I'm Not Stiller (46 page)

I waited with eager anticipation to see what would happen when the bells stopped ringing and we could speak again. It seemed to me that the comedy of the situation would resolve all our problems at one stroke, if only it dawned on us. My counsel, who was fumbling through his brief-case as usual, was naturally the main source of comedy, precisely because he could see nothing comic in the situation. The bells went on and on ringing. Knobel did his best to pretend he wasn't there, and Rolf, my public prosecutor, spent as long as he could taking his overcoat off the nail. It was not his fault that the others (probably on Foxli's account) had come so late. At last, when we were beginning to get used to this pantomime, the cathedral fell silent...

'Well—?' inquired Julika.

Julika seemed to have expected to find my confession already made, and when the public prosecutor informed her to the contrary and moreover had unfortunately to take his leave, Julika sat down on the dusty couch as though staggered by a telegram containing bad news. My counsel didn't know whom to stare at, the public prosecutor or me. The disappointed Julika had probably already started crying; but we didn't notice it yet. My counsel tried unsuccessfully to stop the public prosecutor leaving. As he shook hands with me I had the feeling my new friend was deserting me; but I soon realized that precisely because he was my friend the last thing he wanted was to be present at this monstrous performance, which he had not been able to refuse my official defence counsel. When I noticed that the beautiful Julika was crying, I asked:

'Do you love me?'

My counsel tried to say something—

'I'm asking the lady,' I interrupted, sitting down besidejulika on the dusty couch. 'Do you love me, Julika, or don't you?'

She sobbed more and more bitterly.

'Look,' I said as tenderly as I could in the presence of an official defence counsel and a warder, 'everything depends on that now. Everything depends on you, Julika, and no one else!'

'Why?' she sobbed. 'Why on me?'

Still with the warm tranquillity of confidence I endeavoured to explain to Julika why, as long as she really loved me, she needed no confession from me that I was her lost husband. It seemed to me so simple, so self-evident. Nonetheless, I went on talking for quite a while, far too long, and as time went on I grew confused, as always happens. Never in my life have I been able to cope with this situation: as soon as I feel that I am alone with a simple and self-evident truth I lose sight of its self-evidence, blurring it with hasty similes that are supposed to help the other person to understand me, but in reality only confuse what was originally a clear realization, and finally defending what I have ruined with arguments that are sheer nonsense. I could see exactly what I was doing. But as the lovely Julika said nothing at all, not even nonsense that would at least have reestablished an equilibrium of mutual helplessness, I couldn't stop. Why didn't she help me? I held her tear-stained hand as though we were alone, and could think of nothing else than to repeat my question as to whether she loved me and wait—

'How much longer are you going to torment this unfortunate woman?' said my counsel, no doubt with the best intentions. 'That Frau Julika loves you, God knows, is obvious enough—'

He also spoke for much too long.

'—and altogether,' he finally concluded, 'have you no feeling for this woman? It's monstrous the way you treat this frail woman. Instead of making up your mind to confess at last! Now this woman has come all the way
from
Paris for your sake, has given up her dancing school for your sake, and you treat her—One may really wonder how a person like Frau Julika can have deserved to be married to you!'

At this I looked at him.

'Yes indeed!' he added forcefully.

Thereupon, not at once, but after some hesitation, after waiting in the hope that Julika might correct him after all, I rose, suddenly felt my legs very heavy, dusted my overcoat to leave time for some happier turn of events, and finally walked over to the door, which (I shall never forget the feeling in my hand) was locked. Locked. It was no illusion and the door wasn't jammed; it was simply locked.

'Knobel,' I said and heard myself utter a laugh that even I didn't like,'—give me the key.'

Knobel, his ears scarlet, said nothing.

'What do you want from me?' I asked.

