“A man in the century of wolves”—this phrase coined by Heiner Müller during Hans Bunge's funeral on 7 June 1990 at the Dorotheenstädtische Cemetery says it all, but it would be wrong to remember Bunge only for this. Whoever thinks of Bunge should, beside the twists and turns, and the unavoidable failures, also be conscious of his delight in discoveries, experimentation, and accomplishments. In his independent and resolute way Bunge remained true to himself even under difficult and hostile circumstances. The following memories are a kind of kaleidoscope, incomplete and haphazard, but they're in keeping with the vicissitudes of life, the search and the occasional, unexpected resolution. This is not, therefore, a biographical account of his education and career; instead, snapshots, large and small, of the qualities and twists of fate that made an indelible impression on me.

This bright boy from a German nationalist—later strict National Socialist—family is beyond my knowledge. Already in school he had the nickname “Blitz” because he was always top in mental arithmetic; a boy who joined the Nazi Party out of conviction at the age of nineteen and who went into the worst of all wars at twenty; who advanced to the rank of regimental adjutant during the invasion of Russia, who was taken prisoner and who, thus, survived; who, after the collapse of the Third Reich and six years of hard labor in different Russian prison camps returned—unreformed: the century of wolves had a relentless grip on him from the beginning.

Bunge was already thirty when, with an incredible volte-face, he began his real life. His studies in Greifswald made him aware—initially from an antagonistic point of view—of what would become the most important point of reference in his life, namely Brecht. Unquestionably, a kaleidoscope that recollects fragments of Bunge's past must start with Brecht. And what comes naturally to mind is the “Legend of the Origin of the Book Tao- Te-Ching on Lao-Tsu's Road into Exile”: