by H. G. Adler
Really, I should have tried to look back; it was still possible and not forbidden, but nevertheless I didn’t risk being a coward again. I was afraid to think of the protest that would flare up behind me. I held my ticket high, it being the only weapon that could save me, yet I clutched it too tight, such that it wasn’t suited to battle, and there I stood, still paralyzed, my escort already having moved ahead, no longer an escort but, rather, deserters who had left their comrade behind and betrayed him, such that he had to face his demise alone. The lips of the gatekeeper yawned open, fleshy full lips, revealing a powerful set of teeth brown with pipe tobacco, a hefty tongue rising from the maw, wagging back and forth and glistening in his mouth. The beast’s nose gathered into a thick knob, the nostrils flaring, sticky hairs standing within. A voice issued from the throat, the right hand swung the barrier, a black thumb pressed back and forth on the lever, such that the single tooth bit into the empty air. But I heard nothing and was confused. To move ahead was not allowed, and though my hesitation was probably much shorter than my anxiety made it seem, it still lasted too long for me to please the gatekeeper.
People pressed behind me, but I didn’t wish to block traffic; at the gate some passengers had already begun to go around me. “I’m going, I’m going,” I whispered as apology, yet I did so inaudibly as the monitor waited atop his high chair so impartially, confidently looking on at my supposedly lawful actions, myself able to go about my business and he gracious enough to smile at me and my ticket in an approving manner, as if he was happy for the long journey that awaited me. I was now in the middle of the gate, still brandishing my unsuitable weapon. Then it was the ticket puncher who gently pulled it away, though I did not willingly give it to him. After that, I meant nothing to him; by surrendering this pass I had forfeited everything, that which until now had preserved the last semblance of meager credibility. Reverent and with eyes lowered, I followed every gesture and movement of my master as he, with touching patience, tended to the little ticket book—the red cover, which he gravely stroked, opened with a flourish—and bent over to thumb through the many tickets as if wanting to count them. But he didn’t do that, nor did he examine it at all but, rather, seemed satisfied with the handsome bundle and with two fingers grasped the first ticket, which was more stubborn to get hold of than the cover, though my attendant knew how to help and moistened his index finger with his tongue. This did the trick, and the ticket was punched. Now the master was satisfied and folded up the ticket book, everything in order. It was mine to keep. The man looked up and shoved the book into the happy hand, and said, “Thank you!”
“Platform Three, Track One! Have a good journey!”
How nicely he had called out his little rhyme! I had already slipped through the gate, but I turned around once more, and, as thanks for such courtesy and for the well wishes, I bowed slightly. The ticket puncher didn’t look at me, nor, unfortunately, did he take in my polite goodbye. He had other things to do and looked over the next person’s ticket, or who knows how many more. I stuck my ticket book in my pocket and looked back for the last time into the large hall, tears almost welling up in me. Yet I was very relieved and also had no time to sink into melancholy thoughts of return. My friends had long left the platform and were hurrying off, myself unable to make them out in the murk of the long passage. It would have been ungrateful to let them wait any longer, nor was it at all necessary for them to send someone back to ascertain the reason for my miserable dawdling. I waved blindly ahead in order to ask for patience, because I was unable to keep moving forward. As always, my suit coat was open, a habit I had taken from my father, though now I felt the need to button the coat properly, wanting to look prepared, really ready to travel. Unfortunately, the coat was a bit tight, it being something Peter had got hold of somewhere and right away thought good for me, since only the fingertips of his hands were visible from the sleeves when he put it on. Since the coat was now too tight, I had to press to button it, the freshly altered buttonholes of the thick fabric straining against the large buttons. It was uncomfortable, took a long while, I having to fuss with it too much, which frustrated me. Yet there was nothing I could do; that’s just the way it was, even if the buttoned coat, which I would take off as soon as I got on the train, was pointless. Then I calmed down, and as I finally climbed down the step, almost with bravado, my shield lent me a bit of security, though I also had to laugh at my foolishness. Below, my steps quickened in order to catch up to my friends, whose indulgence I sought out with a look. Peter shook his head, half annoyed, and laughed at me.
“First you can’t get moving fast enough, and then you keep us waiting for an eternity. It seems to me you really don’t want to go.”
I stammered something foolish about having been kept waiting at the gate for so long. Peter didn’t believe a word, which I noticed, but I didn’t say anything more. My friends took my luggage, and again I put up a fuss about it, demanding to carry at least one item. We reached the third platform, the long train standing ready, a conductor pointing the way to my seat, a corner seat in the direction the train was headed. We all climbed into the rail car; Peter stowed my luggage without asking me, though I couldn’t have arranged it more comfortably myself. He was proud of himself and said, “Now you’re all set.” There was nothing to say in response to this. There was nothing to say at all. Laboriously, I unbuttoned the coat, hung it on the hook, and placed my hat over it. I was subdued, feeling empty and miserable and also so naked that I took the coat back down from the hook and slipped it on again. I even put on my hat and would have preferred to put on gloves, which I never used. No other traveler had yet entered my compartment, no other seat but my own having been reserved. Having put everything in order for me, my friends sat down and relaxed as if they were at home. I was the only one who stood, feeling like a stranger and belonging to no one, while my escort behaved as if they were about to set out on the journey. Normally I would have indulged them, especially on that day, but, because it was not their train, this casual behavior bothered me. Peter hardly took notice, yet it bothered him a great deal that I would not sit down.