Meanwhile Julika, the traitress, had placed herself between me and the door, the knob of which was still in my hand—at least this gave me a chance to ask without being overheard: 'Why do you betray me?' Her innocent face with the exceptionally beautiful eyes and the arches of her plucked eyebrows, which give her such a charming expression of permanent childlike surprise, did not show the slightest hint that she understood why I was acting as I did; her incomprehension struck me dumb. Likewise under her breath she said: 'Don't act like that!' And it was quite true that, carried away by some burst of primitive emotion, I had all too often done the wrong thing; the possibility existed that I was wronging everyone, but especially Julika, who a moment ago had been my only, but confident, hope. Why was I acting like this, really? So now I stood arm in arm with Julika, whom I perhaps just didn't understand, in front of my counsel, who also thought Julika a wonderful woman, and in front of Knobel, my warder, who had the key in his trouser pocket, and furthermore surrounded by these sackcloth mummies, which Julika began to introduce to me as my life's work. For a little while, as though my consciousness was temporarily paralysed, I let her go on, let Julika lead me around, almost touched by the fact that this stuff meant so much to her, permitted myself little jokes—for instance about the company director's head in plaster...

I don't know what paralysed me in this way, nor how long it lasted. Suddenly awake again, and apparently having lost all recollection of the locked door and the impertinent remarks of my counsel, as though waking from a silly dream that was already forgotten and conscious that it had only been a dream, I found myself right back at the question I had asked already once, directly before this dream about the locked door: Did Julika love me or not? That, I realized, was the point at which we had lost the thread, and I interrupted her touching commentary on the sackcloth mummies by reiterating this question. I could understand, to some extent, that it was difficult for a shy and reserved person like Julika to answer it in the presence of an official defence counsel and a warder; I was very conscious of the enormity of my question in these surroundings. Perhaps for that very reason I couldn't tolerate my counsel opening his mouth to help the mute Julika as he imagined.

'Devil take you,' I shouted in his face. 'What's this got to do with you? I don't deny I'm having an affair with this lady—' Julika, offended: 'Anatol—?' I yelled:

'What's Anatol got to do with it? What's Anatol got to do with it? Don't imagine that's going to make me take over this load of rubbish from your lost husband—There!' I cried, laughing with an anger that had never really left me and ripping off a sackcloth wrapping. As I expected—nothing but dust, which no defence counsel could hold together, a heap of crumbling clay, and the next likewise, mummies, nothing but mummies, then a scaffold of rusty iron and twisted wire—that was all there was left of their vanished Stiller, dust to dust, as clergymen say, a few greyish-brown lumps on the floor, but above all a cloud of brown dust when I shook the sacking. Unfortunately the bell rang. Unfortunately; for dumbfounded themselves by the art that was coming to light, they wouldn't have stopped me from making a clean sweep of the lot. But the ringing irritated me.

'Who else are you bringing here?' I asked my counsel. 'To drive me crazy?'

At this instant I had a very definite suspicion, and I saw how Knobel, at a sign from my embarrassed counsel, finally took the key out of his trouser pocket to open the door and go downstairs. Then I forgot my very correct suspicion under a torrent of words from my counsel, who once more (how many times already?) admonished and adjured me: I should come to my senses, my last chance of making a confession, otherwise there'd be a court verdict, distressing for Frau Julika, just a single sensible word and I'd be free, things weren't so black as they looked to me, a fine studio with good light, friends were planning a welcome home, so chin up and out with the confession, Stiller a highly esteemed artist, not a great artist, who is great? but esteemed and the Arts Council ready to meet the legal costs, everyone so nice to me, my ridiculous obstinacy hurt no one but myself, just a bit of common sense called for, Julika a fine and worthy person, marriage never child's play, but Julika forbearance and kindness personified, so chin up and make a fresh start, flight never a real solution, liberty only in attachment, marriage a moral obligation, not a pleasure, a little maturity called for, a little goodwill and everything would be all right, Julika's hard years in Paris and her magnanimous renunciation of her successful dancing school, Julika's sacrifice, nothing but a woman's sacrifice, I ought to show some gratitude, so once again chin up, shake hands and hallelujah!

During this speech we stood arm in arm again, either because Julika was afraid I might take advantage of the now unlocked door, or because she clung to me out of genuine affection; I could feel the warmth of her body.

