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In addition, we have included websites of international organizations such as the European Union. It had started to rain heavily again and the rain had found its way through the seams of his coat and was beginning to trickle down his back. He tried to reorient himself. If he kept going in a south easterly direction, he would get to Schwaz sooner or later, he reckoned. Then he could make his way along the old roads towards the west, away from the scenes of war and the devastated villages left behind in Tyrol by the Bavarian shindig.

He felt a cutting pain in his side. Johann loosened the bandage a little and took a look at his wound. The inflamed abscess was bigger now. Johann knew what he would have to do, sooner or later. The thought of it made him shudder. He retied the bandage. His eyes roamed darkly over the deserted landscape. Suddenly his heart gave a leap: With a surge of renewed hope, Johann threw his pack onto his shoulder and set off along the path.

He trudged on and the hours passed. Dusk was descending now and the landscape was plunged into pale twilight. The path seemed to be leading him nowhere. Now the mountains seemed sullen and intimidating. The wound in his side was hurting again and the rain poured down relentlessly. Another night in the open would spell death for him. All at once he came to a halt: Johann gritted his teeth and fought his way through the undergrowth.

He had to reach the hut before dark …. At last he drew near. It was clear from the rotten boards and the holes in the roof and the weeds that had pushed their way up through the floorboards that the barn had not been used for decades. He shoved some slats of wood across the entrance, scraped together some last remaining bits of straw to make a little pile and sat down. He felt a wave of exhaustion and closed his eyes. The rain had finally stopped and the sky was swept almost clean of clouds. Shafts of chill moonlight stole in through the cracks and crannies so that stripes of light fell across Johann.

He opened his bundle and took out his last bit of bread. He looked at the foul-smelling clump. How he yearned for a bowl of thick, hearty soup, or a steaming plate of savoury stew with dumplings, or piece of meat roasted till it was crisp on the outside and the juices ran down your chin when you bit into it. And oh the delicious aromas!

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So he pulled himself together and bit off a chunk of bread, forcing himself to swallow the mass of mush. In a few bites it was gone, and with it his last ration of food. How was he going to survive the coming days? A shaft of pain went searing through his body, causing his muscles to spasm. The sore on his side was getting worse so that he had no choice now but to treat it. Johann took off his shirt and tried, gingerly at first, to loosen the encrusted bandage. Every tug and pull caused him excruciating pain so that in the end he braced himself and tore off the bandage in one fell swoop.

Trembling, Johann looked at the sore. There was severe inflammation round its edges and the skin surrounding it was pallid with bluish veins that stood out. Clumps of thick pus oozed from the centre of the abscess. Trembling, Johann reached for his knife. He tried to talk himself into it. Carefully he wiped the blade on his breeches and then he cut open the abscess.

Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead and tears rolled down his cheeks; he was breathing hard. He reached for a splint of wood that was lying on the floor, put it into his mouth and bit onto it hard. He spread the wound apart with his left hand, forced his fingertips into flesh that was oozing with pus, deeper, searching ….

Flashes of light began to dance before his eyes; the pain was excruciating and he felt his limbs grow weak. He struggled to hold on to consciousness. He threw away the blood-covered prong in disgust, then he spat out the piece of wood which he had bitten in two. The wound began to bleed profusely and the fresh blood cleaned it a little. It had helped him many a time but it was probably too late for that anyway. Johann searched for a clean bit of bandage and pressed it against the wound.

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He got dressed again, covered himself with this coat and huddled himself in a corner. He was standing in front of a wall of white gun smoke; there was a cacophony of screams, explosions and drum rolls that got louder and louder, and then there was a gleaming flash, and then silence. The noise had been ear-splitting, unbearable, but now it was the cruelty of the utter silence that struck him.

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Figures emerged from the fog, and then vanished again. He had no words to describe the feeling. Johann woke up in a sweat, his body trembling. His breaths came in fits and starts, puffing out little clouds in the icy air. Johann stood up quickly. Staggering, he caught hold of the wooden beam above him. The left side of his body was burning and the blood was rushing in his head. He felt his limbs grow weak and threaten to give way. His goal was to find shelter. Although Tyrol was sparsely populated, every now and again one came across a little settlement, or a mountain village, or at least a cluster of tiny hamlets or Hochalmen, tucked away in the valleys.

