The Wall (43 page)

There were not many people on the platform; after the press in the great hall, this surprised me. The travelers had indeed parsed themselves out onto the train or were on other trains, there being few who had business beyond the border or they simply could not leave. We walked back and forth, and soon it happened that we walked in pairs, Peter and Helmut ahead, Anna and I behind. The two men chatted casually and pleasantly, me not taking part, as they had already distanced themselves when we said our last goodbye. Helmut swelled with wan friendliness; I no longer felt any envy toward him and was ashamed more for him than for me, not wanting anything more to do with him. Even Peter, who was so faithful in tirelessly caring for my daily existence, slipped away, for he was no longer a part of me. Even if I no longer felt close to him and only resented him somewhat, which certainly was not very pleasant, I was nonetheless incapable of revealing my ingratitude. Peter, in general, was a handsome young man, and Anna thought the same, his shoulders raised pompously and his whole manner funny. I avoided his gaze as much as possible; this allowed me to discover further shortcomings in his figure and appearance. Was it wrong of me, since he was a part of my past, a disagreeable witness to my humiliation? I would have liked to ask Anna that in order to ease my conscience. Yet what
would that have gotten me but misunderstanding? It would cast me in a bad light, both of us feeling oppressed, myself meanwhile wishing to avoid nothing more than these last awkward minutes, which were superfluous and belonged to no one.

It was difficult to start a conversation; not because of the sanctity of this farewell but because of the pressure that surrounded us. It was the most senseless, horrible delay I have ever experienced, an artificially restrained separation that had already manifested itself and yet had not been fully acknowledged, if only because the train schedule had by chance afforded us some time. Thus every word seemed insipid, even if one tried to say something deeply meaningful, full of disgusting lukewarm sentimentality; the appeal of a joke, which could take care of everything by destroying such a feeling, remained beyond my grasp. At the same time, it occurred to me that I was too pathetic to take seriously such a farewell, because it would have meant once again bringing on the sorrow I’d already felt, or really for the first time be caught in a sharp upsurge of it, such that Anna and I would be trapped in the midst of it and be granted the feeling that the moment was blessed and free. But no such possibility lay within the slightest corner of the realm of my powers.

Like me, Anna felt, without saying so, what this train station had meant in terms of the departure and arrival of so many of our dead, along with us, exit and entry existing in the same unbroken existence and not in the guise of ghostly horrors dispensing destruction and doom. There was nothing to do but be silent. It was also not possible to remember that we had traveled to the mountain forest amid the last echoes of our imaginable past, and, after the crowning week, had found ourselves returning crestfallen and mouthing mindless chatter here among the bleak days in which we were immersed, more gloomy than ever before. Did I dare still to think? To already be gone, that was no kind of thought! Which was why I wanted only to be sitting on a train already under way, because I couldn’t expect the separation to occur any sooner. I listened for the conductor’s whistle to finally announce the departure.

Anna, with her soundless gait, which always surprised me anew, moved along with quiet steps next to me—indeed, more quietly than ever. I watched how gently she set her feet on the hard concrete and wanted to imitate her,
yet no matter how carefully I tried to take my steps I could still hear my heels striking the platform. I looked at Anna’s feet and mine, not allowing myself to look any higher or at the face of my friend.

“You can walk so quietly, Anna. That’s always amazed me.”

“Really? Then perhaps you won’t forget it.”

“What do you mean, forget?”

“Well, you won’t. Something is always remembered. Often something unimportant, something minor.”

“Others then latch onto that.”

“Yes. I think especially men. At least for me, Arthur, it’s different. There are only many minor matters.”

“But what, then, are essential ones?”

“That’s too big a word. I don’t like it. It’s easy to get tripped up by it.”

“You’re right, Anna. But there are essential things. Yes. There must be some. I can imagine them. They haunt me. But I have nothing essential. That means I don’t know them. And that’s why I think they haunt me.”

“You have to stop that, this torment! That’s my main wish for you. In the mountains, you felt better. The essential things were clear, and you also saw the minor things. Then you were much more satisfied.”

“That’s not entirely true. But, even if it were, the minor things are indeed only ornaments, certainly quite lovely, and it’s important not to ignore them. Nonetheless, I’m telling you, Anna, the essential things remain, somewhere they exist. If I could find them, even just one, the wall would be penetrated or, even better, it would be behind me. Just like crossing the border.”

