by H. G. Adler
I didn’t see Dr. Haarburger and his wife again. Nor did Johanna go there, though right after Michael’s birth she did receive a pair of little wool mittens for him in the mail.
Thus, over the course of time my sponsors disappeared, though others appeared, admittedly less and less, and I tried in vain to please them in a joking and clever manner. Yet nothing is harder than to please a sponsor who wants to do nothing but nourish his ideas of what he thinks is best for the one he cares for. Then it finally came to me. Unfortunately, I was too late. The time for refugees was past; they had all attached themselves to something or someone, and there was nothing left for foreigners, as the country had to take care of its own people. They fought for us, spilled their own blood, and suffered the pain of imprisonment. Chased from one place to another, I soon appreciated that there was one too many people in the world, and that was me. I simply couldn’t be allowed to exist. Then, and only then, was this complex question answered. But how could I not exist! Indeed, I had not believed it myself, yet Johanna and others had tried patiently and had strenuously pointed out to me: You exist, don’t deny it! You’re suffering, so you must be alive, and it is you yourself that suffers. I repeated dutifully: The only thing that remains is that I exist, which is not some transcendental phenomena but, rather, something real, for one does not have to think it in order to realize it, even though the self rummages around in one’s thoughts and cannot find itself, though indeed it exists. Here amid the search for existence, that’s where I exist, having shown up and breathed and eaten, wanting only to be taken in completely, head and body and limbs, all of which are tired but are holding themselves together, one after another, not collapsing, forging on, all parts following the head. Yes, that is my central task. The culmination of this bothersome deliberation: Someone says it is so, therefore I exist. In addition: Existence can be experienced through dialogue. Put in a more mystical way: Existence arises out of dialogue. But that is indeed temptation and an inversion of the creation that has the Creator waiting when Adam in cowardly fashion doesn’t respond to the call, “Where are you?” When he was asked, it was already too late for dialogue to occur, and therefore his existence was brought into question, and thus all impartial thinking on human existence leads back to the fall of Adam. I exist, thus I have fallen, and do not exist.
As soon as I, prodded on by others, began to believe again that I existed, I also found all such belief to be unpardonable, thus causing it to fade away and not remain. Neither existing nor not existing but falling somewhere in between. That’s how I remained. But where did I remain? The question came to me before the wall. I did not answer. Or was it the wall that asked it? Walls don’t speak. Perhaps the space between me and the wall. What was the space between? That was time, which I no longer have. In this form, I existed or I didn’t exist, as the case may be, in much the same way that something decided to embrace existence or withdraw from it, such as when through a friend of Johanna’s always obliging, capacious relative Betty, I was taken under the wing of the humanitarian, pedagogue, and manufacturer of wallpaper, Siegfried Konirsch-Lenz, who apparently was interested in me and my work, both of which he had heard good things about. By then I had been in the country four years, and Michael was a little boy of almost three. Konirsch-Lenz, who had a lovely house with its own garden, asked me to visit him and welcomed me with genuine good will—in fact, with praise that I had otherwise hardly experienced before.
“You’ve had a tough time of it here thus far, haven’t you?”
“I’m seen as a troublemaker. I’m not supposed to exist.”
“Splendidly put. The central allegation against you is that you were not killed.”
“Right. And yet if I am indeed alive, I’m valued only as a curiosity. One can stand that for a little while. Then it’s enough, and the curiosity needs to disappear.”
“We all know what you mean. Whoever has escaped something horrible is guilty, is suspect, is intolerable. Whatever he sets in motion through others is hard to bring to completion. So much for brotherly love. It’s hard to do, but ignore such beastliness. I don’t make many promises, for that’s not my style, but I mean it wholeheartedly when I say that I will help you. But please, one person to another: you have to tell me everything, completely and sincerely, man to man. Only then can I do something for you. And that I want to do.”
Herr Konirsch-Lenz let me tell my story, calling my confession a beam of light cast in the dark chamber of life. Completely different from all the others before him, he listened to me with great patience, letting me finish and then asking questions only when I fell silent. He even helped me find the words when I felt inhibited or just couldn’t find the right expression, and immersed himself in the details that seemed to him especially important. Most of the time he looked at me encouragingly, often nodding and noting things down in a little booklet. Then he asked me about my work. I was indeed afraid that it might be a bit beyond him, but he asked for more details, because, as he assured me, he already had some experience with social welfare; namely, with raising morally defective youths and other similarly difficult cases, even though he didn’t know very much about sociology or even my special area, he never having had enough time and being always a man interested more in practice than in book learning. He didn’t say this with any arrogance but in a matter-of-fact manner, while throughout it appeared that he wished to give my views his utmost attention. He questioned me extensively about all of my lost supporters, wanting to learn more, in particular, about Kratzenstein. I spoke bitterly of him, but carefully. But Herr Konirsch-Lenz laughed, saying there was no need to spare the clever stuck-up twit, for whatever I might say about the esteemed president of the International Society of Sociologists was nothing to him, as he knew all about him already. He, Konirsch-Lenz, had once been invited to speak about how to handle the rise in juvenile crime and, despite being short of time, he had worked very hard to prepare a text, then sent it in, only to get an acknowledgment of receipt and nothing more, despite repeated inquiries. When finally he demanded that the text be returned, it could not be found, and when Konirsch-Lenz threatened to get a lawyer the lecture came back covered in markings and accompanied by a letter, not at all from the noble Herr President but signed, in his absence, by Fixler, which said they could not use it, as it was more suited to a popular presentation for laypeople than to a scholarly investigation directed at an academic audience. That, then, was the the famous Kratzenstein.
