The Wall (71 page)

Then I lay flat on my back, feeling comfortable, happy to spend the next hour that way. But I could not at all do that, and therefore had my watch in my hand in order to keep track of the time. I wanted only to have ten minutes, not a second longer. I blocked out all thoughts and succeeded in doing
so immediately, despite all expectations, not letting the watch fade from sight and seeing that there were still nine minutes, the time passing wonderfully slowly, as if not passing at all, for there were still more than eight minutes, eight minutes, then almost eight minutes, the seconds stretching out, there still being a while until it was seven minutes. Thus could I rest and not doubt that I would regain my composure during the course of the time elapsed. I even risked closing my eyes a little, though not really, just a little, glancing continuously at my watch: six minutes. The only thing I noticed was how dark it had gotten, perhaps because of the fog that had spread over the city. I was even curious how you found your way outside in this weather.

I don’t know what was wrong with me when I went to look at the watch face again in order to see if the ten minutes were up. I strained to look, but, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t see where the hands were. Perhaps my eyelids had somehow stuck together, though I didn’t see at all better when I forced my eyes open. I sat up and looked all around me, though there was nothing to see but darkness. I was frightened—was I blind? Like a horrible wall, the impenetrable darkness had settled around me. I wanted to scream for help, but I controlled myself, because as I strained to see, I discovered a bit of light that could have come only from the window. I was saved. Then, in another spot through a small crack in the floor, I found another sliver of light. There was no longer any doubt that I had fallen asleep, but I couldn’t understand how that had happened. I still had in my hand the watch that I had so carefully kept an eye on, and felt ashamed and upset that I had rudely kept three men waiting for me. What a guest, they must have thought, making fun of me to boot. I had not looked around the room enough earlier in order to get my bearings here in the dark. I was afraid to knock something over the moment I began feeling my way about. Where might there be a light switch? I stood there for a little while without moving. Should I yell to let the others know that I needed help? No, I would just look ridiculous, a frightened child having just awakened from a bad dream whom they would rush to help in order to comfort. Then my intentions of emerging as the confident Arthur Landau would be somewhat damaged. I had to find my way myself, suddenly appear before my friends, and behave as if my being late was the most natural thing in the world. I felt around the table next to the divan and stretched toward the crack, whose glimmer showed me the
way. Soon I was fishing about with my hand, trying to find the handle to the library door. It turned easily, I entered, and was blinded by three lights such that I had to squint, though I quickly got my bearings and was surprised by the dense smoke that filled the room.

Oswald and So-and-So appeared to be reading, each of them sitting there with a book in hand. Otto was nowhere to be seen. I greeted them as nonchalantly as possible and said that I well knew how improper my long rest had been, though I also said, in cheery fashion, that we would be able to talk at greater length because I felt so refreshed. They were nice enough to take this in stride, and informed me only about how sad Otto had been to leave, and that he wanted to call the next day. Oswald recommended that we head to a restaurant, though lunch would no longer be possible, since it was time for dinner. I agreed, and asked after Inge. My question annoyed Oswald, as he shifted around, upset, and finally said briskly that, unfortunately, Inge’s nerves were bad, I had to be patient with her, but I should have no doubt of how deeply fond she was of me, for she was at her most aggressive only with those she loved most. She wouldn’t be coming to dinner, maybe afterward, later that night, but most likely not at all, for she was weighed down with work and, in addition, had a headache today. I was surprised at how thoroughly my friend sought to make excuses for his sister and finally cut him off. Then he asked to have a couple of minutes, as he had to quickly take care of something, and then we could go. He had hardly left the room when So-and-So spoke up.

“You haven’t lost anything in Inge.”

“I’m very fond of her.”

“That makes no sense. Hopeless love. You should worry about other people. Oswald Birch, yes, he’s worth it. She is a spider, a nasty little beast.”

“Don’t talk so!”

“Oh, as high-minded as ever! I thought you had changed.”

“It has nothing to do with being high-minded. Inge is a wonderful person. I sense only a tragic waste. She is filled with bitterness and sharpness.”

“Forget that! You should listen to Karin. Dear child this and dear child that is how Inge flatters her and then leaves her in the lurch. Watch yourself!”

