The Wall (92 page)

The sounds of the vehicle were drowned out by a heavy rumbling from behind. Simmonds rumbled along, but the sound pleased me, for then I could sense that Johanna was near, as well as the children. The separation couldn’t last long. Then we braked somewhat sharply, but unfortunately we had not arrived at our destination, only at Halstead Way. Yet before I knew it we were already at the edge of Shepherd’s Field. I was feeling very uncomfortable, because outside there was an oppressive crush full of a horrible buzzing and drowning music. This was no Sociology Conference; it was the regular fair with its usual, though today unexpected, bustle, even if
upon closer inspection the number of people out at this early hour was not all that large. I couldn’t resist looking intently at Brian and Derek, though to my annoyance they were not the least concerned. Thus they had managed to make a fool of me, and it rightfully happened to the failed scholar Arthur Landau, who deserved a place in a show booth at the fair. There I sat as a figure of shame, powerless in a hearse, having to wait to see what tasteless pranks awaited me.

Defenseless and awkward, I couldn’t go after the mighty pallbearers, or even yell at them as I wished to. The ridiculousness of my situation in the glass cabinet was not to be overestimated. I at least got down from the coffin—how had I let myself fall for such mischief?—but it wasn’t easy to do so, for even after such a short journey my legs were stiff, me feeling as if I’d been broken on the wheel. Stiffly I swung my right leg to the left side and sat facing Derek. I hoped that it upset Brian, for now I detested him; Derek seemed to me much more bearable as the less important man. But I had to learn that I had not properly sized up my companions. Derek was pleased that in turning to him I had deemed him worthy, he laughing at me respectfully and also jokingly, while from behind Brian tenderly ran his hand from the top of my head down the back of my neck, which made me shiver. Up ahead the door was opened, and outside the noise abated, something that certainly had happened at a given signal. I noticed how people had gathered about the vehicle and recognized a number of familiar faces among them.

Jock jumped out from his seat, causing the vehicle to rock, and helped the old man, who trembled as he got out but was then happy to stand on solid ground again with his own two feet. I then needed only a quick glance to know who the old man was; his movements were unmistakable. It was exactly how old Prenzel would look, my old history teacher. I recalled my terrified face when I had last seen him, how he had met me on the train platform and then had dropped me off at the guardhouse like a piece of luggage that he had found. Why was the old man in the metropolis? I would not have thought to have found Prenzel still among the living, least of all here in the metropolis, since travel from back there had not been allowed in years.

My companions in the glass cabinet then moved to open it up from the inside, but in vain they rattled the double doors. Only when Jock hurried to the back, Prenzel following slowly but curious to help his colleagues with
all his strength, did the closed door finally function. At last Brian and Derek stood outside. Someone blew a fanfare, at which everything let loose with a fierce roar produced by music machines and instruments of alarm, as I worked as fast as possible to free myself from my dungeon. The pallbearers offered me a hand, but my pride refused their help. I withdrew from their too-confident grasp and staggered unassisted and alone over the running board and onto solid ground.

All around me I saw my family and all the others who had come in the vegetable truck, but also a large number of other people I knew, or at least could recall. Even the strangers who had gathered here seemed somewhat familiar to me. I probably had this impression because the strangers, as well as those I knew, aggressively tried to get within my range of sight. Yet all of them kept their distance out of a seeming shyness, such that there was an open space between me and the onlookers. Only the four men who had ridden with me in the hearse stood near me, until finally it was Professor Kratzenstein who approached, though still keeping his distance. Prenzel trudged over to me, blessed me, and took me by the hand like a little child who needed to be protected. It was touching. I believe it wouldn’t have taken much for him to kiss me. Then he walked with me ahead of the others who had traveled together, bowed before the crowd, and introduced me:

“I have the great honor to introduce to you my old student Adam, also known as Dr. Arthur Landau. Many of you know him already, others will soon get to know him, but none of you really know who Adam is. Please take it all in and learn from his example. I am very proud of him, and he’s earned it. I beseech all of you wholeheartedly, most honored attendees, to prove yourselves worthy of him. Make amends with him, bestow upon him what you owe him! He was always gifted, and the best history student I had. It’s no wonder that he causes such a stir now in sociology.”