“Why are you so nervous and uncomfortable? I can hardly stand it! Are you getting cold feet?”
“I think it would be best to walk back and forth outside. There’s still plenty of time.”
“Okay, okay,” said Peter. “Just as you wish.”
He immediately stood up from his seat, Helmut following more slowly, the decision to head off causing Anna some duress. Perhaps she was tired, perhaps sad. I should have watched out for her more; in fact, I was sorry that because of my impatient jealousy I had destroyed the peace of goodbye. It would have been best if I had ruefully said that it would be fine by me to sit comfortably there with everyone in the compartment, but Peter had jumped up so quickly that I figured he would misunderstand my change of heart as mere fickleness. That I didn’t want. And so I remained firm, being the first to leave the compartment as I hurried along the corridor with powerful steps, if only to rob my escort of any claim to a further rest stop in the compartment. Already I stood on the platform and glanced peevishly at my friends, who, with noticeable difficulty, neared the exit and, so it appeared to me, angrily and almost clumsily stumbled down the steps, each of their hands on the railing, which looked silly, but which I found amusing. Anna, who was the last, was nonetheless upset and—I could now clearly see—very tired. I didn’t know any longer what was the case, whether it pained me or I felt sorry for her, as she looked much older and more helpless than she had ever appeared to me before. Helmut, usually so attentive, forgot to attend to his bride. So I jumped and nearly lifted her down.
There were not many people on the platform; after the press in the great hall, this surprised me. The travelers had indeed parsed themselves out onto the train or were on other trains, there being few who had business beyond the border or they simply could not leave. We walked back and forth, and soon it happened that we walked in pairs, Peter and Helmut ahead, Anna
and I behind. The two men chatted casually and pleasantly, me not taking part, as they had already distanced themselves when we said our last goodbye. Helmut swelled with wan friendliness; I no longer felt any envy toward him and was ashamed more for him than for me, not wanting anything more to do with him. Even Peter, who was so faithful in tirelessly caring for my daily existence, slipped away, for he was no longer a part of me. Even if I no longer felt close to him and only resented him somewhat, which certainly was not very pleasant, I was nonetheless incapable of revealing my ingratitude. Peter, in general, was a handsome young man, and Anna thought the same, his shoulders raised pompously and his whole manner funny. I avoided his gaze as much as possible; this allowed me to discover further shortcomings in his figure and appearance. Was it wrong of me, since he was a part of my past, a disagreeable witness to my humiliation? I would have liked to ask Anna that in order to ease my conscience. Yet what would that have gotten me but misunderstanding? It would cast me in a bad light, both of us feeling oppressed, myself meanwhile wishing to avoid nothing more than these last awkward minutes, which were superfluous and belonged to no one.
It was difficult to start a conversation; not because of the sanctity of this farewell but because of the pressure that surrounded us. It was the most senseless, horrible delay I have ever experienced, an artificially restrained separation that had already manifested itself and yet had not been fully acknowledged, if only because the train schedule had by chance afforded us some time. Thus every word seemed insipid, even if one tried to say something deeply meaningful, full of disgusting lukewarm sentimentality; the appeal of a joke, which could take care of everything by destroying such a feeling, remained beyond my grasp. At the same time, it occurred to me that I was too pathetic to take seriously such a farewell, because it would have meant once again bringing on the sorrow I’d already felt, or really for the first time be caught in a sharp upsurge of it, such that Anna and I would be trapped in the midst of it and be granted the feeling that the moment was blessed and free. But no such possibility lay within the slightest corner of the realm of my powers.
Like me, Anna felt, without saying so, what this train station had meant in terms of the departure and arrival of so many of our dead, along with us, exit and entry existing in the same unbroken existence and not in the guise of ghostly horrors dispensing destruction and doom. There was nothing to do but be silent. It was also not possible to remember that we had traveled to the mountain forest amid the last echoes of our imaginable past, and, after the crowning week, had found ourselves returning crestfallen and mouthing mindless chatter here among the bleak days in which we were immersed, more gloomy than ever before. Did I dare still to think? To already be gone, that was no kind of thought! Which was why I wanted only to be sitting on a train already under way, because I couldn’t expect the separation to occur any sooner. I listened for the conductor’s whistle to finally announce the departure.
Anna, with her soundless gait, which always surprised me anew, moved along with quiet steps next to me—indeed, more quietly than ever. I watched how gently she set her feet on the hard concrete and wanted to imitate her, yet no matter how carefully I tried to take my steps I could still hear my heels striking the platform. I looked at Anna’s feet and mine, not allowing myself to look any higher or at the face of my friend.
“You can walk so quietly, Anna. That’s always amazed me.”
“Really? Then perhaps you won’t forget it.”
“What do you mean, forget?”
