The Wall

by H. G. Adler

  He didn’t expect one from me, but I wrote him a letter, a lengthy one at that, for I tried to clarify our earlier and present relationship and, if possible, to save it. Yet it all came to an end. Oswald neither answered nor called, nor did he pass on anything through So-and-So. Did he just want nothing to do with me? I stopped trying to figure it out, for there was no excusing Oswald for what he had done.

  It was different, but hardly any better, with So-and-So. In the early days he was happy to meet up with me quite often, but later less so, though a casual relation was always maintained between us. Our meetings were usually short and certainly served my newly certain intention of preventing a break between us from occurring, that burden never falling upon him but resting with me, for the most part. Also, if he wanted to avoid the impression that his feeling for me had died away, then he just needed to make sure to not seem as if he didn’t care, which then would not allow me to have any reason to complain about him. He was best man at my wedding, and he had recommended that Karin serve as Johanna’s witness, but Betty came down from South Wales to fill that role, which annoyed So-and-So, who rudely mocked her. As a wedding present, we received from him and Karin a coffee machine, which had to be used out of hospitality whenever he was with us. He also sent us little gifts for birthdays and other occasions, which he always extolled for their usefulness. He was always so generous with Michael, just as Otto was in his own way. So-and-So was pained by, and even jealous of, the fact that I had a son, while he had not been granted any children. It annoyed him that our boy, at the most tender of ages, showed his dislike of him, which only increased with the years, the more so as Uncle So-So, which is what Michael drolly and anxiously called him, tried to win over the child with extravagant little surprises, high-spirited pranks, and grotesque gags that ended up scaring him more than winning his love. Sometimes it hurt us to see So-and-So trying to endear himself to Michael through clumsy and ineffective means. Because he felt that he looked too scary with his glasses on, he stuck them in his coat pocket, but this did no good, because he is very nearsighted, and without his glasses on has no idea what he’s doing.

  So-and-So made clear to us, and above all to me, both obliquely and openly, that he blamed Michael for his poor attitude. Johanna tried hard to dispel this bad feeling, for with dogged gentleness she dedicated herself to caring for and maintaining my meager ties. Thus she tried in many different ways to persuade Michael not to run straight off or cry when “dear Uncle So-So” showed up. However, it did little good, neither for the child nor for So-and-So, not to mention Johanna or me. It was obvious that he did not wish me well, and had done some things that made my settling into this country more difficult. To this end, he set in motion several ruses that, with panache or in artful, deceptive, and spiteful ways, were played out. Above all, my personal and scholarly shortcomings had to be constantly pointed out anew. I was backward, and that was the only word for it, and that was why it was not possible for me to become an academic; my ineptness at Dr. Haarburger’s and in his circle had proved that sufficiently. Any further intercession on my behalf was not only difficult; it would only, in So-and-So’s opinion, do me harm rather than help. I would have to live in this country for at least five years before it was possible to judge whether I had acclimated myself to it enough that any introduction made by So-and-So wouldn’t bring shame to both him and me.

  It’s true that I couldn’t prove any of this about my boyhood friend, for he went about it very slyly, though Johanna eventually believed me after I raised continual concerns that his conduct was aimed at separating me from people who knew me or had been important to me. No doubt he had also alienated Oswald, if not Inge, through his meddling. In the first years of my marriage, he had even tried to drive a wedge between Johanna and me, whereby he would carefully, albeit as my alleged best friend, who had only my interests at heart, try to point out to Johanna certain aspects of my background and qualities about me that she simply could not judge on her own. At first, Johanna felt his intentions were good, but nonetheless his talk didn’t lead to much, for she saw through his game much earlier than I did. He then abandoned such means and resolved to work against me with finely-tuned weapons. My relationship with Johanna was no longer questioned, though around me and around us both an invisible, and therefore secure and inescapable, wall was erected, through whose single and hidden entrance only So-and-So could slip as a trusted envoy and middleman.

  A few weeks ago, at the start of my dealings with Konirsch-Lenz, whom So-and-So hated, without knowing him personally, because of a somewhat flattering appraisal of a sociopedagogical exposé of this self-important friend of humanity, it became So-and-So’s central cause to dissuade me from following my own profession, it being the only way that my practical circumstances could be set right. So-and-So told me straight out that I should give up any attempt at becoming a sociologist, while he would be happy to take up my useful ideas in his own works, for which he would amply compensate me. He even recommended that I track down the literature for him, and write up abstracts and preliminary studies that he could then make use of. He hoped to soon secure a professorship, which could essentially be sped up with my assistance. Later, he would make me his private secretary. Before then, he would endeavor to recommend me as a language teacher, while, at the same time, I should try to make it as a freelancer working for journals and newspapers. With some luck, he promised me success with short essays and aphoristic observations, which best suited me. That way, I could at least somehow manage to get along until he could keep me busy as the newly appointed Professor Kauders. When I first told him about Konirsch-Lenz, he turned the tables on me and said that I should have nothing to do with this dabbler but instead concentrate on sociology. When I asked him how he imagined I could do that, he shrugged and said, “That’s your problem.”

