H. Adler - The Wall

“I don’t care what you do during working hours. We only care that you get your work done, not when you do it, though I would recommend that you stick to regular hours. But that’s not what I want to talk about, but rather this stuff here. We can’t have this kind of private museum. There’s no justification for it.”

As Frau Dr. Kulka lectured me, I slowly began to gather up the things around me and put them back in the cabinet.

“I won’t bring anything more. It’s already been at least five months since I brought anything.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Why don’t you believe me? I long ago stopped wanting to hear about or see any of this. You needn’t have any worries.”

“What’s here has to go!”

“But of course. It won’t be here forever.”

“Will it soon disappear?”

“As soon as possible. But please be patient. It’s difficult to get rid of these things. There’s always something. Whether it be finding someplace to get rid of the stuff or to store it.”

“When will that happen?”

In the meantime, I had put back almost everything. What still lay on the floor I casually kicked to the side. Then I closed the cabinet.

“Please, madam, don’t pressure me.”

“I don’t mean to, but there needs to be order. It all has to be gone within a month or two.”

“Don’t torment me! Everything will eventually be taken care of, then one day I’ll leave and you’ll be rid of me.”

“Do you want to leave?”

“I’ve wanted to for a long time, but whether or not I can I don’t know.”

“Completely gone. You mean leave the museum?”

“If there’s an opportunity to travel abroad, I must, unfortunately, leave the museum indeed.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“There’s no sense in talking about it, for there’s no way I can leave.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Well, anywhere. At least for a while.”

“For a while, that’s not a bad idea. We can talk about that. Let me think if I can help you or not. An exchange would work quite well for you, and if we can spare someone here who would represent us well abroad, I’ll indeed appeal to the trustees on your behalf, if you can put together practical suggestions.”

“Thank you so much.”

“But to leave for good, that’s another story. I can’t go along with that. People are leaving the country as if the earth under their feet were on fire. I don’t understand why. To persevere, see it through, rebuild — that’s a slogan I can support!”

I had nothing to say in response and closed the cabinet. I wrapped the purse in tissue paper and was glad that Frau Dr. Kulka no longer said anything about my things. She observed what I was doing, and I had the feeling the unpleasant encounter was not yet finished.

“I’m sorry to tell you that anything you take out of the museum you have to show to Herr Geschlieder. That’s not out of distrust of you but for your own good. Just think what people might say if they saw heaps of things being schlepped out of the museum. They would talk about you, but also about us. In addition, it will create bad blood among the employees. If you show what it is you’re taking out, then you and everyone else are covered.”

As shameful as it was, I had to agree and submit myself to such surveillance. Herr Geschlieder wouldn’t even bother glancing at my bag, but instead just smiled and nodded at me.

“There’s something else I have to say to you, Dr. Landau. And that is much more critical. This is yet another instance that casts a disturbing light on your employment at the museum. That can’t continue. Do you understand me? You have to give me your word of honor that such a breach of trust will not occur again. Otherwise, to my great regret, I will have to take matters in hand and bring the issue before the board.”

I had no idea just what else I had done wrong, though my legs grew weak and I had to sit down on a nearby chair. My position at the museum had been difficult from the beginning, and I had exacerbated it, but personally I got along well with everyone there, many liked me, most likely even Schnabelberger, while even with Frau Dr. Kulka I had always avoided any serious confrontation. I had given my best to the museum and was not aware of any great problem with my work, and wasn’t aware of having made even the slightest mistake. What, then, was the problem? Why did this feeling of doom press upon me?

“I don’t understand, madam. Do you just want to get rid of me?”

“Don’t talk nonsense, and just try to finally have a positive relationship with life and the museum!”

“To life? I don’t see how that has anything to do with it. I do what I can. The museum has no reason to complain. Or are you talking about my relationship to the paintings? As patients, as invalids and such? We already talked about that and got past it. I have kept to everything that we agreed to.”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Well, then, what is it? Why don’t you tell me? Do you just want to get rid of me?”

“How stupid do you think I am, Doctor?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything, madam! It’s all so complicated, and you shouldn’t confuse me even further. I suffer, but I’m used to it. Oh, these times. You don’t know what it’s like. You have your husband and your children, and a nice apartment. You are secure. For you everything is pretty much assured, and for Herr Schnabelberger as well, and everyone at the museum. When you go home at night, it all makes sense. For me there is nothing but barren walls at which to stare. I feel trapped. The walls threaten to collapse about me, but they only threaten and don’t fall upon me, though only then would I be free. Everything has become so haunted. Even here. You don’t sense it, which is why you can walk through all the rooms at ease, whether in the hermitage or anywhere, even in the cellar. You can work in the unsorted archives, do something with them, and will feel joy in doing so besides. That’s not how it is for me. I always see what lies behind, between, before me. The dead don’t speak, there are no ghosts, no; yet how eerie it all is. The dead are gone, crushed and scattered, but their things speak the language of the dead, and so it will be until we get rid of the things or the shadows that cling to them. I could say a lot more about it, but I fear you wouldn’t understand me and would be cross with me about it all.”

As I talked, Frau Dr. Kulka had pulled up a chair and sat down across from me. She listened closely to what I had to say and was serious, while splotches of red appeared on her cheeks, perhaps from disgust, perhaps from horror, perhaps even from compassion; clearly, she felt uneasy. She had a blue pencil with which she played, leaving a line across her chin without knowing.

“Me cross? My dear Dr. Landau, what can you be thinking? But it’s distressing … or no … well, yes … distressing, and I don’t understand, you’re right. But what am I to do with you? If you want to stay at the museum, you have to pull yourself together. Otherwise you’re a debilitating, negative force.”

“Shall I resign on the first?”

“No. You can’t think that I want to get rid of you. Pull yourself together, just pull yourself together!”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“And, again, we’re not talking about your contributions. Nor should you be hurt when someone points out your mistakes.”

“For example?”

“For example, when you betray our interests to others.”

“I didn’t know that I had!”

“Oh, are you dense or do you not really know?”

“No.”

“How, then, can the English scarecrow, this Mackintosh or whatever her name is, show up as if she were in a furniture store, unless she had been informed, you being the most likely source?”