H. Adler - The Wall

“Is that what you want to do with the contributions?”

“When it’s needed, of course.”

“Then I don’t want to waste any more of your time.”

“Don’t be so sensitive, Landau! I already said, only where it’s necessary, when it’s to the article’s good.”

“It wouldn’t be good for mine.”

“Go on, you’re not a child! Time to grow up. We’ll always turn down bad articles. Even if they are well written. Don’t worry! Look, we’d really love to have you work as an editor. Agreed?”

“Then I need to hear a lot more and think about it. What I really want to know is, what is the target audience? What’s the purpose and goal?”

“The journal is targeted to everyone who is really interested in culture, no matter their profession, and the entire world. We want to be something that brings people together. Humane, although we don’t have to lumber around like an elephant in a china shop. The idea of the West, the nurturing of the intellect, the renewal of all values and their preservation, their sacred traditions, the inalienable good, but forward-looking, worldly, thoroughly novel, a mouthpiece for all future-driven trends. Of course, democratic, but not attached to a party, we have to be sure of that; even if now and then we have to have the nerve to touch an open wound. I think just having a common goal is all it needs. We’ll welcome any approaches that are tolerant in order to serve the same cause — namely, world peace and freedom. Oh, Landau and Buxi, it could be splendid. I’ve dreamed about it for years while lying awake, sleepless, and I will write for it myself, whatever occurs to me, reporting on anything that comes along. I certainly know what to do with a pen. But I can’t do it all myself; I need many voices, a symphony of like-minded spirits. That’s why I won’t sign some contributions, remaining behind the scenes like an invisible conductor who only leads the orchestra. Once I reveal myself to be the publisher, there will be nothing left for me to do, though I will take much satisfaction from it — for myself, for you, for everyone.”

“What will the journal be called?”

“I’m glad that you ask, Landau. A lot depends on the name, and the name is wonderful, a promising sign. It will be called Eusemia .”

“ Eusemia? Do you mean that you’re mixed up with the guy who under that name caused so much mischief?”

“What, you know him?” responded Fräulein Knispel and Buxinger together.

“Oh, I know the man, all right. I don’t want anything to do with him or any Eusemia .”

“But you won’t have anything to do with him, Landau.”

“Certainly not. It’s been a good while since I got mixed up in that.”

“Look, my dear sir, you always react too quickly.”

“That might be, my friends, but Eusemia —I don’t want anything to do with it. I must insist on it.”

“So,” interrupted Buxinger, “you’re settled on it?”

“I’ve had enough.”

“You’ll have to tell me all about it sometime,” said Resi Knispel. “That really interests me. He has certain qualities not to be scoffed at. But don’t worry! He will have nothing to do with Eusemia .”

“Where, then, did you get the name?”

“Quite simple. He sold us the name and all the publishing rights for chicken feed. He really doesn’t have anything more to do with it.”

“Not at all?”

“My, always such mistrust! I swear to you and will put it in writing, if you don’t want to believe me.”

“That’s not necessary. Don’t you worry that the name has been compromised and is a bad portent?”

“Who will be so skeptical, Herr Landau!” said the bookseller. “The main thing is, we’ll do something with it. The name is hardly known and has many advantages. It’s already been copyrighted, and it’s Greek, distinguished, it means something, has the right tone, nor has any journal ever been called that, which is not something to scoff at. I can’t imagine anything bad being ascribed to Eusemia .”

“You’re right, Buxi. It’s as clear as shoe black. Eusemia is superb, and there’s no changing it. It’s not what you do but the way you do it that matters, and that we’ll engineer ourselves. It will be a lark, won’t it, Buxi?”

“Yes, we will make it work,” he said reflectively.

“Look, Landau, we have to have courage. And, besides, we have nothing to lose. Each of us has enough bread to live on, and if it goes well we’ll have a bit of butter for it, too. What do you want to write about?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead. What are others writing about? Do you have contributors? Firm commitments? Articles ready to go?”

“Of course. We have a good number. My lead article is already done; the drawers are full. But we need more, we need better. I believe in healthy competition in intellectual matters. We simply can’t have enough in order to be able to choose the best. Each one wants to end up chosen, and every day the mail brings a new load. Most of them are unsolicited and average. But it all has to be organized. That’s the worst problem when it comes to culture, that it’s so badly organized. If it’s well organized, one can run the show. That’s why, Landau, I asked you who you knew.”

“I can only repeat that I’ll have to disappoint you.”

“Impossible. You can’t be serious, you’re holding back. So many people know your name! When I first met you, you were as popular as a full box of candy.”

“That was long ago. I’m a bit of a loner. I’m asking you, tell me who you’ve already convinced to pitch in, and who you’re still hoping to get.”

“Well, who do we have, Buxi? Let me see. Do you know Oswald Birch? Everyone knows him.”

“Yes.”

“You know him?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then! Why then did you say that you don’t know anyone? He’s certainly someone! Heavy artillery! We need him.”

“Do you have an article from Birch, Fräulein Knispel?”

“Half committed. But half so. I recommended that he write on the most recent research in archaeology, and he didn’t say no.”

“That’s saying something!”

“Certainly,” agreed Buxinger seriously. “That means a great deal. He dropped in to see me at the shop, looked around, bought something, and I readily buttonholed him. Nor did he say no to me. It’s only the deadline that I’m worried about.”

“Buxi is always anxious. No need to be at all. We just need to work on Birch, talk to him nicely, remind him, not let him turn you down. Landau, could you do me a huge favor?”

“What might that be?”

“Talk to Birch. Write him. Call him up. Get him on board.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous! He needs to deliver the article! And soon! It can be short. We just need his name. Birch in Eusemia , then in no time at all we’ll be full to the gills with submissions. Tell him that you stand fully behind Eusemia .”

“I can’t promise anything with Birch. I haven’t seen him in years, nor will he give me the time of day. Who else do you have?”

“An article from Saubermann. It’s already done.”

“Really. What’s it about? Artificial pearls?”

“Actually, not a bad idea. Buxi, what do you think? But that’s not it. Rather, something on cultural criticism, the outmoded museum. Very enlightening. Wonderfully written. I’ve already edited it.”

“Then I can also assume that you have something from Frau Saubermann as well?”

“You guessed it, Landau. But I don’t want to use it in the first issue. It’s frightfully long, and she keeps kicking up her heels against shortening it. She is so sensitive.”