Life was simpler before humanity's second war. The world as I knew it, changed forever.
No. That will not do. That is too vague.
Life was simpler before humanity's second -but most devastating- war. The world as I knew it, changed forever. I hope that, for as long as I shall live, nothing like it ever happens again.
My contentment dwindles every day. It is transforming into agitation. Restlessness.
I cannot help but dwell on the past and imagine what could have transpired otherwise. Just like I used to imagine as a child. Who could I become? Endless possibilities. If I had been someone else. If I never escaped. Where would I be? Was any other option but to choose death, Nazi or Soviet?
Schön paused, nibbling thoughtfully at the end of his pen before lowering the taper to the notebook again. How could he summarize the experiences he endured? He joined the army during the war. Prior to that, he was an ordinary boy. He grew up alongside his cousin. Carefree children in the countryside. Coming to town to watch ships in the harbour – wondering where the ships came from and where they were headed after they restocked. Estonia was, at the time, neutral to the conflict.
The very same boy man I faced during the war. A series of events that broke changed me forever. I was no longer a boy by the next time the aroma of ripe apples filled the sunny September air. I became a man on the battlefront. I would do anything to the tedium of school after a well-earned summer break.
Schön felt tears well in his eyes as he recalled the broadcasts and the gossip around the harbour.
We never thought Germany's declaration of war against Poland would affect us, but we were wrong. Despite the rise of radio and newspaper's fearmongering warnings. After much deliberation, I was relocated to Germany. My family situation was, to put it succinctly, not idyllic. Long gone was the childhood whimsy. We had taken our jobs and our happiness for granted. Nothing will ever bring back the world I knew. Things have changed. For better or worse? I cannot say. The new world is terrifying. Almost as terrifying as the horrors I witnessed after enlisting.
Schön rose from his chair by the bureau. He poured himself an alcoholic beverage to prepare himself. He skimmed over the passages he had already penned with dismay, scratching them out.
I do not feel the necessity to explain how dehumanizing and monstrous war is. I cannot.
War is nothing like the propaganda portrayed it. Hindsight is the most valuable resource. You have probably experienced the atrocities for yourselves. There is so much I want to say on this matter, but I am too broken I am not skilled enough to convey. What is life after Hitler and Stalin? I shudder with every syllable of ink I waste on the demon's names. I have only recently been able to cobble together a career and lifestyle from the remnants of…What?
He felt like cursing in a tongue he forbade himself from using since his boyhood. To vent the frustration boiling inside him. A feral instinct. One only akin to what he imagined the devil himself to manifest while pointing a loaded gun. He did not realize that he crushed the pen in his hand. The page smeared with ink- like blood. Staining his shirt. A mark of his guilty conscious. He was no Nazi or Soviet extremist, but he had joined the fight. As many of the other young men had done. As honourable as his intentions were, he had knowingly taken lives.
Schön grumbled at his own foolishness once his heart returned to its previously steadier rhythm. Steady? What an outrageous lie! His mother would have punished him for lying to himself. A hare running frantically from the jaws of eager hounds would have been strolling leisurely compared to his heartbeat.
Schön gazed through the window to the countryside basking in the afternoon sun. He was reminded of the autumn that all happiness and laughter drained from the sea-side community; replaced with fear and darkness. Anyone could have been a spy. Fear, depression and paranoia spread like a contagious disease. He remembered the grief of his childhood home being dismantled piece by piece before his eyes. The raw materials and priceless possessions sold so his family could survive until the Nazis or Stalin arrived. There were small glimmers of hope in the dark world, but they too were extinguished like candles in the wind. Survivors dwindled with each day that passed.
Schön had never been sure of whose side he had been fighting on, until he looked around the room. His life now was comfortable, but he would never forget the matching grins beaming from his and Maksim's faces. Their fair cheeks smeared with dirt from a day picking apples and exploring the hills.
After moving to Germany before the war, I was raised German. Now that is a point of contention.
No. That is not right.
After moving to Germany before the war, I was raised German. Now that is a point of contention.
My move to Germany gave me a life I could have never imagined in Estonia, but I'm still an outsider.
Still not graphic enough. It feels surreal like a dream.
My move to Germany gave me a life I could have never imagined in Estonia, but I'm still an outsider.
I was born Estonian. After moving to and living in Germany, I am still an outsider. A life I would not have imagined while watching the ships sailing in and out of the harbor. An adventure of my own.
The words taunted him from the page. He almost slammed the notebook on his own knuckles.
Suddenly the alcohol tasted like poison. Utter paranoia. Since no one knew of his story.
Why am I writing this memoir of sorts? I have a lot to get off my chest. I sound older than I actually am. Back in the day I considered starting a family. The idea of children and grandchildren is…exhilarating anxiety inducing...bewildering? An urban work life. The daily commute. The monotony of the daily pilgrimage. Too familiar. A peaceful country retirement. Alone. Restless. Fleeting delusions. I am a carpenter. Mastering my newest craft. I am happy living with my cousin.
Schön looked over his own calloused hands as he sat down. His hands scared from war and from toiling in the workshop. He decided that he had consumed enough. Glaring at the liquor settling in his glass. The sun sinking beneath the horizon. Preparing to rise for another day- a brighter day.
Am I really a survivor or am I a coward? War is complicated. What a cheerful note to end on.
Defeated, Schön closed his notebook, binding it with a swatch of wool from his old uniform. It was time for work. He checked his wireless radio to make sure it was not consuming power in his absence. Realizing that he had turned it off during his panic attack. Not that a man of his calibre was weak enough for such a thing. He shrugged into his long trench coat and toolbelt. Excited for another day in the workshop. He called out his farewells to his cousin, who was probably tinkering somewhere in the backyard. Despite all the valleys in his life there was some good left in the world. People rebuilding themselves, their families and their homes. It was like the war never happened.