The Conversion

by Aharon Appelfeld

  “I am obliged to.”

  Obliged by whom, he wanted to say. But he did not. He knew the boundary. To go beyond it would only embarrass her.

  The hours in Gloria’s company became more pleasant from evening to evening, flooding him with tranquility. Sometimes he imagined that one day he and Gloria would travel together to the country, and that there, far from the gaze of municipal clerks, they would live a simple, rustic life.

  “Would you like to live in the country?” he would ask.

  “It’s not as beautiful as you think.”

  “But there’s tranquility.”

  “Fear and violence also.”

  Sometimes on his way home he would stop at the Green Eagle to have a few drinks with Martin. Though it was difficult for Karl to be in his company, still he was pleased. Martin’s mood rose and fell erratically. When he was on the upswing, he was enthusiastic, full of wit and charm, and a great companion. But on the downswing—and a fall was usually inevitable after seven or eight drinks —his expression became narrow and suspicious, as if Karl was not a friend from childhood but a wily customs official trying to entrap him.

  At that time Martin had a pretty wife, very independent and an impressive individual. She hated Jews openly and bluntly on account of her first husband, who had been a Jew. Martin would tease her about her prejudices and counter by listing the flaws of the Austrian middle class. Once he went so far as to say they were “rotten to the core.” Martin refused to live in her house, and she, likewise, refused to live in his. They would meet in hotels, and their love was furious and hopeless. Martin was, nevertheless, bound to her, or perhaps it would be better to say “captured” by her.

  Karl’s relationship with Freddy became simpler as the days passed. Poor Jews kept coming to his clinic, even after he converted. Though he wasn’t a brilliant diagnostician, his devotion to his patients was boundless. The poor knew it and flocked to him. He too had changed with the years. He had gotten fat and had come to resemble his father, though he was shorter and clumsier. “If I hadn’t gotten fat,” he confessed once, “I would have left everything and sailed to America.” He spoke about his feelings with a touching simplicity. Freddy, who had had trouble with mathematics and Latin, with composition and everything else, was now able to express his emotions in just a few words.

  Once he said to Karl, “I feel like a thief.”

  “Why?”

  “I feel that I’m cheating people.”

  “But you work like a dog and travel to all kinds of remote places,” Karl said sympathetically.

  “But I haven’t succeeded in establishing a free clinic for the poor.”

  “You already treat all the poor people in the city.”

  “Yes, but they need a hospital too.”

  His office was invariably mobbed—by city folk, villagers, alcoholics, the mentally ill. People were always sprawled over his front yard. No one was sent away, and everyone was greeted cordially. And yet none of this did anything for his professional reputation. On the contrary, the rich would have nothing to do with him.

  He grew fatter and fatter by the month and dragged himself along heavily. But the words that came out of his mouth were pieces of his soul, as if his girth were some sort of refinery of delicate expression. For hours they would sit in the Green Eagle, talking and falling silent.

  Karl would also meet Father Merser, but not often. Sundays had become awkward. It was hard for him to take part in the mass. He would go to church and rush off at the end of the service. Father Merser said nothing, and each time they met he conveyed a new warmth. Once, when Karl told him about his difficulties with prayer, he said, “One mustn’t force oneself to pray. Prayer will come on its own.” Karl took this as a dispensation and was relieved.

  One night, returning from the Green Eagle a bit tipsy, he found Gloria sitting at the table darning socks.

  “Why so late?” she asked, moving toward him.

  “I was at the Eagle,” he said, without hesitation.

  “You did well. After a hard day’s work a man needs a drink.”

  “I guess I’m just a creature of habit.”

  “A drink is allowed,” she said and winked mischievously.

  He chuckled, and as she laughed with him, he noticed for the first time that her teeth were white and straight, and he had never known her to go to a dentist.

  “Why are you staring at me?”

  “You have white teeth.”

  “I do?” she said, as if he had noticed a flaw.

