The Wall (50 page)

Once my mind was clear—everything was over, everything was thrown out—I trifled between the breaks of a shattered order and formulated ridiculous plans to form a mosaic that did not want to come together right and also immediately fell apart again. Should I try the old trodden cobblestones? Crawl again into buildings that lingered after everything had been destroyed, no matter how bad they were, and thus behave as if misery were the only permissible realm for the soul? To not tread on the trodden, even those from yesterday, as you hole up in your pain from today? To give up on time, no matter how bad it had been for you, to grant that your youth has disappeared and your old age will be curtailed? Questions, muddled pressing questions that heat up the mind but find no cool answers. Dazed, I stumbled the two steps to the door and tried the lock, but it wouldn’t budge, until finally I was able to hammer at it with the handle of Hermann’s razor, thus allowing me to get out of the bathroom. How awful! Otherwise I had hardly touched his things, or any of his clothes, still clean and fresh, which Anna, as if it were her task to do, had sweetly laid out on a chair for me, they sitting there undisturbed, as if it were my own private plunder all divvied up. I didn’t look all that good, but at least every thread was mine and didn’t come from this city.

In the room the breakfast table was set, all of it looking just like at home. Whether Anna noticed right away that I had turned up my nose at all her gifts I couldn’t decide; her look was calm and gentle, making me feel good. She served me silently, and I let her do so. “I’m being coddled,” I said to myself with a mixture of concern and satisfaction. “I’m not used to this.” Perplexed, I broke the silence.

“Is this what happens every morning? Always breakfast on a tablecloth?”

“Yes, isn’t that …?”

Anna cleared her throat and didn’t know what to say. She looked at me, injured and concerned.

“I … I only meant,” I said, embarrassed.

“Do you not like it?”

“No, no. It’s all fine. Wonderful! I’m just not used to it. A beggar picked up on the street who is then tenderly fed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Then the beggar leaves, or at least that’s what one would expect. Otherwise, the beggar is chased off. But he’s indeed fresh and won’t let himself be handled like a dog, as, having found refuge, he feels better, as if at home, in fact totally at ease, but then someone gives him a kick and the door slams behind him with a crash.”

Anna listened, feeling strange, not knowing what was going on. She almost had tears in her eyes.

“It’s terrible, what I’ve done! Forgive me! I’ll leave.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing! I’m impossible! Everything is impossible!”

“You need to take it easy! Wait, just wait! Take your time!”

“Thank you. You are so patient. Forget all that about a beggar, please! It’s just not so. Don’t take it literally. If you take a look at me, the way I stand here, then you get what I’m saying, right? What I said is all so ungrateful and obnoxious. But I’ll do better and make sure to stifle any such talk.”

“I’ve already forgotten it. See? Simply gone!”

“I wish I’d never said any of it.”

“You have to get hold of yourself, Arthur! Maybe what I say sounds dumb, but, nonetheless, please don’t be so bitter! No one is going to chase you off. You’re always welcome here, and often, always, whenever you wish! You can also stay here for a few days, until you settle down. Time heals.”

“Heals who? Not me! One can say the exact opposite: Time kills.”

“Yes, it does that, too, you’re right. But it also heals. You’ll see, it heals. Be patient!”

“Should I move in with Peter? Won’t that be too much of a burden for him?”

“Not at all! It would be good for you. Even for him. He’ll help you, and vise versa. He’s pleasing and practical, as one says, but somewhat immature. He needs a strong hand. Hermann always provided that, for he was a distant cousin of his. But he’s a nice young man. You can take him under your wing and show him the way.”

I had to laugh.

“You’ve come to the right man! A strong hand, me? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I do indeed know something about people.”

“You’ve got me wrong, believe me! I can be nothing but trouble. And that I can do splendidly. You know, outside of here I stood among a heap of people, and with cranes they yanked away the good souls. I was too heavy, having been lucky or whatever, and so I was spared. Since then I’ve been rejected. Just look—nothing but bad thoughts, small-minded and cruel.”

“Your despair doesn’t bother me at all. Why would you feel anything different? I believe in you a great deal.”

“Too much, Anna!”

