by H. G. Adler
“Tell me, Fräulein Zinner, have I done something terrible?”
She looked at me with surprise, in need of clarification.
“Perhaps not terrible,” I continued, “for I wouldn’t say that, just something disagreeable, something not quite right, which just isn’t done.”
“Don’t fret so! You’re a big boy.”
“That’s kind of you to say. I have been so regularly knocked off balance since I’ve been here that I fear that I am agitated by countless and often insignificant things. Instead of being reassured, I end up robbed of my last bit of confidence. But I don’t wish to burden you with all that, and I am thankful that you grant me such freedom. I need a foothold, but I am left to grope and stumble or I stand before a wall that is flat and fends me off and does not buttress me. But don’t think badly of me because of it! It’s a halting unease that makes me say all these twisted things. That’s not really who I am. For I believe I can overcome any difficulty. If you’ve survived, you often end up astonished at yourself; you confront yourself, curious, shy, cautious, you really question yourself, for you still can’t quite believe you are the same person, whether you even exist. Sometimes I think, Yes, it’s indeed so. Such moments are not at all significant, but quite the contrary, since everything is insignificant and vague, as the answer dissolves within the question. But when you simply go on living, then it’s only natural that life doesn’t consist of fully conscious hours but, rather, of little conversations that trickle along or small continuing activities, since the unsettled being is best suited to some kind of orderly routine. Thus when the question ceases to knock at your insides, at your very fiber, and yet nonetheless is there and continues on, there exists a mild tension that, without any great surprise, can upset you at any time and leads to an accommodation with the self-evident. Then everything becomes unquestionably interdependent. Not in an immense fashion or essentially so, but it does seem to me beneficial. Whether that is a basis for a life, I really don’t know.”
“But it is an accommodation. You say so yourself. One must accommodate oneself. That’s what you mean to say?”
“That’s what I would say. Yes, you’re right. Do you recall how at the Haarburgers’ I tossed out the question whether one could marry a man with my past? You responded quite vigorously to that. Do you remember?”
“Yes.”
“And was your answer genuine? Do you still stand by all that you said then?”
“Every word.”
“That’s good. So, then, you would marry such a person? What with all the uncertainty involved?”
“Yes.”
“That is absolutely crucial. Have you thought about what that would actually mean?”
“Just give me the chance!”
Fräulein Zinner chuckled heartily and caused me to laugh as well.
“Then, Fräulein Johanna, could you marry me even now?”
“Why not?”
“I’m not the man for you.”
“You should let me decide that.”
“I have no life to speak of.”
“So you can’t marry me, either?”
“Who told you that?”
“I’m free to say so myself.”
“Go on! You at least have to marry in the hope of some kind of security.”
“One marries for thousands of reasons. I would marry whom I liked, if he will have me.”
“You mean me?”
Moved, Johanna fell silent, yet she quickly recovered and looked as if—or so I imagined—as if she were in her office handling professional matters for visitors. Johanna was completely impenetrable, together and in control, yet warm. Her quiet authoritative manner pleased me very much. Yes, I became aware of how much she pleased me for the first time, such that I was not bothered by feeling faint or by fitful moods, which always held the potential to overwhelm me, but instead could concentrate on courting her with zeal. I was free of heavy-handed flirtatiousness. I looked at her tenderly, half from the side. Her face, calm and imperturbable, as if I had said nothing audacious at all, gave me no sign as to how I should behave, whether I would be heard or not. One thing I knew: I could not stand a setback now. I nodded and spoke quietly but beseechingly.
“With me there’s nothing to be had but my powerlessness.”
Johanna turned to me attentively, but otherwise nothing about her changed, which provided me with the barest of openings. I talked on in almost a whisper.