  “You have white teeth.”

  “I brush them before going to sleep.”

  “So do I, but my teeth are yellow.”

  “You smoke, my dear.”

  “Your teeth are so white,” he said in a drunken voice.

  “You need coffee,” she said, changing the subject.

  “How do you know?”

  “Am I wrong?”

  “You are not.”

  “How strong?”

  “As strong as possible.”

  She immediately went to the stove to make it, meanwhile telling him about her day. The neighbor, Mrs. Graubach, had gotten up from her sickbed and sat in the garden; the dog stayed by her side and watched over her. “It was good to see her getting some air.”

  “Does she still remember us?”

  “Yes, her memory came back and she remembers everything. I told her about your appointment.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “She wept and said it’s too bad your parents couldn’t have seen it.”

  Her few words and the stammer that accompanied them expressed Mrs. Graubach’s existence with a kind of precision, and it was clear to him that only in Gloria’s language was it possible to talk about the unfortunate woman without arousing false pity.

  Her coffee was indeed strong. Every gulp seeped into him and filled him with warmth. The sights of the day gradually vanished from his head, and other pictures, distant but clear, stood before his eyes.

  “Gloria,” he said.

  “What, Karl?” she drew nearer.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you…” The thought took shape in his mind and the words followed.

  “Is something wrong?” Attentiveness tensed in her eyes.

  He smiled and moved close to her and grasped her shoulders.

  “We’re old friends, aren’t we?”

  Gloria looked up at him and chuckled.

  “Why are you laughing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We’re old friends, aren’t we?” he repeated, as if these were the only words he knew.

  Her shoulders shrank as she trembled.

  “Gloria,” he said, looking directly into her eyes.

  Gloria raised her right hand and touched it to her forehead and hair. Karl knew that gesture well and liked it. “What can I do?” she said helplessly.

  “Nothing.”

  “Is there something that you need?” she said, as though waking up.

  “No, Gloria. I just wanted to tell you that I’m happy in your company.”

  “I’m not a young woman anymore.” She bowed her head.

  He immediately regretted imposing upon her and asked her forgiveness. But he didn’t move. He was about to hug her. Gloria seemed to sense the force of his arms and said nothing.

  “Excuse me,” he repeated. He now saw fear and submission in her face, as well as a glimmer of pride because he had addressed her as a woman. Karl did not look away from her, but he did not know what to say. Nor did his hands come to his assistance. They were frozen.

  “Gloria,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Do you love me?”

  “My dear,” she said, and a smile filled her mouth. “A woman my age no longer dreams of love. I’m forty-nine.”

  “But you’re the only soul I have in the world.”

  “My dear,” she said, and returned immediately to the demeanor of a servant.

  “Gloria.”

  �
�Not today.” She found the words to slip away from his gaze.

  “Pardon me,” he said, kissing her hand.

  CHAPTER

  15

  It was a night of ugly dreams. First it seemed that Hochhut was trying to push him out of his office, but then he realized that it wasn’t Hochhut but Aunt Franzi who had appeared at the door of his office, dressed in a flimsy nightgown. No longer a young woman, she was still full of vitality and charm. “Not here,” he started to say, but she entered anyway and locked the door the way Victoria’s girls did. As he drew near her, he remembered her funeral. She laughed the way Gloria did and said to him, “I wanted to fool them. I’m alive and kicking.” She removed the nightgown and stood completely naked. “There’s a meeting here in ten minutes,” he said, the words tangled in his throat. Still, he put out his hand to touch her body—and then he realized that it wasn’t flesh but a marble statue presented to him by the staff at city hall when he was appointed municipal secretary. The statue was cold as ice.

  The alarm clock shook him out of the dream, and he rose and tried to sneak out of the house. But Gloria, it turned out, had gotten up early and set the table. Her face was no different than on any other morning. A kind of serenity seemed to reside in her. “Thank you,” he said, without looking at her.

