to a nice view of the setting sun shining through the tall trees of the Bavarian woods (as in the famous water color by Dürer),
the same woods in which we had built an enormous, hidden munitions plant.
One evening, when we were already resting on the floor of our hut, dead tired, soup bowls in hand,
a fellow prisoner rushed in and asked us to run out to the assembly grounds and see the wonderful sunset.
Standing outside we saw sinister clouds glowing in the west
and the whole sky alive with clouds of ever-changing shapes and colors, from steel blue to blood red.
The desolate grey mud huts provided a sharp contrast, while the puddles on the muddy ground reflected the glowing sky.
Then, after minutes of moving silence, one prisoner said to another, “How beautiful the world could be!”
Another time we were at work in a trench. The dawn was grey around us; grey was the sky above;
grey the snow in the pale light of dawn; grey the rags in which my fellow prisoners were clad, and grey their faces.
I was again conversing silently with my wife, or perhaps I was struggling to find the reason for my sufferings, my slow dying.
In a last violent protest against the hopelessness of imminent death, I sensed my spirit piercing through the enveloping gloom.
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다음페이지
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