Johann pushed himself away from the wooden beam with a shove, removed the planks of wood from the entrance and looked out. The ground was covered with snow, at least one and a half cubits of it, and more was sluicing down from the grey, cloud-covered sky. The twirling snowflakes fell thickly onto the sparkling mantle that covered everything.

His journey would be even more arduous now. But he had no choice but to push on. Johann picked up his bundle and walked out of the barn. He trudged a few feet, his tattered boots already deep in the snow and his toes numb.

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He caught sight of a carving chiselled in the jamb above the door. It was a circle but instead of a pentacle, which according to local belief kept hobgoblins away, it contained other symbols: The Greek letters X and P, which stood for Christ, the Saviour, were carved to the right and left of the circle. The symbolism was new to Johann and he assumed it must be connected to some sort of local ritual.

The sound of a thud made him jump and he looked round. A heap of snow had fallen from the collapsed roof of the barn. Johann took it as a warning not to waste time and set off.

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The snow was falling more heavily now, making it difficult for him to see. He stumbled like a sleepwalker, lost in a shifting wall of dreams. A spray of fine snow flitted across the ground surface and whisked its way into armholes and flaps and down his collar. The cold took over his body, numbing his wound. He had no idea where he was. It would have been no surprise to him to find he had been walking round in a circle and that he had come across the barn again. Johann sat down on a rock that was jutting out of the snow and took a few deep breaths. The physical exertion and the fever had completely dehydrated him and although he kept putting fistfuls of snow in his mouth he was plagued by thirst.

Oddly enough, the thought upset him less now than it had a few hours ago. Though he could hear the howl of the wind and feel the wet snow in his face, they were a muffled blur: Johann jumped unsteadily to his feet. He could make out the blurred outlines of a figure in the distance. He tried to call out but his voice broke into a croak. With an effort, he heaved himself up and lumbered towards the figure. At first he was gutted. Then his thoughts began to race madly. He sank to the ground and began shovelling away the snow with his bare hands.

He worked doggedly until the area around the crucifix was cleared.

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Slowly he wiped the snow off the holy cross. It struck him as strange and terrible and filled him with dread. To him, religion was either a refuge for the desperate or a display of power by the corrupt clergy. It was only in extreme adversity that Johann called on his faith, and by doing so he relegated himself with the desperate. The coughing subsided, and he caught sight of something. Johann glanced at the crucifix, then again at the cleft. He felt a flicker of hope. But it was a preposterous idea.

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He fixed his eyes defiantly on the landmark and set off …. After an hour he was dragging himself along on all fours. But he was still moving. His wounded side throbbed and spasms of pain shot through this body. He no longer felt so alone. The wind called down to him from the glacial solitude of the mountains and laughing faces peeked out at him from the snow flurries, twisting suddenly into hideous, sneering grimaces. The dizziness got worse, and Johann slumped forward into the snow.

All at once a deep calm came over him, a feeling of security, long forgotten. Johann shooed it away and it flew off in protest. He no longer had enough strength to get to his feet. The snow stood out in relief against the impenetrable darkness that by now had engulfed everything. He thought he could make out a thick wood just ahead of him. He summoned his will, clutched hold of a tree trunk and heaved himself up. Then he stumbled his way through the mass of tangled undergrowth and fallen tree trunks until he had the feeling he was no longer in his body, that he had left it and was watching himself as he lurched and staggered on.

There were faces peering at him from the tree trunks, and they made him uneasy. Friendly enough at first, they soon turned impudent and malicious, until their gloating laughter filled his ears and he thrust his fists up against the sky and cried out in defiant despair.

The exertion was too much for Johann, he felt his blood throbbing in his temples, and then everything went quiet. Shored up by the chance of rescue, he heaved himself onto all fours and crawled towards the lights. He was approaching a farmhouse. It was coarsely timbered and built in a style typical of that part of the Alps, with a stone foundation, thick, wooden beams, and a heavy roof truss. There was a square carved in the snow by warm light coming from a side window, and there was smoke spiralling from the chimney. Clambering up the two steps that led to the front door, he noticed something on the ridge of the roof and strained his eyes to see.

It was a carving, a figure of St Leonhard with his hand outstretched towards him, but with his staring eyes and his gaping mouth, his gesture looked cautionary rather than consolatory. At first everything was quiet, then there was the sound of voices, and blustering footsteps coming towards the front entrance. The door was wrenched open with a violent jolt, and a burly man stood in the doorway. The man looked at the motionless body.

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