“You are a strong, an incredibly strong, person. You’ll land with your feet on the ground, or you’ll create the space in which to do so, and then everything will be good.”

Anna said this quietly and with a conviction that would not stand for any back talk, no matter how strong the urge rose within me.

“You know what, Anna? You’re giving me immense credit and are at peace with how I’ll waste it.”

“Yes, credit, if that’s what you want to call it. That seems unbelievable to you today. But someday you’ll recall my words. When you are yourself again. Yourself, entirely yourself.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“I know it.”

Anna’s words hit me like a hot, dry wind, causing me—as best I can put it—to utterly despair. They didn’t change my situation at all, but they were a result of her belief in me, which then and long afterward, whenever I recalled this encouragement, granted me strength and confidence. In such manner, Anna had helped me; I’m still grateful to her and will never forget it. What she said was a blessing, which always wrested the morning free of its confusion and set the day, no matter how much it seemed headed toward a dark mess, on the right track.

Next we talked reasonably about what could be done for me, and what I myself should undertake. I suggested not waiting for Peter to pick me up, but instead that I go alone to the Office for Returnees to register. Anna had said this was an essential task, after which I could pick up my bag at the train
station and come back. Anna was pleased that I wanted to get off to a good start, but she thought I should indeed wait for Peter, because the Office for Returnees, like the train station, could be reached almost directly if you walked up to the vineyard where Peter lived. At the Office for Returnees they were, in fact, very nice, but one would have to wait in line, and it would be much nicer to pass the time with Peter. Anna thought that as soon as I had the ID in my hands everything would go better for me. After the Office for Returnees, I should go down to the station with Peter, and from there it would be easy to go to his house. Anna assured me that I would like living at Peter’s; the neighborhood was very quiet, the room nice, the view pleasant and peaceful. Anna was happy that the area around the hilltop vineyard was not a problem for me, as she called it. What she meant was that relatives or friends of mine had never lived there. Anna suggested a plan as to how I could then move my things into Peter’s, he bringing me food, while Anna promised to visit every evening during the next few days. That way, I would slowly settle in and wouldn’t need to leave the house at all. Just rest was what I needed—to sleep a lot, not think, read a little, look out the window, until I regained my strength. Once I was recovered, I should gradually make my way around the neighborhood, reflect on matters, and begin to think about the future.

“Just take it slow. Eventually you’ll conquer the city.”

“Don’t talk about conquering. That’s not the way it is; I refuse to think so.”

“You’ll come around, Arthur. You are standing on a growing and thriving island. You need to press on. Keep looking around you. Until you know that you are at home.”

“No, not at home. Not that. That doesn’t exist. It’s senseless for me to have come here.”

“You so wanted to.”

“Yes, I wanted to. Nothing forced me to do so. Yet it was imperative. I dreamed of finding something. A cat that was taken from the boy up to the hayloft and killed, but which he doesn’t know about and comes and looks for it, expecting a miracle in vain.”

“You don’t know that at all. You haven’t looked around at all.”

“No survivors.”

“You don’t know that, either.”

“It’s so.”

“Are you so certain?”

“Yes, I know all too much. And what I don’t know, I feel.”

“Really, no one?”

“No one who was really close to me. Hardly any. Yet I’ll have a look around. I’ll start somewhere. Oh, the fruit vendors, just like the greedy Kutschera. You know that guy, don’t you? Concierges here and there. I see how they scowl at me, as if they want to jump on me, their stifling greed sunk in a bath full of diluted sorrows. Oh, these lies! The whining faces of these thieves who will pour out their hearts. But, nonetheless, I realize I have to do it. To inch forward. From one address to another and then ask around. ‘Good day, here I am. Yes, just look! Could you please tell me …?’ Anna, it’s so shameful!”

“Shall I help you?”

“No, you can’t. I have to do it alone. Such draining, dried-up memories can do you in if you don’t stomp them down or flee them as fast as you can.”

“But you’re not a coward.”

