by H. G. Adler
I wanted to let the men lead the way, but they didn’t trust me, and so I had to go first. Johanna followed last and locked the house. West Park Row seemed much busier than usual, for there were people everywhere, a striking scene. I was amazed. I had always loved the neighborhood precisely because, even at weddings and funerals, there were never many idle gawkers.
“Is it because of me …?”
The men, who had donned white gloves, gave no reply. It was frightfully clear to me that I had to snake my way through this crowd. I’m sure the men would have helped me if I had asked them, but I dreaded doing so, for they were now solemn and even more disgusting, having put on their shiny black top hats, a showy bit of finery for such a throng of gallowsmongers. I would have been happy to have Johanna at my side, for I wanted to cling to her. I had so often depended on her steadiness amid the pressing crush of people whenever we had to go into the city, where I, weak-kneed from nausea and dizziness, allowed myself to be steered through the clogged and swarming clumps of anxiety. Yet Johanna, though not seeming upset, was not ready to take my arm. Not once did she reach out to me, as if she had agreed with the men not to do so. She appeared braced to avoid any commotion, not wanting to escalate it through any show of sympathy. Since I recognized many I knew among the crowd, I was shocked. I said hello to no one, nor did anyone greet me; instead, they regarded me with a peculiar mixture of mild contempt and indulging regard. I peered back at Johanna to see if she acknowledged anyone, but her demeanor remained unreadable. She seemed neither to care about the people nor to care about me, even when she cast a quick glance my way. I didn’t know if it was because there was such a crowd or because of the gloomy weather, but the sweet numbing stench from the sewers was especially heavy. The vapors wafted over us, containing the sadness of an entire city, such that tears ran from my eyes. I held my handkerchief to my nose, but only for a little while, for it attracted attention and made me look like a weakling. Johanna also smelled the terrible odors, but no one else seemed to notice.
The pallbearers, who pressed close to me, were unconcerned and only annoyed that people stood in our way. Luckily, Brian and Derek were especially tall and stood well above the others, especially with their tall hats on. And so they were able to make their way through, the crowd giving way to them without their needing any assistance from the police. Meanwhile, I would have been happy to talk with someone, be it even a little chat with Derek, though less so with Brian, if only to remove the suspicion that I was someone to be shunned, and whose removal was the only point of an otherwise miserable day. But the people around me were too shy to acknowledge my welcoming glances, while Derek and Brian didn’t even think of talking to me, either. They only kept a watchful eye on me, making sure that I made no sudden move, they not even speaking with each other except for the odd fleeting word here and there. As for striking up a conversation with Johanna, as was my right, I would have been glad to, but I somehow felt that might damage her reputation. I also didn’t want to cause her difficulty. So there was nothing left for me to do except silently make my way forward on my difficult path, step by step. This wasn’t that hard, for I felt alive. However, it was very clear that I was expected to die, the shyness with which I was greeted being stronger than any rampant curiosity that brazenly emerged from people’s glances and demeanors. There was the rustle of fall in the awful air, a column of smoke also arching aslant and heavy across the cold sky. I couldn’t tell if it came from the squat chimney near MacKenzie’s or from the crematorium farther off. It was not at all still, nor could one expect that it would be, but no shouts or alarms of any kind were allowed, the onlookers only pale and tired, having slept badly the entire night; if I wasn’t mistaken, mild disappointment could be seen on their faces. A woman whom I thought I knew, having seen her often at Simmonds’s, accidentally bumped up against me, and it surprised me that she was carrying a full bag of groceries. Curious, I looked inside it and saw a lovely large head of cabbage.
“Good morning. What a lovely vegetable.”
“Unfortunately, it’s really just a balloon.”
