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It is shortly after noon on St. Stephen’s Day that the hearse of the funeral service rolls again on the cobblestones of the town hall. Again they bring documents of the dead so that the registrars can certify the deaths. Even on holidays. At the Zittau registry office, they opened the door especially to issue death certificates. You already did this on Christmas Eve, after hours. After all, almost nothing is going according to plan these days, and certainly not in Zittau.
On this day, the first thing you notice is silence. There is a lonely Christmas tree in and around the historic market square – hardly anyone. Actually, this shouldn’t come as a surprise, after all, it’s a vacation. But the police bus, which makes its rounds every few minutes, reminds them that there really is a state of emergency here in Zittau. And the hearse.
It was the numbers that caused a start on Tuesday: 73, 110, 115. The Zittau registry office recorded that number of deaths in October, November and December, through Tuesday noon. Not counting those that were added during the Christmas period. In previous years there were around 50 in the same months. The city administration also announced that the crematorium could no longer keep up with its work. Therefore, it was decided “to put additional storage areas in the area of the floodplain to use to store the deceased safely and take them to the crematorium for cremation when it clears.” Suddenly, the gazes of the entire republic turned to Zittau, 26,000 inhabitants, located in the eastern tip of Saxony.
A hearse arrives at the entrance to the Oberlausitz Bergland clinic on Wednesday. Due to the dramatically high number of corona deaths in Zittau in eastern Saxony, the corpses must be temporarily stored there outside the crematorium.
(Photo: Daniel Schäfer / dpa)
When you hear news like this from your city, says Ulrike Lengle, it’s really oppressive. She and her husband are standing in front of an inn in the old town that has survived wars, fires, and all sorts of things for 467 years. The host tries to cope with the pandemic with a pick-up service. Ulrike Lengle’s husband has an appetite for roast turkey braised in apple sauce and sherry, 13.50 euros. Ulrike Lengle woke up that night, she explains, as the two wait outside in the freezing cold. He heard helicopters. Have you blown up Covid 19 patients again like on Christmas Eve?
For a few days, all the beds in the Oberlausitz Bergland Clinic that were intended for positive corona treatment have been occupied. Since then, Ulrike Lengle has been amazed at every helicopter noise. “If you experience that and don’t know it, maybe it’s a friend you’re flying to here … We have no imagination,” he says. “I’m 75 now, my husband is over 80. We all pray kindly now that we don’t get sick.”
“We will not come to you”
The two of them have become even more cautious than they already were. The Lengles celebrated Christmas Eve for the first time in 60 years. The grandchildren live scattered throughout the republic. “That’s why everyone said: we are not going to go after you.” Zittau is now considered by many to be a danger zone. The FFP-2 skins always have the Lengles with them. You must wear a mask outside here too. They both think: “The mood is depressed.”
The Lengles would have loved to go to the Gerhard-Hauptmann-Theater for the Christmas concert, they would have hummed alongside “A rose has sprouted” and “O Tannenbaum.” They already had the letters. Then they could only watch the concert on the Internet. The singers sang, but the room was empty. Ulrike Lengle believes that a real concert would have been a welcome comfort and distraction. And yet: they would have been lucky. Because they don’t know anyone personally who would have had a harder time with Corona. It is the bare minimum, “when people think about it”, if it should be celebrated in a larger circle or if one should hug others.
At a bakery just a few corners away, Rosemarie Thomas is doing her best to make everything appear normal. There is cake on holidays. Thomas, 37, stands behind the counter with a broad, saleswoman’s smile and asks what it should be. In her blonde hair she put on a bright red Santa Claus hat, for the mood of course it’s Christmas. For this Christmas in Zittau, however, Rosemarie Thomas thinks of the next word first: “difficult.”
Better not think about the dead
She is happy to have remained healthy in all this misery, and so is the family. And that she and her husband still have work, as a taxi driver he now takes people to medical appointments. He doesn’t want to think too much about what he has read in the media about the many sick and dead in Zittau. “He’s not bringing anything,” she says. Also, it is not known if these numbers will not “go up a bit.” But all of that is tragic.
Not worried about catching the virus herself when Christmas cake shoppers are in front of her? “No,” says Rosemarie Thomas, and shrugs. “If I have it, I have it.” To be safe, only let one customer in, the others have to wait outside. There is no plexiglass wall on your counter.
Outside, on the outskirts of the old town, two walkers report that they always strictly adhered to the requirements. Wear a mask, keep your distance, curfew at night. They couldn’t do more. Except maybe you’re optimistic. “You do not have another option.”
And what else did Ulrike Lengle say in front of the inn that he currently looks forward to the most? “That our beautiful city will be preserved a little longer.” And go back to what it used to be.
