Oh, I wonder!
Filled with motivation to read my way through Günter Grass until summer, I started by rereading this novella which sits nicely between Tin Drum and Dog Years, accessible and direct in its approach to a youth spent under the spell of Hitler.
And like the 3-year-old drummer, who has unexplained cameo appearances in the story, drumming up tension at crucial points without indicating his role as the master of another Grass novel, I feel that dark time and the place hover over me like a dark cloud. I hear the thunder, I feel the cold, I smell the rot of a childhood lived under the delusion of German nationalism. I don't have to close my eyes to imagine the terror of war that those boys born in the late 20s know by learning the form, function and destruction power of each vehicle and weapon by heart. I don't need to go outside in the middle of Scandinavian winter to feel the freezing cold of the water that the Grand Mahlke makes his hunting ground, diving to pick up souvenirs from a sunk ship in the bay.
I know all that already, from Christa Wolf, from Thomas Mann, from Andersch, from Heinrich Böll, from every single witness of that hellish time. I know it was convincing to young boys (and girls), that they dreamt of being heroes, that they were influenced by friends coming back to hold burning speeches in their schools. I know they (mis)read Schiller to get the spirit of sacrifice right. I know they were afraid and excited, and that they had their personal problems and worries and losses to cope with while making decisions deciding over life or death, honour or shame, isolation or participation, at a time in their adolescence when nobody is old enough to make mature choices, especially not after ten years of Nazi childhood indoctrination.
YEs, I know all that.
And yet it hits me like a blizzard anyway. I can't stop that feeling in the pit of my stomach from growing. I feel it is hard to swallow, I feel like choking. And I wonder if that was a deliberate, intended side effect, to make it Mahlke's biggest worry how to hide his enormous Adam's apple? There is the religious implication of having been seduced, having eaten the apple, choking on the effect of being seduced by that ominous power. And there is the sad truth that youths will always do plenty of irrational things to cover up what they consider personally embarrassing. As a teacher, I have seen more than enough of that.
Like the narrator, I feel like a pendulum, moving from seeing the story unfold in third person to directly speaking to "You", the vulnerable Joachim Mahlke, who was hunted down by the circumstances of his youth and sacrificed in the meaningless game of "Cat And Mouse" that nationalist hatred and delusion started.
I check out for now, but I can never leave. Oskar Matzerath is drumming, and I will follow. Lured in by the power of Grass' mighty prose, I will follow him through the nightmare that was his time and place.