“In the half darkness I winked to my other self, my mad dictator, and congratulated him on his droll victory. I closed my eyes and felt the warmth flowing from Shosha's head to my face. What did I have to lose? Nothing more than what everyone loses anyway.”
“Irgendwo war mir ein Rest von Glauben an den freien Willen geblieben, aber an diesem Morgen war ich sicher, dem Menschen blieb so viel freie Wahl wie dem Uhrwerk in meiner Armbanduhr oder der Fliege, die auf dem Rand meiner Untertasse saß. Es waren die gleichen Kräfte, die Hitler, Stalin, den Papst, den Rabbi von Gur und ein Molekül in der Mitte der Erde antrieben, wie auch ein Sternbild, das Milliarden Lichtjahre entfernt von der Milchstraße war. Blinde Mächte? Sehende Mächte? Es war gleichgültig geworden. Es war uns bestimmt, unsere kleinen Spiele zu spielen und zermalmt zu werden.”
“Wann immer ich vom Leben den Status quo erwarte, taucht etwas ganz unerwartetes auf. Die Weltgeschichte ist aus dem gleichen Teig gemacht wie Semmeln. Hauptsache, sie sind frisch.”
“Wie ich höre, zeigt auch der Himmel eine Leidenschaft für das Neue. Ein Stern wird müde, ein Stern zu sein, und er explodiert und wird eine Nova.”
“Wir Juden haben die Völker mit einem ewigen Gott belastet, und darum hassen sie uns.”
“But I never forgot Shosha. I dreamed of her at night. In my dreams she was both dead and alive. I played with her in a garden which was also a cemetery. Dead girls joined us there, wearing garments that were ornate shrouds. They danced in circles and sang songs. They swung, skated, occasionally hovered in the air. The birds there were different from any I knew. They were as big as eagles, as colorful as parrots. They spoke Yiddish. From the thickets surrounding the garden, beasts with human faces showed themselves. Shosha was at home in this garden, and instead of my pointing out and explaining to her as I had done in the past, she revealed to me things I hadn't known and whispered secrets in my ear. Her hair had grown long enough to reach her loins, and her flesh glowed like mother-of-pearl. I always awoke from this dream with a sweet taste in my mouth and the impression that Shosha was on longer living.”
“But I never forgot Shosha. I dreamed of her at night. In my dreams she was both dead and alive. I played with her in a garden which was also a cemetery. Dead girls joined us there, wearing garments that were ornate shrouds. They danced in circles and sang songs. They swung, skated, occasionally hovered in the air. I strolled with Shosha in a forest of gigantic trees that reached the sky. The birds there were different from any I knew. They were as big as eagles, as colorful as parrots. They spoke Yiddish. From the thickets surrounding the garden, beasts with human faces showed themselves. Shosha was at home in this garden, and instead of my pointing out and explaining to her as I had done in the past, she revealed to me things I hadn't known and whispered secrets in my ear. Her hair had grown long enough to reach her loins, and her flesh glowed like mother-of-pearl. I always awoke from this dream with a sweet taste in my mouth and the impression that Shosha was on longer living.”
“— Куда ушли все эти годы? Кто будет по мнить их после того, как уйдем и мы? Писатели будут писать, но они все перевернут вверх ногами. Должно же быть место, где все останется, до мельчайших подробностей. Пускай нам говорят, что мухи попадают в паутину и паук их высасывает досуха. Во Вселенной существует такое, что не может быть забыто. Если все можно забыть, Вселенную не стоило и создавать. Вы понимаете меня или нет?
— Да, Геймл.
— Цуцик, это ваши слова!
— Не помню, чтобы я это говорил.
— Вы не помните, а я помню. Я помню все, что сказал Морис, сказали вы, сказала Селия. Временами вы говорили забавные глупости, и их я помню тоже. Если Бог есть мудрость, то как может существовать глупость? А если Бог есть жизнь, то как может существовать смерть? Я лежу ночью, маленький человечек, полураздавленное насекомое, и говорю со смертью, с живыми, с Богом, если Он есть, и с Сатаной, который уж определенно существует. Я спрашиваю у них: "Зачем нужно, чтобы все это существовало?" — и жду ответа. Как вы думаете, Цуцик, есть где-нибудь ответ или нет?
— Нет. Нет ответа.
— Почему же нет?
— Не может быть оправданий для страданий — и для страдальцев его тоже нет.
— Тогда чего же я жду?
Геня отворила дверь:
— Что вы сидите в темноте, хотела бы я знать?
Геймл улыбнулся:
— Мы ждем ответа.”
“Was die Moralisten das Böse nannten, war in Wirklichkeit die Lebensregel.”
“Wir laufen davon, und der Berg Sinai läuft hinter uns her. Diese Jagd hat uns krank gemacht.”
“Ich erinnere mich noch an Ihre Worte: „Die Welt ist ein Schlachthaus und ein Bordell.“ Damals schien mir das übertrieben, aber es ist bittere Wahrheit. Man hält Sie für einen Mystiker, aber in Wirklichkeit sind Sie durch und durch Realist. Wie dem auch sei, alles wird uns aufgezwungen, selbst die Hoffnung.”
“I don't have an accent. Northerners just talk funny.”
“What a potpourri of emotions are mixed up in this one. Passion, heartache, exaltation, distress, fascination, anguish, enchantment, remorse, jubilation, defeatism”
“i have never pondered over questions that are not questions.”
“القتل يُكلّف قليلًا ، أما البقاء على قيد الحياة فهو الذي يُكلّف يا بُنيّ .”
“The fear came then. The shield wall is a terrible place. It is where a warrior makes his reputation, and reputation is dear to us. Reputation is honour, but to gain that honour a man must stand in the shield wall where death runs rampant. I had been in the shield wall at Cynuit and I knew the smell of death, the stink of it, the uncertainty of survival, the horror of the axes and swords and spears, and I feared it. And it was coming.”
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