“A person like me is poor and can make no promises. His existence, shot through with despair, is nothing but an open wound. Perhaps at heart he can feel grateful, but he can promise no income. It’s not at all advisable to get tangled up with him. Whoever is smart will avoid him. Whoever loves him will have many bitter and weary hours. He has only himself to offer, and that is little, for otherwise there is nothing. He is faithful, not out of virtue but because of his nature. He is affectionate, even tender, but headstrong, and his intensity doesn’t recommend him, as it can be horrible. He broods a great deal, and in his peculiar thoughts he develops his own path forward on which he cannot recommend that anyone travel along with him. Sometimes he is sad and almost melancholy, and then it’s hard for anyone to distract or rouse him. Yet he is grateful, perhaps, and that he has said already. He also does not easily forget, and some things he never forgets, but he doesn’t hold a grudge, and he fights against bad will and is forgiving. His work is probably of little worth, but he feels it is important, and he loves it. He is a widower. He loved his wife very much; he has not forgotten her, nor will he ever forget her. If he should ever marry again, he will make certain that the dead do not come between him and his new wife, nor will he stand between the living and the dead, and it will be up to the wife not to stand between her husband and those who have passed on.”
Johanna listened to all of this while remaining outwardly calm, simply sitting there, not a word of it seeming too much for her and nothing seeming to disturb her, though her breathing slowed to a standstill. She didn’t let herself be confused, no matter how surprised she was; I could have kept on in the same vein without at all disturbing her. Yet I couldn’t expect that she would have some kind of response to what I said, no matter how much I might have wanted or hoped. I sipped my coffee and set the cup down a bit too loudly.
“Tell me, Johanna, what would you say if I really did want to marry you? In all seriousness? Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
We said nothing. I would have loved to sit next to her, but I didn’t have the courage; it would have been too forward—what foolish fears! But that was the way it was. It was not necessary to switch places. I had to stay where I was, and she had to remain across from me. That was for the best. I was too overwhelmed from the success of my proposal; also, Johanna must have realized that she had been steered into giving her immediate consent. Though it seemed strange to have achieved such a forced victory, it still felt like the most natural thing in the world, there being no other outcome imaginable. It wasn’t love that had brought us together, for we had not spoken of love; most likely, neither of us having even thought of it. Instead, an unfathomable desire had hauled us out of the abyss of our yawning loneliness, the two of us having been brought together from across a great distance. It had happened. We sat there silent, serious, almost like two stones, neither of us daring to think that we should embrace, our thoughts instead traveling far off into the distance across which neither of us had to explain ourselves to each other. We had said too much; now we had to remain much more reticent about what now—and perhaps always—would risk sounding highly superficial. A deep affection for my quiet friend welled up inside me, but it warned against my expressing how I felt out loud. The future was inconceivable; I did not at all feel capable of predicting any direction for the challenges that lay ahead. After a long while, I stirred myself to ask a question.
“What happens now, Johanna?”
“We will see. We are on our own and are answerable to no one on earth.”
“Except that we are certain. I will do anything I can for you. You can trust me.”
“It will be hard for you.”
“All the better.”
“That is easily said.”
“And slowly done. Don’t worry!”
“No. I won’t. I trust you, and your gentle spirit.”
“Thank you.”
“We should marry soon, if you don’t have anything against it.”
“Soon, for sure, my dear. There’s no sense in waiting. I’ll stand by you, and when it gets too hard, too hard for you, my dear, then don’t forget that you have me, that I’m there for you.”
My dearest said all this with halting warmth. Johanna soon relaxed without becoming any less serious, and effused a lovely glow. Her eyes brightened, the corners of her mouth softening. Suddenly and unexpectedly, she called the waiter over and asked him for the check. She quickly paid, having treated me, though I would have felt better if I had paid the tab. But now it was too late, so I let it happen. After the waiter thanked us, I apologized for my lapse.
“It all comes out of the same pocket now,” she said simply.
I asked whether we should stay, but Johanna looked me over and decided that quiet was what I needed. I stood up, somewhat wearily, and got the coats. I then realized for the first time that I needed to help my wife, my soon-to-be wife. Maybe that’s why I held the coat so clumsily, such that the waiter wanted to jump in to help, though Johanna didn’t want me to feel ashamed.
