The Wall (80 page)

I was shocked that I had not prayed for a long time. I needed to pray, not for something but to something. Nor even that; I just needed to pray. Could I gather myself together enough to do so? I looked down at myself and saw myself standing there remote and strange, untenable except through grace. Was I anything but borrowed grace, and thus not myself but some kind of grace somewhere, myself one who said to grace, “I am myself all the same, and yet again I am not.” An idle game. I was surprised at what philosophy had previously proposed, pronouncements about the self in particular, about the personal, the triumphant I—that false equation: I think, I am. If I am, then I do not think. I am or I think. I am or am not, whether I think or not. I am, therefore I think, therefore I also think; but I am not, because I think. What pride, what presumption, what incredible defiance, from someone who had stood up against the universe in order to exist, standing there after having been catapulted from Paradise like Adam, onto the abandoned field, precipitously, as if thrown from a tower, from the Tower of Babel, its audacious walls standing against heaven and earth. That I could not do and did not want to do any longer, and yet I did not want to be pitiful, not disobedient, not without humility, repentance, sacrifice, and prayer, not without empathy, not without knowledge of my guilt and a conscience, not to alienate Being and betray it, only because there is no known Being, no certain existence that I want to embrace or possess.

I admit, such perverse thinkers were the first to deny society, their protests having denied those forms into which human existence had packed itself and secured itself among many races. Now things were different; society no longer wanted any thinkers who only wanted to serve it without becoming its slave or just preach about destruction in a seductive manner. Don’t exist! So one was told aloud and secretly whispered to: Don’t exist! Yet you didn’t want to hear it, and so you went to the dogs nevertheless! What could one possibly say at that point? Perhaps this: Always be something less than what you are allowed to be in a pinch. Even then, it can soon occur that the next time you find yourself among your fellow men the most basic consideration will not be granted you.

“You’re still here? How strange! I thought they did with you as they did with your father and hauled you away. The main thing is that it will still happen. Which is fine with me.”

You couldn’t say anything in response, such as, “Yes, I’m alive, but I feel terrible,” for otherwise you would be severely reprimanded.

“What do you mean, ‘terrible’? You don’t make any sense! If you are alive, then things are good. You’re not allowed to complain.”

Basically, I had to agree. That someone could rise above one’s lot in life seemed a foolish idea. Each gets what he gets; that I had to accept. Perhaps I was myself a miserable bit of nothing, and perhaps that was why someone had decided to shove me to the side in order to show me what I was. If that was so, then even my dissatisfaction could be thought of as a splendid piece of luck; all my disasters, all my failures had nonetheless benefited me. Thus I had to maintain a condition of continued waiting, whose intensity could not lag, the hours flowing into yet more hours, the matter not real in itself but, instead, an artificial structure through which the most difficult thing of all, order, could be pursued. Thus I devoted myself to good fortune that never arrived but remained a possibility and which could someday occur for humanity, as well as for me, in unknown ways. The kingdom that we seek has existed from the very beginning, but to bring it about was certainly a tall order, though not one that was in our control.

“You’re one of the many who wish to exist. You have eaten of the fruit; that cannot be undone. Your mistake is this: that you wish to exist; what’s more, that you want to have done so from the very beginning and forevermore. You concern yourself much too intensely with that. Your will to be is inexhaustible.”

This I had to entirely agree with, for that was the only way I could find the strength within me to make my own determination. The wall rose up before me, though it couldn’t do so forever, yet I didn’t have the patience to wait to see what would happen with me. That’s why I decided to wake up and walk alongside the empty wall, feeling and testing my way. Where it would lead me I really had no idea. It seemed much longer than ever before. I was surprised at how long it was.

“If we follow the length of this wall,” I said, “we’ll soon be outside again.”

“It’s pretty dark.”

“It is. We know why. A new light will be installed soon.”

“That has to happen. One can break a leg.”

“I already told you, close your eyes for a little while so you can get used to the darkness.”

Then we were in the little foyer again, the tour over. Here the daylight pressed in, and the two of them breathed easier, having been released from the darkness. I opened the door to see them out, then I remembered that they had not yet signed the visitors’ book. I took out my fountain pen and unscrewed its cap.

