Panorama (51 page)

Strong lights are turned on in the vestibule, the cinema letting out, a charming film, a brilliant film, a sad film, everyone moved to tears, the first guests now leaving, perhaps Herr Krönert and his wife among them, as Josef watches them leave, but only unknown people pour out, some criticizing the film, others chatting, Krönert nowhere to be seen, he most likely
preferring to bow out and sit at home with his canaries. The lecture in the large auditorium also appears to be over, as well as perhaps the other one by Rosensaft, for also among the pictures had been one of the crater, with its triumphant cloud of smoke, no doubt it having pleased the audience, they are excited, which is no surprise, it only being too bad that not enough posters were made. Now the pond is drained, the last guests having dribbled out, the ushers leaving the building, the lights in the vestibule turned off, the neon light also shut off, culture attached to electric current, while the minute one turns it off culture disappears, not even Thomas Mann able to read in a darkened auditorium, but instead he is accompanied out and sits next to Professor Rumpler in order to listen to the staff meeting, take notes, and make a report about what fantastic ideas he has for his next book, Rumpler is indeed his friend. Thomas Mann is allowed to monitor the take, together with Hauptmann he’ll forward true culture, both of them guests of Professor Rumpler, a humble invitation, to be sure, for Rumpler lives here in the building, the good man living on the top floor.

Puttrich has locked the front entrance, only the side entrance still open, the staff meeting still going on. Or is it over? The employees can now be seen. There is scraggy Fräulein Grenadier, the curtains now open in the Director’s office, Fräulein Weinstock opening a window, then the lights in the Director’s office are turned off, Rumpler now gone, he having wanted to pay a late visit to the radio station, but he doesn’t come down, there being no taxi, which means he must be in his apartment up above. If he came down to the street now, Josef would say hello to him, but neither he nor any of the other employees show up, the work still going on up above, the quiet sound of typing still audible through the closed windows. Josef doesn’t want to wait any longer, a policeman having looked sharply at him, no, Josef isn’t breaking in, there’s nothing to take here, everything is monitored.

Josef heads off from the Cultural Center, walking slowly through the streets, and avoiding those places where at this late hour the action is livelier and the streetcars clank along. He wants to forget the Cultural Center, it was nothing more than a dream, but he doesn’t totally reject it, even if it casts shadows upon Goethe’s bust, Professor Rumpler seeming almost like a bust himself, his head round, his gaze fixed and indeed silent, his mouth open, even when he isn’t saying a thing, his voice cutting and strong, sometimes
complaining and rushing, but his bald head remaining always the same, its layers of fat shining. Perhaps Rumpler is also now moving along the streets, sampling cultural works, looking for Fräulein Auer all done up, chatting with the street walkers and saying to them what they should make a note of, offering them discount tickets, though they must become members, carrying Saybusch’s flyers listing the next week’s events under his arm as he stands before the theater exit, pressing a flyer into everyone’s hand, as he calls out Auchlicht! Auchlicht! for one has to start somewhere, nothing is for sure, one must earn his red cross, he wears it prominently clasped just above his stomach, the newspapers also need to earn the trust of the public, which is why the newspaper boys hawk their papers, culture offered everywhere, while Herr Schebesta is wrong, even scientific sensations are covered, not the actions of politicians, the results of sporting events or the horrors done by criminals. They should all just see how Rumpler does it, he the promoter of the intellect and the symbol of modern culture, himself the epitome of it, Rumpler’s employees there to serve it, Michel opening the door, the most illustrious heads of the epoch taking their place in the foyer, Michel having them fill out an application, which he then brings to the Director, who decides about lectures and photos, the radio spreading the word out into the macrocosm, the world reconciled, the Cultural Center the microcosm in which all is arranged and decided, five minutes, ten minutes, or even if it’s really important, fifteen minutes, one must make compromises indeed.

Josef walks on, having long ago lost any sense of where he lives, he not having chosen any direction but instead freedom, which still causes one to hunger, there being no way to prevent it, though it is its own salvation, there is no remedy that grants it. Rumpler can’t sign for it, for he can’t monitor it, nor does any subvention help, nor even the Office of the President. Midnight by now is long past, and it was four in the afternoon when Josef first showed at the Cultural Center, no, actually it was three, but it wasn’t until four that Rumpler welcomed him, Josef climbing the stairs to the office, though Michel didn’t have to open the door, the door to the foyer already stood open, at which someone spoke briefly with Josef, he doesn’t recall who anymore, then he had to wait for an hour, Rumpler suddenly ripping open the door to the office and calling out, Quickly quickly, young man, I
haven’t stolen away any time just for you, why are you walking so slowly? What do you really want from me? Alas, everyone wants something from me, and when I was as young as you I wasn’t allowed to do anything. Yes, you’ve already waited an hour, but that’s nothing compared to a lifetime, we wait many hours before it’s our turn. At your age I waited whole days, and no one paid any attention to me. What, then, do you want, my good man? Now quickly, quickly! Sit down, for I let no one stand within three meters of me when I was a newly made doctor. I always bowed deeply and didn’t move from my spot, but I see that you have already taken on the ways of the new democracy whereby bad behavior is confused with freedom. Alas for the feudal grace of the monarchy, but nothing is forever, not even today, but what is it that you want? Make it snappy! Aha, a letter of recommendation, now let me see it, a good letter, no question, but only one letter! What, another letter? Impressive, I’ll think it over, but of course I can’t hire anyone in these times, I already have enough people, and indeed, everyone wants a job with me.…

Josef still feels that his adventures at the Cultural Center can’t continue, it was madness, a nightmare, that cannot happen again, it’s over, nothing more to consider, nothing to dream about, but Josef can’t quite shake free of it, since he dearly wishes it could work out, himself holding on, helplessly clinging to it, though there is also release, the freedom of time, wounded freedom, the employees of the Cultural Center heading home at night, for it’s late, they have all left and must head home to sleep, even Puttrich the concierge will sleep, even the restless Cultural Director is slumbering on the writings of Kummerhackl, the call to solve Europe’s social question having frozen in its tracks, the social question now sleeping, as well as humanity, culture, the world’s spirit, freedom, conscience frozen, too, everything asleep, as, exhausted on a park bench, Josef sleeps as well.

