“What was he talking about?”
“Hochhut, but really he meant me. He was attacking me directly.”
“What did he want?”
“I don’t know.”
After a pause he said, “I didn’t convert because I was convinced of Jesus’ miraculous birth, but because I realized that without converting they wouldn’t appoint me municipal secretary. Is that deceitful?”
“I didn’t understand your question,” said Gloria.
“I’m asking you if that was deceitful.”
“You tell the truth. Your late mother used to say, ‘Karl tells the truth, and that won’t make his life any easier.’ ”
“Is that what she said?”
“Yes, that’s what she said. On my word of honor.”
CHAPTER
21
That night Karl’s sleep was dark and deep. He woke up late and didn’t reach the office till nine. As soon as he entered, he sensed that something was wrong. He wondered if the janitors had gone on strike again. The department director’s door was closed, which increased his suspicion. But when he reached his own office, he was relieved to find everything running smoothly. For a full hour he sat and answered letters. In some of the letters he was asked about Hochhut’s plans. His responses were brief and to the point. The gist was: for the moment we must wait. In the afternoon his secretary entered and announced, “Schmidt the lawyer died last night.”
“Which Schmidt?” asked Karl.
“Martin Schmidt.”
The rock fell down from the mountain.
He rushed out and without thinking headed for the Green Eagle, where he had left Martin the night before. As he stood outside the place, he realized the foolishness of having gone there. Still, he opened the door and peeked in. The place was empty and dark. Karl went back out to the street.
“What’s the matter?” he asked himself in his normal voice. He stopped and thought for a moment and then broke into a run in the direction of the hospital. Only once he had come to the Royal Grove did he realize that there was no reason to run.
Dr. Meisler greeted him with a nod. Conversion, Karl realized, had done nothing for the doctor’s face. It had become even more Jewish, and now with his beard, he looked just like his father, who had owned a bakery in the old center.
“I sat with Martin last night until nine,” Karl told him. “He didn’t complain of anything.”
“At a quarter to ten he was dead,” said the doctor, and a pained smile spread on his face.
“How did it happen?” asked Karl.
“Just like that, my dear fellow. Just like that.” The doctor spoke in the manner of an old Jew.
“We quarreled, but in a friendly way,” said Karl.
“This didn’t happen because of one conversation or another.” Meisler absolved him of guilt.
“Aren’t there warning signs?”
“There are, but we usually ignore them.”
Later, he thought of going to see Freddy, but he lingered in the hospital. From the psychiatric ward, which was housed in a separate building, terrible screams were heard. Several hefty patients stood at the barred windows waving their arms at the passersby. No one went near them. The thought that Hochhut, too, was now among them made Karl’s knees buckle momentarily. He started for Meisler’s office, then changed his mind and headed off to find Freddy. The maid told him that peasants had awakened him before dawn and he had gone out to the village and not yet returned.
From there he went down to the river. Memories from their gymnasium years were mingled with visions of the past few days. He thought if he hurried he might meet up with Freddy, who would be returning by way of the bridge. The pale winter light hung wearily on the trees, and heavy shadows spread over the ground. The moist air brought to mind the trips along the river that he and Martin used to take together in the winter. Those were days of great excitement, and hunger, and boundless energy.
The next day he and Freddy sat together in the Green Eagle, lost in the crowd.
“He didn’t take very good care of himself,” said Freddy.
“But he always seemed so strong and self-confident.”
“As a physician, I should have warned him.”
“He insulted me a lot, but I never said a thing to him,” Karl stammered.
Later, Karl spoke angrily about the tragic waste of Martin’s life. He blamed Martin’s wives for embittering him, and nor did he spare Father Merser, who would pressure Martin whenever he needed a big contribution. In the end he said, strangely, “We need to avenge his death.”
