The Wall (86 page)

“Just about, my dear sir. Not quite, but it’s almost there. I have been waiting for this for so long, for this idea has long been dear to me, and I want to start it off on sound footing. We can’t just bring out one issue, two issues, three or four, then fold up. That can’t happen. It needs to be a smash hit that is able to thrive.”

“How often will the journal appear?”

“Right now, once every two months. Later, every month.”

“And in which language?”

“Right now it will be bilingual, every article in English and German.
When we’re able, then we’ll do four languages—French and Spanish, maybe Italian as well. Simultaneous publication—it’s enough to leave one speechless, don’t you think? After a year, we could be that far along. But, at the moment, I can’t promise anything for sure; it’s still just a wonderful plan.”

“And what will the journal cover? Only sociology, or other things as well? What is its target audience?”

“It’s like the inquisition, Landau! But let’s just take one thing at a time. The journal can include everything. We don’t even have to keep to sixteen pages. Scholarship, culture, politics at the highest level, literature, art, whatever there is. There can be special issues. It should be modern. Something for everyone. Maintaining the highest standards, but accessible to everyone and palatable to all. That way, it will be a success.”

“If I understand right, Fräulein Knispel, in many ways it’s a cat fitted out with fish fins.”

“What kind of joke is that supposed to be, Herr Landau?” asked the bookseller.

“Quite simple, Herr Buxinger. The journal seems impossible, a complete paradox.”

“Come on now, Landau, jokes are fine, but that’s going too far. It just makes you, forgive me, look so dumb. One needs to set a standard; otherwise you lose your standing and are sent packing. But people howl at standards and are not built for them, they can’t find the right kind of mouthpiece. That’s why one can’t sit on one’s high horse, for one doesn’t take anything away from the loftiest of philosophers by popularizing them. Quite the contrary. It’s only then that they gain a certain stature. Look, earlier Buxi alluded to literature, but what he said isn’t true. Even the best of novels can be read by the average person, because they are popular, which means realistic, and yet they still need to be considered artistic. Even a masterpiece can be picked up and really grip someone. It’s always been that way, with even the most sublime works, and never did a single leaf fall from the poet’s head. That’s the way it is everywhere. Why should it be any different with something scholarly? Any theme can be tastefully served up. You just have to cut it down to size.”

“Is that what you want to do with the contributions?”

“When it’s needed, of course.”

“Then I don’t want to waste any more of your time.”

“Don’t be so sensitive, Landau! I already said, only where it’s necessary, when it’s to the article’s good.”

“It wouldn’t be good for mine.”

“Go on, you’re not a child! Time to grow up. We’ll always turn down bad articles. Even if they are well written. Don’t worry! Look, we’d really love to have you work as an editor. Agreed?”

“Then I need to hear a lot more and think about it. What I really want to know is, what is the target audience? What’s the purpose and goal?”

“The journal is targeted to everyone who is really interested in culture, no matter their profession, and the entire world. We want to be something that brings people together. Humane, although we don’t have to lumber around like an elephant in a china shop. The idea of the West, the nurturing of the intellect, the renewal of all values and their preservation, their sacred traditions, the inalienable good, but forward-looking, worldly, thoroughly novel, a mouthpiece for all future-driven trends. Of course, democratic, but not attached to a party, we have to be sure of that; even if now and then we have to have the nerve to touch an open wound. I think just having a common goal is all it needs. We’ll welcome any approaches that are tolerant in order to serve the same cause—namely, world peace and freedom. Oh, Landau and Buxi, it could be splendid. I’ve dreamed about it for years while lying awake, sleepless, and I will write for it myself, whatever occurs to me, reporting on anything that comes along. I certainly know what to do with a pen. But I can’t do it all myself; I need many voices, a symphony of like-minded spirits. That’s why I won’t sign some contributions, remaining behind the scenes like an invisible conductor who only leads the orchestra. Once I reveal myself to be the publisher, there will be nothing left for me to do, though I will take much satisfaction from it—for myself, for you, for everyone.”

“What will the journal be called?”

