The Wall (42 page)

“You are not lost, my dear. You will soon come to see that.”

Often, Anna had spoken to me comfortingly and tenderly, but never had her voice shown such affection for me. Was I letting go of the only person who, though she hardly understood me, nonetheless knew nearly everything of my plight? There would likely be a warning about the need to leave the platform, one that signified a last, irrecoverable moment. I didn’t have to travel on into the uncertain future yet; I could still risk saying to Anna that I was better for her than the handsome jolly Helmut, who good-naturedly stood smiling next to us and in his heart was probably glad that I was clearing off. I was envious. Helmut was healthy, his eyes hardly having been touched by suffering. But I trembled, my eyes had no strength, everything around me grew blurry, aswim in a drizzling mist. Was Anna still next to me? I didn’t trust myself to glance at her in order to conceal my disappointment that she was already with Helmut and probably leaning on his shoulder. Between Anna and me there was a wall, only razor-thin, even transparent, yet impenetrable and final. I had lost Anna because I was stupid and cowardly. What good was it that I could still hear her voice so close by?

“Everything will be okay. Don’t worry. The two of us are good friends, but we don’t belong together. You must know that.”

I murmured thank you to Anna and felt ashamed.

“Peter, at last you’ll be rid of me.”

“In a little while, unless there’s a delay.”

“But soon, even with a delay. Such a heap of nothing must at last be off.… What a weight will be lifted from you! Or will you be sorry?”

“I know how to take care of myself.”

“I hope so. It will also be nice to have the room to yourself. You will have to clean up after me a good deal, I’m afraid! Nothing, and yet I leave so much behind.”

“But that’s good. That way, I will laugh and cry at the same time that you are gone and have finally left me in peace.”

Anna turned to Helmut and played with his right hand. This pleased him, but when he noticed that I was watching he stepped away. He was a simpleton.

“She’s a beauty, your Anna!” I said rudely and almost too loud.

“I agree!” he said proudly in return.

He wanted to add something, but Anna put a finger to her lips in order to silence him.

A railway man lifted a departure sign high and shoved it into the display board; the express train to beyond the border was arriving as they called out its name. I burrowed in my coat pocket and pulled out my ticket and wanted to grab my two suitcases, but my friends wouldn’t allow this. Peter was faster than me and already held the suitcases, although there was still plenty of time, for the passengers were only slowly beginning to gather for the rush. Nor was I able to grab hold of my little suitcase and my bag, Anna and Helmut having got to them before me.

“Both suitcases—I can’t have that, Peter! You must give me one!”

He just laughed. At that moment, I felt him capable only of scorn and bad will.

“You must, you must!” I begged, but in vain.

“You will have enough to schlep, dear Arthur. For now, you must allow me the pleasure.”

I could have asked Anna or Helmut to hand over the goods they carried, but I didn’t want to upset them; if Peter carried my things, they had to do the same. Now, haltingly, we moved along with the thick stream of people. I looked up at the clock; the minute hand quivered and jumped with a jerk to the next minute. Not a patient clock, for it stutters, I thought. My
escort moved on ahead of me. That was fine with me, as I didn’t want them behind me, and it would have been awkward otherwise, though there was no clear reason why I should be bringing up the rear. I should have been in the middle. Peter took the front spot, which I thought good; his carefree frivolity didn’t restrain him, making him the best suited for the situation. Deftly he wound his way toward the gate and was already through without even glancing at the ticket puncher. Anna scurried along and laughed at the railway man, as if owing him endless thanks for the enormity of his good will. Meanwhile, Helmut followed along like an innocent child.