“Please, sign our book!”

My pen was set aside and a much more beautiful one appeared, heavy, marvelous, gleaming gold. The man held it out to the lady. The pen was too much for her to handle and was hardly right for her shaky little handwriting. Then the man took hold of it, his strokes powerful, the sharp, angled lines of confident, knowing success. There, next to the date, stood “Mitzi Lever, Johannesburg; Guido Lever, Johannesburg.” Frau Lever’s signature was already dry, but Herr Lever’s name still looked wet. I took a piece of blotting paper and laid it on top and carefully dabbed at it.

“There we are, etched in eternal memory, Mitzi. Just think, isn’t that marvelous?”

“You’re right. It’s astonishing to think that I am now part of history. And look at all the other signatures! What do you think, Herr Doctor? How many people will write down their names here for all time in the next hundred years?”

“The Herr Doctor cannot know the answer to that. How can you ask such a dumb question?”

“The good madam was only wondering.”

I said that quietly, and was rewarded with a flattering glance. Then I saw the guests out to the street and carefully closed up the hermitage. We slowly walked back to our administration building in the former school. Herr Lever looked to be totally inspired, and was very thankful, offering me a huge tip and not pleased when I declined it because of what he took to be regulations. I suggested that he could make a donation to the museum, if he wished to.

“To the museum! Why not! But you, Herr Doctor, you could surely use something and are certainly owed a great deal. It would be my pleasure. South Africa is a land of gold, and I have always earned plenty.”

“Yes, so my husband has. He’s very capable. And generous as well.”

Nonetheless, there was no changing my mind and I only let him give me a pack of American cigarettes.

“You have to take these, Herr Doctor! Otherwise I’ll be upset. You’ve done up everything so splendidly. There was nothing needed for the cemetery. That’s old and famous. But the museum—it’s really splendid. A site well worth seeing, and without compare. I will talk about it throughout the world, and especially at home. I’ll send people to you. Hopefully, it will soon officially be open, a catalog will be printed—a book with pictures of the most important treasures. How lively it all is. How exciting! Aren’t you excited, Mitzi?”

“And how!”

“Tell me, Herr Doctor, a question: are you insured?”

“You mean the museum?”

“Yes, the museum.”

“Of course.”

“Against anything? Theft, fire, water, structural damages, everything? And for how much, if I may ask?”

“That I don’t know.”

“Such a museum has to be well insured. You must believe me. The things it has are irreplaceable. If something happened, you have to at least be well insured.”

“And you think it helps to be so?”

“Yes, just think about the material losses!”

At that I said nothing more and let the couple talk between themselves until we reached the door of the school. I waited to say goodbye to the Levers, which after they completed the tour happened at this point. Whether because of shyness, sentimentality, or politeness, the custom had always been that our visitors only rarely left from the retreat but instead always accompanied us back to the school, even when they had no further questions and only walked along quietly beside us. Only here, once you informed them that the visit was over, would they slowly say goodbye, which normally
took a little while as they talked about this or that, without aim or purpose, while it lay on us to bring these pointless exchanges to an end. It almost never happened that they wanted to come into the school, because inquiries about our mounting stacks of goods or those that could be answered by our administrative offices were usually already taken care of during the tour. But the Levers had something else in mind, or perhaps not, for they didn’t seem to expect anything more, but just wanted to keep talking with me and wouldn’t let me get back to my work.

“I have to go now. I have a lot to do.”

“Look, Herr Doctor, we’re countrymen of yours. Tell us, what did your father do?”

“He sold men’s clothing.”

“Men’s clothing? And your name is Landau?”

“Yes.”

“Landau’s Haberdashery? Mitzi, do you remember?”

“Yes, that’s where you bought that tie, and some shirts? You also have a pair of pants from there. Very good ones.”

“Yes. And on them it says HAL, a good brand. I never knew what that meant. Can you tell me?”

“The first letters of ‘Haberdashery Albert Landau.’ ”

Herr Lever slapped his forehead.

