H. Adler - The Wall

Something had to happen. After some dithering, I decided that it was better to approach Herr Kutschera rather than his shrewish wife, whom my father always hated to deal with whenever he had to again complain about the garbage that would end up in front of his door. And yet I also didn’t want to ambush Herr Kutschera with a question out of the blue. If I bothered him with questions that he found disturbing, he wouldn’t want anything to do with me. What I needed to do was make him curious and buy just a little something in order to get on his good side.

“Herr Kutschera, two kilos of your best apples!”

The vendor looked up quickly when I said his name, but he didn’t recognize me and just pointed gruffly at a sign that said, “Only One Kilo Per Customer.” Ashamed, I called out, “Oh, then one kilo!” Kutschera ripped off a bag from a bundle that hung down, slid his hand in, then blew into the bag, grabbed some apples, quickly threw them onto a scale with its trays clattering, and briskly switched apples in and out until the exact weight was achieved.

“Herr Kutschera, do you recognize me?”

He looked up again. His gaze didn’t reveal that someone he knew stood before him. But he didn’t worry any more about it and just busied himself again with the apples and the scale. What was I to him?

“No.”

Sullenly he busied himself with the apples. The kilo refused to come to the exact weight. I needed to help Herr Kutschera out.

“It can be a bit more than a kilo, it doesn’t matter.”

“Didn’t you read the sign? To hell with your stupid trick!”

“Oh dear, forgive me! Before the war I came here often.”

“And so did many others!” he snapped, closing the paper bag and holding it out to me, waiting for the money in exchange. Frau Kutschera, who was busy with other customers, was already bothered by my talk and muttered angrily to herself as she shot me a dirty look, but that was all it took, for her curiosity won out as she scrutinized me more closely, then was suddenly so taken by surprise that a scoop full of hazelnuts fell from her hand, the tiny balls bouncing all over the ground.

“Jesus Mary, the young Herr Landau is alive!”

With this exclamation I was only partway there, as the woman stared at me a little while longer. Then she abandoned me for her customers and left me to her husband, who also thought he now recognized me. His bleary eyes looked me over with suspicion.

“Is it really you?”

I didn’t care for this question, though I pulled myself together and laughed away the feeling of revulsion rising within me.

“Of course, Herr Kutschera. I’ve just arrived, and right away I wanted some of your apples.”

“How flattering. Indeed, your father bought these same apples. The very same.”

“Now he grows his own in the garden outside the city, right?”

“In his garden?”

Herr Kutschera said this so loud that his wife again pricked up her ears. But why didn’t he say anything more? Confused, he just stared at me blankly. It looked to me as if he wanted to say something, or perhaps he was thinking hard what to say. Or was he just stunned and at a complete loss? His silence was painful to witness; all I wanted was for one of us to say something.

“Tell me, Herr Kutschera, did my father give you the address?”

“What address?”

“His, of course. I just got back from the war and want to head out to see Father.”

“That’s not possible, Herr Landau. The old man … went off … also to the war.…”

“At his age?”

“Even at his age. Terrible, don’t you think?”

“And hasn’t returned? Back to his garden? Not even now?”

Herr Kutschera picked a bad apple from a basket, turned it playfully in his hand, and looked at me as if I were mad. Quietly he shook his head, his low brow shrinking between his fat cheeks and his forehead. He was thinking something, but it was something sad, because his eyes grew damp, he finally wiping his nose on his shirtsleeve. Then he cleared his throat.

“I don’t know what happened to your father. No one knows, no one here. I never saw him again. I can’t help you. He was a good man.”

“A good man!” Frau Kutschera called out as well, she now having twice as much to do as before, since her husband wasn’t taking care of business.

There was nothing I was going to get from these people, and I didn’t believe a word they said. How could they know anything? Since my father had retired from business, he was loath to cast an eye on the Reitergasse. There was nothing more for him to do here, and he certainly didn’t want to look at the empty shop any longer, while Kutschera’s was the last place he wanted to buy any fruit beyond that which he grew himself.

“Thank you. What do I owe you?”

“Nothing. Nothing.” Herr Kutschera turned red and looked more stricken. “For old friends, it’s my honor. Please do me the honor again!”

I thanked him, though I couldn’t help feeling that it wasn’t right. As I said goodbye, Frau Kutschera also called out to me.

“Be well, Herr Landau! Be well! Goodbye!”

She meant well, perhaps, but her screeching voice left my ears burning, thereby causing me to hurry off as if I knew where I was headed, the apples under my arm for which Herr Kutschera had not gotten anything. I didn’t dare look at Father’s shop again and stormed through the Reitergasse. I didn’t want to see anyone or be recognized by anyone. It was clear to me that the people in this neighborhood couldn’t tell me anything about my father. I had to first gather myself together and settle down before I made any more decisions about how to go about searching for my father. Then I reached the Karolinenweg, where there were loads of people walking along together in two cumbersome but swiftly moving streams by which one was relentlessly carried along unless one pressed tight against a store window or fled into one of the wide entryways. The cramped sidewalk threatened to burst with workers pouring from the offices into the streets. The workday was done, most of the businesses closing.

Thus I let myself be freely carried along until I came to the corner of the quiet Helfergasse. I extracted myself from the compact flow of impatient people moving along the Karolinenweg — it taking a while before I had freed myself — and finally was able to stop and catch my breath. The flood of people had not done me any good, it being all too much to take in, and I was hungry besides. How lucky, I said to myself, that I have Herr Kutschera’s apples with me, for they’ll taste good. Yet the moment I opened the skillfully folded bag I immediately felt that it would be better to just give them all away, for I had no right to be tasting forbidden fruit. Adam, Adam, don’t take a bite, mind what you do, and do what’s right! Danger is afoot, evil comes to no good. My father was always an honest man, his basic principles unshakable, and by which he conducted his business. There was nothing sleazier than a vendor who sold his goods under false pretenses. I was ashamed of the apples, which I could feel round and firm inside the bag that was painfully pressed between my chest and my upper arm. If only there were a beggar who could mercifully take them, a pale child whom I could give the apples to! But no one passed by to whom I could give the strange goods. If I wasn’t going to leave them sitting on the next wall, I had to hold on to them. I tried to take comfort in the idea that my father, in order to keep good relations with Herr Kutschera and his wife, had many times given them little gifts, such as a bunch of handkerchiefs for Christmas, now and then a tie, sometimes gloves or a colorful scarf. Certainly Kutschera had thought of these gifts when seeing me after such a long time, his conscience bothering him, and he was glad that he could do something for the father via his son.