Charles Lewinsky - Melnitz

Arthur had planned to remain very calm, but now he noticed something welling up in him that would not be held back, just as nausea often needs release at the most unsuitable moment.

‘It is also an indisputable fact,’ he said sarcastically, ‘that something else has risen sharply over the past few years. Namely the persecution of the Jews in Germany.’

‘Doubtless, doubtless.’ Herr Bisang nodded as if Arthur had just agreed with him. ‘That is also presented as a reason in many of these applications. Rightly, I assume. But…’ He was not yet content with the alignment of his watch chain, which required all his concentration.

‘But what?’

‘It cannot be the task of a Swiss authority to solve German problems.’

‘These are human beings!’

‘Yes,’ said Herr Bisang and nodded again. ‘There you come precisely to the point, dear Doctor Meijer. You see, that is the first and the hardest thing that one must learn in such an office. Almost everyone who places an application here is right. As a human being. As a single person. As an individual. And yet we must turn down most of these applications. Because we must think of the whole.’

‘These are empty words! Anti-Semitism in Germany is a reality!’

‘Precisely because it is a reality.’ Herr Bisang had discovered a sensitive spot on his neck, and was touching it very carefully with his fingers. ‘Precisely because we see every day the terrible effects such a reprehensible philosophy can have. Persecutions. Bullying. Loutish behaviour in broad daylight. As if it were the Middle Ages.’

‘That’s precisely why…’

‘That’s precisely why, my dear Dr Meijer, we can’t let the same thing happen in Switzerland. Nip it in the bud! If I reflect that there has been a Frontist representative for Zurich on the national council for two years — that is an alarm signal!’

‘And we defeat the Front by closing the borders?’ Arthur was really furious now, and it was an emotion that he only allowed himself very rarely.

‘I didn’t say that. But neither can we open the gates wide. We must precisely regulate immigration, with a dropper, as one might say. You as a doctor should understand that.’

‘I’m probably too stupid,’ said Arthur. ‘But I’m sure you’ll explain it to me.’

‘Only too happily. Although…’ Herr Bisang pulled his pocket watch over, looked at the time and shook his head resignedly. ‘Ah well, time is marching on. Where were we?’

‘You were trying to explain to me why I should be in favour of the rejection of my own request.’ Arthur’s voice trembled with the effort of not simply yelling in response to the official’s dusty calm.

‘Of course, of course. There is that rule in medicine: any substance applied in the correct dosage can be curative. Or at least not damaging. Is that not the case? But if one introduces an overdose of anything to the organism…’

‘An overdose of what?’

‘A state, my dear Doctor Meijer, is also a kind of organism. In which all the parts must work together. Each one in its place, and each in its God-given quantity. As long as nothing changes, the whole remains healthy. But if that equilibrium is disturbed… In our neighbouring country we can see what that can lead to. Irritations. Reactions. Convulsions.’ The medical vocabulary seemed to remind him of something. He took a silver pillbox from a desk drawer and reached into it with pointed fingers.

‘Do you mean…?’

‘I was only trying to give you an example. From your own sphere. Our country is still healthy. Largely healthy. We have fortunately been spared the illness of anti-Semitism. Largely spared. But if there were suddenly a Jew standing on every street corner, a foreign Jew to boot — for how long would Switzerland remain immune? And once such an infection has taken root…’ Herr Bisang nodded significantly, he knew his way around infections, that was supposed to mean, and put a small pink pill in his mouth by way of precaution. ‘It must be in the greatest interest of the Swiss Jews to avoid anything that might encourage anti-Semitism in this country.’

‘Do I understand you correctly, Herr Bisang? You are refusing Frau Pollack’s accusation because one Jew more might encourage anti-Semitism in Switzerland?’ Now Arthur was really raising his voice.

‘My dear Doctor Meijer! How can you accuse me of saying any such thing? I don’t mean the individual. Not the single person. Not the human being, as you so rightly said a moment ago. But as an official I am obliged to see the larger contexts. To think beyond the day. In your interest too.’

He pushed aside the folder containing the application, as if everything was sorted out and finished, and rose to his feet. ‘If there’s anything else I can do for you… It’s always a pleasure to talk to an intelligent person.’

Zurich, 1 August 1937

Dear Frau Pollack,

I would so have loved to be able to report a positive result, so I have repeatedly postponed writing this letter.

But everything turns out to be much more difficult than I had expected. I fear I have failed.

Outside in the street a brass band is passing. Today is the Swiss national holiday, and many fine speeches will be delivered. Has it always been the case that there is barely a connection between words and deeds? Or has it only struck me so clearly in recent times? (Do brass bands play so loudly because so many hypocrisies need drowning out?)

I have been informed, very kindly and correctly, that a work permit is absolutely out of the question. If at all, such a paper is issued only for positions for which no Swiss applicants can be found. (Which actually means none at all.)

At the moment I am at a loss about what to do next. One would really have to be a Goliath and shake these officials until their polite smile falls from their faces. They actually expect one to be grateful on top of everything.

I do not want to raise false hopes, but I have firmly undertaken not to give up on this matter. We still have a small amount of time before Irma and Moses finally have to leave the country.

They are both well. I shamelessly pretended to Fräulein Württemberger that the striking improvement in my patient’s health was entirely down to her good care and supervision, and if she continued to perform her services so efficiently, a complete recovery might be possible. (I have often observed that people who despise other human beings are particularly susceptible to flattery.)

I assume that the weather in Kassel is as lovely as it is here. If circumstances were different, I would write: enjoy these fine days!

With kind regards

Arthur Meijer

PS: I have firmly resolved to write a letter without a PS today.

Every month François paid the chief nurse at the old people’s home, one Frau Olchev, a few francs to devote special care to Chanele, and to alert him immediately, in the middle of the night if necessary, if anything was wrong with his mother. This morning she had rung him at about half past three. Frau Meijer was breathing with difficulty, and saying confused things, apparently in French. She, Frau Olchev, had not understood everything, but she was sure that it had something to do with a drummer and some ravens, perhaps Herr Meijer knew what it meant. She didn’t want to frighten him, heaven forbid, but on the other hand if something was wrong and she hadn’t told him in time, she would blame herself, particularly when Herr Meijer had always been so generous towards her. In her experience, on more than one occasion, such confused states often preceded death, the understanding fled before the soul. She had, as she was sure Herr Meijer would have intended, called the doctor, and perhaps it was something quite harmless, but if the worst came to the worst, she didn’t want to have to blame herself…