The Wall (54 page)

After a while, I pulled a newspaper from my pocket. Whether the rustling of the paper disturbed the secretary I didn’t know; in any case, she said to me that it would likely be better for me to wait in the next room, where I could read and sit comfortably at a table. I agreed, and was satisfied when she assured me for the third time that she would certainly not forget me and would remind the Professor that I was there. Thus I waited. The time went
by quickly, the many lovely books a joy to peruse. Then, suddenly, Professor Kratzenstein sprang into the room, though he entered through a different door than I had, nor had he yet learned from the secretary that I was there. He slapped his forehead in surprise as he looked right at me.

“My dear … dear … please forgive me. Remind me of your name again?”

“Landau. Arthur Landau.”

“Right. Herr Dr. Landau! Are you here to see me?”

“Yes, Professor. I have an appointment with you today.”

“So … you have an appointment. It’s lovely that you’ve come. We’ve met before, if I recall, at—”

“At Dr. Haarburger’s. That was already seven months ago.”

“Right, at Haarburger’s. A wonderful evening. Yes, I remember. We talked then about … it was very interesting … about a work of yours on—”

“On the sociology of oppressed people, Professor.”

“That was it, right. My goodness, you yourself have been through such an experience. How did you manage it! The fact that you’re not bitter and have maintained your love of scholarship, I congratulate you! Just wonderful, I say, wonderful! And we, of course, must do something for you, right?”

“Yes, that’s very nice of you, Professor. You might recall that we have spoken on the phone a number of times, and that I then—”

“Yes, yes, with my secretary and also with me. It was about—”

“I sent you, as you kindly recommended, one of my finished papers on the central aspects of my research. You kindly said on the telephone that you wished to see whether it could be delivered as a talk at a meeting of the small working group—”

“Right, right—I read it, I and my secretary as well. Interesting. And we wanted to consider—”

The other door opened, and the secretary appeared.

“I’ve been looking for you in the conference room and everywhere, Professor. There’s an urgent phone call!”

“I’ll be right back, Herr Doctor! It’ll just take a moment! Where is the phone, Frau Fixler?”

“In my office.”

The Professor stormed toward the secretary’s office, Frau Fixler following
after him. I waited maybe ten minutes before the door opened again, though it wasn’t the Professor but the secretary who stepped in and explained to me that the Professor had only accidentally run into me, that the meeting was not at all over but the Professor had only happened to come out from it for a moment, and could I please remain patient. Perhaps another fifteen minutes. Frau Fixler went over to a bookshelf but didn’t find what she was looking for; most likely, it was the book I had taken down and leafed through on the table before me. I handed the book to the secretary, and she took it with a bittersweet smile. Then I was alone again and stood browsing before the shelves of books, for I didn’t want to sit at the table any longer.

Finally, my wait ended as Frau Fixler came to me and led me into the office of the Professor, who seemed less distracted now than earlier, though he was still plenty inattentive. At least he still seemed to know what my visit was about. On his desk he recognized the text of my talk, which lay open, so I could at least hope for the best. He asked me to sit down, while Frau Fixler brought us some tea and a tray with cookies. Then we were left undisturbed, not counting the many telephone calls for Kratzenstein that interrupted our conversation.

“As I already told you, I’ve read your text, Herr Doctor. It is certainly not bad, but you’ll allow me some honest criticism. For a presentation, it’s not lively enough. You won’t be surprised to hear that for publication it’s hardly ready as it currently stands. For a scholarly article, it’s written in too literary of a style, while for a literary review it’s first of all too long and secondly too dry.”

“I can change it any way that you like. I mean—”

“Yes, you certainly should change it, but I doubt that anything can really be done with it.”

“I should then—”

“I’ve informed Frau Fixler of the basic situation, as well as the scheduling arm of the working group, as well as others. I’ve tried as hard as I could. Despite all the errors, I am well aware of the virtues of your work—I mean, above all, your own personal experience, although one should not overvalue that. Despite my efforts, I was not successful in convincing the scheduling arm of the group to invite you to give a presentation or to attend any other meeting for the time being.”

