The Hours After: Letters of Love and Longing in War's Aftermath - Hardcover

Weissman, Gerda; Klein, Gerda Weissmann; Klein, Kurt

 
9780312242589: The Hours After: Letters of Love and Longing in War's Aftermath
Hardcover
ISBN 10: 0312242581 ISBN 13: 9780312242589
Verlag: St Martins Pr, 2000

Inhaltsangabe

A yearlong correspodence between a U.S. soldier and a Jewish concentration camp survivor who would later marry captures the horrors of war and genocide as well as the regenerative power of true love. Original.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor


Gerda Weissmann Klein and Kurt Klein lecture frequently and have written extensively about their experiences during the Holocaust. They have been married for over 50 years and reside in Scottsdale, Arizona.

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Field Hospital, Volary [Czechoslovakia], May 16, 1945
Dear Kurt,
You are probably surprised to hear from me now—but, to be honest, your abrupt departure today, almost in the nature of flight, gave me reason for concern.
You might say, “You could mention that the next time we see each other,” but the desolate atmosphere here seems to have reached a nadir. Perhaps that has triggered my feelings that you heard something that upset you. I do not wish to pry into your privacy and your memories. Yet if you feel the need to share your anxiety, you will find full understanding on my part. Somehow it is easier for me to convey these thoughts in writing rather than in the course of our conversations, which are so often interrupted.
You assured me of your honest interest in my life and thoughts, and if that is the case then I can claim that you should share your concerns and pain with me as well. Your army friends who were visiting the other girls seemed in a more rambunctious mood as their laughter filled this ward. But I don’t believe those interruptions caused the wounded expression on your face. So, my dear, brave liberator, I hope that you nevertheless had a pleasant evening, which certainly is not possible here right now. The fact is, I am happy to escape the noise around me and in that way find refuge by writing to you.
You said that you had not read much German “literature,” aside from military dispatches, since you came to Europe. So it is irresponsible of me to confront you with this lengthy missive. Enough of that, and certainly enough about me. Just one statement: It was your understanding, your caring, that so enormously helped over the first, most difficult days. I shall be eternally grateful to you.
Always,
Gerda
Eleonorenhain, Sudetenland [about five miles from the Volary hospital],
May 20, 1945
Dear Gerda,
You can perhaps understand why this answer might turn out to be a rather clumsy one. I’m out of practice and feel as though I’m skating on thin ice.
My emotions must have been on full display in order to have aroused your concern to that extent. That’s why I’m ashamed to admit that those pensive moments you believed you noted can only be traced back to cumulative reasons. They might best be described as a reaction to the feelings you know so well.
It is only now that the finality of my parents’ fate is fully dawning on me, after all the years during which I grasped at the slightest straw of hope. And I’m saying that because I recognize the unselfish way in which you are attempting to spare me the incontrovertible facts. Does that sound too pessimistic? After all, you said yourself that we have to be honest with each other.
It is gratifying to hear that my lame attempts to divert you from your bitter experiences were at least partially rewarded by success. Now, however, you have switched roles, and it is I who am in your great debt for your exchange of ideas that betrayed a rare insight into my life. Is it your custom at all times to give without thinking of yourself? I can well imagine the protest on your part that I have triggered. Guess I ought to set your head straight, whether you like it or not.
I could best become reconciled with German literature by letting you take me back into it again. May I say that, thanks to your lines, along with a fantastic broadcast of Liszt’s Les Préludes, this evening proved to be nearly as stimulating as if I had spent it with you in a certain ward of a field hospital with restrictive visiting hours. That feeling of having a conversation with you is constantly being reinforced, because not a minute goes by that I’m not being disturbed by a thousand trivial disruptions.
Oh, well, I promise that from now on I’ll wear only cheerful expressions on my face. And you can help achieve that by writing soon again.
Your Kurt

For a few days following the armistice, I had been prevented from returning to the field hospital in Volary by the details of processing thousands of surrendering German troops. We had been compelled to improvise prisoner-of-war enclosures of a scope that defied all our previous experience, a task that demanded all our concentration and efforts.
Although the mood among the prisoners varied, we had had some prior inkling of the crumbling morale among the German troops. Generally they seemed relieved that they had fallen into American hands rather than having had to surrender to the Russians. I remember one German officer offering me a cup of wine, because the entire crew of the vehicle he was riding in was “celebrating” the end of the war. When I declined, having spoken German to him, he insisted that he knew me and that in earlier years we had played tennis in Vienna, a city I had never set foot in. He went on to suggest that we should team up with the German army to fight the Russians henceforth. In other words the whole war had been a game, and now it was time to be friends, switch sides, and have a go against another opponent.
Later the irony of that situation, which was so repugnant, further hit home. I hardly needed to wonder how he would have reacted had the case been reversed and I had been one of his hapless Jewish victims. In the course of our sweep through France, Luxembourg, and Germany, those feelings had always intensified whenever I would come across SS troops, knowing a measure of their crimes even then, although the full extent was yet to be revealed. At such times it was inevitable that thoughts of retribution would cross my mind, but I soon realized that I could not stoop to their level, quite aside from what I perceived to be my military responsibilities. It was with bitterness that I realized how futile my personal feelings of vengeance would be if I were allowed to cross the bounds of humanitarian behavior—and that none of that would ever bring back my parents, or anyone else.

Volary, May 24, 1945
Dear Kurt,
I’m writing this letter although I foresee no possibility of sending it at this point. Yet I’m hoping that somehow an opportunity will present itself later. Inasmuch as the insignia of the division that replaced yours bears the color blue—the color of hope, I believe—perhaps I will manage to get this to you. In optima fidelis [trust in hope].
Can I assume that you have gotten used to your new place? Are the surroundings beautiful? Has your feeling of homesickness for America subsided after viewing “beautiful” Germany?
I can’t report much of great interest, because everything seems to revolve around the same pole for me. Tomorrow is a red-letter day for some twenty girls here: They will be moving into a lovely villa, where, I hear, they will have access to a freer and less restrictive life than in the hospital.
I have not lifted a finger yet to give direction to my own life—instead, I will play for a little more time and let fate take over. After all, it smiled so kindly at me two weeks ago at the liberation.
Somehow my thoughts are directed toward writing my life story. Honestly, that idea seems to occupy my mind more and more, and I’m unable to dismiss it. I want to go back, way back, perhaps to the time when I was racing across meadows with a huge bow in my disheveled hair and joyfully climbing trees in my garden. I see it as going back to my sunny childhood only, up to—well, I would like to eliminate six years from the book of my life. No doubt they will be adequately covered in many other volumes.
But you know, Kurt, more and more often I believe that I might try to make the daring leap from my enchanted childhood to the sunny reality of freedom. You also gave me the privilege to share with you good as well as bad memories and thoughts. There is only one promise I must exact from you: It’s...

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Verlag
St Martins Pr
Erscheinungsdatum
2000
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0312242581
ISBN 13 
9780312242589
Einband
Gebundene Ausgabe
Anzahl der Seiten
276
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
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