H. Adler - The Wall

“What we do and what we are meant to do — together I call that destiny. There is nothing we can do about that; no one can run away from it. Fate usually involves rebellion, a blind battle against destiny itself. And there is a portion of our destiny about which we have some say. That is what one can call, if you wish, freedom. About that I could go on at length.”

“Please, do!”

“This portion likely lines up with all that falls under the sphere of morals. But not with thinking and other intellectual activities. These ramble about in an odd manner, providing us with a notion of freedom, but when we examine them more closely we see just how far and to what extent they really exist. Yet this is not so when it comes to morals. There the decision lies within our own will, even if not always in action itself. If we could manifest what we decide through action in all cases, then we could rightfully speak of freedom. But actions outstrip our capabilities, our allotted human horizon. Only up until the onset of an action are we free in our determinations, not a bit further. The process of carrying out or even accomplishing an action is what decides what is determined. An action is performed only when we are allowed — when it, above all, is permissible under the laws that apply to the creature amid creation. The mass, I mean the mass of laws, appear in general to depend on the collective state of humanity, most of all on its social order, its social relations. On the degree to which the social orders are unfree, as we know. All are unfree! And thus we come up with what does not apply to everyone but, rather, to the individual, and one proudly announces, ‘Man is free! Man is free!’ I find that ridiculous. And you?”

“Herr Dr. Landau, what an informative exchange, a lesson from the lectern held at night on the street, on the evening of your engagement, for your attentive bride. But I’m happy to listen to it.”

“Really? Oh, I’m so sorry! Have I gone on too much? Tell me, please, how I can make it up to you.”

“I’m not free to decide, correct?”

“You’re mocking me. But I mean it in all seriousness; you are not free. What you say is quite right.”

“But I say it is right.”

“No, it’s a wonder, it’s grace. It determines what is right. And that you have chosen me. You having already taken me on, the whole nine yards.”

Johanna stopped and forced me also to stop. I bent my head down to her and pressed against her cheeks.

“You are a strange man, my dear! Very, very strange.”

“Didn’t I already tell you so, or at least gave you some warning?”

“That you have. You dear, dear fool, you dear wonderful man!”

“And so you can love someone like me, Johanna?”

She answered with soft quick kisses that dashed away all my foolishness. I responded to her tenderness. A homeless couple that had come together, and it was meant that they should. Was that us? Perhaps we stood there awhile, perhaps we walked on; a thin, soft rain fell in a winterlike May, but it didn’t bother us. Rarely did anyone shuffle by, the footsteps disappearing. Because the darkness engulfed the walls, it was no longer a city through which we walked but a land, an open and free land, one adorned with bushes and quiet forests surrounding our dreamy existence, but a destiny blessed with happiness in the midst of it. Our shared transformation felt like floating, a forward motion on soundless tracks, the floating sensation yielding an exalted journey, the two of us hanging on to each other with hands that caressed, sometimes only our fingers touching. We did not know much about each other, but we sensed it inwardly, peace settling upon us, granting us this moment of communion. Time had erupted in fine filaments that split apart and settled gently upon our faces, us not asking how long it would last.

You want to try it with me, you want to try it with me, or so I heard, the clock singing it aloud, or perhaps I said it aloud, but most likely I didn’t, for all such talk was muffled. I didn’t know where I was; I thought that I was in a foreign city. Thus I was beside myself, though I also felt that Johanna was likewise beside herself and yet was aware of all that had yet to be determined. Then she let go of her stress, relaxed and, once freed, quietly began to sing to herself. I tried to make out whether it was a real song, but I couldn’t tell; most likely it was a tune I didn’t know that sounded as pure as glass and silver. I should have been able to see, but when I looked up I couldn’t see anything. Again we held hands. I mumbled that I didn’t know how to dance, but she paid no mind. She just said it wasn’t anything you had to learn, as the dance itself took hold of me, not needing any accompaniment as it drew us powerfully into its spinning power and swung us in circling waves. Have you woken up? Have you finally woken up? You are a continual dreamer amid a metropolis that is never empty of shadows, where the darkness always stretches over its endless distance. Upon its slumbering flats you and your bride have been saved, as together you have reached an auspicious realm. Remember that it belongs to you, remember to keep hold of it, drink from the spring of its riches, but protect yourself from the danger of forgetting your losses, because such concern weighs heavy on the scales of memory and it can consume your hearts if you don’t watch out.

We drew close to a populated street, where, despite conservation measures, the lights were turned on, the garish blue lights shining in a ghostly manner, crudely bathing the people who swayed along the sidewalk. In the street, the cars rushed by noisily and slithered through the puddles. As we looked on at all this confusion, we had to walk on, more sober and collected, slowing our gait.

“Do we have to go this way, Johanna?”

She smiled.

“It’s very late, my dear. Can you see the clock there? We’ve been wandering through the streets for nearly two hours and didn’t know it. You have to go home, and I still have a ways to go.”

“Will it always have to be this way?”

“What do you mean, ‘always’?”

“Always a ways to go. Is that what going home means?”

“Not much longer, my dearest! Please be patient!”

“You’re right. I’m in your hands.”

“If you’ll let me.”

“I beg you to let me, my dear Johanna.”

Quietly grateful, I let her lead me through the wide streets. I heard many cars pass and closed my eyes in order to feel even more completely sheltered by the security of Johanna’s protective nature. Only when I stepped over the curb of the sidewalk onto the other side did I open my eyes again. Then I felt ashamed for having pretended I was a blind man, something that had been a favorite thing to do when I was a child, when Mother or Aunt Rosa would take me by the hand and happily lead me along in this way, often for long stretches, but Johanna had either not noticed me pretending that I was blind or had simply gone along with such an innocent game. Soon we turned into a dark side street, then quickly around a corner, the flood of light behind us having been extinguished. I didn’t even recognize that we were near my guesthouse, but then I realized we were. If I hadn’t sensed it myself, the step of my dear one would have let me know, a hesitant and clearly noticeable faltering coming into her stride, though it wasn’t really slower, just more guarded, softer.

I would have liked to stand closer to Johanna and press up against her, given how I feared saying goodbye and any inconceivable separation, worrying that any distance between us could destroy our bond, but I refrained from saying anything that could bother my dear one or raise even the slightest suspicion of the horrible anxieties that possessed me. I had to just bear it all myself. I didn’t know what she felt, or how we could casually, hand in hand, say goodbye. She probably felt the same as I did, and it certainly wasn’t easy. More than in the days and years past, when there had been nothing else for me, now I dreaded loneliness, it feeling for the first time unbearable. Now impatience hammered away inside me, consuming me, my frailty more obvious than ever. I was shocked at the excessiveness of the feelings that I was not capable of controlling, such that they threatened to burst from me, or, worse yet, shatter me. If I were only a bit more courageous, I would have done the only thing there was to do, not asking much or tarrying before the entrance to my accommodations but quietly tagging along to wherever Johanna was going. Nor would I have to think for long whether that was right or not, but instead I could just follow along, not saying anything foolish and always remaining by her side, rather than damning us to such loneliness. There we stood before the guesthouse, worn with weariness and yet full of desire, both of us lacking confidence as well as any solution while wondering what to do. Johanna squeezed my hand harder, until it almost hurt, and didn’t want to stay or to go.