  Only on his way to work did he sense what the night visions had done to him. It was as if they had penetrated the hidden recesses of his soul. He quickened his steps. The first one in the office, he immediately attended to his mail.

  Luckily, the morning was extremely busy. Between ten and eleven, when his office was open to the public, he met with Greiber, an elderly merchant who came to complain about his recent tax assessment. Karl spoke with him at length, asking about his son, who had gone to America, and about his daughter, who lived in Vienna.

  “You remember all of us.” Mr. Greiber was surprised.

  “We grew up together, didn’t we?”

  “Not everyone remembers us, my dear fellow.”

  Karl could see that the old man was moved.

  “Your father and mother were wonderful people. Like you, they helped the needy. A Jewish heart is a merciful heart,” said the old man, immediately regretting the words that had left his mouth. He took his head in both hands, like someone who has brought disaster upon himself. “Pardon me, I’ve spoken out of turn,” he murmured with trembling lips. Sensing his distress, Karl got up from his chair and went over to him, “You have nothing to apologize for, Mr. Greiber,” he said. “The church hasn’t changed us, believe me.” Mr. Greiber’s eyes shone with relief. When Karl extended his hand, Mr. Greiber drew it to his heart, he was so moved.

  Later, Karl attended two tiring meetings—the sort of political intrigues that exhausted him hopelessly. In the evening, he didn’t rush home. He sat in the Green Eagle, and with every sip Gloria’s years spread out before his eyes. When she was a girl, merchants in the market had tried to seduce her, but she had turned them down, even refusing to have a drink with them. His mother would sometimes say to her, “You’ve got to find a decent young man to marry. A person has to marry.” Gloria would listen without answering or simply shrug her shoulders. Once, a wealthy merchant had fallen in love with her and came to ask for her hand, but she refused him too. Thus the years passed. From her sickbed, Karl’s mother would say, “Promise me you’ll marry when I’m gone.” As she heard those words, tears welled up in Gloria’s eyes, and his mother stopped pestering her.

  The more he drank, the more such memories were unfurled before his eyes. Gloria as a young girl playing with him in the yard, taking walks with him, and in the evening, his head in her lap as she rode home with him on the tram. Then, Gloria escorting him to school, with sacks of salt and sugar on her shoulder. Thus the images flitted by, and the more he sank into himself, the more he knew what she had been for him, and the angrier he became at himself for exploiting his position, for driving her into a corner. That anger, which had dwelled within him all day long, now spread through his whole body.

  “I must ask her forgiveness,” he said as he set out.

  The light was on in the house. Gloria was sitting at the dining room table, sorting rice. Her body hunched, she was totally absorbed in the task. From a distance she looked like one of the workers he sometimes glimpsed through the windows of a shoe factory.

  “Good evening,” Gloria said, approaching him.

  All the words he had stored up that evening were suddenly lost to him. Instead, he said, “Today the merchant Greiber came to see me.”

  “I remember him. His store was next to ours. How is he?”

  “The inspectors have taxed him unfairly.”

  “He’s a good man, an honest man.”

  “They pick on the weak,” he said, glad that the right words had come to his lips.

  As usual, Gloria recounted the events of the day. Mrs. Graubach had gotten out of bed once again, and this time she sat in the garden speaking of her native town in Galicia. Gloria’s face was full of wonder. It was clear that this conversation with the neighbor had moved her. For a moment he forgot his irritation with himself, and a kind of autumnal warmth enveloped his body. In his last year of gymnasium Karl had bought himself a leather coat that fit him well and gave him a feeling of height and lightness. He had liked the coat and wore it for years. Two years ago, on a visit to Victoria’s, he had lost it. Now the coat returned and stood before his eyes. The sleeves were worn and scuffed, the collar had faded, but still it was pleasant to touch. For a moment he was sure that if only he could wear that coat, all his fears would dissipate, his whole being would immediately be renewed.

  He awoke from the reverie, stood, and said, “Pardon me.”