As I told him about it all, I was nicely attended to and also learned about the new life of my friend. Before I left, I was quickly introduced to his family amid high praise. Two girls danced around me, and Frau Konirsch-Lenz was very kind to me. “Finally, bright people with a heart,” I said to myself. I had to promise to make sure to bring my wife and child with me next time. Then I asked Konirsch-Lenz when I should come again.
“It makes no sense to set a time now. I need to ask around. I want to look for something concrete for you. I have an idea. I know a splendid lady, a press agent from Zurich—”
“Fräulein Resi Knispel?”
“Right. Do you know her?”
“In passing.”
“I don’t know her that well, either. But that’s just an idea. Really, I’d rather not say anything at this point. You’ve been led on with vague promises enough already. It has to be something real, or it’s better to do nothing at all. You’ll hear from me soon. Perhaps in a week. I’ll give you a call or drive by.” I had to take along some flowers for Johanna and some candy for Michael before I was seen off with good wishes.
Not a week had passed before Herr Konirsch-Lenz contacted me. Johanna spoke with him on the phone and found him charming. All three of us were invited to tea on Sunday; his wife would be happy to welcome us. He would happily pick us up in his car, but, unfortunately, it had to be worked on over the weekend. Johanna asked if he had any news to pass on to me. At that he laughed and answered, “Rest assured, it will be good.” So we dressed up Michael, Joha
nna also spiffing herself up, and headed out while looking forward to a few lovely hours, as it was a bright warm summer’s day. We were welcomed warmly, like old friends, Herr Konirsch-Lenz playing delightfully with Michael, who was then handed over to his daughters, Patricia and Petula, the boy ecstatic. Soon both women were chatting away pleasantly with each other in a shaded part of the garden, while my host led me to a table in the middle of the lawn that was bathed in the bright July sun.
“I love the sun, Dr. Landau. I love most to sit in the blazing sun. I can’t get enough of it on my skin. Sit down and make yourself comfortable!”
Herr Konirsch-Lenz took off his shiny jacket and also his shirt, recommending that I do the same. But since I did not do well in the sun after those horrible years, I only took off my jacket and looked around to see if I could at least situate my chair in order to avoid the unrelenting glare. Herr Konirsch-Lenz laughed at me.
“I can see that you don’t care for the sun at all. It would do you good. That comes from living like a recluse.”
“It is an aftereffect,” I said, hoping that I would be understood. But he didn’t get what I was saying.
“Self-awareness is the first step toward betterment. Physical work would do you good. To dig around in the garden and such.”
“I love my little garden. I already dabble around in it. Though I’m no expert, that I can say.”
“Such a puny little garden, and you not an expert. One needs to really do it right, with hoes, spades, and shovels. But, as I can see, you shy away from physical work.”
“Not at all.”
“Show me your hands! There, I can see that you don’t do a thing! Anyone with such smooth hands has never picked up anything.”
“I’ve done a lot of physical work—a bit too much, in fact.”
“That cannot have been very much. I do it because I want to. How does it go in Latin? Mens sana in corpore sano. Not just the garden alone, and it’s certainly proper work that I do. Do you think I can afford a gardener? That certainly can be expensive, even if it was a laborer! I do it all myself. Everything right here at home. And I save a heap of money by doing so.”
I acknowledged that. Meanwhile, the sun was hurting me, so I asked if I might sit in the shade.
“Well, if you must, you shadow dweller. Grab hold of the table and let’s move it over there! No, not like that! Let me show you! Don’t you even know how to move a table? This is how you grab hold! The way you’re doing it, however, is damn clumsy. This way! There, finally! No, a little to the right and back. Not so far! Can’t you see which direction the sun is shining? I want to stay in the sun!”
Because I was not at all doing it right, in a huff Herr Konirsch-Lenz shoved me aside and pushed the table around himself, while I stood by feeling hot and my heart pounding. That I stood there in need did not occur to him, for I was told not to just stand there gawking but to please go get the chairs. That I did, but I only received more scorn, for I had no idea how to properly place a chair in a garden. Finally, we managed to arrange things such that my patron sat in the sun and I in the shade. Herr Konirsch-Lenz’s demeanor changed, and he looked at me with a different, albeit composed, expression of disapproval and began to lecture me.
