The Arcades Project - Operi

oad; through a haze, I see us standing there and talking for a short while. They had come
up a different road, and they then continued their way down to the Spanish side sepa­
rately. The encounter did not particularly surprise or impress me, since so many people
were trying to escape over the mountains.
We passed a puddle. The water was greenish slimy and stank. Benjamin knelt down to
drink .
"You can't drink this water," I said, "it is filthy and surely contaminated." The water­
bottle I had taken along was empty by now, but thus far he hadn't mentioned that he was
thirsty.
"I do apologize," Benjamin said, "but I have no choice. If! do not drink, I might not be
able to continue to the end." He bent his head down towards the puddle.
"Listen to me," I said. "Will you please hold it for a moment and listen to me? We have
almost arrived; just a short while and you have made it. I know you can make it. But to
drink this mud is unthinkable. You will get typhus .. ,"
"True, I might, But don't you see, the worst that can happen is that I die of typhus ...
AFTER crossing the border. The Gestapo won't be able to get me, and the manuscript
will be safe. I do apologize."
He drank.
1ue road was now running gently downhill. It must have been about two o'clock in
the afternoon when the rocky wall gave way, and in the valley I saw the village, very
close.
"That is Port-Bou down there! TIle town with the Spanish border control where you
"'Will present yourselves. This street leads straight down. A real road!"
1wo o'clock. We had started out at five in the morning, Benjanrin at seven. A total of
almost nine hours.
"I have to go back now," I continued. "We are in Spain-we have been in Spain for
almost an hour. The descent won't take long; it's so close that you can see every house
from here. Yo u -will go directly to the border post and show your documents: the travel
papers, the Spanish and Portuguese transit 'Visas. VVhen you have your entry stamp, you
take the next train to Lisbon. But you know all that . . . . I must go now, atif Wieder­
SdWll ... "
For a moment, my eyes followed them as they were walking down the road. It's time
now for me to get out of here, I thought, and started to walk back. I walked on and felt:
TIus isn't alien country any more, I am no stranger here, as I was only this morning. It
also surprised me that I was not tired. Everything felt light, I was weightless and so was
the rest of the world. Benjamin and his companions must have made it by now. How
beautiful it was up here!
Within two hours I was back down in Banyttls. Nine hours uphill, two hours down.
During the following months, by the time we were able to find our way blindfolded, we
once made it up to the border in two hours, and a few times in three to four hours. That
was when our "freight" was young, strong, in good form and, above all, disciplined. I
have never seen these people again, but from time to time a name comes up and suddenly
something clicks. Henry Pachter, historian: Heinz and Ius friend, all-time record two
hours . Or Prof. Albert Hirsdmlan, economist at Princeton: young Hennant. I was criti­
cally ill when he came down to the border. He pressured a French hospital into admitting
me, then crossed over, guided by my husband, in about three hours. I will write that story
down another time.