The Wall (18 page)

“Fine. Then best would be to let me catch my breath a bit after I return. Let’s say around the middle of the month.”

“Well, then, just past the middle of next month, if I’ve got that right?”

“That would be fine with me. Just call Frau Fixler, my secretary, at the ISS.”

“ISS? How’s that?”

“Yes, it will be my pleasure. You can count on my secretary. But I should tell you now that at best, even if a lecture were to be announced, it couldn’t happen this year. The schedule is too crowded already, nor do I even know what to do about it. But we’ll nonetheless find an open date for next year.”

During this explanation Herr Dr. Haarburger had approached us.

“My dear Professor, next year, isn’t that a bit far off? Don’t you think that there’s some way you could indeed arrange something for our friend in the next few months?”

“Unfortunately, that will be quite difficult. But wait, I have an idea. Who’s to say that it has to be a lecture only by him? That doesn’t even work that well for someone who is not well known. Listen, Dr. Landau, perhaps you could work on a concise text, only the results of your research, that you could present as a lecture in the regular meeting of our small working group. But the lecture shouldn’t be longer than ten, at the most fifteen minutes. By doing that, you’ll get to meet a lot of people.”

“Would that really be possible in the coming months?” I ventured to ask.

“I do believe it would. Though you will have to be patient and wait until late autumn. Beyond this, all I can do is make a recommendation. But we’ll see. As soon as we’ve talked about it in greater detail and we’ve come to an agreement, I’ll give it all my attention. You can count on that.”

Professor Kratzenstein smiled at me indulgently. I looked into his face for reassurance or something, but to no avail. He had become almost invisible,
the Zurich press agent having breathed into his ear, perhaps saying something to him, though nothing sociological, and then he disappeared. I sensed that I would not be able to find him again, for I simply didn’t exist for him. “Get away, get away from here!” That’s what I heard, and later heard ever more often, but something kept me there. The Haarburgers had gathered these guests for my sake; I couldn’t just secretly disappear. Yet I was disappearing on my own, even though a hope rose within me: I exist. For I had also not given up. I had shown up; someone would take me in. This belief made the hope true. I stood, I went into the glittering salon—glasses swung toward me, sweets fell into my hand, I chewed and staggered onward. Then Professor Kratzenstein was there again. I looked at him; he was surrounded. “It only takes one word from him and you will be a made man!” Someone whispered that to me. The encouragement felt good, but for the moment I had forgotten the sociologist once again.

“Who do you mean, and how so am I a made man? Please, introduce me to him!”

“You’ve been talking to him for a good while. Don’t you know whom you’re talking to?”

Ah, I see. I had been talking to someone, to that gentleman there, tall and gaunt, such a man, a knowing, guilty face. The whispering voice continued on.

“You should pay more attention to Professor Kratzenstein! He’s important. Flatter him!”

“You think? I tried to. He didn’t like it.”

“You have to take advantage of the opportunity!”

But there wasn’t another opportunity. The gathering moved about and began to disperse. No, people didn’t go home; rather, they pressed more closely together than before, and I was left out.

“That wall there?”

“It’s not a wall.”

“You could be right. It’s easy to be confused. It shifts, it moves. It’s frightening.”

“The things you say! Why are you so nervous?”

“I don’t believe that at all.”

“Look here, don’t be so serious! These days, what good does it do?”

There they sat together. Little tables laid out flat on crossed legs, set up on the carpet, thin and light little tables, all covered smartly with felt. Shiny new playing cards glowed and were dealt deftly, flying into hands to be sorted, a tidy quick juggling. Above them, long-nosed faces waggled; they smiled heartily and reflected success. “That’s my trick!” King and queen battled together, and always four cards fell upon the green, biting the dust, quickly gathered up by greedy hands and turned into tidy little piles laid crosswise.

“It’s a great game, Dr. Landau. Wouldn’t you like to join in?”

“I really don’t know how to play.”

“But it’s important to. One can endear oneself by being ready to serve as a fourth.”

I couldn’t do it. My hands were too clumsy, each trump failing, the walls snapping back and forth, my head spinning, already another trick.

“You have to learn how to play!”

“Of course, madam.”

