H. Adler - The Wall

Thus I arrived in the metropolis poorly outfitted, where luckily I didn’t stick out, or at least I so imagined, because not much depended on my appearance. In addition, most of the people here seem dressed shabbily enough. But now I cared about how I was dressed, as I wanted to look dapper, more meticulous than I was at Haarburger’s. I looked for what best suited me, for I would be with Fräulein Zinner and didn’t want to appear pitiable or too poor. I needed different shoes, So-and-So having sent me a good pair when he was once in a good mood, then the lovely ripped sweater that Anna had knitted for me out of reserves of fine old wool, though the most important was what tie I would choose. It was then that my three new ones stood me in good stead, I having not yet worn any of them. I lay them on the bed in order to have a good look at them. They lay there almost untouchable, humble and patient, seductive and repellent at the same time, while I felt gratitude welling up, my fingertips stroking the silk, their history no longer mattering to me, as I was lost in the inane idea that in the paltry male garb of the century only the tie was used to display any flare and convey one’s personality. Smugly I said to myself, “They’re just the trick for your shaken self-confidence.”

Finally I selected a tie that seemed to me the most sumptuous and stoked my vanity the most, a dark-red one, made of heavy silk with a touch of yellow in it. Carefully I tied the knot; it didn’t sit right. Then I did it again in front of the mirror, which is not my habit. The knot swelled up like a big piece of fruit. An Adam’s apple, it occurred to me, and I laughed, though I quickly looked away from the mirror in order not to see my contorted mouth. I was ashamed of my vanity; but what good did it do, for I couldn’t just do things halfway. I shook off with annoyance the faint disgust with myself that rose up with my having so shamelessly primped myself. I almost jumped with crude pleasure, it seeming as if the inert wall of my feelings was pleasantly taken by surprise, or, better yet, that I had tricked it, for already I new that such an onslaught could not last very long without being punished and avenged. If I can just get through today, I thought, then I’ll be pleased and will face the consequences later, for I had committed treason by trying to overstep my own poverty, my position in the world having been given up in order that I could strut like a peacock in borrowed finery for a few hours — indeed, innocuous finery whose glow burned within me. The red fabric that I had wound around myself was so tight around my throat that it could strangle me. Was that Adam’s second fall, the fall caused by the consciousness of his sins? I pressed a hand between my collar and neck; it was an unusual grip that reminded me of my mother when she reached into her high-buttoned blouse in order to straighten out her necklace. I pulled at the collar in order to reassure myself that there was enough space to breathe freely, even if I suddenly swelled up. Then, struck by it all, I told myself how childish and pathetic this game was, and debated whether to choose a more modest tie made of artificial silk or wear this one; but indeed I would stick with the sumptuous one, it was decided.

I finally turned from the mirror and saw my father before me, a depressing old man with tears in his eyes for the lost son and a hand lifted as blessing. I couldn’t bear such despair any longer, either my father’s despair or my own, and so I closed my eyes in order to free myself from this vision. It worked. I saw nothing else before me. Then I grabbed my hat and coat and quickly left the room. When I closed the door, it slipped from my hand and shut with a thud, something my father would never have done. He was gone. I no longer stood within his power, though I was also no longer under his protection. As I passed through the hall below, my glance fell upon my watch, and I was shocked to realize that I had wasted at least ten minutes with the tie and other stupid things in my room. I should have been at Fräulein Zinner’s a while ago, and I was worried whether she would be upset by my lack of punctuality, since nothing is worse than to have to wait for an appointed visitor. Impatient and brusque, as I thought she was, she had perhaps given up on waiting and had already gone home.

I walked along the streets and was happy that they were not crowded, but what didn’t help was the darkness of the strange metropolis, which only increased my already deep uncertainty and nervousness. In this country of coal, no lights burned in the side streets because of a shortage of coal. I was worried that I would get lost and was only reluctantly willing to ask someone for directions, since I often found that the advice I got was not all that good. How different it had been back there, where, no matter where you were, you could ask someone and he would be eager to help and send you on your way, whereas here it had usually been my experience that, because of my terribly heavy accent, I either couldn’t be understood or I didn’t understand the answer, or people reassured me that they themselves were not from around here, having just arrived and not being familiar with the area or something similar — it was a city full of strangers, there seeming not to be any natives — or it happened thus, which was the most painful for me, that I was shown the way, but such that even intersections and corners that I should watch out for were listed, though they would prove not to be there. Then I would end up lost in some neighborhood that hardly anyone walked through, not a soul to be found anywhere to take pity on me, making sure not to let go of my flashlight as I fervently pointed it at houses, garden fences, and street corners, never finding addresses or house numbers, wandering around for hours before someone finally helped me find my way out of my quandary.

Back there one can no longer live, I thought, and here I’m forbidden to live or am simply not wanted, a hopeless life of confusion in which the best city map, here known as an atlas, is of no use, since the almost endless flatlands were broken up into individual fields across one hundred and twenty pages on which I found it hard to locate myself, and the tiny printed names of the streets, especially in the dark, could hardly be deciphered. It was cold, a bad winter having settled in, but I wandered about in my confusion feeling hot and sweaty, miserable and hopeless. Yet today it wasn’t quite as bad, for I had learned my way so well in the past days that it was hard for me to lose my way. At every intersection and turn I stopped, considered, and reckoned where I was in order that no mistake got me into trouble. Thus I succeeded at reaching my destination without any trouble after a while, which to me felt like too long a time, though it couldn’t have lasted more than eight minutes. It was Ivanhoe House, a somewhat neglected magnificent building; the massive portal stood open, behind it the hall laid out with heavy marble tiles and lit up.

I stood before the gate for a moment because I had gotten hot. I didn’t want Fräulein Zinner seeing me so breathless, with a knocking heart and weak knees. Yet it was late; I couldn’t wait any longer, even if my condition was hardly any better. I walked on. An old porter looked out from his booth and tried to stop me before I even told him what I wanted, saying I should come back tomorrow, as office hours were already over. I was so shocked that I immediately stopped. I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t find the words to make myself convincingly understood in the foreign tongue. The man waited, disinterested, for a little while and then, as if I hadn’t heard right, repeated his shocking announcement.

“You must be wrong, I’m expected!” I said out loud and yet meekly.