“Gloria doesn’t quarrel. I’m the one who quarrels.”
“So why did they stab her?”
“Are you asking me?”
Freddy wasn’t about to grasp Karl’s relation to Gloria. His opinion was that if Gloria returned to her native village, things would go more easily for Karl.
Why are you so naïve, my dear fellow, Karl wanted to say.
After two weeks, Gloria was released from the hospital. Immediately she began tidying the house. Karl’s pleas were of no use: “You’ve got to rest,” he said. “Anyway, we’re leaving.”
“Where will we go?”
“To the Carpathians. Haven’t we said they’re a wonder of nature?”
“It’s all because of me.”
“I need trees now, not people.”
“I’m the one who must leave, not you.”
“Both of us,” he said, smiling.
He put the house up for sale. Agents and buyers would come and go during the evening hours. They were quick to point out the flaws: too close to the old town center, the ceiling was low, the floor was sinking. Karl saw their cunning attempts to depreciate the property. In the end, their offers were barely half the house’s value. But what irked him most were not the low offers themselves but the way they were made—in a teasing, mocking manner calculated to insult.
“I won’t sell to them,” he reported to Gloria without comment.
“As you wish.”
She had apparently underestimated his determination. At the end of March he wrote a brief letter to the mayor announcing his intention to resign. The mayor’s reply was courteous, but he did not ask him, as was customary, to postpone his decision. Nor did he ask to see him. If that’s how it is, Karl said to himself, then I acted correctly.
The house wasn’t yet sold. Meanwhile, Gloria cried at night, and Karl promised her that life in the Carpathians would be a life of truth, without pretense or fear.
One evening on his way home he met his friend Erwin.
“I’m leaving for the Carpathians,” Karl told him.
“On a trip?”
“Forever.”
“You mean you won’t be coming back here?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Strange,” said Erwin, and the astonishment in his face grew deeper.
“I’m glad to get free of this prison,” said Karl.
“Prison?”
“What else could I call it?”
“In the Middle Ages, they used to call the body a prison, so why not?”
“Don’t you feel that the empire is disintegrating?”
“Yes, but I’ll never leave here,” said Erwin, and a faint smile flickered on his lips.
CHAPTER
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Agents and speculators continued to descend upon the house. They would come in the evening, measure the floors, poke everywhere, to prove to Karl that the house was old and small. Sometimes they would interrupt the negotiations to speak warmly about the past. Many of them had known Karl’s parents, their shop in the center, and his infamous Aunt Franzi. Karl knew this was merely a ruse. In business, everything is allowed. Finally, unable to restrain himself, he scolded them: “If you want to buy, you’re welcome, but I won’t permit this idle poking about.” They were amazed by his outspokenness, and one of them said, “We’re not looking for bargains, but we can’t take risks now.”
“You’ll have to decide.”
“If we’re not wanted here, we’ll go.”
“You can look around, but without poking.”
“What do you mean by ‘poking’? What’s this ‘poking’?” one of the merchants asked him.
“I am referring to certain rude gestures.”
“Excuse me, Karl,” a merchant addressed him directly. “You’re talking to us as if we were creatures you’d never seen before. We’re the same old Jews you’ve known all your life. True, we didn’t study in gymnasium, but you don’t have to treat us like criminals.”
“I didn’t call you criminals.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“It’s certain gestures.”
“Ah, well…,” said the merchants, “then Jews aren’t welcome here. No matter. The others don’t like us either. Not even our children. Fine. Good night.”
Karl regretted that he had failed to express himself properly. The merchants, despite everything, were still human beings, and usually he was careful, but this time his emotions got the better of his good sense and he had overdone it.
One of the Jews who came to see the house, a short man with an austere expression, voiced a strange wish. He said, “If God guides my steps, I will buy this house and make it into a synagogue for travelers. The Jews are dwindling, but a few will always remain.” Karl wanted to tell him that his reasons were irrelevant to the sale, but the man’s ascetic face gave him pause. The man went on to speak about the urgent need to establish small, pleasant synagogues for travelers. There have been many conversions, and even simple Jews were vulnerable. Havens were needed for times of trouble.
“To whom are you making this argument?” Karl interrupted.
“To myself, only to myself. This house pleases me. Its ceiling is old-fashioned, but a low ceiling is good for a synagogue, and pleasant trees grow in the courtyard. A synagogue should be surrounded by trees. Trees bring tranquility into the heart. We need that. I am so frightened by how our numbers have dwindled.”
“And that is why you wish to buy the house?” Karl asked, getting back to business.
“I would very much like to. If God brings me prosperity, I will sell my house and buy this one. This house would make a marvelous synagogue. We have a Torah scroll at home, and also a bookcase. Whoever wishes to come, may a blessing be upon him.”
“Where are you from, sir?” Karl changed his tone.
“From Eisenberg, about seventy kilometers from here. Many Jews lived there once. Now only my wife and me. All of them converted. It’s difficult to live among converts. They stare at you all the time. I never did anyone harm.”