“That’s right! Your journey, Arthur. There!”

“Yes, there. I’m not there yet, and there can be here, everywhere and nowhere at once.”

“Why are you going?”

“I have to. You know that. Don’t ask me about it.”

“Okay, then, there.”

“Yes, there. It will at least mean a change. But the essential thing, I know as well, will not be won as a result.”

“You say that, but you don’t know. You don’t actually know that right now, do you?”

“I wish I did. But I can’t speculate that much. It’s beyond me.”

“There’s talk of peace.”

“Anna, peace, yes … there’s talk of it. Nevertheless, it has to be different, something completely different, a submission to Nothing, in order that one is returned to Being. I’ll say it quick as a phrase, and so it goes: Through Nothing to Being. That’s the secret out of which the world is created. And as for people.… That will be the charge, you see, the essential thing. We must repeat that again. Alas, what am I telling you? The wall, the wall … the essential thing behind it …”

Anna wanted to reply and started to, but she stopped short of saying the sentence and said nothing in reply, either because she felt that I couldn’t stand it or she thought that there was no answer that worked. Probably she wanted to reply, my brash slogan and all my talk seeming too pretentious to her. We stood before my train car. After a little while the men joined us, their good mood planted pertly in their faces. Peter and Helmut had already climbed aboard and reported that there were many free seats, there had been no need for me to reserve one. Peter had also surveyed the locomotive as it coupled with the train and marked down its number.

“Do you want to write it down?”

He said it slowly, and added with the certainty of an expert, “A first-class machine. She will be sure to get you across the border in good shape.”

This was said with such a deliberately strange tone that we all laughed.

“I hope you all soon get the chance to have the same locomotive!” I called out happily.

“If I ever get the chance to leave, I’ll fly! The train is too slow for me.”

“Better today with the train,” remarked Helmut, “than tomorrow with the railway!”

“Better today with an airplane,” said Peter in a feather-brained manner, “than tomorrow with the train!”

No one laughed anymore about it, but this had all set me at ease; I could regard all of them and even Anna less self-consciously. Essential things or minor things, I didn’t have to bother about them anymore. I was pleased to see the three of them standing across from me, Anna between the men but closer to Helmut, almost leaning on him; he didn’t really grasp these subtle emotions, yet with humble pride let himself be pleased, while Anna’s
manner toward me was comforting, and therefore also decisive and more distant. It felt good to think about this group a little while longer, because it prepared me. Which was why I didn’t realize, as did Helmut, that the train was a bit late. I would not have noticed at all, given how unconcerned I was at that moment about the journey. Peter couldn’t understand why I didn’t respond to Helmut’s announcement, and when I felt challenged not to lose patience Peter began to prod me with sniping comments that I was just too heavy and that was why the train couldn’t move at all. Since I continued to remain silent and only grinned politely at the idiot, he then got snarky.

“Your heart is always sinking to the ground, fearing that something will happen. Now that seems indeed to be the case. Do you see the policemen over there with the railway worker? They are noticeably whispering to one another. Maybe they’re going to haul you off the train.”

“That could well be,” I answered in all seriousness. “But this time I don’t believe you. You no longer have any power over me. And, besides,” I lied, “it and whatever you are up to at the moment don’t matter to me at all.”

Anna had pressed herself closer to Helmut. She appeared upset about this stupid hostile chatter, and because of that I cast a sideways glance at her, smiling and wanting to say, “Minor matters!” The corners of Anna’s mouth betrayed displeasure. Then I very quietly turned my full gaze toward her to show that she need not worry anymore on my account. Did my friend understand how warmly I approved of her alliance with Helmut? Her face was blank and too colorless, but grateful; I believed she understood me. Turning more toward Anna than to Peter, I spoke to him more pointedly.

“You want to make it easier that we will forget each other soon. That is very nice of you. I was always a minor thing, dear friend. Which means only one thing: out of sight, out of mind.”

Peter looked at me, shocked, not knowing how to respond to my words and certainly not wanting to part from me in strife. He made me feel bad, so I stretched out my hand.

“No offense, Peter. Here’s to our friendship!”