The old man’s voice quaked toward the end of his short speech, which was listened to intently and was met with resounding applause. I was delighted with Prenzel’s clumsy and, above all, exaggerated praise, and bowed first to him and then to the gathering, which generally pleased them. I would have been happy to respond to the old man with something nice about his service as a high-school teacher, and then thank him several times for not having missed my special day, despite the arduous journey that had
no doubt caused him many difficulties. But I never got a chance to, for Professor Kratzenstein stepped over and warmly embraced me and then began to speak:

“Fellow sociologists! Thank you, Professor Prenzel, for taking the opportunity to personally introduce your star pupil at the Sociology Conference held by the International Society of Sociologists here in Shepherd’s Field, which I hereby declare to be open. However, it is you, my dear Dr. Landau, it is you whom I wish to thank from the bottom of my heart, in the name of all the gathered sociologists and associated scholars, for accepting our somewhat late and most likely somewhat surprising invitation. May it please you to be among our circle as an honorary member of the society from this day forth, and may this day bring you much joy and encouragement, as well as much gratification, as your work, which silently grew on its own, and is now finally seeing the light of day, and whose renown, ever more appreciated, spreads throughout the world, though earlier for years it brought you nothing but deep disappointment, painful misunderstanding, and even shortsighted rejection. Let that now lie behind you forgotten, and remember that the women and men gathered here carry no responsibility for the world’s neglect that has caused you to suffer so much. It is my humble duty to report that all those gathered here before us knew the extent of your accomplishments from the start, and never wasted an hour in trying to knock down the wall that stood between you and the world, and actively tried to support your work, and you personally, in your days of need. It was never a secret to us who you were, and each one of us who had the chance to encounter you gave you our full attention, and for the most part also love, taking you under our wings and supporting your work openly, or, more important, behind the scenes. Never can too much come to the good, an old wise man said, and so let me state openly, dear Dr. Landau, that still not enough has come to you. I would be the first to acknowledge the deficiency in the human limits of our support for you. You, however, would kindly think of it as only the external challenges that any genius must press through in order to realize his full potential. We all know that has been achieved, and so I bid you, in the name of all present, once more a heartfelt welcome. Perhaps, honored friend, I could now ask you to come over to me. As it no doubt has already occurred to you, we have arranged for this
conference to take place at Shepherd’s Field for special reasons. Sociology would be worth nothing unless it applied itself to practical matters and thus studied life’s problems where they live and breathe. You understand, and I hope all of us gathered here understand, how symbolic this is. Which is why I ask that next, before you move freely and openly about the conference site, you accompany me and honor the bumper-car palace with your presence, where talks about the sociology of traffic will be presented. You know these little electric cars—they’re pure pleasure and entirely safe, even if one collides hard with another.”

Rousing applause rose up, and I was surrounded by many people, all of whom wanted to shake my hand and clap me on the shoulders. Also, the music machines blared once more, and I was shoved along by the line of people who pushed toward the bumper cars, while the Professor continued to link arms with me. There the colored cars pleasantly ran about, little electric sparks springing from their electrical contacts that touched the wire netting, while two loudspeakers poured forth blaring noise.

As we drew closer, the electrical current was turned off, the occupants of the cars jumped nimbly out and respectfully withdrew from the course to the balustrade on the other side, where many conference participants had gathered who wanted to see me drive a bumper car. Professor Kratzenstein was polite enough to let me have my choice of cars, and so I chose a blue one. The other cars were also filled with selected guests, for during my turn none could remain empty. I would have been happy to take a seat behind the wheel, but the Professor informed me that it would be more honorable for me, as well as for him, if I turned the driver’s wheel over to him. He also believed it would be more satisfying for me, for I could simply look about wherever I wished, besides its publicly marking my place within scholarship forever.

“That is a distinction, my friend, that no other can claim. I have never driven such a renowned colleague with my own hands around such a course.”

“Good. Whenever you are ready, so am I.”