“If I—”

“Don’t be too sad about it! Quite frankly, it’s no real big loss for you. With this subject matter, especially the way you address it, you would surely cause an uproar. I already told you that at Haarburger’s.”

“But it would be a great opportunity if—”

The telephone rang; the Professor could not respond. I soon figured out that it was Frau Saubermann, the beneficent wife of the factory owner, who was inviting Kratzenstein to a get-together. He said “very flattering” and other niceties and chatted longer than it seemed to me appropriate for a man with so much to do.

“Yes, if we … Where were we?”

“I had very much hoped to give a presentation, Professor, but you thought—”

“No, just get that out of your head! But I have something good for you. I have convinced the working group that it would be good for everyone if you were invited to the regular meetings. Frau Fixler has already noted it and sent you the invitation.”

“Many thanks!”

“There your experiences could sometimes be of use, but above all, and this is much more important, you’ll benefit from it, as you will learn how it’s done. The proper method and all that. That makes much more sense than a presentation, which will only make you look bad. Everything depends on a first impression, but that’s the way it is.”

I didn’t let on that I was beaten, for I wanted to defend my text and know more precisely what I should do in order to have it accepted. But that got me no further than my other pleas to consider my suggestions about doing a different presentation. In two or three years, the Professor reassured me, once I’d learned more and knew how to clear my throat and spit, perhaps we could consider the possibility once again, but no earlier. After this pronouncement it would have been a good time for me to leave, that I could sense, but it wasn’t so easy for me to let go of such a crucial opportunity to get Kratzenstein to hear more about my central work. Even if I no longer believed that he was the right man to talk to, every conversation I’d had with Haarburger, So-and-So, and other people indicated that one had to get to Kratzenstein. One word from him and a fellowship would be assured, for his influence decided it all.

The Professor consented, so good, I talked away, straight from the gut, he listening attentively, though also asking that I make it short, as time was pressing. I hardly said two sentences before he interrupted me. This kept happening more and more often, the Professor distracting me with side issues, such that I lost confidence in the central argument and began to stutter. Kratzenstein then took the opportunity to give me a lecture about well-known matters that were already familiar to me and that were easily found in the literature. He couldn’t emphasize enough that all suffering, insofar as it was not based in human nature, was the result of economic conditions. The concentration camp, which resulted from a specific kind of exploitation, as well as everything else that made it so abominable, needed to be explained through social-psychological methods. Above all, collective aversion, which resulted from deep feelings of inferiority that are then compensated for through aggression, must be carefully analyzed. Kratzenstein’s platitudes, propped up with big words, soon had little to do with my thesis and wafted dully about my ears, completely dead, dogmatic declarations that did nothing but elicit the connections between multiple aspects and elucidate them. I said nothing, or just politely nodded. When at the end I asked what kind of support I could expect to have for my work, the Professor said, everything you need, he could certainly do something, even if not at the moment. Plans that had not yet been fully worked out needed to come to fruition, the next thing being for me to get going and to familiarize myself with the literature; one couldn’t cut one’s teeth on nothing.

“Yes, but how long—”

“Don’t be in such a hurry, my dear friend! After your initial studies, you’ll need six months for the first draft, then two more years to revise it. But you’ll gain such respect, because you are so preoccupied with your thesis. That will give you the strength to convince me and the entire world. When your work is finished and is what I imagine it will be, then you can come to me. Right?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“Look, that’s what needs to happen! We can then discuss what we can do with your work.”

“Yes, Professor. But could I perhaps ask you, Herr Professor, whether or not you see any opportunity as to how I might secure some kind of foundation whereby financially—”

“Oh, I see! Of course … That I need to think about. Just wait—”

“I mean, if you—”

“I understand already what you want. Unfortunately, my dear Herr Doctor, unfortunately … The International Society of Sociologists has no—”

There was a knock at the door, and Frau Fixler appeared with a soft nod, asking to be excused.