  Occasionally, he liked to tell me about his personal friends, but he never introduced me to them. Usually he made it seem as if he had hardly any real friends but, rather, ones that weren’t very attractive or, indeed, were repulsive acquaintances with whom he associated only because of his position, though for the most part he didn’t deem it proper to put me in contact with them. I wasn’t at all sure whether So-and-So was in demand as a socialite, or if he was the one pressing himself on others, though I often heard that he was plenty on the go with others, whereas with me he made it seem as if he was lonelier in this country even than I was. I knew for a fact that Karin, who was lovely and charming in social situations, had many acquaintances and understood people wonderfully, and helped not only her husband but also herself, because more than a year ago she had given up her job as a dental technician, despite Inge’s ill-intentioned or outright refusal of support, and had since dedicated herself to sculpture and, along with it, in order to earn money, her work as an illustrator, which would have been impossible without good contacts.

  So-and-So tried always to keep this a secret—as well as his social climbing and the increased expenses he and his wife could afford—but he couldn’t entirely hide it from me. It was obvious and, therefore, also clear that he kept Karin away from Johanna and me. I had hardly seen her more than four times, for during my rare visits to So-and-So’s old apartment, since I didn’t yet know the new one, Karin appeared only once. Then she showed up at our wedding in a much too expensive outfit, next to which Johanna’s simple lovely dress looked meager. Once we had moved to West Park Row, Karin visited with her husband, but only for a brief hour. I didn’t think it out of the realm of possibility that the only reason she did come was to see the wedding pictures in which she appeared, because she asked me beseechingly to ask Otto to make copies of them for her as well. Nonetheless, Johanna thought Karin was nice, and she seemed friendly to me, and was not at all standoffish but visibly at ease with us, though I never thought she would ever be any closer to us than that. She never asked Johanna over, as she’d promised, while So-and-So probably never passed on our invitations to her. We were never invited together to the
Kauders’ but, rather, I always went alone, though Karin was never at home when I was there.

  Once, I couldn’t help making note of this and wouldn’t let it rest. After So-and-So couldn’t avoid explaining the reasons for the friendship’s not having developed any further, I was told that in this country it was not unusual for men and women to move in different social circles. Karin was shy about this and wished to wean herself from the behavior of those from the Old Country, so, as someone just arrived from there, I should not be at all surprised that it was not easy for her to be around me. But soon after that I bumped into Karin on the street, and she was the picture of friendliness. Therefore I didn’t believe a word So-and-So said. I confronted him about it and was met with evasion. First, Karin was a lady through and through, and second, she held nothing but the greatest respect for me, but the situation was indeed as he had described it to me already. Given this, there was no point in carrying it any further, and so I gave up, for I would have been met with nothing but icy silence.

  Thus he succeeded in denying me whenever a personal or professional opportunity sprang up, while he nonetheless tossed me little favors, such as references for my research or helping me to obtain books, in order to try to turn me away from him without my getting upset. It was no longer a friendship at all, as we talked only about incidental matters. What indeed meant something to us, we said nothing about, just as So-and-So had done in the very first days after my arrival, during which I learned the difficult art of keeping quiet, having become smarter about it after making many mistakes. Now I asked him about neither Karin nor Oswald, whom he hardly ever mentioned, nor did I inquire about his work when he didn’t talk about it himself, and even more carefully avoided any reference to what I was doing. If I overstepped my bounds in the least, then he pulled himself up as if stricken and looked at me, furious. Why he never stopped visiting me altogether was unclear to me. Perhaps he was moved to do so for similar reasons as Otto, despite the differences in their character and nature.

  I could neither renew myself nor feel secure through contact with old or new friends without them feeding upon me, even if they did not intend to. My situation was iffy and also remained so, but the uncertainty of my standing was first made evident through my friends, because they found me ridiculous and did not appreciate the potential within me. That which was questionable about me became all the more questionable. That which was barely contained within itself they tore apart, dissolving it into nothingness until it was unrecognizable, and, fool that I was, for a long time I could not let myself draw near to people, or, better yet, let them draw close to me, without the last wisp of security having been wrested from me and my existence destroyed. However, it was, in fact, this uncertainty that I couldn’t come to terms with, and which overexerted my willpower and led to a transformation in my condition. Before the collapse of most of my failed relations, my brief contact with the churlish Konirsch-Lenz finally revealed my outer ambitions in the face of his insanity, and I decided from then on to avoid anything that could possibly cause a person to undermine his own sense of self-worth.