He shook my hand, but there was no warmth in our handshake; there was no bridging the gulf that had opened up, even if we continued to vigorously press our hands together several times. The hands withdrew, knowing
that they could no longer maintain a tie between us. Peter had forsaken me; I had fled from him. That was the only thing certain about this farewell.

The conductors’ pipes blew. Once more, I stretched a hand toward Peter in as conciliatory a manner as I could, then to Helmut, who had stepped away from Anna for the moment, as if it were too much for him to stand together with her to wish me well, while finally Anna’s and my hands touched, and only just touched, a shyness holding us back and not allowing a strong grip, though we were so moved that our left hands found each other. With a sudden upsurge of emotion, I bent forward and lightly and fleetingly kissed the back of her right hand, which stretched out cool under my lips. It was fine with her, but I was taken aback and quickly stood up straight, only our hands perpetuating our bond, they still belonging to each other, otherwise we would already have separated. Perhaps it lasted longer than it should have, especially for Helmut, but finally we had to let go of each other, as the conductor approached with a door key, our arms lowering, limp and yet resolute, slapping at the sides of our legs, a strange awkward sound, but freeing us as Anna took a breath, she having been swept up by this unconscious clasping of our hands as much as I was.

I had already hopped up onto the steps, the door crashing behind me. I hurried to my compartment, yanked open the window, and leaned out as my friends drew closer somewhat more slowly. Inwardly disengaged, yet friendly, Helmut and Peter stood before me like off-duty soldiers, calling out all kinds of funny things. I didn’t pay attention and didn’t respond, but just nodded along with them. Peter churned his arms the way children do in imitating the motion of train wheels; I played along and waved at him as if the train were, in fact, leaving. Anna didn’t approve of these antics but, instead, looked at me steady and calm; we knew everything and had nothing more to say to each other. I noticed how the signal post had lifted the sign for departure, which didn’t prevent Peter from notifying me as well. I stretched out my right hand, which everyone shook, and then the train began slowly to move; I hardly felt it, so softly did the train pull away. As if on command, my friends stepped back, unfolding white hankies and walking in the direction in which the train was headed. That wasn’t enough for Peter; he ran fast and caught up with me, boasting that he was much faster than the train. It should have got on my nerves by then, but I didn’t want to
spoil his fun and was amazed at his childish ways. “Marvelous, marvelous!” I called, and that was my last word. Anna and Helmut had remained standing far back, and now Peter also drew up, standing there pompously as he began to wave. I waved back as long as there was a last flashing glimmer of the swaying hankies to be seen. Then I stopped looking back at the station.

I was alone in my compartment and thought of settling in for the many hours of the journey. But I remained standing at the window, knowing I had to close it soon, since we would soon be crossing over the long viaduct. Then the lights of the station area went out as the panes of the window were covered with impenetrable smoke. I could have then sat down and comfortably prepared everything for the night, because the trip through the viaduct took more than ten minutes, even on the fastest trains, as witnessed previously on many long and short trips. Yet I couldn’t settle down, I couldn’t bring myself to sit, deciding instead to pocket my handkerchief, take off my coat, hang it up neatly, and remove a cinder from my hat before I tossed it on the seat. I stuck my hands into my pockets and, alternatively, into the cracks between the seats several times as I listened to the joyful clatter of the turning wheels. This music pleased me quite well, its rhythm full of promise, and out of all expectation I began to whistle, searching out the tune for “Oh, You Dear Augustin.”

Soon the compartment started to feel too cramped, so I slid back the door and walked up and down the corridor; most of the compartments were barely occupied. Whoever wasn’t traveling on his own was locked in excited conversation, the lone travelers reading the evening edition of the morning paper or sitting there with bored, indifferent faces, there being no telling why they were there, or they simply were in total self-control. They hardly paid attention to me. I also sought to appear indifferent, for nothing was so obvious in the world as the fact that I was using this train, each being the secret master of his own journey. If I had specific intentions linked to my journey, no one had any idea, but if I were forced to disclose them, then I was the special envoy of my museum. I stopped whistling “Augustin,” the little song being much too inappropriate. Soon I again walked back, swaying somewhat, to my compartment, where the motion of the train caused the sliding door to move back and forth.