The Wall (70 page)

“Grateful, ungrateful—I’m not here to argue with you about that. You are a poor soul. I know, Franziska. Don’t tell me anything about her, I don’t want to know! And now just get out and let what happens happen, so I can get out, too.”

Thus, as quickly as possible, I got out of the car. My foot hurt more than it had earlier, as if something had bitten it, but I carried on, determined. I leaned back in the car in order to be a gentleman, but Inge didn’t want any help.

“Go on, go on! The others are waiting.”

Which was true. Schallinger and Birch had disappeared into the house with the luggage; So-and-So stood waiting in the entrance and led me on ahead without worrying about Inge, who remained behind us. Oswald lived on the third floor and was there to greet me above, where he gave me an elaborate welcome, as if he had not already seen me. He wanted to lead me right away to a room where Otto was already, but since there was no sign of Inge, nor even the sound of her climbing the steps, he hesitated.

“What’s taking her so long?” he asked, turning to So-and-So.

“I don’t know. Should I go look, Birch?”

“No, no, you should, of course, take Arthur in to Schallinger. I’ll look down below myself. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable, Arthur. We’ll be right back.”

With that, he disappeared. So-and-So led me into a large, sparklingclean room with little furniture in it but many books, all of them organized
in standard fashion, but feeling cold. Otto stood before the shelves and perused them, curious and dumbstruck.

“Look, Arthur, just look!” he exclaimed. “I also have a few books and even some lovely ones. But look at this! It’s wonderful that anyone can afford such a library. Classics, philosophy, the moderns, and so much art. It’s magnificent! Birch must be a fine fellow! Sylvia should see this. I wonder if I could maybe bring her along sometime? Such good taste. I wonder if he’d lend any of them?”

“You can give it a try!” said So-and-So.

“You don’t think he would?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

I didn’t look at any of the books and sat down as fast as possible. My stupid foot; now it felt better. So-and-So was surprised that I ignored the books, but he didn’t dwell upon it, whereas Otto behaved like a giddy schoolboy and could not stop being astounded at my limited interest.

“You’ve changed, after all! Books used to—”

“That I don’t know. I don’t exist anymore.”

“Kauders, listen to what he’s saying! If someone else said that to me, I’d say he was crazy.”

“You’re probably right, Otto, and I am crazy.”

“Always the same old ironic Arthur Landau! Just like in school. Kauders, you knew him better. No one knew just what was up with him.”

Otto looked wounded. I had to reassure him.

“It was really nice of you to come today.”

“But now I should disappear! That’s what you’re thinking, right?”

“It has nothing to do with you. Please don’t misunderstand me. I just need a bit more time to recover, and I’m asking you to be patient.”

“Forgive me, it’s so easy to forget! It must have been horrible and awful. We heard so many things and read about it in the newspapers, but it’s still hard to imagine it all. You know, it would be best if sometime you told us about it all. In an appropriate way, but like it really was. It will do you good, and we will learn a lot. Then you can write a book about it. People have to know, so that nothing like it happens again. Then you’ll be free of it and be your old self again.”

“Yes, I’ll tell you about it all. As much as you’d like.”

“But not today!” So-and-So countered.

“Certainly not today,” I said, reassuring him.

“No, not today,” Otto agreed. “Today is for celebrating. We only want to remember something lovely. Do you remember our old school days? Kauders, you were also with us at school. All three of us in the same school, how remarkable! Do we know if our old teachers are still alive?”

“Prenzel is. He sends his greetings, So-and-So.”

So-and-So didn’t respond, and laughed to himself in satisfaction.

“Prenzel!” yelled Otto with glee.

“Not so loud!” So-and-So said.

“Professor Hilarius Prenzel, what a name. Man, was he odd, but not terrible! Whenever he would say, ‘Cicero says, and Catiline says, whereas
I
say!’ ”

We all laughed, but Otto whinnied such that it put So-and-So’s teeth on edge. I saw the immensely aged, yet still strapping old man before me when I said goodbye to him a week earlier. Despite his baroque manner of speech, both So-and-So and I had him to thank for a good part of our education, and an appreciation of history that, far from being just a bunch of strung-together facts, was really based on living people and the construction of society. I had had enough of the poor imitation of the man and turned to So-and-So.

