H. Adler - The Wall

They listened to me, Frau Dr. Kulka thinking before she answered.

“When it occurs but has already happened and is already over, then it is history. But, of course, it has to be designated as such at some point in order to be known.”

“And you have to bring it into a museum when it is adequate and can still be transported, when you can call it historical evidence, right, Frau Doctor?”

“Yes.”

“But often it’s still alive and is not gone by. As an object it presents itself, is there, or, I would say, is manifestly there, not as a piece of evidence but as a witness in itself, and yet it’s supposed to be an object! Please don’t think it mad or a paranoid obsession when I also find it haunting and horrible! I disagree completely. All of us, all of us here together, are history.”

“Then a museum is a good place for us,” joked Herr Schnabelberger.

“You are totally right. We are remnant survivors, who are there for all who are not. That’s true in general; the living are there for the dead, for their predecessors, and thus we also represent the history of the dead. How difficult it is, then, to exist as oneself when we are also history, so much history! But we are particularly there for all those dragged away by force and annihilated. You know what I mean, those of whom not a trace … We are the history of the exterminated, the history of the shadow that consumed them. And we collect what was stolen from them, what we can store up of their remains. But that is indeed alive and really not history. It amounts to neither memory nor keepsakes; it is commemoration. It really hangs somewhere between history and an event, a fragile condition, yes? And, with that, hopefully I have explained well enough why it occurs to me to speak of the portraits as patients. I take that to be my charge, and so I see those who have been painted as living and possessed of a fate, indeed as persons, not at all as objects, and it pains me to think of how badly they live here among us, badly locked up in cages and castigated, covered in layers of dust, while the blood of those murdered can hardly be washed away. Anyone who finds themselves in this situation—”

“Listen,” Frau Dr. Kulka interrupted intensely, but sympathetically, “you’re dealing with horrendous problems. But these problems don’t exist, they’re chimeras. You have to recognize the illness that you are projecting onto the world around you. You are very wounded, it’s no wonder. If I were in your shoes, I’d look for medical help in order to conquer these horrible visions. I’d also try to get out more when you’re done with work. What you’ve accomplished is extraordinary. Herr Schnabelberger and I both appreciate that, as do the curators. You are managing a huge workload; it’s almost too much. But I have to warn you, the way you are going about it is no longer healthy. Although I don’t want to upset you, I’m afraid there’s no way that you can continue at the museum in your present circumstances.”

“If you don’t want me here, then I can leave.”

“Please, Herr Doctor, don’t be so sensitive! Frau Dr. Kulka wasn’t saying anything bad about you. On the contrary. Her concerns are quite justifiable. Anyone would have them, including me.”

“I sense that both of you are not happy with me, especially Frau Doctor. I can feel it in every word.”

“Don’t talk such nonsense! I only want — and I know that Herr Schnabelberger agrees — that you have a healthy relation to life and especially to the museum. We mean well and want you to stay at the museum, not leave it.”

“You know, you’ve just said what frightens me so: life in the museum. That’s exactly it. We are a hospital, or not even that, a center for anatomical pathology. We deal with what is wounded and deteriorating. We take away the remaining life from things. Numerous specimens. In the process, we run the danger of wounding or killing ourselves. We don’t realize that we are doing away with the connection between us and the paintings, artifacts, and writings. Thus we divest ourselves of these things, and that could one day come back to haunt us. But by then it will be too late.”

Frau Dr. Kulka was impatient, but Herr Schnabelberger spoke to her and tried to calm me down as well.

“Each person has a particular relationship to our museum and to history, and, of course, to his own life. Our tasks here are unusual. We have to take care of the legacy of a catastrophe, and we do not know how the will reads. The three of us have our own views about it, but we also have to serve the trustees, the museum field in general, the ministry, and, not least, the government. Therefore there is no point in our fighting. Most likely, no one has ever had to fulfill a similar function before. Dr. Landau and I accidentally got tangled up in this. As an electrical engineer and a sociologist, neither of us is an expert in museums. We are, however, trying to accomplish something here. I was sent here during the war, but I confess, I still have the same fire, the work still interests me, I cannot pull myself away from it, and I remain just as inspired by it as when I first returned. What do I care about alternating current, continuous current, phases, rheostats, and all that? I would no longer feel as comfortable in an electronics factory as I do here. When it comes to an induction of energy, my friends, I have devoted body and soul to the museum. For Dr. Landau, the situation is different, as he came here voluntarily. Because he felt the need to and thought he could be of help to us. And that he has done splendidly. In terms of building the museum collection, you are the only art historian, Frau Doctor. So that’s the way things stand, and that’s why we have to stick together and not be too sensitive. The museum needs us, and we know our duty. So we need to get along!”

Frau Dr. Kulka and I agreed.

“I can see,” she said, “that it’s not easy for Dr. Landau. But, nonetheless, he has to try to appreciate my viewpoint and the objects themselves that our museum is meant to serve. Feelings are all well and good, we all have them, but we have to be practical. The catastrophe has happened, we cannot change it. Now it is over. Therefore one must also free oneself internally from it and make the best of what is left for us to save. That can only happen if you don’t torment yourself and others as well. There are still many beautiful things, and we want to protect them and preserve them for the future. We are all agreed on that. But without optimism that won’t happen. That’s why I ask for a bit of courage! We want to ensure that everything is not pointless and lost. Of course, I have no trouble with how Dr. Landau thinks, as long as the museum doesn’t suffer as a result of it. But I wish you could find a way to extricate yourself from your past, from all those horrible things that happened to you. It happened to others as well, to some just as bad, to many not as bad, to others even worse, and they nonetheless courageously, and even with a sense of humor, go on with their postwar lives. You cannot simply turn away from all pleasures as you do. You never go to the movies, you turn down invitations, you don’t go on outings — my dear friend, no wonder you’re so gloomy! Go out and have a laugh for once! It’s unbearable to watch you sit there with your eyes swelling like sad flowers, a complete loner who sits stock-still in a hole, staring at a wall and not noticing how to the right and the left paths are completely free. You simply have to decide for yourself, and soon everything will work out.”

“Madam—”

“Oh, please don’t call me madam! You know how I can’t stand that.”

“Frau Doctor, what you say is completely right for you. When it comes to such questions, one can only decide for oneself. For me, things are different. I certainly would like, as Herr Schnabelberger put it so well, to work with you and everyone at the museum in a pleasant manner, without calling too much attention to my idiosyncrasies. I also don’t want anything more to do with the old prayer books that are moldering away in the cellar. I’ve had enough to do with them already. Perhaps my manner is heavy-handed, for I have the feeling that I often bring up matters that you don’t agree with. Please forgive me — I don’t mean anything bad by it!”