Rase schiksal wüte
immer
I was in stationed in Ft. Stewart Georgia. It was November,
around the time of my birthday. I was informed that I was volunteered for a BS
(the cuss word, not an Army acronym) training mission. I found out last minute
I was going to spend a week or two at an airbase. Just before, I had learned
that—do to a clerical error—I didn’t get my promotion to Sgt.
So, I was on the air base. The training concerned securing
an enemy airbase. I was drive the Hummer out of a C-5 and
provide support for the paratroopers. The actual mission was going to use
Bradley, but they wanted to get a feel for the mission with Hummers first. (To
me that was like practicing basketball with a football.)
We were there. Staying on the runway. The C-5 (the world’s
largest plane) was yards from us. I was too bitter to appreciate the machinery,
and the fact that I was going to
drive a Hummer in and out of the funky opening front hatch. I was also going to
get to watch paratroopers jump out of it.
But, I was miserable. And, my misery only grew. Because, I
was not a Sgt, I was put on guard duty, to guard the infantry guys’ Bradleys.
Whereas the Sgt assigned with us went to PLDC with me. I should have gotten my
Sgt rank at the same time as him. So, I did my shift, sitting in a truck,
staring at the massive plane. My teeth probably gnashed like a cud-chewing cow.
The next day came, but our mission wasn’t until the night. We did nearly nothing all
day. The day of my birthday. Then, night came. The belly the plane was at
least as big as a basketball court. We had to take a latter to the second story
(not level) or maybe it was more like the third. The thing was huge.
After we parked our Hummer and strapped it down, we buckled
in and took off. I was ready for this mission to be done. But, I had days left. The plane rode smooth, not shaky. That didn’t matter. I’d never been
motion sick, well at least not to a certain point. To add to my misery, you
probably know what happened next. I filled an airsick bag. That’s just the way
everything had to go. An hour passed. As we circled the air waiting for the
paratroopers to surround the airfield, I was feeling better. Dreadfully thirsty, I needed water. At the top of the plane, I drank a lot of water. I returned
to our hummer and sat on the driver’s seat waiting. My stomach started its
lurching, churning motions. I filled another airsick bag. Just as I finished,
the lights went out. Everything was dark. It was time to land. After closing my airsick
bag, I hastily placed it on the radio shelf next to my seat…
As soon as the feet of the plane's wheels struck the airstrip, I
jumped out of the vehicle to unstrap it. We practiced this drill from the landed plane. Mission required that every man, truck and weapon rush out, so the plane could get out of target range. I did my part.
Once everyone was done releasing the truck, we were to drive out of the plane. I opened
the door, and jumped into the truck with the Army sense of urgency.
Pop. The same pop
you hear when you pop a bread bag.
I cringed. I retched. I cussed (I was known in my platoon as
the one who didn’t cuss). My thighs and rear were soaked. My TC shouted ‘go.’
And I drove out, sitting in my own vomit. The landing had rattled my airsick
bag of the shelf. Of course, it landed
on my seat. Not the floor, but my seat. The rest of the mission continued. I surrendered.
“You know what,” I told myself. “Being miserable is not going to make anything
better.” I was right. I laughed. I let myself realize, how lucky I’d been to
even get to have this experience. And, having done it while not in a real
combat.
The next day we left, because they used Bradley's
for the next practice run instead. I was only gone for three days. And, I got this
great story out of the experience.
So, why do I tell this story for the aria Rase schiksal wüte immer. Gomatz
is in a state of complete misery. (My experience is nothing compared to what he
was going through.) He believes fate is against him. Then, he wakes. He wakes
with a portrait of a beautiful woman in his hand. And now, this shield (her
picture) will protect him from fate’s anger. Having seen it brings him enough
joy to endure impending misery. The music reflects these emotions well. I
wouldn’t call it merry, but the music of someone whose has discovered the thing
that will get him through.
Truth: We can always find an excuse to be miserable. And we
often do. This music is that of one who doesn’t want to cling to the misery of
his miserable situation. Music that is desperate to push it away. When Mozart
wrote Zaide, did he have something in his life akin to Zaide’s picture? Or, was
Rase schiksal wüte immer a cry for
a misery-chasing hope to come into his life? Did the commission of Idomeneo give
him that hope, thus he scrapped (or at least gave up on) the Zaide project?
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