarette, and unhurriedly flipped through the photo album without missing a single photo, tracking the prosperity of the photo-rich family, starting with the portrait of his maternal grandfather Koljacek , until the snapshots taken by Maria Matzerath with her son Kurt Jr., aged one, two, three and four.My patient saw that he even smiled as he looked at a few pictures of family life in the countryside.There are only a few photographs, the party emblem on the coat of the late Mr. Matzerath and the collar of Mr. Ehlers, head of the Ramkau Peasant Association and married to Hedwig, the widow of Post Office Defender Jan Bronski. The party emblem of the Communist Party of China was too obvious, which offended the guerrilla.My patient was satisfied by scraping the party emblem off the photograph with the tip of a breakfast knife right under the eyes of this critical man.

Herr Matzerath just wanted to change my opinion.He said that this guerrilla, contrary to many other fake guerrillas, had been a real guerrilla.He claimed that guerrillas were never temporary, but consistent and long-lasting. They brought to power successive governments that had been overthrown, and overthrew successive governments that were brought to power by the help of guerrillas.According to Herr Matzerath's argument—which should have made me understand that of all men engaged in politics the partisan, who is intransigent and self-differentiated, is the most artistically gifted, because he takes what he has just created Just throw it away.

My own situation is similar.Doesn't it happen a lot when I smash my braid as soon as it's set in plaster?I am especially thinking of the commission my patient gave me a few months ago to weave the Russian faith-healer Rasputin and the German poet-monarch Goethe into a single figure out of simple string, according to my patient's request. A principle put forward by the Academy of Philosophical Realism.To think that what the realists claim, this person has to be very similar to him and my client.I don't know how many kilometers of string I spent in order to finally effectively produce a combination of these two extremes.However, I can't help it, and I won't be satisfied, to make it like my patient, like the model recommended by Herr Matzerath.If I knit it with my right hand, I will tear it apart with my left hand; if I make it with my left hand, I will smash it with a punch with my right hand. However, Herr Matzerath could not keep his account moving in a straight line.The four nuns he said at one time were Franciscans and at other times they were of the Order of Charity.Besides that, especially the young girl, who had two names but shared a supposedly triangular-shaped fox face, repeatedly cluttered his reports of the trip from East to West.And I, as a reteller, had to write down two or even more different ways of speaking.But that was not my job, so I caught up with the Social-Democrat.He did not change his countenance throughout the journey, and according to my patient, he repeatedly told his fellow passengers that he was a kind of guerrilla, sacrificing his spare time for his health, until just before Stolp. As a child's play, posters were posted everywhere until 1937. You must know that there are very few Social Democrats who put up slogans in the rain, and he is one of them. It was almost time to reach Stolp, but the freight train stopped again, and I don't know how many times it stopped.At this time, he was still talking about putting up slogans.The reason for the stop was that a large group of youths had come.There was almost no luggage left, and the boys began to strip the passengers of their clothes.They are still reasonable, limited to stripping men's coats.The Social Democrat couldn't understand it, and he thought that the baggy nun's gown, in the hands of a skilful tailor, would yield many decent blouses.The Social-Democrat was, as he said, an atheist.Those young thieves, though they did not profess their faith, belonged to the only blessed Church, and they wanted not the woolen coats of the nuns, who could do much for them, but the single-breasted buttons with woodpulp in the material of the atheist. tops.Reluctant to take off his jacket, vest and trousers, he recounts a brief but productive period of his life as a Social Democratic poster poster.He kept talking, and when they stripped him, he resisted and was kicked in the stomach by a foot in an ex-Wehrmacht boot. The Social Democrat vomited profusely and finally spurted blood.He was now free to wear his coat, and the lads had lost all interest in the soiled but salvageable suit of a thorough chemical wash.They gave up the men's jacket (voice volume) and the five-branch method of argumentative reasoning (zong, cause, metaphor, combination, knot); but stripped Maria Matzerath's light blue rayon jacket and the one that is not called Berchtesgaden jersey jackets from