T
HE EIGHTY NEW WORKERS ASSIGNED TO BUILDING THE RAILROAD MARCH
uphill along the dusty road until they get to the wooden huts, though at a good pace the trip takes no more than ten minutes before they reach the hut, with its black roof covered with tar paper, that is the builders’ hut, which contains an office and a drafting room, next to which stands a couple of wooden huts, shacks full of building materials, tool bins, and two or three workshops. Everything is fitted out in meager fashion and hastily thrown together, nothing looks right. On the street side of the huts there is a canopy that protects against the rain, as well as two desks where the bookkeeper Podlaha and a secretary work, the new workers approaching the desks one after another. They have not come voluntarily, for the war is on, everyone must work, even the Jews need to do something for once, and even if building this railroad has no important relation to the war effort, each must still follow the orders of the state, which is fighting for Europe on all fronts. That’s why the despised ones are ripped away from their families, the employment office having issued a summons, failure to appear resulting in each
one writing his own sentence, the men arriving at the induction station, where long questionnaires are filled out that inquire about their various skills, after which they go to the infirmary, where they again fill out another long questionnaire, after which a doctor quickly examines them, the result being that each is declared ready for heavy physical labor. Soon they are informed of their duties and told they will work on the railroad in Wirschenowitz, and that they need to come to a meeting in order to learn all the details. There someone from the employment office tells the men that the times are serious, shirking work will be severely punished without mercy, but they are lucky, the work they will do is healthy and they will be outside in the fresh air, they will be paid, but they should fit themselves out with warm clothes, good shoes, two blankets, and eating utensils, while breakfast, lunch, and dinner will be available at reduced costs in the canteen. They will find out all the rest in Wirschenowitz, where the forced laborers have their own administration, the employment office having chosen a leader from among the roughly eighty men already at work there, as well as a doctor. Then a slip of paper with their issuing orders is shoved into their hands, it also stating the meeting point at the central train station at 8
A.M
. on Sunday, tomorrow.

At the station the men stand ready, most of them between eighteen and twenty, though there are also some who are over forty. Two officials from the employment office travel with them, their job being to oversee the camp, though they are young, one always having a tobacco pipe in his mouth, the other simply a lout. The trip takes almost six hours, but everyone is in a good mood, as they all get to know one another and friendships are quickly formed, families talked about, the war, the days ahead, each debating and talking about whether the work will be good, whether it will be strenuous or bearable, some holding out hope that it will be fine, they will be in the country, almost all the people there being Czech and hopefully friendly, or at least not hostile, some of the group having already had some experience with such camps, all of them involving similar work, such as building roads, bridges, or canals, and while none have worked on a railroad, it’s the same as building roads, for it involves leveling, digging, pickaxing, and shoveling. The youth with the pipe from the employment office also says a couple of things about Wirschenowitz, telling them that the little
village is located in a mountainous area dense with forests, the inhabitants having hardly anything, since their houses are simple and for the most part covered with shingles or straw, ducks and geese waddling through the streets. The largest part of the town is in the valley, which is quite deep and surrounded by steep cliffs, from which a little river flows with cascading green water, three wooden bridges and a narrow footbridge crossing over it both in and outside the village. Until now the area has been reachable only by a narrow-gauge train that runs along the right bank of the little river, though the new stretch will run much more directly, meaning that the sharp change in elevation will have to be dealt with by digging and moving large sections of earth.

When they arrive in Wirschenowitz it’s hot, the men are not allowed any water, but instead must immediately run from the station down into the village, where they soon reach the main street, the view offering three little shops, two of them inns serving food, followed by a post office, a hair dresser’s, a tobacco shop, all of them except the inns looking as if they are shut. Then the group turns left and soon reaches the creek, where it crosses the footbridge and begins to climb uphill again, the strongest keeping up with the boys from the employment office, who hurry them along, while the weaker ones soon lag behind, each having to carry his things, whether they be knapsacks, suitcases, bags, or packages. Josef, meanwhile, stays in the middle. At the end of the village they approach the main road, which after another curve turns into the highway that leads the workers to the builders’ huts and on toward Pechno. For a while the creek runs beside the street, which then turns away, after a few minutes landing them in the work camp, which consists of wooden huts surrounding an open space, the canteen to the left, which also serves as a gathering room where the mail is handed out in the evening, sometimes Otto, the leader of the group, speaking to the forced laborers, they also being able to eat dinner here, though since the canteen is so uncomfortable and dirty many choose to eat in the barracks. The canteen is leased by the fat, reasonable, and efficient Frau Miltschi, her two helpers not at all friendly, as together they prepare the meager fodder that they sell for chits—one can purchase a week’s worth from Otto—during the same fixed hours each day, during which it’s a good idea to keep a fork at the ready in order to scoop up some bit of potato or peas that would
otherwise go into the garbage. The rest of the barracks are for housing, each containing four spacious rooms holding eight men each, the wooden pallets simple but functional, the straw mattresses stuffed full, a heavy table standing in the middle of the room, benches with no backs running along its long sides, there also being some shelves on the wall, the ample oven with a large cooker a welcome sight, next to it a wood box with beech logs used for heating. The accommodations are stripped down, but they serve their purpose and are welcoming, though there’s no electric light, since oil lamps are used.