H. Adler - The Wall

Herr Schnabelberger and Frau Dr. Kulka belonged to this lost group that had nonetheless survived and found themselves here again, though they were different from the rest. They had grown accustomed to their charge without being too horrified by it, though they had tasted the blood of history in their mouths and felt a sense of revenge. These two, along with the other guardians who, in service to the conquerors swallowed the paltry morsels of servitude and had now gathered together again to serve the commemoration of the celebration of the near-successful destruction that had recently occurred, were not interested in the administration and public display of history; instead, a board of trustees was established that made clear what the job was, this singular opportunity needing to be maintained and developed in the kind of professional manner that was required. Which was why they employed some returnees, such as me. The hermitage, an old house of prayer, had already been turned into exhibition spaces during the war, and that’s where the lives of the extinct people were now preserved in images. Yet neither the collected objects nor the labels explaining them nor the informative plaques were enough to do this, nor even a completely fitted-out kitchen and a dining room, such that every visitor could exclaim what a wonderful achievement it was, a terrific success, this being how these people had really lived. Now that I understand them and can imagine it all, one can’t help being grateful for such effort and cost, how splendidly it rises above such destruction and thereby conquers it, thus allowing us to be rid of it. No, that had never been enough, for you couldn’t just gawk at the dead and imagine them; they had to be seen as alive, and that was how one had to have them. To this day, art and ingenuity remain essential traits of human beings; that was also true for the well-informed conquerors and last trained members of those who would become extinct. Then they and the conquerors pulled together a collection that they advised upon, and then one of the heads gave a speech:

“You’ve done a beautiful job so far. We are very pleased. But it’s not enough. Nor is it right to let you show us how you live, what you do, and what you know of your ancestors. For soon that will be of no interest to us, nor to the future. Your time is limited, and afterward we will be sad and will no longer have you. That’s unbearable. You must exist, even when you don’t exist, but it must not cost too much, which you will agree, nor can it take too long, as we’re in a hurry and you have no time. We have read in your ancient book that your Lord created humans from a lump of clay. Go forth, do as instructed. Do not, I advise you, breathe life into its nose! You are clever, so think it over. You must not disappoint us! Not at all.”

When the dying folk heard the last word, they felt energized, for it was a powerful speech, and it meant more to them at this hour than the voice of their blasphemed Lord. Their most courageous speaker replied:

“That’s the way it has to be, which is why we are here. We will take your advice. Give us a little time and we will make mannequins that will look just like us, though they won’t know what is good or evil. They’ll be life-size and look entirely natural, not made of earth, as if resting in fields and caverns but instead made of an artificial material that is used for the kinds of mannequins one sees in the display windows of clothing stores, except much finer and more expressive, so deceptively the same that the only thing preventing them from being living souls is the lack of any breath. You’ll be startled by how alive our people can appear, even when they are extinct. Then you can experience again the fear of us that has so possessed you. Cold terror will grip your spine and run deliciously throughout your very core and bones. But spare yourself any fear, for even stronger within you is the feeling of unconquerable power, for you are protected and saved; the mannequins, with their painted faces and hands and glued on hair, will perhaps not be innocent, yet innocuous and harmless. You can take comfort from them, as the mannequins are dead and will not persecute you, for a blow can break them. They will be alive only in your past fears, otherwise not at all.”

The speaker had arranged it such that his speech ended with the very same words with which the conqueror ended his. The recommendation about the mannequins was approved, followed by a lengthy discussion of how the figures should be presented and dressed. Wax was decided against, as it was hard to handle and too expensive, nor did earth, stone, or cast stone recommend themselves, as they were too stiff. Something simpler was needed, and indeed the dying were inventive: a frame made of poles and staves covered with rags, flax, and coarse fabric to make up the raw forms, and over that a layer of plaster, on top of which there would be a pliant paste made of wood fibers and a binding material that would allow one to finely work the surface before they were set in their final form.

It was supposed to consist of a family: a grandfather, a father, and a mother, a daughter and a son. First, little mannequins were commissioned. Quickly, cute little dolls were made that were played with, smiled at, fitted out with flapping limbs, with characteristic alterations made such that they more closely resembled the distorted image of this ancient people as they were made in larger sizes. Then a wave of activity was set in motion; sculptors, painters, decorators, many hand workers and other skilled people worked with a minimum of rest in a hastily assembled workshop. They were driven and encouraged, even receiving more to eat, but they always had to be prepared to be interrupted by high-placed visitors, to demonstrate their progress under careful inspection. Proud, the men stormed in without knocking, their hands placed pertly on their hips. Sometimes a hand would free itself from tight-fitting silk in order to underscore a desire or command with a pointing finger. Humorless rebukes could be heard, but also encouraging praise. Monitored continually in this manner, the work moved quickly toward the sought-after result. Each face was a masterpiece, the glass eyes piercing, the brows wrinkled in concern and the eyelashes individually applied with tweezers, heads and lush beards appointed with real hair that had been cut from the heads of the dying and collected, the expressions of the faces and their mien true to the way the extinct folk had expressed themselves. It all looked magnificent, especially the grandfather with his venerable long beard.

Then the clothing of the family of mannequins was made. Tailors did this who chattered a lot when their gags were taken off, but soon the conquerors didn’t want to hear any more of their childish suggestions. Garments from the somber times of extinction were distasteful to the conquerors, for that was no longer the time of this people, so instead the costumes of a hundred years before were requested, the fine clothes of the Biedermeier period, the good old days of this people, in which they flourished rather than were destroyed. And so it was done. Everything was prepared in accordance with old pictures, then heads nodded approval, the fabric rustled, the scissors cutting brightly through, the needles flying, the sewing machines singing; soon the most beautiful tailoring possible was done.

Yet how were the mannequins to eke out a living? They were not up to the long workday, so it would be better to present them on a holiday. Not a holiday of penance and sorrow, however, but one about freedom and joy. They should think of their forefathers, who were once slaves of the king in that land. But the eternal one, their Lord, led them from there with a strong hand and outstretched arms. If the eternal one had not led them, whose name must be praised, had not led the forefathers from that land, then their children and their children’s children would have remained in servitude in that land forever. He had parted the sea for them, and they safely passed through it. Then the eternal one had required them to memorialize the story of the exodus as Passover and to tell of it, while those who told of it were praiseworthy. It must not be forgotten; if the people indeed were extinct, then the mannequins had to commemorate it, and not on just one day but every day, year after year, so that the liberation of the extinct folk would be commemorated for all time. Thus it was right, for the commemoration was not necessary only for the days of Passover but on all days. Also included were the nights of those days. Yet what was named was not only “all days” but “all the days of life,” for the “days of your life” referred only to the length of their temporal lives, whereas “all the days of life” meant the time of consummation, when the Messiah would appear. Therefore it was right that this people no longer existed, but instead the mannequins awaited His coming.