“Well, you won’t. Something is always remembered. Often something unimportant, something minor.”
“Others then latch onto that.”
“Yes. I think especially men. At least for me, Arthur, it’s different. There are only many minor matters.”
“But what, then, are essential ones?”
“That’s too big a word. I don’t like it. It’s easy to get tripped up by it.”
“You’re right, Anna. But there are essential things. Yes. There must be some. I can imagine them. They haunt me. But I have nothing essential. That means I don’t know them. And that’s why I think they haunt me.”
“You have to stop that, this torment! That’s my main wish for you. In the mountains, you felt better. The essential things were clear, and you also saw the minor things. Then you were much more satisfied.”
“That’s not entirely true. But, even if it were, the minor things are indeed only ornaments, certainly quite lovely, and it’s important not to ignore them. Nonetheless, I’m telling you, Anna, the essential things remain, somewhere they exist. If I could find them, even just one, the wall would be penetrated or, even better, it would be behind me. Just like crossing the border.”
“That’s right! Your journey, Arthur. There!”
“Yes, there. I’m not there yet, and there can be here, everywhere and nowhere at once.”
“Why are you going?”
“I have to. You know that. Don’t ask me about it.”
“Okay, then, there.”
“Yes, there. It will at least mean a change. But the essential thing, I know as well, will not be won as a result.”
“You say that, but you don’t know. You don’t actually know that right now, do you?”
“I wish I did. But I can’t speculate that much. It’s beyond me.”
“There’s talk of peace.”
“Anna, peace, yes … there’s talk of it. Nevertheless, it has to be different, something completely different, a submission to Nothing, in order that one is returned to Being. I’ll say it quick as a phrase, and so it goes: Through Nothing to Being. That’s the secret out of which the world is created. And as for people.… That will be the charge, you see, the essential thing. We must repeat that again. Alas, what am I telling you? The wall, the wall … the essential thing behind it …”
Anna wanted to reply and started to, but she stopped short of saying the sentence and said nothing in reply, either because she felt that I couldn’t stand it or she thought that there was no answer that worked. Probably she wanted to reply, my brash slogan and all my talk seeming too pretentious to her. We stood before my train car. After a little while the men joined us, their good mood planted pertly in their faces. Peter and Helmut had already climbed aboard and reported that there were many free seats, there had been no need for me to reserve one. Peter had also surveyed the locomotive as it coupled with the train and marked down its number.
“Do you want to write it down?”
He said it slowly, and added with the certainty of an expert, “A first-class machine. She will be sure to get you across the border in good shape.”
This was said with such a deliberately strange tone that we all laughed.
“I hope you all soon get the chance to have the same locomotive!” I called out happily.
“If I ever get the chance to leave, I’ll fly! The train is too slow for me.”
“Better today with the train,” remarked Helmut, “than tomorrow with the railway!”
“Better today with an airplane,” said Peter in a feather-brained manner, “than tomorrow with the train!”
No one laughed anymore about it, but this had all set me at ease; I could regard all of them and even Anna less self-consciously. Essential things or minor things, I didn’t have to bother about them anymore. I was pleased to see the three of them standing across from me, Anna between the men but closer to Helmut, almost leaning on him; he didn’t really grasp these subtle emotions, yet with humble pride let himself be pleased, while Anna’s manner toward me was comforting, and therefore also decisive and more distant. It felt good to think about this group a little while longer, because it prepared me. Which was why I didn’t realize, as did Helmut, that the train was a bit late. I would not have noticed at all, given how unconcerned I was at that moment about the journey. Peter couldn’t understand why I didn’t respond to Helmut’s announcement, and when I felt challenged not to lose patience Peter began to prod me with sniping comments that I
was just too heavy and that was why the train couldn’t move at all. Since I continued to remain silent and only grinned politely at the idiot, he then got snarky.
“Your heart is always sinking to the ground, fearing that something will happen. Now that seems indeed to be the case. Do you see the policemen over there with the railway worker? They are noticeably whispering to one another. Maybe they’re going to haul you off the train.”
“That could well be,” I answered in all seriousness. “But this time I don’t believe you. You no longer have any power over me. And, besides,” I lied, “it and whatever you are up to at the moment don’t matter to me at all.”
Anna had pressed herself closer to Helmut. She appeared upset about this stupid hostile chatter, and because of that I cast a sideways glance at her, smiling and wanting to say, “Minor matters!” The corners of Anna’s mouth betrayed displeasure. Then I very quietly turned my full gaze toward her to show that she need not worry anymore on my account. Did my friend understand how warmly I approved of her alliance with Helmut? Her face was blank and too colorless, but grateful; I believed she understood me. Turning more toward Anna than to Peter, I spoke to him more pointedly.
“You want to make it easier that we will forget each other soon. That is very nice of you. I was always a minor thing, dear friend. Which means only one thing: out of sight, out of mind.”
Peter looked at me, shocked, not knowing how to respond to my words and certainly not wanting to part from me in strife. He made me feel bad, so I stretched out my hand.
“No offense, Peter. Here’s to our friendship!”