“There aren’t many Jews here either.”
“I know, sir, I know, but there will always be travelers here. This is a crossroads, and at crossroads there are always Jews. We must help the few, they are deserving of our assistance.”
“We’re leaving this place,” said Karl.
“Where does a Jew go these days?” asked the man.
“To the provinces.”
“You’re right: in the provinces there is still Jewish life. I too would leave everything and go there, but my wife is very ill, and my two sons have converted and moved away from us. It’s hard to bear that shame.”
“Where do your sons live?” Karl asked, cautiously.
“Not far from here, in the Warburg Estates. At first we would see them, but in recent years, they have drawn away from us. They were wrong. I wouldn’t change my faith for anything in the world.”
“Why not?” Karl asked provocatively.
“Because I’m a Jew. There’s no advantage in it, but that’s what I am. No less and no more. You understand me, don’t you?” There was a sudden silence. The man’s face expressed a kind of satisfaction for successfully stating his opinion. Then he raised his head and said, “This house is very fine. We’ll make it into a fine synagogue. My wife and I need very little, one room. If we manage to assemble a minyan on shabbes, that will be our reward. You understand me, don’t you?”
“I shouldn’t conceal from you the fact that I, too, have converted,” Karl said with startling coolness.
“Pardon me, I beg your pardon. But I sincerely thought you were a Jew. I was mistaken—I’m always mistaken. Forgive me if I’ve insulted you. It was unintentional,” he said, retreating toward the door.
“I’ll gladly sell you the house,” Karl said, attempting to reassure him.
“With God’s help I’ll be back. My house is quite large. And I’ll add some of my savings, if necessary, to buy this house. It will make a beautiful
synagogue. You’re not angry with me, I hope.”
“No. Why?”
After a moment he said, “It’s hard to sell houses in Eisenberg. Before, business flourished there. Now everything sits idle. Maybe that’s the way it should be. Who knows? Everything has changed so quickly. I don’t understand a thing.”
“Don’t be discouraged,” said Karl.
“You’re right, you’re right in every respect,” said the man, smiling strangely.
Later, Gloria, who had witnessed the negotiations, said, “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a face like that.”
“What do you mean?”
“His face—it was full of wonder.”
In the end, Karl sold the house to one of the city tanners, a tall, coarse man who had made an unpleasant comment the moment he entered the house. The tanner offered a sum not much more than that offered by the merchants, but for some reason Karl accepted his offer on the spot, without bargaining.
When the transaction was concluded, Gloria burst into tears. Karl hugged her and said, “There’s no reason to be afraid. Everything here is rotten to the core. The provinces are quiet and pleasant, and we’ll live there without people lying in wait for us—without enemies.”
“And we’ll leave all this behind?”
“We’ll be free, and that’s more important than property.”
“I’m frightened. Why am I so frightened?”
Thus ended his life in Neufeld. He thought of touring the city to say goodbye to the spots he loved, but now that seemed unnecessarily painful. As always, Gloria did what she felt needed to be done. She put on a scarf and went to say farewell to his parents’ graves. Since the attack, her forehead expressed a new seriousness. Karl understood: she was more closely bound to this house than he. She had been a part of his parents’ lives, and his grandparents’, and if there was anyone who had been shaped by them, it was Gloria and not he. More than once he had thought of that, but this time he knew it was true, and it pained him.
Gloria returned from the cemetery and immediately began to pack. She laid out each garment carefully, as if it was something she had just bought. He almost said to her, “Why are you taking these things? They’re worn-out.” But when he saw her determination, he was silent. Thus, his clothes from the gymnasium and his parents’ clothes were packed up together with the ones he still wore.
Toward evening he thought of visiting Hochhut. At the door to the ward he told Dr. Meisler that he wanted to say farewell to Hochhut as he was leaving the city the next day. Though Hochhut had not been his friend, Karl felt that he had atoned for his deeds by his suffering.
“Why do you want to see him? He’s not Hochhut anymore.” The doctor concealed nothing.
“I just want a word.”
On the ground floor, on his knees and wearing a dirty nightshirt, was a creature that, from a distance, resembled a boy. But for a few distinctive features, Karl would not have recognized him.
“Hello there, Hochhut,” Karl addressed him. At this the little creature shrank as if he were going to sink into the earth.
“It’s Karl Hübner, don’t you remember me?” There was no response.
“Don’t you remember Mr. Hübner?” the doctor said.
“What does he want?” came the words from the creature’s mouth.
“He’s come to visit you.”
“I don’t like it when people come to visit me.” Now Karl identified the familiar sound of his voice, the emphatic “I” that Hochhut, in his greatness, used to employ at every opportunity.
“I’m going away soon. I came to say goodbye.”
“Have a safe trip, my friend.” Karl noted the phrase “my friend,” an expression Hochhut always reserved for people beneath him.
“How do you feel?”
“Excellent,” said the creature, smiling.
Karl wanted to say something more, but seeing Hochhut’s hands tremble, he changed his mind. Meisler walked him to the door and asked, “Where are you going?”