“I’m fond of her. Don’t you understand?”

“You’re being an ass, Arthur. Why didn’t she come, and why won’t she come? I’m not going to tell you. You’ll soon find out for yourself.”

“What you’re saying is shameful!”

“Please. Save such emotions! Stick with Birch.”

“You know how much he means to me.”

“To hell with your pathos! Whether he means something to you or not doesn’t matter. He’s now an important man. The atlas of cave painting is done; one hears Oswald Birch’s name throughout the country. It’s called publicity here, and it has influence.”

“You mean that for me he could—”

“Anything, if he wants to. Kratzenstein lets him have his way with him. And you need Kratzenstein.”

“And will Oswald—?”

So-and-So shrugged his shoulders, took a cigarette, and offered me one as well.

“You should never drop Birch’s name, never make any reference to him. He hates that. If he were to find that you did, you’d be finished with him.”

“How, then, should I—?”

“You have to wait until he does something for you himself, or tells you what you should do.”

“Please, be honest with me. Is Oswald very difficult to deal with?” So-and-So stuck two fingers in the corners of his mouth and whistled softly, the way he used to as a boy.

“You’ve remained arrested in your intellectual development,” So-and-So said earnestly.

I had no idea what he meant by this. I didn’t say a thing.

“You have to watch out for yourself. To count on a future here would not be smart. My advice is, stick close to Birch. But be careful; handle him with kid gloves. He’s very sensitive. Your long sleep—”

“Was not right. Was that what you wanted to say?”

“At least not very smart. He has scheduled his time quite precisely. He wanted to go straight to the restaurant. You upset his plans.”

“I’ll apologize.”

“In no way! That will just make things worse. You can’t let him know in any way what I’ve said to you.”

“To be handled with care.”

“Yes. You’ve been warned. You should have handled Dr. Haarburger differently as well.”

“How so? I didn’t do anything at all!”

“That’s right. That was the mistake. I wrote to you about how important he is. One approaches such a man and says a couple of flattering things when he has made a special trip to the station.”

“Was I impolite?”

“Who said that? I’m only saying you should start off differently. Call him soon. Maybe not tomorrow, but the day after tomorrow. He has heaps of money, and his is a meeting place of dilapidated intellectuals who call the shots here. Professor Kratzenstein, whom Birch spits on, is in and out there, along with Singule—that pig—and his wife, and many others.”

“Who are they all?”

“Keep an eye out. You’ll find out. Be grateful that you have gained entrée. Contacts, Arthur, contacts.”

“Will you help me?”

“Me? What would make you think that? What I can do I’ve strung together already. I’ve gotten Birch and Haarburger interested in you. Now seize the moment. If you let it go, it’s your fault.”

“Oswald? That was not necessary. I’ve known him longer than you, haven’t I? Didn’t you meet him through me?”

“You are so naïve! To meet Birch once is easy. But then to engage him … Just try it! He wouldn’t have cared a bit about you if I hadn’t prodded him.… Now you have to take it further. But delicately. There’s nothing more I can do for you. I won’t go to Haarburger on your account again.”

“But you’ll come along with me?”

“I don’t hang around there. No one from my circle. Kratzenstein and Singule? No way. Tend to your contacts, and remember that friends here are precious.”

“You’re scaring me.”

So-and-So had his fingers in his mouth and commenced his whispering whistle once again. I recalled how amazed I was by it as a child and how I hated it later on, Franziska particularly not being able to stand it, for she found it vulgar. He whistled further, as if he had overheard my distress, and
whistled me a tune. Then he stood right in front of me, rocking back and forth. Then he blew a puff of smoke into my face, causing me to cough.

“You smoke too much!”

“Yes. Does it bother you? But, to change the subject, can’t you tell me more precisely where things stand with Dr. Blecha?”