I took it for granted that it wouldn’t cost anything, at least for invited guests, but I was wrong about that. The Professor could see that I was surprised, and explained about the high cost of the electricity and for the attendants needed to work the ride. Mrs. Mackintosh, the wife of a high-ranking
official at the British Embassy, arrived with a leather bag on her shoulder and asked for some money, though I didn’t receive a ticket in turn as I had hoped. That would be too official, she explained in a friendly manner. Besides, everything good in the world should be based on good faith and well-meant intentions. I wanted to pay, but Kratzenstein wouldn’t let me. Then I at least wanted to pay for Johanna and Anna, who occupied two cars with my children, but the Professor wouldn’t allow that, either. When I tried to press my coins on Mrs. Mackintosh, she let me know that she agreed with him and would have none of it.

“You wouldn’t sell me the furniture back then, as I wanted you to. Do you remember? It’s been a long while since I was angry with you, but it wasn’t very kind of you. Since then I’ve gotten some that is much nicer. But back then I swore that I wanted nothing more to do with you, so then I don’t want your money. Got it?”

Hence, I had to let it go, Kratzenstein’s coins rattling as they disappeared into Mrs. Mackintosh’s shoulder bag.

“An outstanding scholar!” boomed the Professor with the air of an expert. “I have a great soft spot for her. But her husband is the one to know, an embassy official and a writer and critic besides. He’s just come out with another book, which he’s always doing. What a fine person! Everyone says that about him.”

Mrs. Mackintosh went about her business with care and speed so that the race could soon begin. The Professor didn’t at all steer with the kind of elegant skill that I had expected of him, but rather in such a hilarious manner that it was twice the fun. He clutched the steering wheel tightly and turned it wildly about, such that we almost continually crashed into other drivers, slamming into them, almost tipping them over, after which it all repeated itself, us hitting other drivers sometimes slightly, sometimes harder, until my head was humming. It was lucky that the little oval cars were covered on the outside with a thick rubber pad. Once we crashed into Mrs. Stonewood, who with her two boys riding with her zigzagged back and forth awkwardly, and who was often warned by Mrs. Mackintosh to be more careful. Then there was a little while when there were no crashes, but Kratzenstein looked too long with pride at me, rather than at the oncoming cars, until we painfully crashed into Oswald Birch, who as a master driver
boldly drove about on his own, the result being that his and our cars became wedged with each other and stood locked.

“How nice, Arthur, that I can wish you the best at the same time! We must, of course, see each other again soon. You are now a made man, that is clear.”

“Shall I call you?”

“No, what are you thinking? Of course I will call you. Certainly. Tomorrow, for instance. It’s been terribly long since I’ve seen you, and I need to speak to you. I’ve wanted to discuss some archaeological-sociological problems with you for a while.”

I didn’t have a chance to answer, for in the same moment our cars were separated and were able to move again. All I could do was wave at Oswald, who whizzed by at full speed. Then we hit the car of a man whom I recognized as the head officer of the train police from back there. That was unpleasant for me, for I was afraid of some kind of provocation, some kind of case being made against me. Had he traveled here with Prenzel in order to collar me and take me away? I turned around, but my old professor didn’t appear to be anywhere around. Then I looked more closely at the Assessor of Sympathies and observed that I didn’t need to worry, a side glance at Kratzenstein also reassuring me that nothing bad would happen. The Assessor of Sympathies even seemed to fear that I would hold his awful behavior against him now. He appeared to me to be much changed from what he had been, almost apologizing abjectly for the run-in, though he said it was not him but Kratzenstein who had been the cause of it, adding without much apparent conviction that I had been right. About what? I asked. Your political sympathies, he responded. But before I could untangle the sense of the comment and its double meaning we were off again. We then made two laps without getting hit much or bothered, though eventually we hit the car of Frau Fixler, Kratzenstein’s secretary, for whom this abrupt meeting was so embarrassing that she blushed with shame. She swore that she had nothing to do with things not going so smoothly back in the days of the business between me and Herr Professor Kratzenstein. Although it was not something I would ever have requested, she promised in future to always send timely invitations to all the events of the International Society of Sociologists in letter format in a sealed envelope, not as just a worthless flyer, for she knew
my address by heart. I tried to calm the excited lady, who with hands and feet was furiously trying to free her car from ours in order not to prevent our driving on.