H. Adler - The Wall

Then Roy Rogers stepped to the middle; the others onstage moved to the right and left, looking on in astonishment in order to set the right example for everyone. Only the announcer hardly moved; like a herald, he divided his attention between the hero and the audience. Four blades flashed as they spun in a whirring fashion up and down, turning in flight, which was marvelous. Then a long lasso danced sinuously in seesawing circles and sharp spirals. Suddenly, Roy Rogers jumped inside the circling rope and rose up within it, standing on his tiptoes as if making a pirouette, sinking down on one knee, then both, spinning around as well, the wild twirling continuing until finally the rope collapsed, coming to rest in large rings that looped from the right arm to the shoulder. I would have been happy to stand there awhile and extend my appreciation to the master, but neither was allowed, because everyone up on the stage, the announcer included, even the tireless Roy Rogers, released a huge cry of “You saw it with your own eyes, it’s unbelievable, it’s all the proof you need, but there isn’t a moment to lose, today’s the day, now, it won’t last forever, come on, come on, come on, all of you have to come, the artists are inside waiting, the show will begin, don’t wait any longer, for what you have seen is only a taste of the wonders that await you.”

By then most of the crowd was moved, unable to resist any longer, coins leaping from their pockets as they besieged the cashier, who dealt with the onslaught. Michael’s legs jerked, and I let him run. Happily he stormed ahead, already having disappeared into the tent as I stayed behind with Eva. In order to make it up to her, I allowed her to have two more rides on the carousel. Again, she rode on the white swan, not wanting any other, and she wrapped her arms tight around its neck worn smooth. The outside of the stage was now empty, only the cashier stuck in her booth, smoking and shooing away small boys who kept trying to jokingly do handstands and somersaults.

I peered over at the Gypsy, who was still sitting in the door of her wagon. After a little while, a female customer arrived and disappeared through the door, which closed behind her. The Gypsy Fortunata had business and needed to look into the future. Placards announced how well she could tell the truth; she was a wise woman who understood everything — the stars above, the lines in the hand, and the loops of one’s handwriting. Since the truth was revealed and confirmed in three different ways, there could be no doubt. The mix of fortune and misfortune, an unchangeable destiny, was revealed through wisdom’s insight. But why do people wish to learn their fate from other people? Was it not already fixed, whether heavy or easy, and always inescapable? Did they have to hear it said in order to be eased by a fate well fashioned? Did foreknowledge ease its power? Or could one’s fate be eased? Not eased, perhaps, but slowly dispersed, at least held fast and patient by the distant future if a wise woman conveyed it.

To seek one’s fate, what a desperate wish for certainty! But fate is a wall that does not allow our questions to pass through, no matter how much they may seek answers. The Gypsy Fortunata actually knew many answers to the questions. All that was uncertain was whether the answers were moot because the one seeking the advice either didn’t understand it or had heard it already or because the answers amounted to no more than a pointless echo, thus providing no news, nothing new but, rather, just the danger that could be announced from afar, thus sounding perhaps more bearable and yet much more terrible, because now it seemed all the more uncanny and kept the listener all the more behind the wall, which pressed down upon one all the more. But it couldn’t remain so. The Gypsy Fortunata wished to and had to inspire awe, but she could not frighten her customers; she had to comfort them, or at least ease them, if she wanted to at all make a profit in handing out further advice. She had to raise up the despondent and calm the excited. Good fortune, no misfortune, was what was valued. And when there was misfortune it couldn’t be in the future; in the past, yes, misfortune was in the past. It had been conquered and should remain forever invoked. People were often unhappy when they came to Fortunata to complain about their plight, but here everything changed, the run of misfortune appearing to dissolve. As soon as the door opened, wonders occurred, the threat simply dried up.

Always misfortune was only in the past, and had power enough to last only to the present, until today, there no longer being any tomorrow for it, because from this hour onward the clear future emerged, its blessing arrived. Speaking the truth meant to invoke blessing. One only needed to decide to step beyond his past, for then the transformation occurred, the door shut upon worries left behind. How strange that so few of the afflicted never allowed themselves this way out. And, because they were cowardly or foolish and did not risk climbing the few steps, didn’t so much misfortune prevail among them? And so they wandered about outside of what was certain happiness. The path to happiness appeared free; yet it’s not given that you know that this path exists, short and safe as it is. Fear stands before it, and doubt, base and common; skepticism, the obstacle to the weak will. We cannot do it. We’ve also been told that it is forbidden. The Witch of Endor was cursed and, along with her, any reading of signs. Therefore we cannot be happy.

Yet what holds me back from happiness? I could bring the children home and say to Johanna, “I have time, now I have time, and so I have to head out again.” And so I did. The children happily jumped around in the living room, Michael glowing with excitement and love for Roy Rogers, and his partner, Eva, continued to chatter on about the little white bunny. Tea was prepared for the chatterboxes, the two of them pouncing on their slices of bread, but I said thank you and excused myself. Johanna was completely taken aback, yet she said nothing; she never stood in my way. I ran back to Shepherd’s Field, this certainly being the last hour of unhappiness. When I saw Fortunata’s wagon, the door was closed. Someone must have been finding happiness inside. I could wait. The goings-on around me pressed on, rumbling with loud merriment; it didn’t bother me. The final day of tribulation could not last much longer, an early evening setting in with its gloom. That didn’t bother me, because my needs were ready to be filled by Fortunata. She had to know that I was there. There was no time left; if there was, it couldn’t last, it couldn’t remain, it was forbidden. The doors opened, yet no, there was something stopping them, for they only twitched, a problem with the lock, the latch preventing them, but Fortunata knew what to do — a sharp pull, and already the sky ripped open, a bundle of happiness quickly scuttled down the little steps and sank into the dusky crowd, having been saved. Above, Fortunata looked on calmly, proud and satisfied. She had mastered misfortune; she was sure of herself.

“Now, how about the gentleman?”

Whether Fortunata appealed to me with these words or other words, I cannot be certain. She might even have remained silent, knowing already that I would come to her; she had to know, as it was her job to. She betrayed no sense of doubt when I stood before her, the proximity of happiness already having marked my forehead, for whoever knows his goal recognizes what streams toward him. Fortunata said absolutely nothing, not pleading with words the way the artists on the stage did, the announcer right then, for absolutely the last time, urging an audience that hung back without being convinced not to miss the last chance, as Roy Rogers and his assistants were already inside the tent and had to begin their performance without worrying about no-shows. Through such clamor the low or the high arts can be recommended, but not fortune-telling. In order to maintain her secrets, she had no desire to urge the unwilling or to plead with the stubborn. She was not at the fair for the sake of big crowds. Yet why had she lowered herself to the pitched tents and wandered along with them throughout the country? Salvation should be available to the people; thus grace was nearer for those who thirsted for it. Fortunata just smiled, this being the grace with which she greeted the fear of the one who approached and quailed before her grandeur.