The Wall (57 page)

“I think it’s time for us to be going,” she said.

“As you wish, my dear child,” chirped the factory owner’s wife. “You saw how I did everything I could. You always know who you can turn to. Make sure to call me! Larry and I will not let you down, if things get even worse!”

“Hopefully, that won’t happen, Frau Saubermann.”

“Hopefully!” said the factory owner. “Hopefully! You really shouldn’t be disappointed. Maybe later you’ll thank me for seeming, only seeming, to be hard-hearted. And certainly make sure to call my wife, for she was
speaking to me from the bottom of her heart. Come back soon, my dear little Johanna!”

The couple accompanied us to the foyer, me holding Johanna tight. We shook hands, and I hoped that we were free to go, but Frau Saubermann had other ideas.

“Larry, be so good as to talk to our dear friend Johanna for a quick moment! It won’t take long. I still have something quick to say to the Herr Doctor.”

I didn’t know how it happened, because I was in no way willing to leave Johanna for a second, but suddenly Frau Saubermann had spirited me away and pulled me into a corner. Here a bright traffic light blazed, one that I can still clearly see before me, a framed photograph of the factory owner’s wife bathed in honey yellow, the image the same forever and featuring a tense, toothy smile that neither a good nor a bad painter would ever have depicted but which, instead, had been captured by his lordship the camera bug.

“As an experienced, educated woman, it’s not much that I have to say. You have behaved like a scoundrel to Johanna. You are nothing but a common seducer, do you hear? I swear, if it weren’t for the child I would have no qualms about urging Johanna to leave you. You are not the man for her. You can expect nothing from us until you can show that you are willing to take care of your wife and child through honest work! The husband must support the wife if he wants to earn the right for her to also slave away. Are you a man? Say something! Can you swear to do what you must?”

I was silent and dully saw before me the wan, glowing face of the factory owner. I wanted to get past him, but he stood in my way in a lordly manner, whispering something to me that I couldn’t understand, after which I thrust a fist at the factory owner, not too hard, just enough to rock him a bit so that I could get past him and head for the exit. I didn’t bother casting a single glance at the man, who was talking sweetly to Johanna, but instead I grabbed hold of her and before we knew it we were both free of the place. We never again spoke of the factory owners. Johanna found other work to take in and could never forgive me for this disgraceful performance.

What Johanna took upon herself in order to make things easier for us she did because of her belief in my work and in my future success. I carelessly encouraged her. Indeed, some well-meaning people with a lot more
love than suitable means supported us, but for one thing they had no power, or they didn’t understand what we were trying to do, or they misjudged, however well-intentioned, where it was all meant to lead. Hardly anyone really knew how to help, and hardly anyone was of real beneficial help, as no one was devoted enough or was only capable of keeping a friendly eye focused on me, the result being that my plans and projects were, in my own sense, failures. When it came to advice, criticism, or rebukes, no one held back, but instead lacked the ability to take me by the hand with tact. I was cheered on insincerely, and my talent was unfairly thwarted. My efforts went the way of the world and came to nothing. The further along I got in the writing of my main work, the more often I gained entrance to a new acquaintance who encouraged me anew. Plaudits would follow, new hopes then slipping in, such that the lack of practical help for Johanna and me seemed about to ease. I actually don’t know how I would have been able to maintain my outer composure if I had known, ahead of time, the continual failure I would experience in my first years in the metropolis; undoubtedly, I would have abandoned my studies, and my work would have remained no more than mere notes. Perhaps I should have hidden out in some office, as so many urged me to do, but that would have been difficult and would have been hard for me to take, or I could have given language lessons in private or applied for a post at a night school, or I could, as So-and-So and others urged, have begun a study that would have brought in money, or for which I was vaguely promised a stipend, or I should have taken some kind of job for which I was minimally suited, in order to keep myself afloat. But I refused to do any of this.