I turned away and was annoyed that the woman was making fun of me. I looked around to see whether anyone had observed our exchange. No one seemed to have, but it didn’t matter, for I felt that everyone had turned against me. The crowd barely hid their joy over my disappearance. That was why it was good that we moved more easily ahead, step by step. Perhaps the police had given them a sign, but when I looked around I didn’t see them anywhere. There were a lot of people still in our way, but there was not such a crowd, the curious having given way, the thick swarm behind us not following along, but instead beginning to break up. Now we could walk faster, which made my legs feel good, me quietly thinking about what I would say to the director of the crematorium in order to get him to understand my situation.
“Director, you have to see that my time is not yet up. You’re too early, nor is it your job to read any weather map. I agree that it’s difficult, which is why I don’t resent the trouble you’ve gone to for me and my family. I don’t expect any kind of compensation, Lord knows, for a day lost is no tragedy, but I want to get this all cleared up. You think that my name is Arthur. How wrong you are! Indeed, I agree that I am called that as well. Here, underneath my photo, is my signature, and it says that in fact I am Arthur. But in reality I am called many things more. I have all the names that you could possibly think of, because I am called Adam. Please, don’t laugh, but I am the first man, the one who is still alive and who does not die. Once I was called, and I wanted to hide. But that was a long time ago. Now I will hide no longer. Therefore I stand before you. I have brought the ancient curse to the world. Yet that marks a great step forward, and you have me to thank for it. Just wait! Wait with me for the call! You will see that it’s for your own good.”
Thus I sketched out my speech and warmed to the clever ideas that occurred to me as a defense. Unfortunately, I couldn’t develop them any further, for we had come to a halt again. Near MacKenzie’s, the string of cars that rattled somewhat as they attempted to enter or leave would not yield. Vainly, Brian and Derek tried to get them to let us through. They waved their arms and shouted at the drivers, but there was no stopping them. Some even laughed openly at the pallbearers and honked their horns, letting loose a frightful din, my enraged escorts becoming angrier and shaking their fists. I couldn’t blame them for getting angry. But, finally, the noise was too much for a watchman at MacKenzie’s, for he produced a bright-red flag that he waved back and forth. That worked. The drivers braked, and we were able to cross the entrance. There was no longer anything standing in our way. The men walked quickly, for they wanted to make up the time lost. As an experienced walker, I could keep up with them, but for Johanna it was a challenge. She gasped for breath because she had to walk so fast, which was twice as hard for her, because she had put on shoes with higher heels than normal. Again, I would have been happy to take her by the arm in order to help her along. I think she would have accepted my offer, yet I hesitated, fearing that I would be rejected. Between us there was a wall, Johanna most likely going along with things in order to keep up appearances. It worried me that my wife no longer belonged to me, but since I had suffered such terrible separations many times over, I was patient. I looked at Johanna surreptitiously and remembered back. How might I have prevented all this from coming to pass?
I took out my watch. It was an old piece that steadily kept the time, its lovely second hand sweeping across the clock face. It was almost nine o’clock. Actually not that late, but who cared? Only to the pallbearers, the steadfast pair, did it matter, because they wanted to deliver me on time. I didn’t care that the cremation was at eleven. Why do people love to schedule these events in such precise fashion? Death approaches; there cannot be much time left, but even the best doctors can be off by several hours or even days. Then one is cremated and buried, and right on time. Everything done to the minute. Things get in the way, but one overcomes them. Someone glanc
es at a watch and decides that it’s time. The guests and the personnel are happy the time has come, it having been kept, for it’s never good to be late. Death must be allowed to roam free, surprising us in the middle of life, for that is its right. Only murders are often pedantically scheduled, they needing to be carried out at particular times, even when the right of the state takes on such a task and the poor victim is executed. But I was a mistake, for I was not meant to be scheduled for a sanctioned or an unlawful murder, the men having said nothing about it. Nor is one supposed to be killed in a crematorium, for there death is devoured, not life. And what did any of this damn nonsense have to do with me? There was no reason to be walking through the city with Brian and Derek, my dumb good nature alone having let me leave my apartment with them. I decided that as soon as possible I would turn around and take note of certain markers so that later I could find my way back home without Johanna’s help. But it was a needless precaution, for we were passing through a long-familiar neighborhood. And I then recalled that there was in fact a crematorium not far from us.
