H. Adler: The Wall

I would happily have talked longer with Dr. Kulka and Schnabelberger, but Saubermann was being difficult and wouldn’t be distracted by either my gesture or Professor Kratzenstein’s efforts. Saubermann took me confidently by the arm and said that we should be good friends, to which I didn’t say anything. Then he explained that Herr Schnabelberger and Frau Dr. Kulka had come around entirely to his notion of museumship and had been happy to follow his directions. He, along with these co-workers, would be happy to support my research in word and action whenever I needed them to. In addition, he was also ready to supply me with any kind of private help that I needed, and to grant this to me at any time. While normally visitors were led through the panopticon by my former co-workers, Saubermann was ready to do it himself in this case, though Schnabelberger and Dr. Kulka went along to help him. The panopticon was filled with many objects that were familiar to me from my own time at the museum. On the other hand, the treasures that Larry Saubermann had shown me at his house were not on view here. We came upon bundles of badly torn prayer books, just as we had once piled up in the cellar; here they were displayed neatly, and one was left open. Then I saw paintings that I remembered. They hung on the wallpapered walls, which I recognized as the brand Kolex, from my former friend Konirsch-Lenz, everything now free of dust, the frames repaired and everywhere useful labels that could not have been more informative.

The portraits of the Lebenhart couple hung in a prominent spot. Having in mind Lever’s request, I asked why Saubermann’s panoptical approach wouldn’t allow them to at least hand over the paintings to the Levers so they could hang them in Johannesburg. Frau Dr. Kulka asked Saubermann if she could respond. He nodded that she could, and I was informed that, because of history, this wasn’t possible, for it couldn’t allow for any such return. I should understand that any dumping of stored-up treasure would mean a decrease in the true awareness of the history of those terrible years. The supposed reparation of an injustice should involve, if one understands it properly, really the injustice itself and no right to anything else. Frau Dr. Kulka didn’t want to disagree with me, but that was the panoptical approach, which, no matter how brilliant my scholarly achievements might be, I had not yet sufficiently absorbed. Then Herr Schnabelberger asked to speak in order to support Dr. Kulka and note that Johannesburg was much too far off the beaten track. It is psychologically telling, I would have to agree, that the Levers ran the coconut toss in such a way that, through unusual cunning, they deftly kept the conference participants far enough from the barrier in order to prevent the possibility of a direct hit. If he, Schnabelberger, could suggest something else, he would urge them to consider whether the Levers should be involved with the work at the panopticon, in case someday they might wish to put on an exhibit in Johannesburg.

Herr Saubermann pressed his lips together in frustration. He had already made the Levers a generous offer, saying that Frau Lever could sell tickets, and Herr Lever could succeed Herr Geschlieder, yet that was scoffed at by the arrogant upstarts. The way Herr Saubermann saw it, such an upstanding man wasn’t at all interested in ongoing access to the portraits of his grandparents; he wanted the paintings themselves, and that was that. There was no working with the Levers, so only under the Saubermanns’ personal leadership and control would the objects see the light of day, such as here in the panopticon. Then our skillful leader added that that was enough about those paintings and we should see the rest of the exhibit. So we moved on and came to some objects that I remembered from the hermitage. One had to admit that everything was presented much more vividly. This entirely convinced me that the splendid exhibit represented the high point of the tour, for there was the coffin, surrounded by the artful figures that had so carefully been stowed away in the hermitage, and afterward had been so ignobly hauled away. Here, however, the mannequins didn’t sit around the table during the Passover feast but, rather, haphazardly around and at a considerable distance from the coffin, such that one could easily walk between it and the families with plenty of room. Each mannequin could be observed from any side, each detail clear, there never having been such access to these figures before. Indeed, I heard within me a voice say, “Away from here, away!” But there was no chance of that, for my companions and everyone else standing around would prevent it, though I didn’t just feel as if I were under arrest but, rather, a feeling awoke within me that said, “Stay, stay!” It was as if I were under a spell, everything preventing me from moving, a hammering sense of amazement that took away any thought of escape, such that my legs, which wanted to run far away, were stripped of all power to flee. Also before me was what I had long not allowed my eyes to believe, the mannequin of an old man standing up, though his raised hands grasped nothing, presumably not having been entrusted with the laws. Herr Saubermann seemed to know why the old man stood up, looming in all his shakiness, only looking off into the emptiness and attending the coffin, beyond which any gaze was swallowed up in the fathomless measures of past and future time. This was the end of history. It was arresting and surpassed everything that I recalled from the days of the hermitage. I didn’t look at the mannequins for long, for they did not live for those who had died and the coffin reminded one that this was so, and thus I gave it my full attention. The proper state of reflection occurring within me, it was soon interrupted by an exultant voice.

“Look, Landau,” said Herr Saubermann. “That is my greatest triumph. First of all, it was not easy to save this memorial and move it here at great cost and against the wishes of the local authorities and those back there, and then to restore it at even greater expense. Second, I needed all my skills of persuasion in order to convince my dear assistants and colleagues, Dr. Kulka and Schnabelberger, of the extraordinary worth and educational value of this unique object. But now they both hold the same opinion as me. The past has been saved for good, and not just brought into the present but also through some measure of care preserved for the future. So it was, so it is, so it will be.”

As a special favor, I was allowed to touch the figures and then the coffin as well. I shied away from touching the mannequins and only lightly touched the grandfather. Then I drew closer to the coffin, it looking similar to the one that I had ridden to the Sociology Conference while accompanied by Brian and Derek. I quietly mentioned this coincidence, though my voice all but failed me. Everyone looked at me approvingly, as if it had taken me to reveal this to them.

“You have good eyes,” explained Herr Saubermann. “It is, of course, highly symbolic. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you whether that really is the coffin on which you rode here, for I don’t have the authority of an expert in furniture, which among us only Mrs. Mackintosh would have. What’s more, without basic archaeological training it would be hard to know. It’s all such a long time ago. Do you remember? I don’t, that I will openly admit. Everything was wiped out, then everything was good again. It ends up forgotten, no matter if one has the best panopticon in the world. Everything gone, for our memory is poor. But if your hard-nosed scholarly nature should be intrigued by this question, then Herr Birch, whom you know, would be the one to decide the identity of the coffin. It would certainly be worth asking. Though you’ll have to agree, it’s not a matter of outward truth but, rather, inner truth. And so you are right — the similarity is striking.”