My ceaseless work proved too much for my health, as I found that it was so unsavory that I couldn’t expect too much of myself. At night I was usually exhausted, such that I couldn’t do anything else but rest, though I was never able to. Defeated, I sank into bed and immediately fell asleep, then woke much too soon and rose early without feeling refreshed. Later on in the fourth year of my arrival in these parts, when finished works still lay idle in my desk drawer or were sent back to me by experts or publishers, and then only after my having to write to inquire about them, my scholarly career—how strange that sounds!—not having ended, some acquaintances, who didn’t wish to say anything about my misery, did something behind my
back. Somehow they pulled together the funds, which they made clear in conversation were guaranteed, that, if I would be willing to study languages or history at a university, could be used to help me get a position at a high school. The suggestion to develop such a plan, although I never found out for sure, seemed to have come from So-and-So. Perhaps I’m only imagining that out of mistrust, but I can’t help thinking that the point was to keep me from my scholarly work and thus eliminate me from the competition, while at the same time discharging any moral responsibility they might feel for me. The offer wasn’t made directly to me but fell upon Johanna—who had just been sick with the flu—they no doubt thinking that she would bring me around. She had to inform me that a circle of unnamed well-intentioned people were ready to supply me and my family with a small sum until the end of my studies, provided I would be ready to fulfill the binding conditions of the plan. Johanna presented me with this ultimatum shaken and with a sad face, while continuously saying she was sorry, though she didn’t expect me to capitulate, which it didn’t occur to me to do, either. “We have to stick together and hang on!” were her words. I thought about it, indeed, but after a night spent talking about it we knew that I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do anything more, for things had gone too far; I was simply too weak, overwhelmed and overwrought. Johanna volunteered to convey my decision.

Only in the first weeks, when I was promised the heavens, would I have agreed to such a proposal. Back then, I discussed a similar plan with the Haarburgers in order to allow me to get an extension on my visa and a material foothold in the country, but the two of them laughed at me. If I only worried about the future, I would soon be easily distracted, for how could a man of my talents sell himself for chicken feed, that was just out of the question. I should not lose a single hair over it, the Haarburgers would always take care of me, even if I needed something to get me through. Dr. Haarburger pulled his checkbook from his pocket. I was touched by so much kindness and yet declined it with my thanks, since I still had some means at my disposal. Johanna, whom I asked if I’d done the right thing, agreed that one shouldn’t take any money unless he absolutely needed it. More than half a year later, after my disappointment with Kratzenstein and Singule, and yet before my horrible visit with the Saubermanns, I lightly raised the
issue of my money worries with Dr. Haarburger, who responded as ever in a friendly and welcoming manner, but essentially the appeal fell on deaf ears. My suggestions were considered thoughtfully and just as much interest was shown for the advancement of my work. Haarburger thought my troubling conversation with Kratzenstein a real boon, his interest having been won for good, while an invitation to the regular meetings of the working group was no everyday honor, for the Professor would no doubt warm to me more and more, and he, after all, is the president of the society, all of it something that my friend Kauders would congratulate himself for if he were ever to make it that far. My doubt and anxiety were swept away. Haarburger was delighted that I now knew Frau Fixler, for she was a good soul, and Hannah should call her, no, better so Jolan. Anyway, Frau Fixler would take care of the Professor. Haarburger had already heard about the disappointment with Singule, which was certainly unfortunate but not disastrous, as support from the foundation just wasn’t that easy to get, especially given how his hands were tied, the matter of Latvia, sociology, so little time, and everything else. What didn’t work out today might well work out tomorrow. Had I sent in my application to Singule yet? I had not done so at all. Such a blunder, he complained, such a mistake. Hannah was beside herself: Do it immediately. What’s that, impediments? They don’t matter and, as for documents, pah, they’re nothing, it all can’t be done in one shot, but the main thing was that the application was there, and Jolan would be happy to write a professional opinion. Then I was fed splendidly and entertained by the couple, patted on the shoulder, and told not to be dismayed, for if I really didn’t know what to do, at least then I knew something. And so I left with empty hands and warm greetings for Johanna, though I didn’t feel at all disappointed.

Some weeks later, just after we had survived the terrible evening with the factory owners, I called the Haarburgers again. Frau Haarburger, with whom I spoke on the telephone, invited me over after some hesitation. When I arrived, she greeted me politely, yet was somewhat more reserved and cooler than before. Her husband was still busy; I had to make do with her in the meantime. We talked about this and that, the conversation moving forward in a wearisome manner, while Frau Haarburger kept talking about all the recent unexpected demands upon her husband, for I had no idea how many burdensome requests he was buried in, and that, in the end,
one didn’t live on milk and honey and one’s wallet wasn’t bottomless. Now and then I had to thoughtfully agree, but, above all, I had decided to be relentlessly open about my situation. I didn’t want to be given anything; I was ready to exchange valuable goods as collateral against a loan. Finally, I seized the opportunity to put forward my request, but the words wouldn’t come out. Meanwhile, did I know that Herr Buxinger, the bookseller, was having problems with cash flow? No, I didn’t know that. Yes, indeed, Jolan had to put up a guarantee—one couldn’t leave an old friend to flounder—and he will pay back everything, for sure. Those are the kinds of difficulties that any businessman has to face, and Buxinger is capable and will soon work himself out of it, but as a result Jolan’s resources were somewhat reduced for a while. Again, I had to agree, and was about to lower the flag of my cause, but then Frau Haarburger gave me a sad and reproachful look.