We were already on Middleton Avenue and, past the railway bridge that we were now crossing, we had to turn left onto Temple Road. There stood the flower shops with their wreaths and even lush potted plants, all of it reminding me, as it captured my attention, that I should really buy something nice for my memorial. I plucked some coins from my pocket and pointed toward a flower shop. Johanna figured out what I wanted, but Brian and Derek both felt that there should be no interruption so close to the end, both of them indicating that the crematorium was just ahead.
“Couldn’t my wife go?” I asked, deciding to break the long silence.
Brian indicated that she could do as she wished, but there was nothing for me in the shop, nor could we wait for my wife.
“Why such a hurry?” I protested.
Derek, who was much more understanding, reminded me that flowers and wreaths were already on full display for me in the hall, though perhaps I had forgotten. Brian, meanwhile, had had enough of this nonsense and looked at me with contempt.
“Bloody hell, the dead should never be allowed to wander around! I knew it. Just be nice and you end up paying a price!”
Johanna motioned to the men to cease; she was afraid that such talk would upset me. I had by now lost interest in the flowers and approached the spacious display of a stonemason with a vast selection of gravestones, magnificent crypts, and modest urns. Some of the memorials were carved with loving thoughts, others were smooth and cold, but otherwise they were finished, all of it so peacefully smooth and innocent, the sugar-white marble embossed with accursed grief, carrying the weight of mortality, the column broken, the garland and ribbon, Psyche mourning with her hair in disarray, her contorted body naked. How good it is that the inclement weather at the cemetery here doesn’t wear away at her, for at the stonemason’s she is protected along with the little angels that tenderly look up, their index finger at their lips. I stood before the little angels, probably angering the men, though there was nothing they could do to stop me.
“I like it here. I’d like to have a stone of my own.”
The chief angrily tried to pull me away.
“If you touch me, I’ll scream! Let me be! I just want a stone of my own. It’s great to have such a big selection.”
Johanna was happy to see me put up such strong resistance, but she still didn’t venture to openly come to my aid. I had to urge her on.
“Just send the men away! They just keep waiting!”
“I can’t do that. We’ve reached the border. You have to take the last steps.”
I felt betrayed as never before and began to weep. It was easy for the men to drag me away from the stonemason’s to the crematorium. The high wall stood there, stretching out endlessly, behind it tall thick trees, an open forest, me pining to be let loose in it. But I had to keep moving; between two false walls the wide somber portal opened. As I looked in, I could see groups of people I knew gathered together and sunk in silence. They didn’t acknowledge me, though they nodded to my wife, several of them quietly raising a hand in greeting. Meanwhile, Brian and Derek remained always close by, either right next to me or just behind, thus devoting neither the watchfulness nor the attention befitting the dead. They only pointed emphatically toward the portal, which I answered with a mercurial smile. Then they stood up proudly, with heads lifted high in order to present a good example to me and the gathering, and walked toward the door without turning around to me. Thus, whether out of stupidity or ultimately from an awakened sense of judiciousness, they had freed me; I did not have to follow them. I actually hesitated for a moment and did not move from my spot, but then I lost myself again, the will that had manifested itself that morning suddenly retreating, for I no longer felt it to be real.
