H. Adler - The Wall

Herr Larry Saubermann had a factory that made artificial beads and other jewelry that was dipped in pearl essence or sprayed with it. During the war and after, there were not many good wares available. That was fortunate for Herr Larry Saubermann, who earlier had merely been wealthy but who now actually made money. He was a rich man, and he was capable and also posh. He didn’t think only of himself and his wife; he also helped others survive who needed to — poor girls from the country and women who had fled from other countries and were in desperate need. He handed them money and asked nothing more than that they thread beads. Many beads. The more the better, for then he paid more. Frau Ida Saubermann was just as capable as her husband and knew her duties, for she helped him and had good ideas. On top of this she also took on other tasks, sitting on several committees, one of which she founded and headed herself, helping to organize medical relief where possible, attacking problems constructively as well, for she was practical and attracted so many good workers to the business of stringing beads and other useful work that could be done at home. Whoever had agile hands could do quite well at it. Both Saubermanns were good-natured, as well as being cultivated and beloved within social circles.

I didn’t know the owners of the factory, though I had met Frau Saubermann once in passing at a party the Haarburgers held to introduce me to their friends. I didn’t have a pleasant memory of her, because I had somewhat of a sharp exchange with her, though Johanna felt that I had been in the wrong, as our conversation had gotten off on totally the wrong foot, for, really, she was a nice woman who had helped a number of people. Johanna had a soft spot for her and earlier had enjoyed her company a number of times, and, moreover, Herr Saubermann was not at all bad and indeed was fond of Johanna, since he had been a patient of her father’s and had much to thank him for, which he never forgot. Because of this I abandoned any feeling of resentment when Johanna said she wanted to ask Herr and Frau Saubermann if they could give her any work to do at home. Johanna called them and, to her joy, not only was she invited round for an evening at their apartment; I was as well. I didn’t want to go along, but Johanna thought it essential that I accompany her, because that would make a much better impression. We arrived, as had been arranged, after dinner. It was a lovely home, full of many exquisite treasures; many wonderful things called out to be marveled at, only to have their splendor taken away somewhat by whatever stood next to them. The walls everywhere were filled with paintings, several of them good older ones, a few good newer ones, and too many horrible paintings with expensive frames, in addition to a number of caricatures, all of them of the husband and none of his wife, some with him wearing his beads and other jewelry, others without any such pearl essence. There were also photographs hanging on the walls and standing around, among them special-effects photos, portraits, landscapes, and still-lifes, all of which seemed to me more awful than the caricatures. Most of the photos were by Larry Saubermann himself.

As in a museum, we wandered from room to room, but the women soon retreated, as Johanna already knew the layout and her feet were somewhat swollen, the baby being due in only a couple of months. It didn’t entirely sit well with the factory owner’s wife that Johanna passed, with hardly any objection, on forging ahead with the tour, because the wife was of the view that you could not take in such wonders often enough, some of them having had their positions or presentations altered in order that you could take them in anew, or there was some new acquisition that merited attention, or, above all, it would have seemed right to Frau Saubermann for Johanna to see the effect of these treasures upon me, though now, of course, she had to deny herself this treat, which was too bad. “You can’t have everything,” Johanna assured her. Therefore the factory owner marched through the rooms with me alone, pointing out and commenting on everything, and when I missed something or didn’t say much about it, I was taken by the arm and had to return until he was satisfied that he had gotten me to take it all in completely. Herr Saubermann maintained that his collection was at least as great as any to be found in a real museum, and not just because of the value and rarity of the objects but also because it was a collection that you would not find in a real museum, there being nothing but dust and stuffiness to pain the eyes, for all of it was personal, all of it lively, imbued with the spirit and love of the married couple in a way that you never saw in any museum. All art treasures in the world were presented at a distance in soulless public exhibitions, while high-minded and understanding friends of the museum, who, in the interests of preservation and social duty, offered up such goods and handed over the responsibility for them by loaning them out so that the public had access to such treasures. Then one could see who was really interested in art. Didn’t I agree? I didn’t disagree but instead expressed mild doubt.

“It’s clear, Doctor, that you yourself have spent too much time in the museum. That leads to trouble. You and all the conservators and custodians of the world who are not complete fossils should be forced to live in houses that contain collections, just as I do, and the government should pay for the costs. Then you’d learn something! I’ve had plenty of museum people visit here. Most of them don’t like it at all. What’s your general opinion of my collection, Herr Doctor?”

“I’m not an expert.”

“Really? Most so far would have formulated some kind of opinion, and, unfortunately, most have a bias, but no one has ever said that he was not an expert.”

“Really, Herr Saubermann, I’m not competent in this area.”

“But you indeed worked in a museum, you helped build a collection! Was my wife wrong?”

“And I got out of there as soon as I could.”

“I see! Then I can talk reasonably with you, which makes you a pleasure to know. Do you also have trouble with the whole business of museums?”

“I can’t say that, in general.”

Herr Saubermann continued to beat around the bush for a while, but my views didn’t entirely satisfy him. I was too tired when I tried to explain to him what my position had been in the museum. He understood me and our museum much less well, and as something that was entirely different from what most museums did. He finally gave up and led me back to the ladies, who were sitting in a little salon with something sweet.

“It’s good that you’re back, Larry. Was he pleased?”

“Why not ask the doctor?”

“Wonderful, madam, an extraordinary collection.”

“Just imagine, Ida, he seems not to have a real connection to art history.”

“I’ve thought the same myself for a long time. He indeed left his museum over there in the lurch.”

“No, that was not wrong of him, Ida.”

“Oh, yes it was. Certainly in his case. He could have helped build the collection. He seems to me to be a deserter.”

“That’s not necessarily bad, Ida. One only needs to know what one is deserting to.”

“Look here, my dear man, there you have it. My husband is using almost the same words as I am.”

“Ah, are you talking about me?”

“Yes, Herr Doctor,” said Frau Saubermann. “Just so that you know it as well.”

“Johanna, are you not feeling well?” I asked. “You look so pale.”

“It’s nothing, Arthur.”

“Now don’t you worry. The time to worry was earlier. Forgive me, Larry, but we are standing in the middle of a social situation. An object lesson, in so many words, a classic. I already told you something about the gentleman. Gifted, intellectual, imaginative, yet a total mess, having come here as a survivor like a gold digger to Alaska, but naturally without the same drive, thus a broken man — and I mean that well, I’m not trying to say anything bad by that — who expects that the golden apple will simply fall from the tree and bump him on the nose. Then he woos Johanna, who is too young for him, with sweet woozy talk, the sympathetic, dear woman then marrying him for nothing and starting off on a lovely perilous existence, whereupon Johanna is expecting a baby in no time and the misfortune is complete — no money, in ruins, miserable, everything.”