“Tell me, I wasn’t happy to hear about the Saubermanns. What happened? Dear Ida Saubermann is beside herself. What kind of person are you? Such a good person, so ethical to the core! It makes me despair to think of her suffering it all!”

“Madam, there’s nothing I can do about it!”

“Oh, yes there is! There most certainly is!”

“I believe that in this case it’s not my fault. The lady attacked Johanna and me. I’ll spare you the details!”

“I wasn’t spared anything. She told me everything, everything. No pleasure in that at all. You were completely brutal, she said. Aren’t you ashamed?”

“No. Frau Saubermann was insulting.”

“Insulting! Do you know what she’s done for others? She’s torn herself apart on behalf of others. As true as I sit here before you. And this accusation from you! No, that can’t be! I won’t let anything be said against Ida Saubermann.”

“Madam, I’m not saying anything, either. It doesn’t really matter to me. But when you begin to talk about it, then I have to defend myself.”

“Don’t defend yourself. I know that you’ve taken advantage of the fact that we like you, my husband and I, but the Saubermanns are not to be done ill by. Not by anyone. They have become ever more wealthy, and they do a great deal. People fed through honest work. Who does that? Show me!
You’ve seen where they live, a museum to be envied. And how many artists have benefited, both living and dead.”

“Especially the dead, I’m afraid.”

“No, that’s not for you to say! So unfeeling! How can you? And then you sing quite a different tune when you want someone’s charity.”

“We don’t want any charity; nothing could be further from the truth.”

“Charity or not, it’s not about that. You wouldn’t go there to ask for work at home if you thought anything of yourself. Like a beggar! Like a bum and, what’s more, to make your wife do the asking. Jolan just shook his head when he heard.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know how one can help you when you mess things up so with everyone. We presented you like a bonbon on a silver plate. That can’t last forever. You have to understand. Nor can we take care of you forever, not at all. Friendship, yes, but then friendship. One hand washes the other.”

“Madam, don’t be angry with me! Look, things are not good for me, and I know that there is no one here who has done as much for us as you and the Herr Doctor. Where would I have been in the first weeks if I hadn’t met you? Your home was my refuge. For once, let me please make a practical suggestion. I have no interest whatsoever in depleting your resources, I don’t wish to be given anything. I own a few valuables, gold and such, things from my family, which I’d like to offer as security against a loan. My means are modest—Johanna also has only a couple of pennies saved—but there must be a way that we can be relieved of our misery and live for half a year somewhat free of worry so that I can finish my sociology of oppressed people. In a word, we are broke, and I need a certain amount of money to go on.”

Frau Haarburger let me finish and expressed her concern, saying how sorry she was that I was caught in such difficulties. But I should have thought things through better right from the start. Back then, there was probably something that could have been done, it even perhaps having been possible to take up a collection among the Haarburgers’ circle. But since then the situation had grown much worse, and now here I was, expressing my wishes much too late. Also, the idea of posting collateral against a loan—that was hardly done and wasn’t quite proper. You either helped someone or you let
it be. Slender hopes, only sorrow, sorrow, so much misery in the world—it’s a crying shame, and if only one could do what one wished to. Life is just so hard. Frau Haarburger offered me a cognac, a good brand, and excused herself, leaving me there alone. After a little while, I heard her in the next room, she having taken a detour through the foyer, though I didn’t know whether she had done so by chance or on purpose. She spoke with her husband; I couldn’t understand what he said, just her, and even then not every word. Sadly her voice rose in indignation: “Jolan, he needs money, he has nothing to live on!” Then it was quiet for a moment, then I heard, even more piteously: “I’m telling you, he said he has nothing to live on! You need to help him out! It’s all exactly as Ida said. I’m telling you, it’s true!” Then I heard the doctor call out, “Impossible!” And then the answer: “It is so if I say so.”