“The Germans are now the real masters here. And since you presumably are a member of that nation, you must know what German ‘order’ means, Nazi order, which they’re now all boasting about here. It has nothing to do with World Order, the old one. It is a kind of control. The Germans are not going to miss the chance to thoroughly control and check all people leaving Europe. In the process they might find some troublemaker for whom they’ve been hunting for decades.”
“All right. All right. But after you’re checked out, after you have a visa what significance is the transit visa? Why does it expire? What is it actually? Why aren’t people allowed to travel through countries on their way to their new homes in other countries?”
He said, “My son, it’s all because each country is afraid that instead of just travelling through, we’ll want to stay. A transit visa — that gives you permission to travel through a country with the stipulations that you don’t plan to stay.”
Suddenly he changed his approach. He addressed me in a different, very solemn, tone of voice that fathers use only when they’re finally sending their sons out into the world. “Young man,” he said, “you came here with scarcely any baggage, alone and without a destination. You don’t even have a visa. You’re not the least concerned that the Marseilles Prefect will not let you stay here if you don’t have a visa. Now, let’s assume that by some stroke of luck, or by your own efforts, something happens, though it rarely does, or maybe because when you least expect it, a friend reaches out a hand from the dark, that is, from across the ocean, or maybe through Providence itself, or maybe with the help of a committee, anyway, let’s assume you get a visa. For one brief moment you’re happy. But you soon realize that the problem isn’t solved so easily. You have a destination — no big deal, everybody has that. But you can’t just get to that country by sheer force of will, through the stratosphere. You have to travel on oceans, through the countries between. You need a transit visa. For that you need your wits. And time. You have no idea how much time it takes. For me time is of the essence. But when I look at you, I think time is even more precious for you. Time is youth itself. But you must not fly off in too many directions. You must think only of the transit visa. If I may say so, you have to forget your destination for a while, for at this moment only the countries in between are what matter, otherwise you won’t be able to leave. What matters now is to make the consul see that you’re serious, that you’re not one of those fellows who want to stay in a place that is only a transit country. And there are ways to prove this. Any consul will ask for such proof. Let’s assume you’re lucky and have a berth on a ship and the trip as such is a certainty, which is really a miracle when you consider how many want to leave and how few available ships there are. If you’re a Jew, which you’re not, then you might be able to secure a berth on board a ship with the help of Jewish aid groups. If you’re Aryan, then maybe Christian groups can help. If you’re nothing, or godless, or a Red, then for God’s sake, or with the help of your party, or others like you, you might be able to get a berth. But don’t think, my son, that your transit visa will be assured, and even if it were! In the meantime, so much time has passed that the main goal, your primary one, has disappeared. Your visa has expired, and as vital as the transit visa is, it isn’t worth anything without a visa, and so on and so forth. Now, son, imagine that you’ve managed to do it. Good, let’s both dream that you’ve done it. You have them all — your visa, your transit visa, your exit visa. You’re ready to start your journey. You’ve said goodbye to your loved ones and tossed your life over your shoulder. You’re thinking only of your goal, your destination. You finally want to board the ship. For example: yesterday, I was talking with a young man your age. He had everything. But then when he was ready to board his ship, the harbour authorities refused to give him the last stamp he needed.”
“Why?”
“He had escaped from a camp when the Germans were coming.” The old man said this in the weary tone of voice he had been using before. He seemed to sink into himself. Yet his posture was too erect — it was more that he sagged. “The fellow didn’t have a certificate of release from the camp — so it was all for nothing.”
Translated from German by Margot Bettauer Dembo