“What an idiot I am! So simple, and yet I could never figure it out.”

“Now you know,” said Mitzi. “And tell me, Herr Doctor, wasn’t it next to the fruit seller? What was his name?”

“Kutschera.”

“That’s right. Kutschera. Is he still there?”

“Yes, he still sells fruit.”

“I must have a look. I’ve been away so long, the war and everything, and yet the good Kutschera is still there with his apples and oranges!”

“And the clothing store?” Herr Lever wanted to know. “Can I still buy something there? You must indeed have gotten the store back.”

“No, you can’t buy anything there.”

“That’s too bad. Is it closed?”

“Yes. For good.”

“And your father, if I may ask?”

I didn’t answer right away.

“Oh, I see!” said Herr Lever apologetically. “I’m so sorry. But it really was a first-rate store. You must at least have gotten permanent compensation.”

I smiled.

“Didn’t you get anything? I can’t believe it. But you will, won’t you?”

“No, I won’t, Herr Lever, nothing at all. I don’t want to, and I won’t, and it won’t happen.”

“You don’t want to? It’s within your rights, and those you have to defend. Those rascals shouldn’t get it. You need to pursue it!”

“I won’t. It won’t come to anything. Senseless, it’s all senseless.”

“An actual doctor, Mitzi! Just listen to yourself—you don’t have the wiles of a salesman! But you owe it to your father and to yourself.”

“I don’t believe that. And, what’s more, I won’t get anything. The store was liquidated long ago. People chase after their lost property like fools, but, given the way the winds blow here, hardly anyone has gotten anything back.”

“What are you saying? Do you hear this, Mitzi? Many say the same thing here. But the reason I came here was to sort out my affairs.”

“I wish you good luck with that.”

“Really! Do you think there’s no chance of success? That would be awful!”

“Success or no success, forgive me, neither matters to me, Herr Lever. I already told you, I wish you all good luck. I just want to get away from here.”

“Mitzi, he wants to leave! Just when everything is turning good again!”

I smiled.

“You’re a doomsayer, Herr Doctor. You have to live again. You must. Where can you go? I’m looking for my things. Also for my brother, who, unfortunately, stayed here.”

“I see, your brother,” I said thoughtlessly, and again, “Good luck, Herr Lever!”

Then I wanted to hurry off, but the couple wouldn’t let me go.

“It’s so interesting to talk to you. It gives me a chill, but it’s really interesting. Maybe you knew someone from my family.”

“That could well be.”

“It’s likely, for your father certainly knew our family. I used to be called Lebenhart.”

“Eugene Lebenhart. Ufergasse.” I said it without thinking.

Herr Lever grabbed hold of my wrist hard.

“That was my brother! Mitzi, just think. Eugene—the Herr Doctor knew Eugene!”

“Just imagine. How strange, Guido. One should always speak up, that’s what I say. I always think so.”

“I’m sorry, good people, I did not know Eugene Lebenhart.”

“Then how do you know his address?” they both said simultaneously.

I had put my foot in my mouth and saw both of the portraits before me that Herr Schnabelberger had shown me in the first days of my employment at the museum. Against the wishes of Frau Dr. Kulka, I would have to quickly explain that I had handled them. She didn’t want anyone to be made aware of objects that rightfully belonged to them, and I had no right whatsoever to make an exception for Herr and Frau Lever. But I had already given myself away, and what did I care what Frau Dr. Kulka thought?

“The address? I just thought of it.”

“No, don’t give us the runaround,” Frau Lever said impatiently.

“We have two paintings upstairs that belong to the Lebenharts of Ufergasse.”

“Two paintings? My brother owned valuable paintings; he collected Dutch works. Still-lifes. They belong to me!”

“Valuable, that I don’t know,” I observed coldly. “And nothing Dutch. But we have two paintings.”

“My husband said to you that they were very valuable paintings, old valuable originals. My brother was a connoisseur; he would have understood what he had.”

“Our two paintings are not valuable,” I said emphatically. “But they are originals, even if not that old and probably painted from photographs. They are of an old couple.”