Suddenly, I felt uncomfortable in being the last; it would have been better to have someone behind me, because now I was afraid to lose sight of my friends and to have to hold on to my ticket book longer than I wished to. But I couldn’t get ahead of Helmut without falling painfully; I’d have to tug at his sleeve or even shove him. I couldn’t do that, so I had to patiently remain in the rear. Helmut had already slipped through the gate without a problem. Now I only needed to take another step in order to present myself to the ticket puncher, who was already eyeing me seriously and coolly as the next one in line, but I felt it almost impossible to move. I wanted to peek again at the clock in the hall, my gaze shooting almost straight up, but was no longer able to see the clock face. Still, I hesitated, there being the tiniest bit of time allowed me to have a last moment in this city. The dark sense of the word “destination” suddenly came to me. Beyond the gate was the train station, but no other destination, no longer the city. Though I was leaving it of my own free will and wanted nothing else but to do so—this was the moment that I had sought since the day I returned, and for which I had longed with hardly any anxieties holding me back—I was nevertheless anxious, feeling abject and cast off, because, with the goal having been reached, I was also expelled and without a destination, no longer having rights to a burial in my native city, not even of any kind of remembrance, everything having slipped away: childhood, my parents’ house, happiness, and plenty of unhappiness. Yet no, the unhappiness is there, but now it will be different. It will transform itself into the pursuing tumult, an unhappiness that will plunge forward behind me through the gate, it already weighing upon me and holding me by the neck; I wanted to shake it off, but it wasn’t a piece of baggage that could just be taken from me. That’s why it was a blessed stroke
of good fortune when my friends took charge of my things, as I still had my hands free and could let them to sway back and forth, not having to suffer checking the clock, time indeed not being recorded anywhere as it frittered away somewhere far off in the lonely, twisted corners of this city. By then, I needed to stretch my gaze in order to detect those hiding spots.

Really, I should have tried to look back; it was still possible and not forbidden, but nevertheless I didn’t risk being a coward again. I was afraid to think of the protest that would flare up behind me. I held my ticket high, it being the only weapon that could save me, yet I clutched it too tight, such that it wasn’t suited to battle, and there I stood, still paralyzed, my escort already having moved ahead, no longer an escort but, rather, deserters who had left their comrade behind and betrayed him, such that he had to face his demise alone. The lips of the gatekeeper yawned open, fleshy full lips, revealing a powerful set of teeth brown with pipe tobacco, a hefty tongue rising from the maw, wagging back and forth and glistening in his mouth. The beast’s nose gathered into a thick knob, the nostrils flaring, sticky hairs standing within. A voice issued from the throat, the right hand swung the barrier, a black thumb pressed back and forth on the lever, such that the single tooth bit into the empty air. But I heard nothing and was confused. To move ahead was not allowed, and though my hesitation was probably much shorter than my anxiety made it seem, it still lasted too long for me to please the gatekeeper.

People pressed behind me, but I didn’t wish to block traffic; at the gate some passengers had already begun to go around me. “I’m going, I’m going,” I whispered as apology, yet I did so inaudibly as the monitor waited atop his high chair so impartially, confidently looking on at my supposedly lawful actions, myself able to go about my business and he gracious enough to smile at me and my ticket in an approving manner, as if he was happy for the long journey that awaited me. I was now in the middle of the gate, still brandishing my unsuitable weapon. Then it was the ticket puncher who gently pulled it away, though I did not willingly give it to him. After that, I meant nothing to him; by surrendering this pass I had forfeited everything, that which until now had preserved the last semblance of meager credibility. Reverent and with eyes lowered, I followed every gesture and movement of my master as he, with touching patience, tended to the little ticket book—
the red cover, which he gravely stroked, opened with a flourish—and bent over to thumb through the many tickets as if wanting to count them. But he didn’t do that, nor did he examine it at all but, rather, seemed satisfied with the handsome bundle and with two fingers grasped the first ticket, which was more stubborn to get hold of than the cover, though my attendant knew how to help and moistened his index finger with his tongue. This did the trick, and the ticket was punched. Now the master was satisfied and folded up the ticket book, everything in order. It was mine to keep. The man looked up and shoved the book into the happy hand, and said, “Thank you!”

“Platform Three, Track One! Have a good journey!”