“What’s taking Oswald so long with Inge?”

“He’s not with Inge,” So-and-So said. “He is certainly alone. I’ll bet that Bergmann has left, most likely in the same taxi.”

“She would do that?” asked Otto, curious. “Miss Inge Bergmann must be a really interesting personality. In fact, she’s a poet. I found her to be quite special.”

“She makes life especially difficult for her brother,” observed So-and-So dryly. “Nothing came of the illustration contract for Karin. She made so many sketches, yet Inge messed up everything with the publisher. Nothing but stubbornness.”

“People are very strange,” Otto acknowledged. “Wouldn’t you agree, Arthur?”

“Yes, very much.”

I closed my eyes, but Otto didn’t want to acknowledge my tired effort
to turn away as he pressed a cigarette on me. I had to take one, although I didn’t want to smoke, So-and-So also helping himself. I could clearly sense that my friend found the pharmacist’s presence more bothersome than I did, for at each stupid thing said he cringed. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before Oswald reappeared, though Inge—So-and-So had been right—wasn’t with him. He looked a bit confused, but soon all uncertainty was cleared up and he had control of the situation.

“Inge sends her warmest greetings and is very sorry that she can’t handle company right now. She didn’t want to spoil the party. She is so considerate, but she had a pressing matter. It will interest you, Kauders. An appointment with a publisher, this one very promising. Hopefully, for Karin as well.”

“Really?”

“Naturally. She hasn’t forgotten about that. And she hopes to see us again today.”

“Is your sister always so busy, Mr. Birch?” asked Otto tactlessly.

“Yes, naturally, she has a lot to do,” countered Oswald.

Then my host insisted that I should see my room, as well as the rest of the apartment and the side rooms. My luggage was placed in my room, and Oswald expressed his concern whether in fact everything that had been prepared for me was completely to my liking and suited me, while I had to go to some effort to reassure him that it did. When he was finally convinced of this, it was formally agreed what would happen in the next few hours. We decided that I would first wash up and then have a rest in my room. As soon as I was ready to go out, I should come to the library. I had to get Oswald to promise that he would come and get me if I should happen to tarry too long.

“You have to promise me, Arthur, that you will in all honesty feel completely at home here. While you are here, imagine that you are master of the house and that I, as you desire, of course, am your friend, servant, and guest.”

Oswald Bergmann was at this moment his old self, speaking to me with such warmth, and accompanying me to the bathroom before walking off with quiet steps. For the first time I felt better; this renewed friendship, which had finally broken through the difficulty of such formalities, pleased
me and helped me to hope for the best. I could see that the arrival had not only been difficult for me, for the anticipation had to have been just as difficult for Oswald.

Slowly I passed the time in the bathroom, dawdling there as I used to as a child, much to my mother’s annoyance. I thought back on the evening of the first day that I spent in Anna’s bathroom; this time it was very different. The fact that this room was lit so well was an essential difference. Since it was an older house, clearly the bathroom had been installed later in this space, which had originally served different purposes. There were some chests and hutches arranged, though there was enough room to make up a comfortable and workable space. Surprising was the toilet bowl, which wasn’t on the same level as the tank, for you had to climb up two steps to it as if to a podium. It felt strange and sad to sit so high and awkward, which immediately brought up disagreeable memories of childhood and how my Aunt Olga always referred to using the toilet as sitting on the throne or visiting the throne room. I began to cry as I crouched down there up above; how happy I would have been to avoid it. I hurried as fast as possible until I noticed, to my horror, that people at nearby windows of other apartments could look in, I having neglected to draw the curtains. Hopefully, no one had observed me.

I would have been happy to dawdle in the bathroom, and would have loved to have a bath in order to wash off the grime from the journey, but because of the misery of such horrible memories I felt terrible. It didn’t get any better when I closed the curtains, their iron rings rattling upon the curtain pole. But I had to shave, for the stubble on my face was two days old. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to unpack my razor. I wanted to get it, and so I hurried up a small set of stairs, for the apartment was half a floor higher than the bathroom. The steps creaked loudly, which disturbed me, and I was also so confused that I no longer knew which door led to my room. I listened at one door, not hearing anything. Carefully I opened it, but it was the wrong room. It had to be Oswald’s study, for it had a huge desk with mountains of writing on it, though luckily no one was there, only a sweet odor, perhaps Indian incense mixed with old cigarettes. I quietly closed the door, listened at another, behind which my friends seemed to be gathered, though I couldn’t be certain, or yes, Otto’s laugh trumpeted giddily, while I moved to a third door, this one the right one, for I recognized my room.

