2
" Der Pragmatismus ersetzt uns alles, was früher die großen Ideen, die Ideologien und Religionen, der Glaube an Friede, Menschenrechte und Demokratie zu bieten hatten. Der Pragmatismus hält uns davon ab, zu Verbrechern zu werden, oder er macht uns zu solchen, wenn es nötig ist. Er legitimiert das Bestehen von Rechtssystem, Familie und Arbeit, er lässt uns nett sein und empfiehlt, sich ein angenehmes Äußeres zu erwerben. Nachdem wir uns aller Zwänge nach und nach erledigt haben, sorgt ein einziger Betreuer für uns: Pragmatismus. "
― Juli Zeh , Spieltrieb
10
" Wenn ich es mir aussuchen könnte, würde ich am liebsten bei einem Flugzeugabsturz sterben. Aber auf gar keinen Fall im Bett. Vielleicht mit Ines, oder mit Frau Sprengel, auf dem Linienflug nach Südamerika. Das rechte Triebwerk ist mit einem kaum hörbaren Knall explodiert und zieht eine endlose Feuerschleppe hinter sich her, als wir gerade über dem offenen Meer sind. Die Passagiere kreischen, einige ganz Doofe betteln die Stewardess um Fallschirme an. Ich lege meine Lektüre aus der Hand, beuge mich zu Ines, und sage, ich hatte noch gar nicht zu Ende gelesen. Und Ines sagt, gut, dass wir nicht das teure Hotel gebucht haben. Und wir schauen uns an und wissen, dass wir uns verstanden haben in diesem Leben. Durch das kleine runde Fenster rast die Wasseroberfläche auf uns zu, die bei dieser Geschwindigkeit härter ist als Beton, und ich halte Ines fest und flüstere ihr etwas in Ohr, solange ich noch flüstern kann und solange sie noch ein Ohr hat. "
― Wolfgang Herrndorf
17
" He spent two years in the extermination camp at Auschwitz. According to his own reluctant account, he came this close to going up a smokestack of a crematorium there: " I had just been assigned to the Sonderkommando," he said to me, " when the order came from Himmler to close the ovens down." Sonderkommando means special detail. At Auschwitz it meant a very special detail indeed--one composed of prisoners whose duties were to shepherd condemned persons into gas chambers, and then to lug their bodies out. When the job was done, the members of the Sonderkommando were themselves killed. The first duty of their successors was to dispose of their remains. Gutman told me that many men actually volunteered for the Sonderkommando. " Why?" I asked him. " If you would write a book about that," he said, " and give the answer to that question, that 'Why?'--you would have a very great book." " Do you know the answer?" I said. " No," he said, " That is why I would pay a great deal of money for a book with the answer in it." " Any guesses?" I said. " No," he said, looking me straight in the eye, " even though I was one of the ones who volunteered." He went away for a little while, after having confessed that. And he thought about Auschwitz, the thing he liked least to think about. And he came back, and he said to me: " There were loudspeakers all over the camp," he said, " and they were never silent for long. There was much music played through them. Those who were musical told me it was often good music--sometimes the best." " That's interesting," I said. " There was no music by Jews," he said. " That was forbidden." " Naturally," I said. " And the music was always stopping in the middle," he said, " and then there was an announcement. All day long, music and announcements." " Very modern," I said. He closed his eyes, remembered gropingly. " There was one announcement that was always crooned, like a nursery rhyme. Many times a day it came. It was the call for the Sonderkommando." " Oh?" I said. " Leichentärger zu Wache," he crooned, his eyes still closed. Translation: " Corpse-carriers to the guardhouse." In an institution in which the purpose was to kill human beings by the millions, it was an understandably common cry. " After two years of hearing that call over the loudspeakers, between the music," Gutman said to me, " the position of corpse-carrier suddenly sounded like a very good job. "