“I don’t know that. But it has nothing to do with cowardice. The city is dead to me. I became convinced of it yesterday. And that will not change. Only lingering thoughts, an unrelenting sense of obligation, also fear, curiosity, desire are what lured me here. Then a stupid sense of hope crept in. Some days ago, while on the journey, when I needed to sleep, I stayed at a hostel. There I spoke with a young man about the same age as Peter, a nice guy who told me he had listened to the radio as they read out names from lists of survivors. ‘Franziska Landau’ was what he said. He swore he’d heard it, since I said I knew the truth for sure, but ‘Franziska Landau,’ he said, and then again, in order to make sure there was no mistake, ‘Franziska Landau.’ I said it as well, ‘Franziska Landau.’ It was crazy. And then I hugged the pale young man, kissed him, and jumped around the hut and then outside, saying ‘Franziska Landau!’ ”

“They have the lists at the Office for Returnees! I’ll go get them right now and call you!”

“But, Anna, Anna! Didn’t you hear? I know.”

“What do you know?”

“I know everything! There’s a Franziska Landau! Why can’t there be? But not my Franziska Landau! I let myself get carried away. Such a name as this, and I was baffled and pleased to hear it. I ran out of the hostel into the night, somewhere among the nearby fields, until I stumbled. Then I stood there and grabbed hold of my head.”

“And … then …”

“That was it. Over. Burned out. Ashes. Finished. Nothing. And then I pulled myself together. I didn’t want to get caught up in it all again; I didn’t want my mind to be pierced by disappointment. Which is why I decided not to dawdle anywhere for a single day but to move on as fast as possible. To be free of dreams and instead to sink into truth, no matter how merciless. It will be hard for me, Anna, but there’s no other way. I want to know the truth, to submit to it, and if I am still able to fulfill my duty I will submit testimony as merciless as what it will reveal in itself.”

“And that’s why you came back.”

“That’s why. No, that’s not quite right. I came here because it’s a stopping point. You have to understand: on my own, without this city, there would be no way to begin. The city means little to me, almost nothing. But as soon as I arrived here I felt a certain sense of equilibrium. That was a starting point, as I said. It could grow, perhaps, and I thought it possible. I have to live somewhere in order to exist, and here has suddenly made the most sense. Do you understand, Anna?”

“I can indeed imagine what you mean, but go on!”

“You see, a starting point, the hope for a starting point where I can find myself. Lists of returnees that we hear read out loud, about which one asks, one reads. Arthur Landau, born on and in, returned. Maybe someone will remember and want me. Do you think that someone over the border …?”

“But of course! People there are concerned. All of them are looking. They are waiting for lists. There’s just no way to make the connection. There’s no mail—letters are out of the question, telegrams arrive only with great difficulty. But individuals travel back and forth—soldiers, couriers who carry news. Do you have anyone over there …?”

“I don’t know. Hopefully. We can at least think so for now! A starting point where one can perhaps recognize … but, indeed, recognize what? It’s confusing. But you’re right. We shouldn’t delay trying to contact someone
over there. Let’s see, people outside the country, to link up with them, be recognized, me in particular, lists of returnees. It’s all quite clear, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“People who want to look for Arthur Landau.”

“So you have people over …?”

“No way to know. I can only hope. Some relatives, not many, most of them scattered, hardly any remaining close by. Ah, I didn’t even think of them.”

“Who, for instance?”

“Friends, once really good friends.”

“They won’t abandon you.”

“They would certainly come at once.”

“I think so, too, Arthur. We have to find them!”

“They should just come here. They should take me away.”

“What do you mean?”

“Away from here. I don’t want to stay. I just want to go.”

“You mean somewhere over there?”

“As soon as possible.”

“But do you really know what it’s like here? Yesterday you heard too much about the bad from Peter.”

“I know little, but I can well imagine. Much too much.”

“It probably wouldn’t be so bad for you here. You’ll even get your returnee’s identity card today, which is important and will give you many advantages. Then you can go to the authorities, who will receive you anywhere, as they will recognize your ID. You’ll have rights, remunerations for the Reitergasse shop.…”

“You think so? Reitergasse. What would that be? If they can just let me be in peace. I don’t want anything more from them. They should take me in over there. I mean, the friends. If they really are there, if they’re still friends.”