No matter how hard I looked and looked, it was no longer possible to see anyone; a weakness of the eyes or some fog hid everything from me. Thus I knew of no other way out except to follow Brian and Derek, meek as a lamb. Did I no longer have a wish to go it alone in the world? I wavered, but no, it was simply unbearable; loneliness was far worse than everything being ruined. I lurched forward, it being hard to move, my legs having fallen asleep. I could hardly lift them from the ground, and I pounded on my thighs in order to loosen them up. It did little good; I had to use my hands to move one foot in front of the other. It went awful slowly. In order to salvage something from my mishap, I decided in despair to ask the pallbearers to help, even if I felt ashamed and was a little afraid of them making fun of me. As I turned around to look for them, the fog had grown so thick around me that I realized there was no battling it, nor did it make any sense to call out. And yet I did call, though without any words, for they just didn’t come. I tried to be as loud as I could, to be heard amid such desolation, but my voice was weak, only a peep emerging, and soon just a hoarse scratching, a thin whimper that didn’t even sound human. Nor was there a door to be found anywhere, for I could see nothing and had lost my sense of direction. I tried to control my fears, and told myself that I could still get where I had to go, even if I didn’t know in which direction I was headed—all I had to do was go on. But I was wrong. No matter how I flailed about while drowning, I never found the portal.
Fortunately, it became easier to walk, and I even managed to reach the wall. But I didn’t find the door. I tried a couple of steps to the right and then to the left, but always there was the wall and no entrance. Then I grew sad that there I was all alone, everything different from what I had planned at home. Johanna stood at the ready someplace else, estranged from me, perhaps even lost, and the children as well. I had no hope of finding her still on West Park Row, and Mrs. Stonewood would refuse to give any information, or maybe not know anything at all. And how was I even to find my way home? I had vainly convinced myself that I could take in everything along the way in order that it be stamped in my memory, thinking this way, then that, it all seeming like child’s play. Now I believed that I felt the wall, it being wet and slippery, and I could grab hold of it, my fingers slipping away, though it hurt to bang into it. I decided to be patient until the weather grew brighter. It was a busy neighborhood; surely someone would soon come along who could tell me in which direction I should toddle off. I was mistaken, for I remained alone. It wasn’t cold, so I sat down like a beggar and waited—for what I didn’t know.
As I rested I began to feel better, even comfortable, though I was surprised at how gloomy the light had become, the sky hanging low and flat. Had the trees behind the wall suddenly grown, or had someone closed the curtains, not caring how much that bothered me? Maybe I had been resting long enough, such that I had forgotten that daylight had passed. I could glance at my watch—that would tell me something—but it was stuffed too deep in my pocket, such that I was unable to reach it, my hands digging around for it. Then I thought I heard someone opening the door quietly, though I could have been wrong. Nonetheless, it was a familiar sound that convinced me that there must be a way out,
if not for me, at least for others.
“Shall we finally get a move on?” asked Anna. “Otherwise, we’ll never make it there today.”
I rubbed my eyes, jumped up, and called out quickly, which is what I do whenever I want to hide the fact that I had been almost completely out of it.
“Yes, of course. How nice that you came to get me.”
“Why wouldn’t I? You said after breakfast that you needed a bit of quiet, and then you kept me waiting downstairs.”
I asked her forgiveness and pulled myself together, shifting the knapsack. She had already closed it. I was grateful to her for making the sacrifice and heading off to the lovely mountains just so that I could see them once again. How often I had told her about these mountains in the past months, for ages and ages. She felt that I should go, for it would change me and do me good, make me happier than anything else would, it being something I would have been happy to do even if it were not a question of my health. I could think of a thousand reasons to delay this journey, for the memory was too strong, my fear of the encounter overtaking me. How could I dare enter Franziska’s realm, where everything was an expression of her soul, whereas I was nothing more than an unbidden intruder in a world that didn’t belong to me? Forest, everywhere forest, the furtive feel that threatened to push me away or to engulf me. This was not permitted; I didn’t dare risk it. For the journey threatened to do me in the moment the train traveled up through the valley of Angeltal. She saw that I was never going to decide, and said, “Any day now, I don’t have forever,” yet for almost a week she planned to travel with me in the mountains before I left this land forever. She had done it only for me. Now it was the third morning, and today we had to risk making the great trip that I had so wanted. She urged me on and grabbed another little scarf from her room. Then we stormed down the wooden steps, the innkeepers waving, wishing us well, and were on our way.