“Happy to. You know already that I—”

I had to break off my account, as Oswald came for us, wearing his hat and coat, and we had to get our things and leave. Oswald wanted to call a taxi, but then he decided to go to a restaurant nearby that served Belgian food, which he especially liked. So we walked through the streets, which were almost as dark as during the war. Oswald and So-and-So started to talk about something I could hardly understand; I thought that it was about an exhibit of Peruvian antiquities that they had recently visited. As it didn’t concern me, I remained silent. Soon I let the two men go ahead of me a half step, for my foot still bothered me, even if not as much as earlier, their talk reaching me like a distant whisper. I didn’t feel as if I belonged with either of them. What So-and-So had said in his cryptic and yet pointed remarks about Oswald’s difficult personality took me aback; my confidence in his goodness was not shaken so much as my own self-confidence. I felt more and more limited. Was it heartless, or was it true what So-and-So had said about my intellectual development? Perhaps I had become provincial as a result of my fate over there and my long imprisonment, even sour, clumsy, slow, and no longer flexible; I needed to be even more polished here and not plow my way through but, rather, delicately glide through. I had to first get my bearings and catch up on a lot in order to fill in substantial holes in my education and be able to move comfortably in these cultivated circles. I had been so happy earlier that day, and now everything was spoiled and tarnished, placing any possible sense of self-worth in question.

The way to the restaurant, which was supposed to be short, stretched on endlessly. I began to doubt if I would ever reach the Belgian meal. If I weren’t so helpless among the dark sea of blurred buildings, I would have forsaken the meal, my friends, and everything else in order to make my own way or, better yet, to crawl into a corner like a weary bundle that someone passing would find and hand over to trusted hands in a lost-and-found. But what should one do with such a foundling? They would ask me questions
about who I was, where I lived, what I was doing, why I was wandering around such a strange city. However, I wouldn’t be able to respond. Adam in flight after the expulsion, that was all I could think of. The title of a painting that didn’t exist. Please understand, I’m the title of a painting that has not been painted; when dug up in Peru, there I was fine, I lived fine, what I did was fine, for there I remained in the hands of the scholars—a rare find, they whispered, for they did not want to frighten me. They didn’t do that out of brotherly love, though, but only not to lose me. Yet they were unlucky; they were careful, though not enough so. I fell to pieces, disappearing into the dust, nothing left, only the title remaining, for that they wrote down on a lovely note. Then there followed an illustration in a book, a cave painting: Adam lost and driven out in flight from his title in the darkness of a cave while resting. Found there, I couldn’t defend myself. I was too important to scholarship and needed to quickly be placed on exhibit—“The Peruvian Adam” the title, entirely naked, though nonexistent, entirely so, the visitors coming and talking a long time about me, though I didn’t understand a word, since it was Belgian and I spoke Peruvian, an extinct dialect whose name is unknown.

Then there was nothing but intense suspicion, intense before the long ordeal, and after the long ordeal and expulsion, the expulsion with my loved ones. I could have said, Oswald, please, Oswald Bergmann, he probably dug inside the cave before I fell to pieces, he was the one who came up with the title, no not Bergmann, no, Mister Birch, that’s what he’s called now, but I didn’t note his address, only the title, and that no one understood, for I could only say it in Belgian, a restaurant, yes, that’s right, we are there already or are on our way there, and my foot hurts, which is from falling from my resting spot while in flight, and because I have not yet eaten anything today, having only drunk the water next to the title of the painting on the little table next to the divan. I didn’t want to mention that, for I had fled the exhibit, there being nothing wrong with this, for I could read about it in the catalog, yes, just look, you can easily afford this, it costs almost nothing, only one Hungarian pengö, in order to save yourself the trouble, not you, naturally, but the pengö, I mean the title, a hundred titles for a pengö, it’s that simple, and if I say anything now everyone will be upset, that’s not right, Inge Bergmann, Otto Schalinger, Sylvia and her northern cooking,
not Belgian, but good, photographs, and then So-and-So, Kauders as well, Karin drawing me for the publisher in the Peruvian style, but I can’t call out to any of them, for then they would only have more against me, then there’s the station which one cannot get away from at all, I don’t want to go there, the exhibition is not over because there’s such a pressing crowd, many contacts to be made, but also whom one cannot speak to in order to save So-and-So the trouble, that would not be very smart, since Dr. Blecha entitled him to nothing, only clicked the camera, another shot, a snapshot, nothing for Adam in it, for it would be difficult to recognize him, it would not seem very smart, since I had remained intellectually stunted.