  “Why are you asking my pardon, my dear?”

  “For what I said yesterday.”

  “We are family. There are no secrets between us.” That sentence had evidently been poised on her lips for a while.

  “I know, but I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

  “Karl,” she insisted, “we’re one family. I’ve been in this house for thirty years now.”

  “Even more reason for me to have restrained myself.”

  “No, my dear. We mustn’t be so harsh on ourselves. There are things that only we understand.”

  “I shouldn’t have said what I said,” he repeated.

  “You’re as dear to me as your parents were. There. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

  “But I converted,” he blurted out.

  “That doesn’t matter. To me you’re the same Karl,” she said, tears flowing from her eyes. She wept like someone who doesn’t ask for pity.

  “I’ll do whatever you want,” she added.

  “God forbid. You mustn’t say that.”

  “What should I say?”

  “You’re an honest and faithful woman.”

  “I only did my duty.”

  “You did much more than that.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  That was Gloria. How much he loved her, he knew only now. But he didn’t know how to express his love. His words were clumsy and embarrassed him greatly.

  The next days were overburdened with work. Though it was a strain, he kept his promise to the residents of the city that his office would be open to the public. Citizens came and went, and not only during reception hours. Besides, he was investing most of his energy in the files relating to the commercial center. These were thick, yellowed files in which many injustices had been recorded. It was important to him to cut through the bureaucracy to help people, but the great battle over the center itself was quickly approaching.

  Meanwhile, Hochhut insisted on having the center condemned. Twenty small shops were involved, about half of them quite active, the rest in decline. They must all be torn down, he argued, so that a new center can be erected, a modern center, that would comfortably serve all of the citizens. That was all fine, but he was unwilling to compensate those evicted, the old people. What he offered was a jo
ke.

  It wasn’t difficult to gain support for his plan. At last, a commercial district without Jews. Who could object? Karl felt that this time he could not keep silent, and indeed he led the opposition. The deputy mayor raised an interesting objection: a city without a Jewish quarter, he argued, wasn’t a city, and they should preserve what remained of it. Meanwhile, Karl’s work routines were disrupted: meetings were now held daily on this matter, sometimes two on the same day.

  Karl decided to enlist Freddy. Though his clinic left him no time for other concerns, Freddy’s heart was moved by this injustice, and the next day he brought a check for two thousand crowns to Karl’s office. When Karl told him that money wasn’t the problem so much as public opinion, he replied, “I want to give what I can. I earned this money honestly, and want to contribute it to a fund for the Jews.”

  So Karl’s life changed course. He now spent hours in the center, wandering among the stores, cafés, and kiosks, even entering the synagogue. Those places, which he had ignored for years, seemed less neglected than he had expected. The old men came out to him as if seeking their lost son.

  The struggle spread, and numerous parties became involved. Karl, who had spent his entire career in anonymity, calmly preparing documents for the perusal of his superiors, suddenly found himself standing in the political limelight. “Don’t call them Jews.” he spoke up. “Call them old people, call them weak people—that’s what they are, and they need our help.” When those words too were ineffective, he went so far as to say, “We converted their children to Christianity, and now we are going to seize the little property they have left?”

  Gloria was afraid. She knew that people didn’t forgive declarations like that, but she didn’t dare say to Karl, “Don’t put your job at risk,” as his mother would have done. To encourage him, she would open a bottle of cognac, and they would sit and drink. After two or three drinks, her face would shine with a new light. One evening she said to him, “You’re a lot like your mother.”

  There was no lack of scandal-mongers and slanderers in the city. One poster that was pasted on walls said: “Don’t call Karl Hübner the Municipal Secretary. Call Him the Defender of the Jews. For Him, the Jews Always Come First.” Hochhut was in league with the slanderers, of course. They even mobilized Victoria’s inn. Someone dug up an old picture from his gymnasium days: Karl in the embrace of a notorious prostitute.