How nicely he had called out his little rhyme! I had already slipped through the gate, but I turned around once more, and, as thanks for such courtesy and for the well wishes, I bowed slightly. The ticket puncher didn’t look at me, nor, unfortunately, did he take in my polite goodbye. He had other things to do and looked over the next person’s ticket, or who knows how many more. I stuck my ticket book in my pocket and looked back for the last time into the large hall, tears almost welling up in me. Yet I was very relieved and also had no time to sink into melancholy thoughts of return. My friends had long left the platform and were hurrying off, myself unable to make them out in the murk of the long passage. It would have been ungrateful to let them wait any longer, nor was it at all necessary for them to send someone back to ascertain the reason for my miserable dawdling. I waved blindly ahead in order to ask for patience, because I was unable to keep moving forward. As always, my suit coat was open, a habit I had taken from my father, though now I felt the need to button the coat properly, wanting to look prepared, really ready to travel. Unfortunately, the coat was a bit tight, it being something Peter had got hold of somewhere and right away thought good for me, since only the fingertips of his hands were visible from the sleeves when he put it on. Since the coat was now too tight, I had to press to button it, the freshly altered buttonholes of the thick fabric straining against the large buttons. It was uncomfortable, took a long while, I having to fuss with it too much, which frustrated me. Yet there was nothing I could do; that’s just the way it was, even if the buttoned coat, which I would take off as soon as I got on the train, was pointless. Then I calmed down, and as I finally climbed down the step, almost with bravado,
my shield lent me a bit of security, though I also had to laugh at my foolishness. Below, my steps quickened in order to catch up to my friends, whose indulgence I sought out with a look. Peter shook his head, half annoyed, and laughed at me.

“First you can’t get moving fast enough, and then you keep us waiting for an eternity. It seems to me you really don’t want to go.”

I stammered something foolish about having been kept waiting at the gate for so long. Peter didn’t believe a word, which I noticed, but I didn’t say anything more. My friends took my luggage, and again I put up a fuss about it, demanding to carry at least one item. We reached the third platform, the long train standing ready, a conductor pointing the way to my seat, a corner seat in the direction the train was headed. We all climbed into the rail car; Peter stowed my luggage without asking me, though I couldn’t have arranged it more comfortably myself. He was proud of himself and said, “Now you’re all set.” There was nothing to say in response to this. There was nothing to say at all. Laboriously, I unbuttoned the coat, hung it on the hook, and placed my hat over it. I was subdued, feeling empty and miserable and also so naked that I took the coat back down from the hook and slipped it on again. I even put on my hat and would have preferred to put on gloves, which I never used. No other traveler had yet entered my compartment, no other seat but my own having been reserved. Having put everything in order for me, my friends sat down and relaxed as if they were at home. I was the only one who stood, feeling like a stranger and belonging to no one, while my escort behaved as if they were about to set out on the journey. Normally I would have indulged them, especially on that day, but, because it was not their train, this casual behavior bothered me. Peter hardly took notice, yet it bothered him a great deal that I would not sit down.

“Why are you so nervous and uncomfortable? I can hardly stand it! Are you getting cold feet?”

“I think it would be best to walk back and forth outside. There’s still plenty of time.”

“Okay, okay,” said Peter. “Just as you wish.”

He immediately stood up from his seat, Helmut following more slowly, the decision to head off causing Anna some duress. Perhaps she was tired, perhaps sad. I should have watched out for her more; in fact, I was sorry
that because of my impatient jealousy I had destroyed the peace of goodbye. It would have been best if I had ruefully said that it would be fine by me to sit comfortably there with everyone in the compartment, but Peter had jumped up so quickly that I figured he would misunderstand my change of heart as mere fickleness. That I didn’t want. And so I remained firm, being the first to leave the compartment as I hurried along the corridor with powerful steps, if only to rob my escort of any claim to a further rest stop in the compartment. Already I stood on the platform and glanced peevishly at my friends, who, with noticeable difficulty, neared the exit and, so it appeared to me, angrily and almost clumsily stumbled down the steps, each of their hands on the railing, which looked silly, but which I found amusing. Anna, who was the last, was nonetheless upset and—I could now clearly see—very tired. I didn’t know any longer what was the case, whether it pained me or I felt sorry for her, as she looked much older and more helpless than she had ever appeared to me before. Helmut, usually so attentive, forgot to attend to his bride. So I jumped and nearly lifted her down.