H. Adler - The Wall

“I don’t think I’d be well suited to it.”

“You’re such a shit! You’re not well suited to anything! When someone isn’t well suited to anything, then there’s nothing he can do and he ends up on the rubbish heap. Just think of that, and to hell with you! I’ll go to Scher soon, in about two weeks, no sooner.”

“If it’s for me, it will be a waste of your time.”

“Stop being so disagreeable! I’m fed up with you, you’re wasting my time—”

“Can I go now? In fourteen days I can certainly—”

“You can’t do anything! Stay here! I will talk to Scher about your situation. For example, he always has a bunch of crash courses in the offing which he organizes around professions that are easy to learn, a lot of things that one can do something with. I don’t know what would be suited to you; he will figure that out. Certainly not a course in engraving monograms. Or do you like monograms? Watchmaking, perhaps? Or hand-weaving? That’s something for philosophers, for you can dream away while doing it. Well, then, say something! For once, give yourself a leg up! Yes?”

I didn’t say anything, yet Kolex was already puffed up with a new round of his blabber.

“Well, then, I see. It’s probably best that you think on it a couple of days. Then call me up. Or I’ll call you, don’t call me. The laurel might fall from the honored sir’s forehead. Inhibitions. This we know. But there’s nothing to really consider. You just get at it. Reckless, not feckless! Whoever considers too long before the hand held out to him will be left in the dust.”

I was quiet and had to remain so in order to avoid bursting out in anger and causing all the guests to turn their attention to me. Konirsch-Lenz banged with a key on the marble tabletop until a waiter appeared, at which he ordered a black coffee for us both, a repulsive-smelling brew, as well as a leathery piece of cake nestled in a paper wrapper that I could remove only with some effort. I didn’t want to touch either the coffee or the cake — both of them would make me sick — but there was no mercy; I had to swallow it all. Who knew what upset the man so except the fact that I continued to resist. Already he was suggesting new plans. Kolex leafed through a notebook made of his wallpaper and began to write a letter to Herr Scher. He should be the one to examine me closely, in order to sort out the rest. Yet it didn’t take long for this recommendation to be written out in a hurried hand that trotted along and then stopped, at which I, pressed to do so, nodded uncertainly. Letters of recommendation were an awkward business, because dozens of them passed between hands, and Konirsch-Lenz wouldn’t have had anything to do with them. The wallpaper itself simply awaited a personal touch. What one wrote was stupid flattery, outright lies, or extortion, and, in any case, the fabrication of false facts.

“Letters are nothing but lies. A banal method of pulling the wool over someone’s eyes, used for ages. One no longer comes to an agreement through such things these days. You must know that best of all. And what did it get you? Not what some dirt under your little fingernails would! There you have it! If I’m sent letters that are not pure business letters, but rather private letters, then I have no use for the private ones, for I prefer not to read them at all and throw them straight away. All they do is beg, that being the point, every last one of them. This charade makes me want to puke. Letters? All I need is a rubbish basket.”

The sheets of wallpaper soon unfurled their social views. I should note that the social-safety-net economy wasn’t worth anything. It’s awful, a spreading cancer of our time, for no one wants to work. Everyone relies on everyone else, the result being so mediocre and pathetic that you can’t help turning up your nose at it. Herr Konirsch-Lenz ripped up the letter he’d begun into little pieces that he played with until they were all balled up. Then he pressed them one by one into the ashtray that, earlier, guests had filled in a disgusting manner.

What kind of miserable impression would it make, was the talk that went forward, if I were to march in with such a scrap of paper, a strong man at the height of his powers? I needed to speak up. But he kept on just the same about Self-Help, Scher, crash courses, all of it mixed up together, though when finally my counterpart shut up for a minute, I quickly posed the question of whether the courses were free.

“How could you ever come up with such a harebrained idea? Free? There is nothing in this world that is free, not even death!”

At this, a searching look fell upon me that caused me to feel lowly and crushed, a lowly cur who was trying to squeeze into some little hole. Behind me there pressed a wild pursuit hot on my heels. I had to crawl over the dead that had been thrown there, those that had been choked and beaten, deposited there, starving and in festering misery, stacked up like naked dolls and buried, their last breath a phlegmy curse. Behind me I could hear riotous shouts, then shots rang out, pointed cries, and thunderous rolling metal, sticks snapping with a groan and straw rustling that burned on a piled-high funeral pyre. Wavering commands snaked across the brittle flats as I pressed farther into the thicket. I wanted to save myself, so I had to keep to the edge, where it wasn’t so dangerous, farther and farther away from the middle! Not completely on the edge, but near it, somewhere in between, where less occurred and I could wait out the rumbling that circled me. An endless coming and going of guests went on about me. Lost spirits scrambled among the cold tables, crashing into chairs that scraped along stubbornly, the plates on the table clanging, the waiters pale and impatient and threatening the refugees with outstretched arms. Many just wanted to pay the bill and get out of there, but in vain, the white caps shaking, the fluttering aprons throwing off puffs of deadly dust. It was a day of judgment, Cain had killed Abel, a cup fell, smoking, the gushing coffee spilling like blood on the dirty floor, the entreating glance of the father following, a best shirt spoiled, and sobs welling up in the throat of the approaching mother. Already a custodian was on the job, raising his sword of justice, complaining above the pieces, a waiter yammering on, blaming everyone and no one, some guests wandering about with suitcases they anxiously carried and that swayed like anchors.

I sat there tight and sweaty in my chair amid the damp arches of perdition, suffering and trembling under the punitive condemnations of the thin wallpaper, immersed in burning pain. What else could I do but allow my hearing and my sight to be offended? But, finally, the punitive condemnations faded away, the wallpaper curled and was folded, such that Herr Konirsch-Lenz once again sat across from me as a living person with eyes and a mouth, his lips moving vigorously.

“Why aren’t you eating your cake?”

He asked this in a dictatorial way and pointed to a little bit left over on my plate that lay there like a heavy lump. Silently I obeyed, and forked up this last bit, turning it in disgust within my mouth from one side to the other until the factory owner had to think that I had already swallowed it. Then I grabbed my napkin as if I wanted to blow my nose and I let the bite disappear into it.

“Certainly the crash courses aren’t free. One could not expect that of Self-Help. My friend, they have to run on their own, without any public funding. But they are cheap and not-for-profit. Self-Help is not looking to make money off them. The higher-ups have to just make sure to cover their costs. What were you thinking? The courses are taught conscientiously. Excellent faculty with first-class qualifications teach them. At the end you can take an exam, get a diploma, and then have a good chance of being considered for a job. In addition, as a graduate of a course you have the chance to seek advice from the job-placement service of Self-Help. The service is free and requires only a small processing fee for each placement. But you only pay once you know you have gotten a position. It’s even better if you decide to become a member of Self-Help, because then you don’t have to pay the processing fee.”