H. Adler - The Wall

“You don’t have to apologize!” Frau Dr. Kulka and Herr Schnabelberger called out simultaneously.

“Oh, yes, I do. I also promise you that I will do everything I can to help things run smoothly. But for me nothing is simple. It’s not possible for me to be optimistic without being thoughtless. I couldn’t bear that. The confusion between history and the present is all I have; it lies at the core of my being. It goes best for me if I don’t separate the two. Then they run parallel to each other and finally merge as one. No doubt there still must be borders between them, and I can’t think of borders being impenetrable. Crossings over and through must remain open, as the case may be and according to how one sees it, or at least be maintained as possible. It’s at these borders that I find myself, having experienced my own history. Only when I can imagine that do I grasp that I have survived, and by that I mean to have survived myself and my history. That causes me a great deal of distress and difficulties, but not despair. No. I fight against despair, but I plunge into distress and stand, I must say paradoxically, faced with the task of trying to find a task. I actually do not have a task but, rather, I know only that I must have one. That is what I’m looking for. I must therefore seek something. Only through this effort, it seems to me, can I rise a bit above history, and that’s why I cannot abandon my gloomy torments. It is the only means by which to attain my future liberation. Please believe me, it is not a psychological problem, nor can any doctor treat it, nor should one.”

Frau Dr. Kulka wanted to respond, but Herr Schnabelberger seemed to feel that this would only prolong a fruitless conversation, being afraid as well, although he didn’t completely agree with me and didn’t understand it all, that any misunderstandings on the part of the Frau Doctor could lead to something derogatory being said. He wanted to spare me from being upset. Therefore he spoke in a conciliatory manner and explained that it was now clear how I thought about matters; for that, I deserved consideration and all due respect, but the position of Frau Dr. Kulka must be valued just as much, without which the museum would have to close, something that I, Landau, certainly must know and acknowledge. Therefore it would certainly be best to break off our rich and clarifying talk, which had granted all three of us useful things to think about.

“That helps to clear the air, doesn’t it, and now we need to get to work.”

Frau Dr. Kulka extended her hand in reconciliation. I wanted to discuss with her some technical matters having to do with work, but she wanted to speak with Herr Schnabelberger about a shipment of another load of prayer books to America, telling me that anytime today, if possible, I could stop in at her office at my convenience. So I left the room, after which Herr Schnabelberger gave my hand a friendly shake and patted me on the back in a comforting manner. Humming, I climbed the steps to my office, not at all a good student, though I had indeed been praised, the teachers having been tolerant and conscientious in cheering on the afflicted one and not scaring him off. The portraits in the stairwell looked at me more studiously than ever, their curiosity about their fellow student being too much to contain. They asked, How did it go? I nodded at them, but I had nothing to report and continued humming until I reached my office. There I arranged some lists that I needed for a report. I had been asked to give a general overview of the condition, worth, quality, and special meaning of my schoolmates.

I didn’t remain undisturbed with my work for long. Someone sent someone from the central office up to me, saying that I should come, as there was a visitor from abroad who wanted information and a tour. I put on my black work jacket and ran down to greet the guests. Herr Schnabelberger was chatting with them in the main office, the former conference room of the school. I could see that he had no time and really wanted me to take over for him. He introduced Herr Dr. Landau, who can help you with everything, to Herr and Frau Lever from Johannesburg. After bows and quick handshakes accompanied by smiles, Herr Schnabelberger excused himself and left the room in a hurry. I invited the guests to view our assembled, though not yet publicly available, collection. For that we need to go down the street, for no, there was hardly anything to see here in the old school, just storage and administrative offices, but around the corner in the temple, in the hermitage, there the exhibition is already flourishing, and that’s where we wanted to go. Herr Geschlieder gave me the key, and so I accompanied the guests along the street. It hasn’t changed at all, said Herr Lever from Johannesburg. His wife shook her head uncertainly. I couldn’t tell if she was agreeing or disagreeing, but it seemed as if the lady had not had much prior experience of our city. Therefore she didn’t know for sure whether it had changed much or not. I was very polite and didn’t say whether things had changed, but Herr Lever wasn’t comfortable with me holding back, as he certainly wanted to hear my opinion. He said that after having been away for eight years, that being how long it had been for him, the time having flown by, it was curious how one came back and looked and looked at all the houses that were the same as they once had been, the streets having the same names, as well as the shops and cafés, the castle with its dome, the incomparable feel and the air and the food — in short, all of it as glorious as it had been in childhood.

These observations proceeded until we encountered an old man, who looked at me inquisitively and appeared to recognize me. I was unsure and didn’t remember him at all, though I greeted him warmly as if I knew him. Landau, the man said happily, it’s Landau; then I recognized the voice. It was Professor Hilarius Prenzel, my old high-school teacher. He was happy to see me, thinking that he would not see me alive again, for he thought that before the war I had fled abroad. Manners dictated that I introduce the Levers to Prenzel. I wanted to quickly ask for my teacher’s address, and I promised him I would visit him soon. No, no, insisted my professor, for he would not accept that I was unavailable right now. In order to do something with the man and woman, I assured him I would and tried to say goodbye. But Prenzel wasn’t willing to give me any consideration and wouldn’t let me go. I turned toward Herr Lever while making silent gestures explaining that I was meeting someone after many years, and he finally assured me that a few minutes didn’t matter. Prenzel could not believe how I had changed, but a good teacher recognizes his students even after decades. Everything had changed, he said sadly, the entire city, only the empty shells of buildings still there, which soon no one would recognize, a fading history that was hardly perceivable any longer. Only a few of his students were supposedly there, some having emigrated, others having been hauled off or gone off to war, whether killed or captured, hardly any more left, and whoever was there had to or wanted to leave. And did I know anything about my classmates? No, nothing, no more contact, nor did I know what had happened to them, only Arno Seiler. Yes, Arno Seiler, he remembered him. Whatever happened to him? Unfortunately, not much. He became political, then was killed. And the students from other classes? Recently, a letter from So-and-So — that’s Leonard Kauders. He had sent along greetings to Prenzel. Oh him, that’s nice, for he was the best in his class at history, though he wasn’t always that good with dates. Thank him for the greetings, and return my warmest. Everything has changed, Landau, everything, really everything. And Prenzel himself, did he have to leave? No, he could stay because of his wife, and there was also a nice nephew who had influence.