Off kilter, I crossed the room, taking huge steps that stitched through the walls, the cards disappearing. There, in the corner, some sat together, three in all, myself the fourth. Get away, get away from here! “You don’t play, either?” Herr Buxinger the bookseller said that, for he found cards boring, better to read a book. Frau Saubermann, the factory owner’s wife and benefactress, agreed.

“I always say, my husband is so cultivated, but, unfortunately, he plays as well.”

Bookselling was important; it kept one serious, pages being better than cards. Frau Saubermann asked Fräulein Zinner what she thought of it. She didn’t think anything about it, for it could be an innocent pastime, but she didn’t have the knack for it and didn’t play. “Herr Doctor, sit down with us!” said the bookseller. “Otherwise we’ll just have to look through your legs, like a wide-open gate,” he joked. The factory owner’s wife laughed, such good humor, Fräulein Zinner moving over a little, the others as well, as I sat down comfortably in the corner. There we sat quietly together in order not to disturb the sacred quiet that surrounded the hurried players like a protective cloud. I really should have been on my way, for it was not right that as a potential fourth I only spent time with those who weren’t playing, for here
that felt a bit odd to do. The room probably was completely harmless, the light shining on just the familiar, but I was something else, a strange body, a closed-off lump of layers, legs crossed. I had been summoned here, but now here I was, weak and fragile. I couldn’t just simply get up and leave; I had to at least explain myself, justify my rushed appearance, my getting up, though I couldn’t, the armchair was too deep. Despairingly, I looked up from my corner, the books there, me rubbing a dusty finger.

Then I heard some commotion outside in the hall as steps approached. The door of the apartment closed tight, then the clatter of a key, the snap of a door bolt. As I pulled myself together and opened my eyes wide, Frau Meisenbach stood in the middle of the room. Not the actual middle, for the room was too densely furnished, but near the large round table that was near the middle.

“Forgive me for letting you wait so long. I still had to speak to Peter. He is so distressed. I can’t help him, but I have to counsel him.”

“You don’t have to excuse yourself for me. In this apartment, I feel like a burglar.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous! You’re tired, that’s all.”

“Yes, tired. That’s right.”

“I will make up the bed right away.”

“In this room?”

“Yes. It’s a small apartment. I only have to turn the cushions on the divan and the bed is finished.”

“Here, where your husband—”

“I’m used to guests. Even in recent weeks. Often, someone has to be put up on short notice. Peter has also slept here.”

“I see, Peter … and now I have booted him out.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous! Peter has a perfectly nice room and is in no danger.”

“Am I in danger?”

“Of course. You’re not yourself.”

“Whoever is not himself—”

“That’s right.”

“You know, it’s normal. If one arrives in a place that used to be home, or at least was thought and said to be … and then everything is gone. But
why should I blab on to you who knows it all already. Your husband gone, Arno … Others stopped searching. But one can’t help but continue searching. Even if it’s pointless.”

“You’re tired. You’ll think differently in a little while.”

Out of drawers in the foyer, who knows out of how many corners, Anna fetched sheets and blankets, as she lowered the back of the divan, flipped three large cushions, and carefully set up the bed.

“I can’t let you do all of this alone! Can I help?”

“No, it’s nothing. It only takes a minute and it’s done. Do you like your pillows piled up? Two of them, three?”

I had to laugh, but that was no way to respond.

“Forgive me, I’m so stupid! It doesn’t matter to me.”

“I only meant what was most comfortable for you.”

“You know, I used to always have them piled up, way up. It was a bad habit. But now … if I can just lie down …”

“You’re very tired, aren’t you? You can lie down right away. Here, just take this! It will suit you well. And here is a dressing gown. If you want, you can change here and I will step outside. Or the other way round—I’ll stay here and you go to the bathroom.”

“Thank you, thank you. But I’m not so tired, it has passed. If you don’t want to turn in yet … I mean, I really owe you an explanation.”

“You don’t owe me anything; don’t make such a big deal! Here, take these! If you want to talk a little more afterward, I’m ready to.”