“To the provinces.”
“What will someone like you do there?”
“He’ll relax,” said Karl jokingly.
From there he headed straight for Kirzl’s bar. He planned to have a drink and then go back to the rabbi’s house to throw out the squatters. The bar was nearly empty, and Kirzl sat with him, telling him her troubles, and those of the people around her. Karl told her that he was going to leave the city the next day.
“And is Gloria going with you?”
“Yes.”
Upon hearing Karl’s answer, a wicked smile flickered in her eyes. It was clear that this woman too had known sin and enjoyed it. “May Jesus watch over you.” she said, the smile disappearing from her eyes. Karl, who had intended to take his leave of her with a kiss, merely said goodbye and departed.
Gloria didn’t shut her eyes all that night. She continued to pack, shoving things in and tying up her bundles. Karl knew not to interfere. The next day, when the carriage driver and his two sturdy sons arrived and began loading the suitcases and crates, Gloria said to them, “Be careful, people, be careful.” She immediately began to wring her hands, the way Aunt Betty had done.
Freddy was waiting for them at the railway platform. In his winter coat he looked wretched and pitiful. “Where are you going?” He couldn’t hold back his tears. Karl embraced him and spoke to him as if to a younger brother, “The provinces are not a wilderness. There’s life there too. Let everyone do what he can.” Stifling his tears, Freddy helped load the suitcases and crates. He stood on the platform until the train disappeared from view.
CHAPTER
25
Karl bought tickets for Cracow. Once the train got under way, the conductor traced their route on the map, and to Karl’s surprise he found Rosow. “Gloria,” he called out in excitement. “It isn’t every day that a man passes by his mother’s native village. What’s the hurry? Let’s get off and see it.” Gloria was slow to respond. She was still immersed in the abandoned house, still mourning all that she had left behind. She didn’t quite grasp what was happening around her.
Karl poured a drink, and the darkness that had clung to him for so many months abruptly abandoned him. He was glad to be leaving Neufeld. As in his distant youth, he felt that his life was advancing into a new phase.
“Gloria,” he called out. “We’ve left the prison.”
They were traveling second class, a mixed throng of Jews and gentiles. Fortunately, they had found two seats together and could ignore the others. Gloria was stunned. The swiftness of the last days had frightened her, and she cried and blamed herself. Karl assured her again that there was nothing to worry about. Life in the provinces was quiet, and after resting they would set out on extended journeys, like those he and Martin had made during their summer vacations.
Had it not been for a tiny incident, fatigue would have overcome them and they would have fallen asleep. But as it happened, one of the Jews, a man in his sixties, not unsympathetic looking, approached Karl and asked where he was going. The question was completely ordinary, the kind one Jew casually asks another. But Karl was annoyed. “That’s my business,” he snapped.
“I meant no harm.” The Jew was stunned.
“I don’t care to answer your question,” said Karl.
“You’re a strange one,” said the Jew, who went sadly on his way.
After a day and a half, the train finally stopped in Rosow. Together Karl and Gloria took their suitcases and crates and descended to the platform. Peasants in Ruthenian costume dragged sacks of grain to the freight car. Other peasants rushed to take seats in the third-class car. The station was small and made of wood, and now, after the long winter, the beams were covered with moss and mildew.
“I don’t understand a word I hear,” said Karl gaily, as if he had reached an unknown land.
“And I understand every word,” chuckled Gloria.
Karl was moved by the light, the tall trees, and the crisp air. The peasants who ha
d come on the train loaded the wares they had bought in the city onto wagons that had come for them and then began the climb up the mountain. The station soon emptied.
“Where is the stationmaster?” Karl wondered.
“We’ll find him,” said Gloria, like someone who has returned to a familiar place.
Soon a tall peasant arrived wearing a red cap. He turned out to be the stationmaster. Gloria asked him about the place, and he answered her in a tumult of words. Unlike the railway clerks in Neufeld, his uniform was sloppy and smelled of manure. Evidently he had just come in from the fields and would soon return to them. His job in the station was only part-time.
“What did he say?” Karl asked after the man went away.
“He said we’d do better to ask the Jews. They know everything.”
“The Jews, the Jews,” Karl hummed. Then he added, “I would like to rest on one of these hills for a while.” Gloria spread a cloth on the ground and prepared cheese and egg sandwiches. Karl noticed: when she had spoken with the stationmaster, her face had changed and she resembled the peasant women who had just left the station.
“How long has it been since you last spoke Ruthenian?”
“Since I left my parents’ house.”
“And you understand every word?”
“It’s my mother tongue. You don’t forget that.”
Later, for some reason, he asked, “Is Ruthenian a hard language?”
“The people who speak it understand it very well,” she teased.
Karl smiled. He hadn’t expected an answer like that.
Meanwhile, a wagon entered the station courtyard. Gloria greeted the driver and asked if there were any vacant houses. The peasant pointed to a solitary house on the hilltop across the way. Karl shouted, “That’s it!”
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