“Forgive me, Professor,” the secretary said while constantly looking at her wristwatch. “Forgive me, but the gentlemen have been waiting for almost a quarter of an hour for you to be at the meeting.”

“Look, Herr Doctor, that’s the way it is. I’m really very sorry. It was such a pleasure to be of help to you, even if not to the extent that—”

“Many thanks! But could you please tell me quickly what I might still—”

“Dr. Singule, I think, or Dr. Haarburger and his wife—they are such good people. You’re already in their good graces.”

“Professor!” Frau Fixler called out nervously.

“I’m coming! Goodbye, Herr Dr. Landau, and I wish you all good luck! You’ll certainly stay in touch?”

“If that would be all right.”

“But of course! It would be such a pleasure! Frau Fixler, you have his address?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“And you made a note to invite him to the regular meetings of the working group?”

“Yes.”

The Professor didn’t extend his hand to me but waved quickly, said something else, and was gone. I picked up my presentation from his desk—he had forgotten to give it to me—and put it in the folder of other writings that I had wanted to show to him and leave with him in part, but which I had never had the chance to bring out. Frau Fixler wanted to call the attendant, but I said I could see myself out, and with that I said goodbye. I never got any invitation to the meeting of the working group. I called a couple of times, not too often, reaching no one but the secretary, who became ever less friendly. Then I finally gave up.

It seemed a reasonable idea to turn to other people. Sometime later, after I got to know Frau Singule at the Haarburgers’, she took ill and
spent half a year at a spa hotel in Switzerland, where Fräulein Knispel’s brother was the house doctor. For the most part, Dr. Singule was not in the country but traveled from conference to conference and spent a number of months in America, but as his wife recovered and he was finally home again, Frau Haarburger insisted that I follow through on this very important contact. That was shortly after the disappointment with Professor Kratzenstein. Since he had just mentioned the name Singule, I wasn’t too inclined to seek out an audience with this man. If a famous sociologist had shown so little understanding of me, what could I at all expect from a man who, because of his own preoccupations, had little interest in my work, and who, sadly enough, was known not to have any time for people asking for his help. My sense of mistrust was also seconded by So-and-So, who was dismissive of Singule. It’s true that my friend usually had nothing nice to say about anyone he knew—about Kratzenstein he offered praise that was laced with numerous reservations—but he simply had nothing good to say about Singule and made fun of him with bitter mockery as of no other. Some years before, Singule had commissioned So-and-So with a specific project that had to do with the composition of social motivations in nineteenth-century Russian literature, but when, after some months, he submitted the work to Singule, the latter had no memory of the request, saying that for him and the American foundation it was worthless, he was no fool, and that he had never ordered any such thing. Vainly So-and-So tried to refresh the man’s memory and had to take away his work without having any recourse against Singule, as he had nothing in writing. I related this story to Frau Haarburger in order to convince her that I really didn’t want anything to do with Singule. She said, yes, she had already heard that from her husband, but first, you shouldn’t take it as gospel truth, and second, even the best of men do such things, that was her opinion, and you shouldn’t see it so tragically but, rather, I should visit Singule and I would see how splendid he is, how well I would get along with him. As I hesitated, Frau Haarburger went to the phone and called the Singules. Both happened to be home and, to my surprise, I was invited to tea on the following Sunday.

I rang the doorbell of the villa; a sweet servant girl opened the door and led me, as I told her my name, immediately to the salon. The couple arrived
soon after, greeted me, and asked me to have a seat. Frau Singule didn’t waste any time, and seemed very pleased to see me again. She was only disappointed that I had not brought along Johanna, and was taken aback when I said that my wife had not been invited, so I couldn’t after all bring her along. Invitations, I was told, are always meant for both members of a married couple, especially in the case of such a delightful woman.

“A charming little person, your wife. From the best of families—one notices it immediately upon meeting her. I’ve known her for some years. One can only wish her all happiness. Tell me, Herr Landau, she does indeed make you happy, right?”