H. Adler - The Wall

“The address? I just thought of it.”

“No, don’t give us the runaround,” Frau Lever said impatiently.

“We have two paintings upstairs that belong to the Lebenharts of Ufergasse.”

“Two paintings? My brother owned valuable paintings; he collected Dutch works. Still-lifes. They belong to me!”

“Valuable, that I don’t know,” I observed coldly. “And nothing Dutch. But we have two paintings.”

“My husband said to you that they were very valuable paintings, old valuable originals. My brother was a connoisseur; he would have understood what he had.”

“Our two paintings are not valuable,” I said emphatically. “But they are originals, even if not that old and probably painted from photographs. They are of an old couple.”

“Mitzi, that must be my grandparents. I begged Eugene to give them to me before we left, but he didn’t want to. That’s what should have happened! How did you get hold of the paintings?”

“There are many paintings that have come to us, Herr Lever. Especially paintings of family members. We have a huge number of them.”

“No, I have to see them.”

So I invited the couple in and to come along with me, though I said that it would be up to Herr Schnabelberger whether they could see the paintings or not.

“It would probably be better,” called out Frau Lever, “if my husband had a lawyer with him! My brother-in-law had no children, nor are there any other siblings. We are the only heirs.”

Herr Geschlieder said to me as we passed on the steps that it was a madhouse there today. Upstairs, I knocked on Herr Schnabelberger’s door. He sat at his desk and had a tasteful woman dressed in black with white hair as a visitor. He seemed happy to see me and called out, “It’s good that you’ve finally come!” When he noticed that the Levers were with me, and I explained that the couple still had a question, he clasped his hands together, mumbled that this was too much for him to handle, and whether it couldn’t wait. I turned around with a questioning look, but the two of them stood there defiant. After a brief consultation with his wife, Herr Lever said that, since they were already here, they preferred to wait, if it wouldn’t take too long. Schnabelberger mounted a mild protest, but finally, once the great distance traveled from Johannesburg was explained to him, he gave in and arranged for me to come straight to him as soon as I had accompanied the visitors to the main office. There was about to be a meeting there of all the staff, someone having appeared from the trustees in order to discuss what to do with a large load of prayer books and devotionals and how best to transport them. Several voices said right off that it wasn’t possible to let the guests wait here during the meeting, but the conference was almost over, and then they could come in. The couple could stand in the hall for a little while if they couldn’t go to Herr Schnabelberger. I couldn’t allow the Levers to wait in the hall, nor did I want to take them up two floors to my office. Frau Dr. Kulka would surely not be very pleased if I dumped them on her, nor would the librarian, who didn’t want any visitors. So there was nothing to do but ask Herr Schnabelberger whether he would allow Herr and Frau Lever to wait in his room.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” he said, sighing. “Lead them both in.”

So that’s what happened. The couple were set down in a corner, where they talked between themselves excitedly, while I was introduced to a lady, a Mrs. Mackintosh, she being the wife of a high functionary at the British Embassy.

“Well, then, my dear lady, here is Herr Dr. Landau, whom you wished to see!”

“Pleased to meet you, Doctor.”

“Please, just tell him what you need!”

“If I can be of service,” I added politely.

“Well, you don’t know me. Someone recommended you to me.”

“Yes, I see.”

“Through the intercession of friends, I have learned that I can turn to you.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“A Dr. Kauders said to my friends that you could tell me something. That you could probably be of help to me.”

“But what is the matter about, madam?”

“I’ve already explained everything to Herr Schnabelberger, but he insists that I must be mistaken, that I am in a museum, and not in the right place.”

“Then there’s nothing more I can do, madam. Herr Schnabelberger is competent when it comes to any such question, for he is my boss.”

“Good that you say that, Herr Doctor. Mrs. Mackintosh would not believe me at all. But just tell him, madam!”

“My husband and I, we want to furnish an apartment tastefully, and for that we need some lovely things. We heard that you have a warehouse full of antique furniture, isn’t that so?”

“We have some furniture, madam,” I admitted. “But not much.”

“It doesn’t need to be much, Dr. Landau, just good.”

“Madam, Herr Schnabelberger has already explained to you. You are at a museum, not in the place you want. You must have been falsely informed.”

“Impossible, my good sir. I am never falsely informed! Someone told me that, if you’re looking for antique furniture, well, then, come to this museum, where fine furniture can be bought. I love continental Biedermeier.”

“Madam, you have been informed completely wrong!”

Herr Schnabelberger drummed two fingers in satisfaction on his desk when I said that.

“We’ll pay for it immediately,” said the lady, not backing down. “It just can’t be too expensive.”

“We don’t sell anything,” I replied firmly. “We are a museum.”

“Right, a museum, I see. But you don’t need it all, do you?”

I looked at Herr Schnabelberger to see whether he wished to answer for me, but, annoyingly, he sat there amused and didn’t stir at all.

“You’re mistaken!” I responded forcefully.

“That’s right,” confirmed Schnabelberger as well.

“But it can’t be; I was reliably informed. Why are you hesitating? Please, do show me what you can spare! From the dead, there must be a lot!”

As if at an agreed-upon sign, Schnabelberger and I stood up.

“Look, madam, I’ve already told you—”

“Is that your last word, gentlemen? Are you sure?”

“Sure, madam, entirely sure, dead sure — we could not be more sure!” I said, my voice both high and sharp.

“Well, if you don’t help …”

Mrs. Mackintosh also stood up, a tall gaunt figure, and proudly shook her head in anger. Regally, she quickly took leave of us and didn’t spare us another look. We accompanied her to the door, but not a step farther. Herr Schnabelberger closed the door emphatically but reasonably behind her, then shot me a look that might have been reproachful, relieved, or amused — I couldn’t tell — though probably a mixture of all three, after which he turned to Herr and Frau Lever.

“Were you pleased with the hermitage? I’m so glad. Herr Dr. Landau does a good tour.”

The two said something polite in response, and said they wished to make a small donation to the museum, though they couldn’t keep from sharing the reason they had come to the museum, at which they began to talk so excitedly that it was hard to understand much of what they were saying, such that Herr Schnabelberger wasn’t clear on what the visitors wanted. Therefore I intervened.

“In the course of conversation, I learned that Herr Lever used to be called Lebenhart and had a brother here in the city. It then came out while we talked about our stock of family portraits, one thing led to another, and finally we reckoned that there could be one or two portraits stored here with us that would interest Herr Lever. He would like to know if there is anything that can be done about that.”