The funeral was short and cold. Father Merser, who led the memorial service, spoke of Martin as a Christian whose Christianity had not been inherited but chosen and deliberate. He recalled Martin’s generosity, his many contributions to the church and the orphanage. The heavy odor of incense permeated the air, and Karl found it hard to breathe. Most of those attending were attorneys, along with a few of the judges before whom Martin had argued cases. Everyone sat silently. Martin’s wives didn’t come, not even the one with whom he’d lived in a hotel. No one wept. It was as if everyone had agreed that this is the way one must leave this world. Later, by the grave in the open air, Karl was still having difficulty breathing. A Jewish funeral may be hasty and disorganized, he thought, but it’s human. A funeral without weeping is empty and cruel.
As he walked among the mourners, he passed a grove of trees draped in a thin layer of frost. Karl recognized them. They were the tall birches that surrounded the playing field next to the cemetery. On bright, cold autumn days, the shadows of their thin branches would quiver on the ground with the delicacy of a Japanese painting. In their last gymnasium year, he and Martin had played a lot of volleyball. Martin was one of the best. His leaps at the net were precise and elegant. He rarely missed a shot or a block. Now before his eyes, Karl saw those leaps in slow motion.
The president of the Bar Association read a eulogy praising Martin’s contribution, speaking especially of the organization’s bylaws, which Martin had taken great pains in formulating. Then those in attendance shook hands again and spoke about business and public affairs. Winter was everywhere, and dark clouds moved across the sky.
Meanwhile, Karl remembered that in the second year of gymnasium Martin had written a poem on winter. The teacher, Mrs. Sperber, had praised it and said, “Martin is sensitive to colors and sounds. Let us pray that he doesn’t lose that sensitivity.” The word “pray” had sounded very strange back then. Now that word seemed to return across the distance of years and glow, like Mrs. Sperber’s face, which he had loved to look at.
After the funeral he and Freddy went to Kirzl’s. The place was full of drunks, and they could barely find a place to sit. After the first drink, Freddy started to cry and say strange things: “We’re so few and so isolated, and now we’ve lost Martin too. You could always turn to him.”
“The work you do is so important.” Karl changed the subject.
“It’s a drop in the ocean, believe me.”
“Everything I do is a lie. It’s all manipulation and paperwork. I’m fed up with it,” Karl groaned.
“Martin’s wives really put him through hell. You were smart not to marry.”
“What good has it done me?”
Thus they sat and talked and rambled on, like two old men whom the tempest of life had tossed up on a barren shore.
The next day the anniversary of his father’s death, Karl went to the Jewish cemetery. The guard greeted him and handed him a yarmulke. As he stood among the gravestones, the sight of Martin stayed with him. Before every volleyball game, Martin would skip rope to warm up. The agility of his entire being was expressed in those skips.
“How are you?” the guard asked him.
“My friend Martin was suddenly snatched away.” He couldn’t hold it in.
“I heard. Years ago, when I owned a shop in the center, he would come to me to buy lollipops.”
“We were unable to help him.” Karl could
n’t control his emotions.
“He was always scrupulous about coming on his parents’ Yahrzeit. Just a month ago he was here. He knew the Kaddish by heart.”
“I can’t understand how we failed to see his distress.”
“That’s how life is—short and untidy.”
The evening lights faded on the trees, and Karl returned to Salzburg Boulevard. He was moved by the warmth of the cemetery guard. An old power, a power he hadn’t felt for years, once again throbbed in his arms. It was cold, and he was hurrying home. But a few minutes from the house he suddenly veered off in another direction and soon broke into a run.
In a short time he was standing in the courtyard of the rabbi’s house. Immediately he rushed to the back of the house, leaped in through a window, and shouted, “Get out! Everyone in this part of the house must get out!” There was no answer.
“I repeat: Everyone in here must get out! Otherwise I’ll throw you out!”
The darkness was absolute, but from his corner he could just make out the squatters sprawled on the floor. The smell of beer mixed with tobacco hung in the room.
“Who’s there?” one of them said, getting off his mat.
