H. Adler - The Wall

“What, then, did she write about?”

“ ‘The Principle of Moral Freedom in Institutionalized Charity.’ Such a title, like a tapeworm! I like ‘Moral Freedom and Charity’ better. But I have to talk her into it first. She insists on using ‘Principle.’ That’s the most important to her, but I find it clunky, vulgar. One doesn’t go around talking about principles that easily these days. But the basic ideas are not at all bad. Good deeds should not undermine freedom; one nurtures those in need with a sound footing so that they can acknowledge their moral responsibilities and not simply depend on outlandish sums given them through charity. That is good neither for the giver nor for the recipient, because both are then denied freedom — namely, the rights and responsibilities of freedom. One must appreciate how easily the giver of charity can become the slave of those in need, such that it happens — and Frau Saubermann gives examples of this — that the benefactor, who, let’s say, wants to go on vacation for a few weeks and who supports some poor hussy with a box of groceries once a month, has to pass, for once, on making his donation, such that the beneficiary gets nothing, yet waits for it in vain and finally spits fire and brimstone about the benefactor. That’s an impossible situation. I can give it to you to read if it interests you. You can even make changes and any suggestions for shortening it.”

“Who else do you have?”

“Maybe Singule. But he, unfortunately, has no time. Therefore it’s not as certain.”

“What do you want from him?”

“Oh, from him I have to take what he will give me. If only I can have something! He made a lot of suggestions, idea after idea. If something came of them all, there would be enough for Eusemia to live on for a year.”

“For example?”

“He’d most like to write about microbiology. But he just can’t do that, for he doesn’t know the latest literature. Therefore something practical would be better, something that speaks to everyone. So he thinks ‘The Influence of International Foundations on the Development of Culture.’ ”

“An excellent idea!” I said, unable to stop myself.

“Precisely, that’s what I thought as well. But, unfortunately, he has no time. Then there is — and I know, Buxi, this will give you a fit — Haarburger.”

“Not with me, Resi!” called out the bookseller, refusing to remain quiet, though he shut up the moment Knispel jokingly wagged a finger at him.

“I have Jolan Haarburger. That’s important, because he’s our only lawyer thus far. He’s already shown me a draft that he’s done. The title is not yet finalized, though it’s supposed to be on a somewhat religious theme, about law and justice. I think that’s wonderful.”

“Is that all, then?”

“Of course not, not even close! There is also the big gun, Professor Kratzenstein!”

“That really is a big gun, Fräulein Knispel. What would he like to do?”

“You mean you don’t think much of him?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“He’s amazing, isn’t he, Buxi? A luminary! Everything that comes from Kratzenstein is clear as crystal. Whether he will be able to write anything, given his many duties, is uncertain. But he agreed to do book reviews. We already have one. Stereotyping Through Prejudice . It’s supposedly a phenomenal work. Surely also something for you, Landau.”

“I already have the book.”

“You really do know everything. But he also wants to recommend many other contributors. Those that flock to the International Society of Sociologists. Frau Fixler, his secretary, is supposed to give us a long list.”

“Tell me, Fräulein Knispel, if you already have Jolan Haarburger, couldn’t his wife also chip in something?”

“That’s sheer madness, Herr Landau! That’s a terrible idea!” said Buxinger cautiously.

“But, Buxi, the merits will decide themselves. That goes without saying. Hannah is artistic and a brilliant socialite, a gathering point for intellectuals, but she’s not a writer. She can help us in other ways. Do you really have no one to suggest, Landau?”

“What about Dr. Kauders? Do you have him already?”

“Anyone who is good, but I don’t want him.”

“Why?”

“Ugh, he’s arrogant! He just makes fun of me.”

“But he is a talented man, Fräulein Knispel.”

“He took his time paying me, a year or even longer. I’d be happy not to sell anything to him again.”

“Bills for books, Buxi — that has nothing to do with it. But he is impertinent. And though he thinks himself a great academic, he no longer is. But another suggestion, Landau?”

“You already have a lot of academics. How about anything to do with literature?”

“Oh, that I have, for it piles up like rubbish. Anyone can write poetry and short stories these days. There’s no art to it. Even I can toss it off like that. What I accept really needs to be something special. Do you have something? Do you write yourself?”

“No, no, not at all, I don’t have anything. But what do you think of Inge Bergmann?”

“We certainly don’t need poetry, certainly not at the start. Inge Bergmann is a good egg, but a poor devil as well. I can’t help her. She’s always sending stories to the agency, but there’s nothing I can do with them. And we can’t have anything like that in Eusemia . Just imagine, a cultural journal, and then childlike journeys to the moon and such nonsense. Right, Buxi?”

With that I took our meeting to be over, or at least the part that concerned me. I didn’t promise Resi Knispel anything, no matter how much she pressed me, no matter how much Buxinger tried to lure me in. I said that I really had to think the situation over, and that I wanted to wait until the first issue appeared. Both of them thought this discouraging and not at all nice, Resi Knispel calling it a churlish vote of mistrust. I didn’t change my decision, no matter how promising the project was still being portrayed with such flashy colors. At the start, if there were indeed so many contributors willing to pitch in, the project would certainly not falter if I didn’t join up right away. Resi Knispel agreed almost indignantly. It shouldn’t be hard to get such a flourishing operation off the ground, but I would be passing up a unique opportunity to take part in the development of a wonderful project that would bring me fame and honor, perhaps making my name known throughout the world. I should consider what it would mean to have my article appear at the same time in two languages, and soon in four or five, which would be fantastic good fortune, emphasized Fräulein Knispel, for a recognized genius such as myself.

As neither threats nor knee-deep waves of flattery would change my mind, Fräulein Knispel asked me insistently whether the well-being of my family and my own future meant anything to me, or whether I had so many bitter experiences and disappointments under my belt as to be unreasonable enough to turn away an extended hand. Did friendship mean so little to me? It became obvious that Resi Knispel knew a lot about what had happened to me with Haarburger and many others. My misadventures had generated more vile gossip than I had realized. At first this realization upset me, but soon it no longer mattered when I recalled Johanna’s warning and understood how miserable it would be to get tied up with these people once more through my own unrestrained approach. That’s why I replied nicely and coolly that it was in fact the well-being of my loved ones and our future, despite all the disappointments and experiences that had occurred, that forced me to hold back. I didn’t wish to upset anyone, but I at least wanted to see how things developed further before I decided for good.