Luzie Lewand and the young girl named Regina Laecke.Then they closed the wagon door, but didn't close it securely.The train moved, and the Social Democrat began to die.Two or three kilometers from Stolp, the freight train was pulled to a parking line, where it stayed for the night, the stars were shining, but the June night was very cool. As Herr Matzerath recounts, that night the Social Democrat, too reluctant to part with his button-down jacket, loudly and obscenely blasphemed and called for the struggle of the working class, as can be heard in the movies, he finally The word was "Long live liberty," and at the end, a fit of vomiting and death filled the wagon with terror. My patient said that nothing followed.There was silence in the wagon, and it remained silent throughout.Only Mrs. Mariah's teeth were chattering, she was freezing without a top, and the last few underwear were left to cover her son Coulter and Mr. Oscar.At dawn, two daring nuns saw an opportunity when the wagon door was left ajar, and swept the wagon, sweeping the drenched hay, the feces of children and adults, and the blood spewed by the Social Democrat onto the embankment. . At Stolp, the trains were inspected by Polish officers.At the same time, dispense hot soup and beverages like malt coffee.The body in the wagon where Matzerath was located was confiscated due to the risk of plague, and the health guards carried it away on wooden boards.Constructed and given to the object by consciousness activities after the nuns came forward to intercede.Science can only serve human beings, and a senior military officer allows the family of the deceased to say a short prayer.It is also permitted to remove the deceased's shoes, socks and jacket.Empty cement bags were later used to cover the body on the plank.During the stripping scene, my patient looked at the niece of the stripped person.This young girl named Laeck reminded him with disgust and fascination of that Luzzie Lunwand, whom I had reproduced in string and called the braid "The Lady Who Swallowed Sausage Bread."The girl in the wagon, though she didn't grab a sausage bun in front of her robbed uncle and ate it up with the sausage skin, took part in the robbery, inherited a waistcoat from her uncle, and wore a Instead of the jacket that was snatched away, she took out the small mirror and looked at her new attire, which was not unsuitable.She captured my patient and his berth in the mirror, so reflected in the mirror, and then blatantly watched him indifferently through the squinting eyes of his triangular face.To this day my patients go into a nameless panic when they think about it. From Stolp to Szczecin, the train took two days.There are still quite a few forced stops, and the visits of semi-adults armed with paratrooper knives and machine guns, they have gradually become accustomed to, but the visit time is getting shorter each time, because there is no more oil and water to be squeezed from the passengers. My patient claims to have gained nine, if not ten centimeters in height during the week of the trip from Danzig-Gdansk to Szczecin.First, the thighs and calves had grown, but the ribcage and head had barely extended.During the trip, my patient was said to be lying on his back, but this did not prevent the growth of a hump oriented to the upper left.Mr. Matzerath also said that after Szczecin - during which the trains were taken over by Deutsche Bahn - the pain intensified, and looking at the family photo album could not make him forget the pain.He had to keep shouting several times, which, although it did not break any glass in the station—Mr. Matzerath said: My voice has lost any potential to sing broken glass—but called four nuns to his station. Let them pray endlessly before their bunks. Half the passengers disembarked in Schwerin, among them relatives of the dead Social Democrat and Mademoiselle Regine.Herr Matzerath regretted that two forces interacted with each other after her departure, since he had seen the young girl's face so well and had become so necessary.But it also believes that there is essentially no difference between things.Sadly, he suddenly went into convulsions, convulsed all over his body, and had a high fever at the same time.According to Mrs. Maria Matzerath, he desperately called Lu Qi, calling himself a monster and a unicorn, expressing that he was afraid of jumping off the ten-meter platform, but had fun jumping off. On arrival in Lüneburg, Mr. Oskar Matzerath was taken to a hospital.He met several nurses while he was in a high fever, but was immediately transferred to the University Hospital of Hannover.There, his body temperature was finally suppressed.Frau Maria and her son Kurt rarely saw Mr. Matzerath.Later, she found a job as a cleaner in the hospital, and only then did she meet every day.However, there was no housing for Mrs. Maria and Kurt Jr. in or near the hospital, and