H. Adler - The Wall

In subtle ways — well, was it so subtle how Oswald plotted against me, or was it nothing but nasty? He withdrew from me in a different way than his uncontrollable sister. In the first days, he extended to me an embracing friendliness that suffused me with warmth, yet I was given good advice by nobody, least of all my own feelings, in not realizing that such lavish amplitude lasts only a little while, especially when the spender is reluctant to receive anything in return. The few meetings that Oswald granted me did not betray any cooling of his affections, nor did his mood change, but soon I could hardly reach him anymore — indeed, not at all. If I went to his house after we agreed to meet, he revealed to me straight off what a pity it was that he had only ten minutes for me, as something completely unexpected had come up that he couldn’t put off, though if it was all right with me, I should just come along with him. I would then do that, and after a short, hasty walk or a ride in a taxi he’d quickly say goodbye while showering me with reassurances of his friendship and with the request to visit him again as soon as possible, or at least call. If I showed up unexpectedly or uninvited, as he suggested I do, most of the time he wasn’t there. If I didn’t happen to find him in, then he would explain to me in detail that it wasn’t the custom here in this country to surprise someone without calling ahead, for though I was always warmly welcome to visit, it would be better to arrange it beforehand.

Then I tried to reach Oswald by phone, which, unfortunately, involved a number of hurdles. Often, he wasn’t at home, and his maid didn’t know where he was, or he happened to have visitors, which prevented him from coming to the phone, or he had just come home or was about to leave, or it wasn’t a good time because he had just gotten a headache or he was swamped with work, or, finally, it might be, as he reported with a choked voice, that he just wasn’t in the proper mood for conversation. Our conversations on the telephone were often impersonal and for the most part rushed, being fruitless and soon leading to my feeling that I would soon not want to talk to anyone on the phone at all. Such paltry talk disappointed me deeply. Sometimes he employed sweet words in urging me to call again, perhaps some evening or early in the morning or the following week, perhaps the best being if Oswald could call me sometime. I would then tell him a time and place, at which he promised to reach me, though I waited in vain. And if a conversation on the telephone did occur, in which he at last listened to me with some patience and ease, at the end he would say that, much to his sincere regret, there was not much he could tell me that day, he being besieged from many directions these days, though he hoped in a week or so to free himself of all such unpleasant distractions; or he would explain that there were other reasons preventing him, there being unforeseen responsibilities that had to be taken care of, Inge’s health requiring regular attention and demanding great care, or a trip that could not be postponed had thrown all plans for the coming weeks in disarray. The reasons he produced as to why he couldn’t see me were inexhaustible.

So, in the first months that I was here, I often did not see Oswald for weeks at a time, and I soon began to call less often. He seemed less and less interested in my problems, declaring himself unqualified to judge my writings or my research plans, nor did he wish to talk about my experiences and my personal worries. Thus he made it impossible, for example, for me to tell him about my acquaintance and engagement with Johanna. Only after I pressed him numerous times was he willing to meet her, and on an agreed-upon evening that had been put off three times — we had already been married for fourteen days — he conducted himself in such a formal and controlled way that he remained aloof from any concern, Johanna not believing me when I said that he had been completely different before the war. He hardly ever said anything about his life or his works but preferred to talk about some book I knew nothing about, or to ask about things that meant a great deal to him but certainly much less to me. When it came time to say goodbye, his voice sounded sad, and he said how it hurt him that we saw each other so little, for he had been so happy when I arrived and to have me now in this country, yet in the past year contact with those he held dear, and that included me, had been so sparse. But, certainly, that would change soon; I just needed to have a bit of patience with him, for next month he hoped to take it easy and visit us often on West Park Row, especially since Inge had to travel to France to work on a translation.

When I left Oswald alone after that and waited for the coming months to pass, everything became more complicated. He said that he was afraid he had to confess to me that Inge had not left, as everything in France had fallen apart, so she had taken on a deadline job for a local publisher, the translation of a novel that she could not manage on her own, thus requiring Oswald’s help in meeting the deadline. So his free time was entirely taken up, his sister, above all, having been made more nervous than ever with all this hectic activity, her stomach suffering as a result, and if Oswald didn’t make sure that she kept to a strict and normal diet she could become quite ill. Some time later, I learned that Inge’s work had gone well, and her health did not suffer that much, but now Oswald himself had a fixed contract that he couldn’t get out of, and which demanded that he work ten hours a day, at least, for the next two or three months. I needed to understand the pressure he was under. Thus arose the obstacles that prevented our meeting anytime soon. That was the last straw — nothing but excuses. I had had enough of Oswald.

“That means we just can’t see each other anymore!” I said emphatically on the phone.

Oswald seemed dismayed. He didn’t take my words as final, but rather as a form of mistrust that he wished to dissipate, for he hated any feelings of mistrust.

“No. What are you thinking? Of course I need to see you soon. That’s not the issue. Somehow that will happen. If I can’t promise you when right at the moment, I’ll nonetheless think about it throughout the day. You know what? Let me suggest something. I have to meet with Kauders today, and I’ll ask him to let you know how soon we can see each other. He’ll let you know for sure.”

“I hardly ever see him.”

“What do you mean, you hardly see him? That’s impossible. He’s your best friend here! He tells me all the time how much he worries about you.”

“He says that? How nice of him!”

“Isn’t that true?”

“No.”

“That’s impossible! He’s devoted to you. He says that all the time. He even said so to Karin. One can even see the effect it’s had on his work. A strong influence that can’t be denied.”

“Does he really not deny it?”

“No, of course not. Your basic ideas show up throughout it, and anyone who knows would recognize them.”

“He wouldn’t admit that to me.”

“No, I simply can’t believe that! I’ll speak with him about it.”

“Please, don’t say anything! Nothing at all!”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you to.”

“Well, if you don’t want me to, then of course I’ll let it be. But perhaps sometime you’ll indeed let me talk to him.”

“No. I beg of you, just let it go. Is there no way, then, that we can get together?”

“Ah, yes, well … today is not possible. You know, Kauders and whatnot. I’d love to, of course. But it’s difficult. I could spare an hour tomorrow. Do you have time? It doesn’t have to be tomorrow. Perhaps the day after?”