n>
GÜNTHER BACH
THE HORN OF THE HARE
A NOVEL OF ARCHERY
VERLAG ANGELIKA HÖRNIG
Günther Bach
The Horn of the Hare
© 2000 by Verlag Angelika Hörnig
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted
in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,
without the written permission of the publisher.
Illustrations: Günther Bach
Translation: Robert Dohrenwend
Cover design: Angelika Hörnig
Lecturer: Mitch Cohen
© 2012 ebook
ISBN: 978-3-938921-25-8
Verlag Angelika Hörnig
Siebenpfeifferstr. 18
D-67071 Ludwigshafen
Germany
Table of Contents
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
Author
“Perhaps feelings are somewhat uncertain,
but there‘s no help for it,
we have to depend on them anyway.“
Johannes Bobrowski
When this book was written, it was impossible to get it published in the part of Germany where I lived at that time.
The manuscript lay in a drawer for almost twenty years and I only occasionally glanced at the pages while they become increasingly brittle as time passed.
From today’s viewpoint, it is hard for me to describe to an American reader the conditions under which people lived in East Germany (DDR), a state which called itself democratic, mocking those who had to live there.
When the Second World War came to an end, I was ten years old. I had grown up in a small city 900 years old with many Gothic brick churches which had escaped the bombing during the war. My father was a hunter and a man with a deep love of nature. Only poor eyesight kept him from making this passion his career. So he became a banker, weekdays in his office in a neat gray suit, quiet, friendly, and dependable, but on the weekends, he was outdoors in the woods and fields wearing an old green loden coat and an even older shabby felt hat. The hat had a spray of grouse feathers on it whose original colors were no longer recognizable.
There was only a short period in my life when I was allowed to accompany him, but it was long enough for me to become familiar with this, his most lovable side. If really lasting impressions are formed in childhood, impressions which are significant for the rest of your life, then these were mine. Even today when I go into the woods, I am silenced by a feeling of magic which I try not to disturb.
This childhood, peaceful in spite of the war, ended with the end of the war, with white flags at the windows and jeeps and tanks rumbling through the empty streets.
A proclamation by the commandant required the inhabitants of the city to bring all their weapons to the city market square. I was there when my father handed his two hunting weapons, a drilling and double barreled shotgun, to a friendly officer.
The officer