“As you know, or should know, over twenty-five years ago I founded and headed the Lenz School, a boarding school for mildly criminal, at-risk, or otherwise difficult boys in Mecklenburg. I had some measure of success; my accomplishments were recognized. I devoted body and soul to it. I did that for almost ten years. Then came along the wretched developments that messed things up, which you well know, be it cultural Bolshevism, the pampering of criminals, etc. I can honestly say, without exaggeration, that I was an expert in this field and did an enormous amount of worthwhile social work. I also wrote something you should read sometime, and not just the lecture for that fool Kratzenstein. You will soon see that I know my way around such matters. It was indeed hard when all that cursed business came along and in one fell swoop, as you know, destroyed everything. I had to flee, stumbling away illegally over the border. What can I tell you? Particularly hard was the fact that through such work I had not managed to save anything. Whenever I had any money, it was sunk straight into the Lenz School. As an idealist, you can appreciate that. So I came here and had nothing, nor could I speak the language. I was completely finished. A school, social work, welfare for criminals? People just laughed at me.”
I learned how Herr Konirsch-Lenz, after several unfortunate attempts and miserably paid jobs as a laborer, had the idea to manufacture wallpaper. At the Lenz School the pupils were trained in various tasks, almost all of which Konirsch-Lenz could do himself. Then, out of grace and mercy, he was given a rundown hovel that was no longer being used, and there he began to manufacture wallpaper out of modest materials, all of it designed by him and produced on a hand press in modest amounts. He had only one helper, who was also a refugee, then a very smart salesman joined in, and again another refugee. They worked eighteen hours a day, though one couldn’t say they worked but, rather, slaved like animals, there hardly even being a Sunday free. Slowly they made progress, but there were also setbacks—a design didn’t sell at all and wasn’t to everyone’s taste, or the paper was terrible, the press acted up, while, especially in the first years of the war, it was tough, the colors nothing but smeared rubbish, though it got better and better, and out of the little hole a workshop emerged, and now it’s a lovely little factory with forty employees. The situation keeps on improving, as Kolex wallpaper has made a name for itself. You can ask for it in almost any appropriate shop. Soon the firm will be expanded by partnering with another such employer—a great idea—and new methods for doing multicolored prints will be developed.
Herr Konirsch-Lenz told it all in a lively manner; I could see very much how everything had thrived under his hands, causing me almost to feel amazed. It was obvious with what enthusiasm he wished to cover the walls of the metropolis with Kolex wallpaper, it being easy as pie, as it doesn’t wrinkle and is long-lasting and washable. I was happy for the success of Herr Konirsch-Lenz. Then he clapped me on the arm and said, “Don’t you see, I made it!” Then he shifted to say how the wealth he acquired gave him time to dedicate himself to pedagogical and sociological tasks, he being a consultant to some schools for difficult children, a visitor to a prison for youths, and many other things.
“When you work with youths who have lost their way, before they find it again, all those hoodlums and petty thieves who need as much love as they do strict rearing, then you also judge your situation. What are you but a man derailed, even if you are forty years old? You’ve never learned to conquer yourself and never had a real job. I’ve thought about that a lot. I’m offering that you can begin tomorrow as an apprentice in my factory in order to learn how to print wallpaper. I’ll pay you something, and we can talk about that. It will in any case be enough, and no doubt much less than what I’ll lose through the goods that will be ruined. That’s a radical offer, but I’m a radical person. Are we agreed?”
Herr Konirsch-Lenz stuck his hand out to me, but I didn’t grasp it.
“I’m afraid I can’t agree to that right away.”
“Why not?”
“I need to talk it over with my wife in peace.”
“You don’t talk about something like this with your wife. That just postpones matters. You have to be a man. Your wife—just look at that delicate little thing—will just be impressed once you finally get into something reasonable.”
“I don’t know if it is so reasonable. I don’t do anything without my wife.”
“Nonsense! You’re a wimp. But if you really want to, we can ask her right now.”
He stood up and wanted to walk over to the women. I was defeated and felt worthless, but in no way did I want Johanna and Frau Konirsch-Lenz to be dragged into this exchange.
“Don’t bother, I’m declining your offer. I’m very grateful, but I can’t do it.”
“You’re throwing away an op
portunity. It has to do with sweat and cleverness and self-discipline. You really have to learn those, for that’s the weakness of your character. If you put yourself to it, in a year you can make a decent wage. For your scholarship, if that remains a burning necessity, you have the whole night through.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Think of your family!”
“I am.”
“It doesn’t seem you are, you egoist.”
“The last time we spoke, you talked much differently. You promised to think about how you might be able to help me. In this way you are of no help to me, and I’m sorry that I put you to any trouble.”
“Don’t be so impetuous, Dr. Landau. I’ve thought of everything. Frau Knispel is on vacation right now, and the summer is a bad time. Practical support is needed immediately—on that we are agreed, yes? I meant it for the best, and at my factory you’ll be under my oversight and counsel. Not something to simply toss away. But, of course, there are other possibilities. Yet I have to tell you openly that you have no chance at any kind of existence by relying only upon your talent. We are all talented, but only a very few can make something out of it. Moreover, I’d like to read something of yours. But not the thick tome in which you have penned what you think about the oppressed. You don’t seem to know enough about that and are a bit one-sided. If I want to read something about oppression, then I want it to be objective and not just personal experiences.”