H. Adler - The Wall

“But excuse me, Herr Professor, when should I get in touch with you? Next month?”

“Excellent! Somehow it will happen. You have plenty of time, don’t you?”

“But of course.”

“Fine. Then best would be to let me catch my breath a bit after I return. Let’s say around the middle of the month.”

“Well, then, just past the middle of next month, if I’ve got that right?”

“That would be fine with me. Just call Frau Fixler, my secretary, at the ISS.”

“ISS? How’s that?”

“Yes, it will be my pleasure. You can count on my secretary. But I should tell you now that at best, even if a lecture were to be announced, it couldn’t happen this year. The schedule is too crowded already, nor do I even know what to do about it. But we’ll nonetheless find an open date for next year.”

During this explanation Herr Dr. Haarburger had approached us.

“My dear Professor, next year, isn’t that a bit far off? Don’t you think that there’s some way you could indeed arrange something for our friend in the next few months?”

“Unfortunately, that will be quite difficult. But wait, I have an idea. Who’s to say that it has to be a lecture only by him? That doesn’t even work that well for someone who is not well known. Listen, Dr. Landau, perhaps you could work on a concise text, only the results of your research, that you could present as a lecture in the regular meeting of our small working group. But the lecture shouldn’t be longer than ten, at the most fifteen minutes. By doing that, you’ll get to meet a lot of people.”

“Would that really be possible in the coming months?” I ventured to ask.

“I do believe it would. Though you will have to be patient and wait until late autumn. Beyond this, all I can do is make a recommendation. But we’ll see. As soon as we’ve talked about it in greater detail and we’ve come to an agreement, I’ll give it all my attention. You can count on that.”

Professor Kratzenstein smiled at me indulgently. I looked into his face for reassurance or something, but to no avail. He had become almost invisible, the Zurich press agent having breathed into his ear, perhaps saying something to him, though nothing sociological, and then he disappeared. I sensed that I would not be able to find him again, for I simply didn’t exist for him. “Get away, get away from here!” That’s what I heard, and later heard ever more often, but something kept me there. The Haarburgers had gathered these guests for my sake; I couldn’t just secretly disappear. Yet I was disappearing on my own, even though a hope rose within me: I exist. For I had also not given up. I had shown up; someone would take me in. This belief made the hope true. I stood, I went into the glittering salon — glasses swung toward me, sweets fell into my hand, I chewed and staggered onward. Then Professor Kratzenstein was there again. I looked at him; he was surrounded. “It only takes one word from him and you will be a made man!” Someone whispered that to me. The encouragement felt good, but for the moment I had forgotten the sociologist once again.

“Who do you mean, and how so am I a made man? Please, introduce me to him!”

“You’ve been talking to him for a good while. Don’t you know whom you’re talking to?”

Ah, I see. I had been talking to someone, to that gentleman there, tall and gaunt, such a man, a knowing, guilty face. The whispering voice continued on.

“You should pay more attention to Professor Kratzenstein! He’s important. Flatter him!”

“You think? I tried to. He didn’t like it.”

“You have to take advantage of the opportunity!”

But there wasn’t another opportunity. The gathering moved about and began to disperse. No, people didn’t go home; rather, they pressed more closely together than before, and I was left out.

“That wall there?”

“It’s not a wall.”

“You could be right. It’s easy to be confused. It shifts, it moves. It’s frightening.”

“The things you say! Why are you so nervous?”

“I don’t believe that at all.”

“Look here, don’t be so serious! These days, what good does it do?”

There they sat together. Little tables laid out flat on crossed legs, set up on the carpet, thin and light little tables, all covered smartly with felt. Shiny new playing cards glowed and were dealt deftly, flying into hands to be sorted, a tidy quick juggling. Above them, long-nosed faces waggled; they smiled heartily and reflected success. “That’s my trick!” King and queen battled together, and always four cards fell upon the green, biting the dust, quickly gathered up by greedy hands and turned into tidy little piles laid crosswise.

“It’s a great game, Dr. Landau. Wouldn’t you like to join in?”

“I really don’t know how to play.”

“But it’s important to. One can endear oneself by being ready to serve as a fourth.”

I couldn’t do it. My hands were too clumsy, each trump failing, the walls snapping back and forth, my head spinning, already another trick.

“You have to learn how to play!”

“Of course, madam.”

Off kilter, I crossed the room, taking huge steps that stitched through the walls, the cards disappearing. There, in the corner, some sat together, three in all, myself the fourth. Get away, get away from here! “You don’t play, either?” Herr Buxinger the bookseller said that, for he found cards boring, better to read a book. Frau Saubermann, the factory owner’s wife and benefactress, agreed.

“I always say, my husband is so cultivated, but, unfortunately, he plays as well.”

Bookselling was important; it kept one serious, pages being better than cards. Frau Saubermann asked Fräulein Zinner what she thought of it. She didn’t think anything about it, for it could be an innocent pastime, but she didn’t have the knack for it and didn’t play. “Herr Doctor, sit down with us!” said the bookseller. “Otherwise we’ll just have to look through your legs, like a wide-open gate,” he joked. The factory owner’s wife laughed, such good humor, Fräulein Zinner moving over a little, the others as well, as I sat down comfortably in the corner. There we sat quietly together in order not to disturb the sacred quiet that surrounded the hurried players like a protective cloud. I really should have been on my way, for it was not right that as a potential fourth I only spent time with those who weren’t playing, for here that felt a bit odd to do. The room probably was completely harmless, the light shining on just the familiar, but I was something else, a strange body, a closed-off lump of layers, legs crossed. I had been summoned here, but now here I was, weak and fragile. I couldn’t just simply get up and leave; I had to at least explain myself, justify my rushed appearance, my getting up, though I couldn’t, the armchair was too deep. Despairingly, I looked up from my corner, the books there, me rubbing a dusty finger.

Then I heard some commotion outside in the hall as steps approached. The door of the apartment closed tight, then the clatter of a key, the snap of a door bolt. As I pulled myself together and opened my eyes wide, Frau Meisenbach stood in the middle of the room. Not the actual middle, for the room was too densely furnished, but near the large round table that was near the middle.

“Forgive me for letting you wait so long. I still had to speak to Peter. He is so distressed. I can’t help him, but I have to counsel him.”

“You don’t have to excuse yourself for me. In this apartment, I feel like a burglar.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous! You’re tired, that’s all.”

“Yes, tired. That’s right.”

“I will make up the bed right away.”

“In this room?”