H. Adler - The Wall

“How do you wish to make a start?”

“You know, what interests me is the sociology of oppressed people, the persecuted, but also the persecutors.”

“Does that come from your own experience?”

“Only in part. I was already interested in the subject before I experienced in my own life what it means to be persecuted.”

“A painful thing to know.”

“Yes. We shouldn’t speak about it. Misery is my business, but not my pleasure.”

“No one’s pleasure, but everyone’s plight.”

“That’s right. But one mustn’t continually give oneself over to it. Or, at least, shouldn’t.”

“But what about when we are all in the midst of it? What happens then?”

“You have a firm footing, Fräulein Zinner. You always know how things are for you. You don’t have to toss yourself into boundless seas. I’m terrible company. It was an unforgivable mistake to invite you out this evening.”

“Do you regret it?”

“I regret nothing. On the contrary, I’m grateful to you. But you must really regret it. If you don’t chase me off immediately, it’s all your own fault.”

“What you say is not very flattering. After we’re done eating, I’d be happy to leave and bring you back to your guesthouse.”

“Have I upset you?”

“Not me, Herr Doctor, but my vanity.”

“For heaven’s sake, what have I done?”

“Nothing at all. Don’t give it a thought. I’m an odd duck, a bit quirky. I don’t deserve anyone’s kindness.”

“Do you wish to play some more? The violin?”

“You can have it. I already offered it to you at the Haarburgers’.”

“What am I supposed to do with a violin?”

“What should I—?”

“Play!”

“I don’t play. No longer. I’m played out.”

“Such pessimism doesn’t suit you.”

“So say you?”

“Yes. So say I. You have to start over, you have to live.”

“And to whom do you say that, if I may ask?”

“To you, Fräulein Zinner. And — yes, I’ll admit — to myself as well. But I think first it’s my duty to share it with others.”

“To each his own.”

“Are you serious?”

“One must, where possible, help others to fulfill such a duty.”

“Is that what you try to do?”

“Not very well. It’s a good idea. But I don’t accomplish much.”

“But you do accomplish something. That’s something. I haven’t yet been able to do so in my life. But you shouldn’t just give up the violin.”

“Don’t torment me so! There are certain things you have to bury and leave behind. What is called a guilt complex these days, Herr Doctor, should not be so easily handed over to the modern caretakers of the soul to manage. One has to, of course, bring sacrificial victims, even when they are of no use to anyone, and with victims there follows burial. One has to have the courage for it, and it’s really courage, for it doesn’t happen out of cowardice but through the attempt at atonement, even as a victim. Yet I couldn’t say that to anyone else, because no one would understand and they would laugh me out of the room. But you must understand! Don’t pretend — you indeed do understand! You know, I’m probably a bit naïve, yet I’ve felt that I’ve had somewhat of a personal relation to the great questions. In order to remain a human being, you pay a price. You are therefore guilty in simply being a human being, but you also have the chance to be a human being. That’s kind of how I think of the first humans in the biblical story. If Adam and Eve were allowed to remain alive after having sinned in taking on forbidden knowledge, then that was possible only because they were required to serve some kind of atonement. Since then, it is so: whenever we feel or know we are guilty of something, we then need a sacrificial victim. It doesn’t take much effort to see that, right? Don’t laugh, but if I’m entirely honest with you it reminds me today of an earlier incarnation. If you would be so kind, let’s not say any more about it.”

All of this spoke to me, it being what I felt as well. I should certainly not have mentioned the violin, but I would have been happy to continue talking about guilt and victims, though the waiter prevented that from happening as he carried in the entrées. Both portions were served at the same time, the meat on a plate, potatoes and vegetables in a bowl, only the salad served separately in two little bowls. The waiter began to serve the food, but Fräulein Zinner waved him away. She dished it out herself, and, despite my protests, I got the greater portion.

“You hardly have any roast!”

“You’ll manage it.”

I had to give in, and I saw how happy Fräulein Zinner was to be able to do something for me. As she noticed how good it tasted to me, she was so happy that she couldn’t contain it.

“I had hoped that it would please you. I watched you at Haarburger’s and saw what little interest you had in getting hold of such delicacies and eating them. It can make one very happy to be able to take care of someone.”

I didn’t respond at all, but instead let it pass and just looked up in gratitude. Fräulein Zinner caught my gaze and slowly chewed little bites of her food without paying attention to mine. Perhaps she ate so slowly out of kindness, in order not to finish much earlier than I did the heaped plate in front of me. That’s why it seemed best for me to eat as fast as possible, while still being polite, in order not to have to be chewing after she had finished her meal. I had never before observed someone as closely during a meal, for I had always before thought it unbecoming to dedicate so much attention to such an intimate activity. I had no idea why I was so keenly interested in how she handled her knife and fork, or even raised the food to her mouth, though I couldn’t stop myself, even though I didn’t feel it was right. I considered whether Fräulein Zinner didn’t remind me of someone, and searched my simultaneously aroused and benumbed memory. Why do people compare people with others? I asked. Each is without compare, it seemed to me. Yet that’s not true. In general, you could make comparisons when the difference was not decisive, which accounts for the masses. Certainly this girl reminded me of no one, for I had encountered no one like her before, that which was familiar sitting across from me being nothing but the strange, the unknown, which attracted me. Why was I eating with this girl? The coming together of two people unknown to each other is a mere accident, and a world collapses as a result, everything falling, everything buried, sunken, filled in, though something foggy creeps along, a secretive strangeness, digging in the depths, uncovering something, lifting the discovery high up to the light and announcing, “Look, here is what was. It appears to be an ally who lived in the long ago, but not during our time.” To discover the strange in another is good fortune. It lessens the pain that lives in oneself, such discovery being the only joy.

My thoughts were disrupted by the waiter. The dessert table stood before us, set with little glass bowls filled with a soft colorful foam. I tried some, and it melted on my tongue and tasted of lemon. Fräulein Zinner looked at me somewhat absently, though she noted my pleasure. I broke the silence so suddenly with a question that it almost shocked her.

“Do cooking and housework interest you?”

“I’m a terrible cook and, to my endless worry, know nothing about running a home.”

She said this with such concern; I thought I even saw tears well up. Why had I touched on something so sensitive?

“That doesn’t matter,” I tossed back cheerfully, and blithely went on to say, “No one needs to know about such things. When it comes time, you learn on your own.”