My counsel was still speaking: So chin up, there's no place like home, an occasional trip abroad of course, so that we learn to appreciate our homeland afresh, but man needs roots and so no doubt does the artist in me, roots, that's the important thing, roots and again roots, millions homeless, so I should be thankful, mustn't always look on the black side, a little love for mankind, the Swiss are only human too, nobody can change his skin, a more positive attitude called for on my part, more composure, no smashing things up like just now, all due deference to self-criticism, but one shouldn't make a filthy mess of dust and fragments, all due deference to temperament, but moderation in all things, things weren't as bad as I thought, and Zürich was just about the finest city in the world, but as he'd said, a more positive attitude was essential, enough nihilism in the world today, every individual must do his bit to improve the world, if everyone wholeheartedly desired the good, things would be all right, like Frau Julika for example, Frau Julika was a model in every way, all respect for Frau Julika, nothing could divert her from womanly fidelity to me, a rare woman, but a typical woman, a wonderful woman, men often stubborn and egoistic, women so different, motherly, difficult in her way, certainly, but only because I didn't understand her, her wealth of emotion, Julika's inner life so much richer than most other women's, heart in the right place, a little more feeling on my part, the eternal feminine draws us upward, enough intellectualism in the world today, mustn't always think and doubt, but hope, chin up and hope, no marriage without hope, without hope no peace between individuals and peoples, anyone can see that, without hope no true art as in the Middle Ages, in short, without hope no hope, so hand on heart and no silly fuss, Stiller, too, good at heart, my counsel convinced of his good heart, everything else dust in the balance, the name for example, but we must have order, everyone has to bear a name, my counsel no bureaucrat, naturally, my counsel positively shattered by his glimpse into this marriage of two estimable people, my counsel married himself, been through all the difficulties, got over them all, but sacrifice needed, sacrifice and again sacrifice, the recompense a soul at peace, the soul the most important thing of all, enough materialism in the world nowadays, a little trust in the Almighty indispensable, destruction of true values by the speed of modern traffic, also by the cinema and sport, for instance by the building of stadia that make masses out of us, but above all by Communism, but my counsel broadminded and no grudge against Stiller for his youthful exploits in Spain, forget it, my counsel was also at one time a member of a party that ceased to exist, forget it, to err is human and Franco important for Europe, Stiller couldn't know what was going to happen, no, nor could my counsel, the eternal laws therefore all the more important, the Ten Commandments still the best, thou shalt not make unto thee any images, as Frau Julika says over and over again, quite right, quite right, but also thou shalt not lust and certainly not kill, anyhow not in peacetime, as a machine-gunner it's a bit different, naturally, antimilitarism out of date long ago, but that's not what we're talking about, no, thou shalt not kill, my friend, not even in thought, we don't do that here, the family the germ-cell of the nation, Frau Julika not too old for children, it was always her secret wish, only working people reproduce themselves
en masse
, a serious failure on the part of the intellectuals over this point, it's not a question of income but of the inner will, besides, a decent artist can earn so much in Switzerland that a moderate level of procreation may be considered perfectly feasible, splendid grants in the last resort, provided the artist is of good character, this proviso quite right, heavens knows, no children of drunkards and people suspected of leftist tendencies, liberty is something to be valued, in short, Switzerland is still an ideal country and not to be compared with unhappy France that does nothing but strike, so once again, chin up, hand on heart and forget the past, everything will be ail right, my friend, everything will be all right, it must be, even a lawyer has to keep starting all over again, human destiny, but anything's possible with a little trust in the Almighty, mustn't be fanatic about that either, of course, but everything with good Swiss common sense, a social conscience goes without saying and then another point: Stiller mustn't forget his stepfather in the old age home, or as Goethe so magnificently puts it: The gifts of your fathers you must earn to possess—speaking spiritually, speaking humanly, it isn't nice to forget your stepfather in an old age home, one doesn't do that, a spot of piety, Stiller not alone in the world, damn it all, but a member of the community, a stake in the community, a sense of duty called for, but everything with a little love, not always thinking of yourself, Herr Stiller, take an example from Frau Julika, once again all respect for this fine and valiant woman who took it upon herself to marry such a difficult man, so once again: Shake hands, there's no more point in denying it, proof overwhelming, nothing left but a voluntary confession, Herr Stiller, so courage and a bit of common sense, a little trust in the Almighty and Frau Julika, in marriage, in Switzerland, in the good in myself, a bit of-