“I’m glad that you ask, Landau. A lot depends on the name, and the name is wonderful, a promising sign. It will be called
Eusemia
.”

“
Eusemia?
Do you mean that you’re mixed up with the guy who under that name caused so much mischief?”

“What, you know him?” responded Fräulein Knispel and Buxinger together.

“Oh, I know the man, all right. I don’t want anything to do with him or any
Eusemia
.”

“But you won’t have anything to do with him, Landau.”

“Certainly not. It’s been a good while since I got mixed up in that.”

“Look, my dear sir, you always react too quickly.”

“That might be, my friends, but
Eusemia
—I don’t want anything to do with it. I must insist on it.”

“So,” interrupted Buxinger, “you’re settled on it?”

“I’ve had enough.”

“You’ll have to tell me all about it sometime,” said Resi Knispel. “That really interests me. He has certain qualities not to be scoffed at. But don’t worry! He will have nothing to do with
Eusemia
.”

“Where, then, did you get the name?”

“Quite simple. He sold us the name and all the publishing rights for chicken feed. He really doesn’t have anything more to do with it.”

“Not at all?”

“My, always such mistrust! I swear to you and will put it in writing, if you don’t want to believe me.”

“That’s not necessary. Don’t you worry that the name has been compromised and is a bad portent?”

“Who will be so skeptical, Herr Landau!” said the bookseller. “The main thing is, we’ll do something with it. The name is hardly known and has many advantages. It’s already been copyrighted, and it’s Greek, distinguished, it means something, has the right tone, nor has any journal ever been called that, which is not something to scoff at. I can’t imagine anything bad being ascribed to
Eusemia
.”

“You’re right, Buxi. It’s as clear as shoe black.
Eusemia
is superb, and there’s no changing it. It’s not what you do but the way you do it that matters, and that we’ll engineer ourselves. It will be a lark, won’t it, Buxi?”

“Yes, we will make it work,” he said reflectively.

“Look, Landau, we have to have courage. And, besides, we have nothing to lose. Each of us has enough bread to live on, and if it goes well we’ll have a bit of butter for it, too. What do you want to write about?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead. What are others writing about? Do you have contributors? Firm commitments? Articles ready to go?”

“Of course. We have a good number. My lead article is already done; the drawers are full. But we need more, we need better. I believe in healthy competition in intellectual matters. We simply can’t have enough in order to be able to choose the best. Each one wants to end up chosen, and every day the mail brings a new load. Most of them are unsolicited and average. But it all has to be organized. That’s the worst problem when it comes to culture, that it’s so badly organized. If it’s well organized, one can run the show. That’s why, Landau, I asked you who you knew.”

“I can only repeat that I’ll have to disappoint you.”

“Impossible. You can’t be serious, you’re holding back. So many people know your name! When I first met you, you were as popular as a full box of candy.”

“That was long ago. I’m a bit of a loner. I’m asking you, tell me who you’ve already convinced to pitch in, and who you’re still hoping to get.”

“Well, who do we have, Buxi? Let me see. Do you know Oswald Birch? Everyone knows him.”

“Yes.”

“You know him?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then! Why then did you say that you don’t know anyone? He’s certainly someone! Heavy artillery! We need him.”

“Do you have an article from Birch, Fräulein Knispel?”

“Half committed. But half so. I recommended that he write on the most recent research in archaeology, and he didn’t say no.”

“That’s saying something!”

“Certainly,” agreed Buxinger seriously. “That means a great deal. He dropped in to see me at the shop, looked around, bought something, and I readily buttonholed him. Nor did he say no to me. It’s only the deadline that I’m worried about.”

“Buxi is always anxious. No need to be at all. We just need to work on Birch, talk to him nicely, remind him, not let him turn you down. Landau, could you do me a huge favor?”

“What might that be?”

“Talk to Birch. Write him. Call him up. Get him on board.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous! He needs to deliver the article! And soon! It can be short. We just need his name. Birch in
Eusemia
, then in no time at all we’ll be full to the gills with submissions. Tell him that you stand fully behind
Eusemia
.”

