16
PARTISAN REVIEW
of these wagons loaded with bags had just come into the courtyard.
The load was so heavy and piled so high that the buffaloes couldn't
get over the threshold of the entrance. The soldier that was with them
began to hit them so violently with the thick end of his whip that
the prison matron, shocked, asked him if he had no pity for animals.
"Just like people have pity for us men!" he answered, a nasty smile
on his lips, and he began beating harder than ever.... Finally the
animals managed to get over the obstacle, but one of them was bleed–
ing. Sonischka, the toughness of buffalo hide is proverbial, yet
it
had
been torn.
While they were unloading the wagon the animals stood im–
passive and exhausted, and one of them, the one that was bleeding,
kept looking sadly straight ahead. Its whole face and its big black
eyes, so soft, had the expression of a child that has cried for a long
time, a child that has been severely punished without knowing why,
and that doesn't know what to do any more to escape from torment
and brutality. I was in front of the team, and the wounded animal
looked at me; the tears sprang to my eyes-they were "its" tears.–
One could not tremble more painfully before the suffering of one's
dearest brother than I did in my impotence before that silent pain.
Lost forever, the vast delicIous green meadows of Roumania. There,
the way the sun shone, the breath of the wind, the singing of birds
was all different, and the herdsman's call echoed far and melodious.
Here, the horrible street, the stifling stable, the hay mixed with rotten
straw, and above all these terrible unknown men and the blows, the
blood flowing from the new wound ... oh, my poor buffalo, my poor
beloved brother, here we are both of us powerless and silent, both
united in sorrow, weakness and nostalgia.
Meanwhile the women prisoners were jostling each other and
bustling around the wagon. They unloaded the heavy sacks and
dragged them into the house.
As
for the soldier, he had both hands
thrust in his pockets and was striding around the court, whistling a
vulgar tune. And all the splendor of the war passed before my eyes...
Write to me quickly, I kiss you, Sonitschka.
Yours, ROSA
Sonitschka, darling, be calm and serene in spite of everything.
Life is made like this and must be taken as it is, bravely, head high
and a smile on one's lips, against everyone and everything....
Breslau, January 14, 1918
... I was delighted with the Rodin that you sent me for Christ–
mas, and would have written to thank you right away
if
Mathilda