“Don’t either of you bother with it. I prefer to do it myself.”
Thus I had to look on abashed as the waiter took my coat from me, which I thoughtlessly let happen, just as I also patiently allowed him to dress me like a display-window mannequin.
“That’s very kind of you,” I said in thanks. “But I’d prefer to put on my hat myself.”
The waiter looked at me surprised, as I proceeded to follow Johanna, who only wanted to leave the restaurant as quickly as possible. The darkness in the street was deep and heavy, but not unpleasant, for it had gotten warmer. At least that’s what I imagined, and since Johanna agreed, it must have been so. She said it was a strange country that often warms up in the evening or at night, while during the day it can often be much colder. I took my wife’s arm, and she let me do so.
“Everything is different now,” I said.
“How so, different? We have found each other. That’s all there is to it.”
“You’re right. Nothing has changed. At least, not for us. We were simply meant for each other. The only difference being that we didn’t know it for so long, for we did not know each other. But once it’s expressed, it’s self-evident, and thus we belong together. Only the others that know us will be surprised.”
“That we’ll have to simply understand.”
“Yet how do you see things unfolding? How do we want to do this? I don’t know what to do. I have no experience with the formalities of a wedding. Certainly it’s complicated, what with the documents that are needed, the wedding clothes, even if it’s a modest affair. And we need witnesses. We also have to invite a couple of people, you know, because of the contacts that are so important to have here. And, then, where will we live? And your job? I have my doubts when I start to imagine everything involved.”
I sighed deeply, there seeming to be nothing but obstacles ahead. To follow sudden impulses was easy, and I could also make plans, but when it came to carrying them out I shrank before the mounting difficulties and didn’t know how to handle them. Most likely, she was also now conscious of all the difficulties, and thus I was almost afraid that we’d never get beyond the starting point of realizing our plans.
“You know, my dear, you shouldn’t worry so much. One thing at a time. I’ll think about it all carefully. The formalities are simple. Tomorrow I’ll make some inquiries. Then I’ll be able to see it all more clearly and let you know what needs to be done.”
“Isn’t that the job of the groom? I’m so anxious about it all.”
“About marriage?”
“Oh, not that, not if you have no fear about it. But the officials—it’s a nightmare, it all is, including the practicalities. My friends are of no use, except for a few old well-meaning school buddies. And then I’m most worried about everything involved, even practical matters, you see. It’s all so difficult, and I’m of no use to you. If I’m at all honest, I have to really warn you about what you’re in for, before it’s too late. If for no other reason than that I don’t want the bond between us to break later on. Some people don’t take such things seriously, saying they can just give it a try, and if it doesn’t work, then they can separate. But that’s no basis for a marriage. I want nothing to do with that, for I find it abominable.”
“You can break your pledge. Just do what you want. I’m not forcing you to do anything.”
“But you said yes.”
“Yes. But you still have time to decide otherwise.”
“That I cannot do. I am at your mercy, completely in your hands.”
“You are a free man.”
“Free? Forgive me, but that’s a ridiculous word. I am never free; I don’t even have any desire to be so. Freedom has been thoroughly driven out of me. It’s a dream. Perhaps it’s been realized by some people, but only rarely, or so I believe.”
“Do you not believe in any freedom?”
“No. Or, more specifically, I am not free and know no freedom.”
“Everything is just fate, the good as well as the bad?”
“It doesn’t seem that simple to me. I would say that one is delivered into life, and then there is a very narrow set of circumstances in which you can move, though they are essential for each person. A freedom in bonds. About this I have thought a lot. I’ll let you see in my papers sometime what I’ve written about it.”
“That would interest me.”
“What we do and what we are meant to do—together I call that destiny. There is nothing we can do about that; no one can run away from it. Fate usually involves rebellion, a blind battle against destiny itself. And there is a portion of our destiny about which we have some say. That is what one can call, if you wish, freedom. About that I could go on at length.”
“Please, do!”