Quickly I looked for my shaving bag and hurried back to the bathroom with it. In front of the mirror, I was shocked to see how stubbled my chin and cheeks were. I looked much older, but everyone had said that I hadn’t changed! And Otto had photographed me in this condition, which upset me. What impression could Dr. Haarburger have had of me? Perhaps my looks had upset Inge and got her going. I thought it possible this was the reason she had been so aggressive toward me, then sympathetic and so ashamed at the end that she couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye before leaving. What could the friends have thought when they said I hadn’t changed at all? Were they sincere or not, were they mean-spirited, or had they expected to find a broken-down old man hobbling with a stick? Had they, after having escaped, written me off in their hearts and now felt their peace had been violated because I had been allowed to survive the war? Did they want me among the living, and did they want me here? Why was the friendliness of all of So-and-So’s letters so forced? And why had the Birch-Bergmann siblings never even once gone to the trouble of writing me a single line? What kind of welcome had been prepared for me? A choreographed comedy! My arrival had not even inspired applause on the part of my friends; the more I thought about it, the clearer it became to me that leaving the station and the consequent fuss was nothing but an embarrassment. I felt as if I’d been led into something disagreeable and I was unable to go along with it openly, or even to disavow it, such that I was set upon by an inept posse and had to play the most pitiable role. So-and-So could extricate himself from it all in the most awkward of ways, which I was even grateful to him for. When it came to Oswald, there seemed to be true feeling for me mixed in, but it became apparent only when there was no one there to witness his kindness. How could I trust him until I had really had a chance to test him? But to test someone, how miserable was that, and what right did I have to do so? Then I remembered the question that So-and-So had harmlessly put to me at the station: Am I not entitled to something? And my answer was: The question is for me too cryptic. No, I had no right and I was not entitled to one! Just wait and see, wait and see how everything develops, watch and see what Oswald and the others really intended to do with me. Oh, what a shameful situation, to have to wait and not be free in the way that had been desired for so long. Why had I come here, why had I fled, what had I fled
to, and had I escaped at all? Having escaped myself only to find myself again at my destination? Only an exchange of one misery for another? Or were my friends simply just as stunned as I, or even more so? I had to pull myself together and let them know that I knew what I was doing, even if they had their doubts.

Once I was shaved clean, I looked a lot better. I should now hope to emerge with some confidence. But no, this Otto Schallinger! It was so strange that it had occurred to him to come to the station and not at least say goodbye quickly, as did Haarburger. Otto’s behavior, his empty chatter, cast a bit of a shadow. But eventually he would have to head off, then the field would be clear and everything would be better. We would then be among ourselves, and my friends would recognize how I really was. Confidently I left the bathroom, wanting to go back to my room without being heard, but I wasn’t successful. Despite my stepping carefully, the stairs creaked and groaned; Oswald must have practiced a long while until he managed to soundlessly negotiate those stairs. This time around, I recognized my door and closed it quietly behind me.

I could then have risked making an appearance before my friends, as the time seemed right to me. It would probably have been a good time, since I had messed about for at least half an hour, if not longer, and it was now time for lunch, yet I couldn’t decide what to do. My weariness had almost completely abated, and I only felt a bit dazed. After some hemming and hawing, which carried me twice to the door of the library and caused me to feel for the handle, I turned back with the intention of stretching out on the couch for a little while, ten minutes at most, if only to relax and lie quiet, though certainly not to sleep. It was a comfortable couch—wide, well stuffed, covered with nice blankets, a table next to it. There were also—I didn’t know if they were for me—soft dark-blue and purple anemones, sweets in a bowl, cigarettes and matches, and even a glass of water set out. This last item was good, as I had not drunk anything since having tea that morning. I emptied it in one gulp.