Anna held out the things to me; the linens had a faint scent and were neatly ironed. I saw that they were monogrammed with “HM.” A lovely bit of handiwork that had been sewn into the dead man’s body, and now it was for me to wear such a symbol, but without the right to carry “HM” on my chest.

“Was he called Heinz?”

Not thinking, I asked this tactless question, realizing straight off that it was wrong, but a quick answer showed me that no recourse could make up for my callousness.

“No, Hermann. There’s nothing else I can give you. Now go!”

Ashamed, I bowed, but not to Anna, as I wanted to, but rather to the wall or the door, which I ripped open, the strange pajamas and the dressing
gown burning in my arms, me not looking behind me. My head hurt with intense shame; I stumbled into the bathroom and clumsily locked myself in. Here I let everything drop and sat myself down on the edge of the tub, then I forced my eyes to look around. The closeness made me uncomfortable; it pressed at me and stifled me, the window placed way too high on the wall and much too small, not suited to any kind of saving leap into the shaft of light. Sweet, sharp, and flat odors mixed together anxious and sad, damp little underthings on a stretched-out line hung together clumped and rippling, sad sites of self-attention, of the care of worn-out limbs and hair, of accumulated jars, little vials and tubes for the supple adornment of face and hands, patient and loaded bins, brooms, rags, tools for shoe work, all kinds of junk. All of it surrounded me, stark and pressing, overwhelming the tiny space, overwhelming me. What did any of it have to do with me? What was I looking for here? Hermann should have shown up to grab hold of the large broom and bash my curious nose with its handle and throw me out. But there was no longer any Hermann; a strange beast had slipped through the cracks and nested here. Anna put up with it, and maybe that’s even what she wanted, she needing a pet, Peter once being that, the young restless one, then the unknown homeless one, whom the restless one had hauled in off the street.

Before me stood the toilet bowl, white and clean under its two lids, a cord with a tassel grip and a water tank, everything in order. A place of shame, rising out of courtyards and isolated corners almost in the middle of the primped satisfaction of sedentary people, the emptying out of the lazy voiding of our lowest nature spewed into the plunging tunnels of the subsurface canals of the city in order that we know nothing more of the disgusting necessities of our bodies. But they are heard through the walls, nonetheless, Father outside, Mother outside, condemned just like you. It can be heard from the neighbor’s apartment as he closes his door and whistles a song, believing himself alone, yet eavesdropped upon unwittingly, and when he finally disappears the water stirs for a long time in the tank. It had been a long time since I had been locked in a bathroom with a toilet. It was like it was in childhood, when sinful forgetting consumed me. I shouldn’t stay outside so long, my mother said firmly, it’s vulgar and vile, but the dream of being alone was nowhere else to be found in the metropolis.
Only in the thick folds of the forest or in the loneliness of the toilet was I in charge of myself, because in the apartment, indeed in the entire city, there was not a single corner that was mine alone, all other places being either far too big or too easily entered, for anywhere you could be taken by surprise or watched much more easily than here. Material existence, where the toilet not only crouches in the bathroom but is alone with its surroundings, closed in only by the narrow walls and a door that didn’t need to be opened at someone’s calling if I didn’t want it to. But in this apartment I was nothing but a guest; I couldn’t stay here for any length of time. Anna was waiting and would grow uneasy if I dawdled.

I listened hard to see if anything was going on out in the room, but there was nothing to hear. Also, there was nothing to hear from the other bathrooms in the building or the neighboring apartments. And the elevator, whose creaking drone could be heard through all the walls, had long since gone quiet. Perhaps Anna had gone to sleep in the meantime, had given up waiting for me, thinking that I was ungrateful or rude. Oh, if only she were asleep; that’s what I hoped. I had left nothing behind in the room, carrying all my possessions on me and hiding them in my pockets, and Hermann’s things could just remain on the floor. But I could also pick them up and neatly lay them down if I were to just leave, wanting to get away from Hermann. It was only a few steps to the apartment door; even in the dark, I could rush down the stairs quickly, the only impediment being the locked door. Where might the button for the superintendent be? No, such an escape wasn’t possible, it was forbidden, to even consider it was foolhardy pretension. There could be no dilly-dallying; I had to go back to the room, the night had to be gotten through.