life in the refugee camp became increasingly unbearable.Mrs. Maria had to take the three-hour train every day, and the train was full of people, who often stepped on the door pedals.The hospital is so far away from the refugee camp.The doctors, despite their apprehension, agreed to transfer the patient to the Düsseldorf City Hospital.Mrs. Maria also presented a letter of approval for emigration: her sister Gust married a foreman who lived in Düsseldorf during the war, and she will provide one of her two and a half suites to Matzera The King used it because the foreman didn't need a place to live, and he was now in a Russian prisoner-of-war camp. The location of the apartment is very good.You can easily reach the hospital by taking all the trams from Birke train station in the direction of Westen and Benrath without changing trains.Herr Matzerath stayed there from August 1945 to May 1946.In just over an hour, he told me about many nurses in that hospital at the same time.They were: Sister Monica, Sister Helmtrude, Sister Valbga, Sister Ilzem, Sister Gertrude.He recalled the widespread gossip in the hospital, giving an exaggerated significance to such things as the nurses' daily routine and their professional attire.As far as I can remember, he never talked about the poor food and poorly heated wards in the hospital at that time.He only talks about nurses, anecdotes about nurses, and the extremely boring environment in which nurses live.He whispered secretly that there had been rumors there that Mrs. Ilzem had tipped off the head nurse, who had gone to check the trainee nurses' quarters shortly after their lunch break because something had been stolen.A nurse from Dortmund - I think he meant Gertrude - was suspected, but she was wronged.He told trivial stories about the nurse and the young doctor, but they only wanted the cigarette brand from the nurse.A female pharmacist's assistant, not a nurse, had self-aborted, or had been assisted by an assistant doctor, and conducted an investigation, which he also thought had narrative value.I do not understand my patient, who should waste his intellect on such banalities. At this moment, Herr Matzerath asked me to describe him.I happily fulfilled his wish and skipped some of those stories, because they were all related to nurses. Anyway, he himself had vividly and vividly described Wang Fuzhi during the Ming and Qing Dynasties as the principle of vitality.Qing Yanyuan took the unity of principles and qi as the Tao, recognized it, and added some weighty words. My patient is 1.21 meters tall.On the almost shriveled neck between the shoulders was a large head, too large even for a normally developed adult.The chest cavity is prominent, the back is raised, and the scientific name is hunchback.His blue eyes were bright, and they moved cleverly, and sometimes they were wide open, fanatical and infatuated.His slightly dark brown hair grew thickly.He liked to show off his arms, which looked strong compared to the rest of his limbs, and - as he said himself - his beautiful hands.Especially when Mr. Oscar played the drums—the management of the sanitarium allowed him to play for three hours a day, up to four hours, and his fingers could be used freely, as if they were grown on another person with normal body proportions.Mr. Matzerath became very rich from recordings, and still makes money from recordings today.People who wanted to make a profit came to visit him on visiting days.I had heard of him for a long time before his lawsuit began, before he was sent to us, because Herr Oskar Matzerath was a famous artist.I personally believe that he is innocent, so I can't say whether he will stay with us, or whether he will one day be released from the hospital, return to his old career, and become famous in the art world.Now, it's time for me to measure his height again, even though I just did it two days ago... My caregiver Bruno's retelling, I don't want to re-review.I, Oscar, took up my pen again. Bruno had just measured my height with a folding rule.He left the ruler on me and left my room, announcing the results of the measurement loudly.Even the knitting he secretly made while I was telling it fell to the floor.I think I'm going to call Miss Dr. Hornstedt. Before the female doctor Hohenstedt came to the ward and confirmed the results of Bruno's measurement to me, Oscar first told you readers: In the three days I told my nurse about my long history, I won —Is this a kind of profit? ——A full two centimeters tall. In this way, Oscar is 1.23 meters tall from today.Now he will report that, after the war, when he was released from the Düsseldorf City Hospital and he was able to begin — and he was always assumed to be when he was discharged — a new life as an adult, he, a talking , Hesitatingly writing, diligently reading, what is the situation of young people who are deformed but otherwise quite healthy.