“Never mind. Just get on your feet and get out.”
“This is our house.”
“It’s not your house. It’s the rabbi’s house. You’re squatting here illegally.”
“What rabbi?”
“The Neufeld rabbi.”
“We’re Christians, if you want to know. What do we care about a rabbi?”
Karl didn’t say another word. He leaped over to the man’s mattress, grabbed him, and pushed him out. Then he made a bundle of his belongings and threw them out the window. Two others, seeing what Karl had done to their companion, shouted, “Thief!” Karl shoved them out too.
“If anyone dares come back in, he’ll regret it. The rabbi is an old man. You are not to disturb him.”
“Who are you?” Another of the squatters woke up.
“I’m from the police.”
“And you’re defending the Jews?”
“We defend all citizens, no matter their religion.”
“Since when? Where are we supposed to sleep?”
“Outside, or in the city shelter, but not here. The whole world isn’t up for grabs.”
“Hey, we’re not kids anymore.”
“We expect a little respect from adults. And I warn you: I’ll personally beat up anyone who threatens the rabbi or extorts money from him.”
“We can’t stay here?”
“Not anymore.” Whoever is found here will get the living daylights beaten out of him. We’re going to make an inspection every night.”
When he got home, Gloria asked, “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
After dinner he told her that he had gone to the cemetery to visit his parents’ graves. The cemetery was well tended, and the headstones hadn’t been damaged. Gloria made no comment and asked no questions. During the summer, before the High Holy Days, she used to visit both Jewish cemeteries of the city, the new one, where Karl’s parents were buried, and the old one, where his Aunt Betty’s grave was.
CHAPTER
22
The following days were tense and gloomy. Rumors spread throughout the city that Karl and Gloria were secretly living together, and everywhere the matter was discussed with malicious pleasure. Gloria told him that young thugs had chased her in the street and called her a dirty whore. The rumor had not escaped Kirzl’s bar, either. A beggar shouted at Karl, “A Jew is always a Jew. You can never trust him.” Karl walked up to him, intending to hit him, but seeing that it was a ragged old man with no teeth, he was too disgusted to do him any harm. Anyone in the office who dared say a word was reprimanded and warned that he would be fired.
Fear of Hochhut hadn’t left the center. The merchants came to ask Karl’s advice, and he advised them to sell out while it was still possible. Nothing could be done. The center was doomed. The news was harsh, but the merchants left his office with their heads held high, as if they had just discovered that the whole world wasn’t lawless. One of the old men couldn’t restrain himself and said, “We’ll remember you, my dear fellow, even in the next world. And we’re not far from there now.”
The winter ended but Gloria seldom left the house. She stored the winter clothes and took out the spring ones. The smell of naphthalene spread through the house, and with it the feeling of relief. Gloria loved that work and did it diligently. Her youth and her maturity were buried in those closets and cupboards. At one time Karl had wanted to donate the clothes to the old age home, but Gloria stopped him. She knew: the maids there steal everything, and only rags would reach the old people.
After Martin’s death something changed in Karl’s life. Suddenly, the formalities of the office, to which he had been accustomed for years, seemed pompous to him. The indirect, euphemistic language of bureaucracy also lost its charm. What he had to say now, he said in a simple way that anyone could understand. Martin’s face, as if from spite, was always before him. He found it in every corner of the city, in the strangest places. Since Martin’s death, his own life had seemed more tangled. But sometimes he felt he was free and had only to decide what he would do next. But what he would do, and how, he didn’t know. Every night he would steal into the rabbi’s courtyard, wake the squatters, and hurl them out with their belongings. One night a squatter drew a knife. Karl didn’t hesitate. He pounded the man’s face with his fists.
The evil spirits did not subside. Every day letters came to the mayor and to the City Council, demanding Karl’s dismissal. If before they had complained that he was protecting the Jews of the old market, now they complained about his depravity.
