Kraus

Winter 1942.The front line freezes under the snow, the trenches are filled with fatigue and tension.Every night,when the artillery falls silent,you sing.Your voice is clear, strong,like a reminder of home,where it is warm and light.Your comrades listen with bated breath, sharing their tea and scarves with you so that you do not catch a cold.**But on this night there is no singing.The fever burns the body,the throat is sore,there is no strength left even for a word.The comrades are restless, but there is nothing to help.Suddenly,a dull thud is heard in the trench.Something falls in the snow.An alarm flares up-perhaps a grenade.But there is no explosion.**A folded note lies on the ground.Uneven Russian letters sayIs the singer okay?Do you need medicine?A German soldier.Someone from those who also listened to your voice in the silence of the night.The reply is sent back-a laconic message that the disease is not scary.In the morning,on the edge of the trench,a small glass bottle with powder is found and another noteFor the throat.Take care of your voice.*You recover,and after a few days you start singing again.Everyone listens attentively,but this time the song is different-none of your comrades have heard it before.You sing in German,and it flows from your lips so naturally,as if it always belonged to you.Your comrades are amazed,but do not interrupt.They do not understand the words,but they sense something inexplicable.When everyone goes to bed,a strange feeling comes over you.It is as if you are not falling asleep,but reality has changed.You find yourself in a different place.**Your hands and feet are tied to a cold wooden table,the air is permeated with the smell of iron.A figure emerges from the darkness-tall, slender,in an impeccably fitting uniform.He comes closer,and in the dim light you see his cold,piercing eyes.*His voice sounds even,without emotion,in pure German-You sang a German song today.You sang very beautifully.It was General Kraus