En Tid, En Sted, En Menneske

The barracks were in long lanes, painted red, with dark roofs. I walked my bike over the uneven stones and looked. All was quiet except for the bouncing of my bike. Then, a man yelled. Two other men, dressed in uniform, stepped together and stared at the flag. A white cross with a red backing blew around in the cooling breeze. The three men stood there watching without movement or sound. I walked my bike to the other end of the fortress. A few joggers ran by me. Other than that there was no one around. I found a bike rack and parked my bike. After locking it I began to walk around. The fortress was surrounded by water but had two entryways: each a large gate with a lowered drawbridge. It was beautiful, but it as disturbingly silent.

Bang! I jumped and searched about me. I was scared, was I allowed here? A man yelled. He looked at no one. Then, three men walked towards him with the flag. They must have been taking it down. The sun had almost disappeared.

I walked up the grassed over mounds of earth that hid the fort. There were trails on top of them. Half the fort I circled before descending on the other side, the one I originally entered. A truck drove by me, forcing me to bare left. Here, was a space of reserve.

A sign explained the memorial, but I couldn’t read it – I can’t read much Danish. Took out my phone and translated a few words.

There were a few water basins on the ground. I think they were supposed to be wells. I walked past them. There was a wall with an octagon cut out of it. Through that an eternal flame kept a steady glow. I sat down in front of it. I crossed my legs. The ground was cold, a little wet. On the wall to the left of the octagon three rows of words were inscribed:

EN TID

EN STED

EN MENNESKE

I took out my phone to translate the inscription to, One Time, One Place, One Man. I looked back at through the wall, at the flame. I cried.

Behind the wall, behind the flame, there was another well, surrounded by more walls. On these were the names of those who gave their lives on foreign lands. Compared to the monuments in the States, there were not many names.

I walked around the other half of the star shaped fortress. It was dark now. Across the mote, cyclists passed each other, their small lights either blinking or giving a steady glow. Cars transported lives from one place and time to the next and walkers huddled in small groups carrying cans and bottles.

The earth barrier between the fort and the moat was well kept. The grass was cut short like a soldiers hair and the graveled paths were as clean as the shined boots that walked them.

I stood on the threshold of the fort and the city. Everything depended on this wall.