“I can’t promise anything with Birch. I haven’t seen him in years, nor will he give me the time of day. Who else do you have?”

“An article from Saubermann. It’s already done.”

“Really. What’s it about? Artificial pearls?”

“Actually, not a bad idea. Buxi, what do you think? But that’s not it. Rather, something on cultural criticism, the outmoded museum. Very enlightening. Wonderfully written. I’ve already edited it.”

“Then I can also assume that you have something from Frau Saubermann as well?”

“You guessed it, Landau. But I don’t want to use it in the first issue. It’s frightfully long, and she keeps kicking up her heels against shortening it. She is so sensitive.”

“What, then, did she write about?”

“ ‘The Principle of Moral Freedom in Institutionalized Charity.’ Such a title, like a tapeworm! I like ‘Moral Freedom and Charity’ better. But I have to talk her into it first. She insists on using ‘Principle.’ That’s the most important to her, but I find it clunky, vulgar. One doesn’t go around talking about principles that easily these days. But the basic ideas are not at all bad. Good deeds should not undermine freedom; one nurtures those in need with a sound footing so that they can acknowledge their moral responsibilities and not simply depend on outlandish sums given them through charity. That is good neither for the giver nor for the recipient, because both are then denied freedom—namely, the rights and responsibilities of freedom. One must appreciate how easily the giver of charity can become the slave of those in need, such that it happens—and Frau Saubermann gives examples of this—that the benefactor, who, let’s say, wants to go on vacation for a few weeks and who supports some poor hussy with a box of groceries once a month, has to pass, for once, on making his donation, such that the beneficiary gets nothing, yet waits for it in vain and finally spits fire and brimstone about the benefactor. That’s an impossible situation. I can give it to you to read if it interests you. You can even make changes and any suggestions for shortening it.”

“Who else do you have?”

“Maybe Singule. But he, unfortunately, has no time. Therefore it’s not as certain.”

“What do you want from him?”

“Oh, from him I have to take what he will give me. If only I can have something! He made a lot of suggestions, idea after idea. If something came of them all, there would be enough for
Eusemia
to live on for a year.”

“For example?”

“He’d most like to write about microbiology. But he just can’t do that, for he doesn’t know the latest literature. Therefore something practical would be better, something that speaks to everyone. So he thinks ‘The Influence of International Foundations on the Development of Culture.’ ”

“An excellent idea!” I said, unable to stop myself.

“Precisely, that’s what I thought as well. But, unfortunately, he has no time. Then there is—and I know, Buxi, this will give you a fit—Haarburger.”

“Not with me, Resi!” called out the bookseller, refusing to remain quiet, though he shut up the moment Knispel jokingly wagged a finger at him.

“I have Jolan Haarburger. That’s important, because he’s our only lawyer thus far. He’s already shown me a draft that he’s done. The title is not yet finalized, though it’s supposed to be on a somewhat religious theme, about law and justice. I think that’s wonderful.”

“Is that all, then?”

“Of course not, not even close! There is also the big gun, Professor Kratzenstein!”

“That really is a big gun, Fräulein Knispel. What would he like to do?”

“You mean you don’t think much of him?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“He’s amazing, isn’t he, Buxi? A luminary! Everything that comes from Kratzenstein is clear as crystal. Whether he will be able to write anything, given his many duties, is uncertain. But he agreed to do book reviews. We already have one.
Stereotyping Through Prejudice
. It’s supposedly a phenomenal work. Surely also something for you, Landau.”

“I already have the book.”

“You really do know everything. But he also wants to recommend many
other contributors. Those that flock to the International Society of Sociologists. Frau Fixler, his secretary, is supposed to give us a long list.”

“Tell me, Fräulein Knispel, if you already have Jolan Haarburger, couldn’t his wife also chip in something?”

“That’s sheer madness, Herr Landau! That’s a terrible idea!” said Buxinger cautiously.

“But, Buxi, the merits will decide themselves. That goes without saying. Hannah is artistic and a brilliant socialite, a gathering point for intellectuals, but she’s not a writer. She can help us in other ways. Do you really have no one to suggest, Landau?”