“This portion likely lines up with all that falls under the sphere of morals. But not with thinking and other intellectual activities. These ramble about in an odd manner, providing us with a notion of freedom, but when we examine them more closely we see just how far and to what extent they really exist. Yet this is not so when it comes to morals. There the decision lies within our own will, even if not always in action itself. If we could manifest what we decide through action in all cases, then we could rightfully speak of freedom. But actions outstrip our capabilities, our allotted human horizon. Only up until the onset of an action are we free in our determinations, not a bit further. The process of carrying out or even accomplishing an action is what decides what is determined. An action is performed only when we are allowed—when it, above all, is permissible under the laws that apply to the creature amid creation. The mass, I mean the mass of laws, appear in general to depend on the collective state of humanity, most of all on its social order, its social relations. On the degree to which the social orders are unfree, as we know. All are unfree! And thus we come up with what does not apply to everyone but, rather, to the individual, and one proudly announces, ‘Man is free! Man is free!’ I find that ridiculous. And you?”
“Herr Dr. Landau, what an informative exchange, a lesson from the lectern held at night on the street, on the evening of your engagement, for your attentive bride. But I’m happy to listen to it.”
“Really? Oh, I’m so sorry! Have I gone on too much? Tell me, please, how I can make it up to you.”
“I’m not free to decide, correct?”
“You’re mocking me. But I mean it in all seriousness; you are not free. What you say is quite right.”
“No, it’s a wonder, it’s grace. It determines what is right. And that you have chosen me. You having already taken me on, the whole nine yards.”
Johanna stopped and forced me also to stop. I bent my head down to her and pressed against her cheeks.
“You are a strange man, my dear! Very, very strange.”
“Didn’t I already tell you so, or at least gave you some warning?”
“That you have. You dear, dear fool, you dear wonderful man!”
“And so you can love someone like me, Johanna?”
She answered with soft quick kisses that dashed away all my foolishness. I responded to her tenderness. A homeless couple that had come together, and it was meant that they should. Was that us? Perhaps we stood there awhile, perhaps we walked on; a thin, soft rain fell in a winterlike May, but it didn’t bother us. Rarely did anyone shuffle by, the footsteps disappearing. Because the darkness engulfed the walls, it was no longer a city through which we walked but a land, an open and free land, one adorned with bushes and quiet forests surrounding our dreamy existence, but a destiny blessed with happiness in the midst of it. Our shared transformation felt like floating, a forward motion on soundless tracks, the floating sensation yielding an exalted journey, the two of us hanging on to each other with hands that caressed, sometimes only our fingers touching. We did not know much about each other, but we sensed it inwardly, peace settling upon us, granting us this moment of communion. Time had erupted in fine filaments that split apart and settled gently upon our faces, us not asking how long it would last.
You want to try it with me, you want to try it with me, or so I heard, the clock singing it aloud, or perhaps I said it aloud, but most likely I didn’t, for all such talk was muffled. I didn’t know where I was; I thought that I was in a foreign city. Thus I was beside myself, though I also felt that Johanna was likewise beside herself and yet was aware of all that had yet to be determined. Then she let go of her stress, relaxed and, once freed, quietly began to sing to herself. I tried to make out whether it was a real song, but I couldn’t tell; most likely it was a tune I didn’t know that sounded as pure as glass and silver. I should have been able to see, but when I looked up I couldn’t see anything. Again we held hands. I mumbled that I didn’t know how to dance, but she paid no mind. She just said it wasn’t anything you had to learn, as the dance itself took hold of me, not needing any accompaniment as it drew us powerfully into its spinning power and swung us in circling waves. Have you woken up? Have you finally woken up? You are a continual dreamer amid a metropolis that is never empty of shadows, where the darkness always stretches over its endless distance. Upon its slumbering flats you and your bride have been saved, as together you have reached an auspicious realm. Remember that it belongs to you, remember to keep hold of it, drink from the spring of its riches, but protect yourself from the danger of forgetting your losses, because such concern weighs heavy on the scales of memory and it can consume your hearts if you don’t watch out.