“Hypocrites,” Karl responded.
In his practice, Martin had filed some lawsuits against slanderers, and there were some well-known cases in which the victims had received compensation. Now there was not a single lawyer in the city to whom Karl could turn for advice.
At first the other converts were pleased that Karl had converted. But over the years he observed that they seldom showed themselves in public, preferring to lead their lives in seclusion. They were never eager to meet with childhood friends. In the summer they fled to the Tyrolean Mountains, where they blended in with the locals.
He occasionally saw Father Merser, who of course knew about Karl’s troubles. His advice was simple: one Sunday soon he would make the pulpit available to Karl, so that he could tell the congregation what had happened and how. The proposal, which sounded, on the face of it, so logical and generous, embarrassed Karl.
“What should I say?” asked Karl.
“Whatever there is to say,” answered Father Merser.
He knew: it wouldn’t be just a lecture. Insulting questions would follow. He would have to justify himself, speak of personal matters, say something about his new faith. As for Gloria, he would have to mention that she had worked in his home since he was a child. Explain that she was fourteen years older than he.
“It’s hard for me to talk about my personal affairs,” said Karl.
“As you wish.”
Thus he avoided that trap. Meanwhile, Gloria continued to shop in the center. The greengrocers abused her and called her a slut. Sometimes her village tongue would return to her and she would stand fast and curse them like a peasant woman, but mainly she felt herself at a loss and would return home stooped and humiliated. Finally, she shut herself up in the house. After work Karl would buy groceries and return home loaded with shopping baskets.
CHAPTER
23
The attacks intensified and came from all sides, now striking at the house itself. Karl would lie in wait for the attackers and scare them off. Sometimes he would catch one of them. They were mainly the kind of young people from outlying neighborhoods who, after work in a factory and downing a drink or two, would invade the center, jeer at the old men, and steal their money. Recently they had found a new target: Gloria
. At first, Gloria gave as good as she got. She cursed them and their mothers. But Karl would not submit, even as the earth was collapsing from under their feet. At the same time, though, he had begun dreaming about a long trip to the provinces. When she heard his plans, Gloria’s face would become worried, as if he were speaking of some frightening delusion.
“And after the trip, will we return here?” she would ask.
“No.”
“Where will we live?”
“In different cities. Isn’t that more interesting?”
“And we won’t have a house?”
“Why do we need a house?”
The nights were still quiet, and Karl would sink into Gloria’s body with total abandon. In the morning he would get up late and hurry to work.
One evening a gang descended on the house. Without hesitating, Karl went after them. But this time they were quicker than he. One of them threw a knife and struck Gloria’s shoulder. When Karl returned, he found Gloria lying flat on the floor.
He summoned Freddy, who came in his carriage. Seeing that the wound was deep, they quickly got her to the hospital.
After Freddy had conferred with the staff doctor about Gloria’s wound, Karl spoke excitedly about the need to combat the spread of violence. He sounded like those young Jews who had fled to Russia to learn how to fight injustice. That night Karl and Freddy sat up in the hospital café until very late. Karl told him he was thinking of resigning from his position and going out into the provinces.
“What will you do there?” Freddy asked anxiously.
“I don’t know. I need trees now, not people.”
“I wouldn’t leave a steady job,” said Freddy.
“I’ve had my fill of people. I’m hungry for some trees and streams.”
Hearing those words, Freddy opened his eyes wide, as if Karl had said something truly astonishing.
That night Karl felt that everything around him was closing in on him. Rage gnawed at his limbs. Freddy was his only friend left in Neufeld. Still, it was hard to rely on him. His heart was boundless, but his mind could be narrow. Every time he encountered a problem, he would revert to his parents’ tired notions. “I wouldn’t leave a steady job,” he had repeated several times that night. And for some reason he was sure that Gloria had been stabbed because she was involved in a dispute. “Housemaids are always quarreling,” he declared.
The Conversion Page 12