H. Adler - The Wall

If I listened patiently to all of this and tried to appease the one giving such advice, then the allegations doubled, whether it be about what made me think to come here in the first place or that perhaps America was an option, but here, no way. As if I hadn’t explained it all a hundred times before, I would then carefully lay it out so that they could finally understand. They would nod, say yes, now they understood, but it was too bad that I didn’t go back where they needed me in the museum. Then they would pretend to sympathize with my view that, because of the chilly relations that had descended after the recent revolution, one lived as if in jail over there. Nonetheless, they would suggest that I saw things too bleakly, as there were certainly thousands of people there who were not at all unhappy. There must be millions of people who stayed behind, so it couldn’t be all that bad, and I shouldn’t take it all so seriously and needed to keep from getting caught up in so much talk about politics, nor should I totally rule out returning. Well, then, one really shouldn’t talk about it if it’s so upsetting. What I should really do is see to it that I regroup, as they called it, to quickly move to a little town where it was cheap and I could support myself and Johanna by teaching German or by entering some other useful profession, while, by the way, it would have been a lot smarter for her not to have given up her job months earlier than she really had to. Recalling Johanna’s condition — namely, when she was pregnant with Michael — they felt that I was irresponsible and were angry with me. To have a child as a have-not, that was criminal and crazy. I should just make sure to push on soon overseas to America, for there the rich Uncle Karl could help us.

After many months of pointless pleas and begging, I finally succeeded in getting Professor Kratzenstein to meet with me. However, he didn’t invite me to his apartment but instead met me at the offices of the International Society of Sociologists. I appeared punctually with several of my works in hand, as had been arranged. The building is situated in a quiet, genteel street. An attendant greeted me from his desk at the foot of the stairs and said to himself when I told him whom I was there to see, “Professor Kratzenstein? That’s too bad.” Today he apparently had no time at all, one meeting after another, in addition to which he had an unexpected visitor from Rome. The attendant would have been happy to set me out on the street, but I insisted so forcefully and continuously about having an appointment today and at this time that he finally gave in and called the Professor’s secretary. After a long discussion, I was to go up. As another attendant led me up the white-carpeted steps to the second floor and along a long hallway to the room, I shouldn’t have felt any sense of triumph, for the woman acknowledged that I did indeed have an appointment, but, unless I was willing to make one for a different day, I would have to, as she said emphatically, wait a good while, as the Professor was really overwhelmed today, and was in an important meeting and was not to be disturbed. How long I’d have to wait she couldn’t tell — perhaps an hour, maybe less, but it could also take longer. Afterward, there was also a meeting that could not be moved, but the beginning of it could be pushed back a bit, and before it started the secretary, wishing to answer my pressing request, promised to see if the Professor could give me a quarter of an hour. The secretary offered me a chair, and so I sat there lost in the middle of the room and could only look on as she worked away at her typewriter.

After a while, I pulled a newspaper from my pocket. Whether the rustling of the paper disturbed the secretary I didn’t know; in any case, she said to me that it would likely be better for me to wait in the next room, where I could read and sit comfortably at a table. I agreed, and was satisfied when she assured me for the third time that she would certainly not forget me and would remind the Professor that I was there. Thus I waited. The time went by quickly, the many lovely books a joy to peruse. Then, suddenly, Professor Kratzenstein sprang into the room, though he entered through a different door than I had, nor had he yet learned from the secretary that I was there. He slapped his forehead in surprise as he looked right at me.

“My dear … dear … please forgive me. Remind me of your name again?”

“Landau. Arthur Landau.”

“Right. Herr Dr. Landau! Are you here to see me?”

“Yes, Professor. I have an appointment with you today.”

“So … you have an appointment. It’s lovely that you’ve come. We’ve met before, if I recall, at—”

“At Dr. Haarburger’s. That was already seven months ago.”

“Right, at Haarburger’s. A wonderful evening. Yes, I remember. We talked then about … it was very interesting … about a work of yours on—”

“On the sociology of oppressed people, Professor.”

“That was it, right. My goodness, you yourself have been through such an experience. How did you manage it! The fact that you’re not bitter and have maintained your love of scholarship, I congratulate you! Just wonderful, I say, wonderful! And we, of course, must do something for you, right?”

“Yes, that’s very nice of you, Professor. You might recall that we have spoken on the phone a number of times, and that I then—”

“Yes, yes, with my secretary and also with me. It was about—”

“I sent you, as you kindly recommended, one of my finished papers on the central aspects of my research. You kindly said on the telephone that you wished to see whether it could be delivered as a talk at a meeting of the small working group—”

“Right, right — I read it, I and my secretary as well. Interesting. And we wanted to consider—”

The other door opened, and the secretary appeared.

“I’ve been looking for you in the conference room and everywhere, Professor. There’s an urgent phone call!”

“I’ll be right back, Herr Doctor! It’ll just take a moment! Where is the phone, Frau Fixler?”

“In my office.”

The Professor stormed toward the secretary’s office, Frau Fixler following after him. I waited maybe ten minutes before the door opened again, though it wasn’t the Professor but the secretary who stepped in and explained to me that the Professor had only accidentally run into me, that the meeting was not at all over but the Professor had only happened to come out from it for a moment, and could I please remain patient. Perhaps another fifteen minutes. Frau Fixler went over to a bookshelf but didn’t find what she was looking for; most likely, it was the book I had taken down and leafed through on the table before me. I handed the book to the secretary, and she took it with a bittersweet smile. Then I was alone again and stood browsing before the shelves of books, for I didn’t want to sit at the table any longer.

Finally, my wait ended as Frau Fixler came to me and led me into the office of the Professor, who seemed less distracted now than earlier, though he was still plenty inattentive. At least he still seemed to know what my visit was about. On his desk he recognized the text of my talk, which lay open, so I could at least hope for the best. He asked me to sit down, while Frau Fixler brought us some tea and a tray with cookies. Then we were left undisturbed, not counting the many telephone calls for Kratzenstein that interrupted our conversation.

“As I already told you, I’ve read your text, Herr Doctor. It is certainly not bad, but you’ll allow me some honest criticism. For a presentation, it’s not lively enough. You won’t be surprised to hear that for publication it’s hardly ready as it currently stands. For a scholarly article, it’s written in too literary of a style, while for a literary review it’s first of all too long and secondly too dry.”