  It would have been easier if I had resigned myself to this much earlier, but for too long I lacked the courage, as well as the intelligence, to do so. I had been too enamored of myself—and that is wrong, as long as your inclination is to zealously seek your sense of self-worth among people you either love too little or not at all. That I came to this bit of wisdom by forfeiting my own existence! He who perseveres night and day, who lives and goes on in this way, feels the general misery of every born person infinitely heightened if he—if I—feels within himself the loss of his essence. I had hoped for too much, wanted too much that was not possible. But in my situation there was only one option: to continue on and wait for a moment of grace. Eagerness, vanity, concern for Johanna, worries about money had for so long kept me on the wrong path; I was in a panic, of which only the horribleness of a Konirsh-Lenz was able to cure me. Nonetheless, it was clear that if I let myself be consumed by fear our meager means would soon be entirely exhausted. I saw my wife and children starving, while I stood by without acknowledging or doing anything about it. Something had to happen. Not that I had to submit to the will of my foolish or heartless or two-faced advisers and supposed benefactors—no, not at all. But, still, something had to happen. I had too little faith in my unconquerable powerlessness to feel that I could handle it skillfully. Thus I was three or four steps behind the eight ball, all of which meant that the attainment of a middle-class life was unlikely. That first year was a time full of hopelessness in which, at first, something had been promised, but after that came the time in which I had to realize that a victory amid the storm was forbidden me, after which I struggled to find the right situation for my intellectual pursuits at any price and to get past all impediments.

  I whistled louder and now walked much more slowly. Before me was a little park in which I saw a red telephone booth and stopped. With disgust, I thought of the charlatans who were the cause of my forlorn wanderings, and whom I should call up in order to report the miserable fruits they had brought me. Eberhard S. was probably the most pitiful of all those I had dealt with. A tall fat man with the pale face of a child and a monocle on a little black tether. Eberhard S. now and then gave somewhat public lectures, Otto once having persuaded me to go along with him to hear this man whom he did not know personally but who fascinated him. Eberhard S. spoke on the theme of “The Sorrows and Pleasures of Loneliness,” and I got myself involved in the discussion that followed. The lecturer spoke to me afterward, praising my comments, asking for my telephone number, calling two days later, visiting us, and inviting me to call on him. He presented himself as a doctor twice over, the fool presuming to be a medical doctor and a sociologist. He was perhaps a medical doctor, though a terrible one who performed his quackery with questionable cures and surrounded himself with a great hubbub, though he was certainly no sociologist. My first impression of the windbag was indeed bad, nor was Johanna impressed with him, but with a great deal of flattery and promises he lured me into his plan for a psychological-sociological journal, such that I accepted his offer despite all that my previous misadventures should have told me. I was supposed to be the general editor, at first with no salary but with all my expenses covered, but as soon as the journal was launched, which could only be a question of months, I would then be well paid. Eberhard S., who had chosen the name Eusemia as a “good sign” for his venture, was the publisher and editor, and wanted a propagator, author, and, especially, a recruiter to bring on talented colleagues. He sent me to printers, to news agents, bookstores, advertising agencies, and to many personalities in order to do something for Eusemia, during which I met with nothing but hassle and only rarely got anything worthwhile accomplished. Despite all this, by hook and by crook some issues of the ill-fated journal actually appeared in fitful starts. I could be pleased that only his name was at all involved, while my contributions remained unsigned or carried a pseudonym.

  Eusemia was stillborn from the start, and for months I had devoted my working hours and free days and often nights, until I was exhausted by the effort to get the venture off the ground. I didn’t receive a single penny for my efforts, and even had to contribute a substantial part of my own expenses to it. When Eberhard S. said one day with careless flippancy, and as a spur to me, that it had finally gone too far, and that I should be publicly acknowledged as the general editor, since sales of a large print run were assured, the next issue, thank God, never made it beyond proofs, because the business was mired in debt. Eberhard S. had not paid the printer for the previous issue, and the printer refused to print the new one without receiving cash payment for it. Nor did any other printer want to take on the job, which brought this senseless venture to an end, myself all the poorer for the sake of such hopes and with any number of essays and book reviews to burn for fuel. Eberhard S. couldn’t pay anyone for their articles, and I had to write more than anyone else, while he continued building castles in the
air, though very few of the articles were any good—nothing but wordy, pompous gibberish against whose publication I fought, or which I had to revise for content and style. In order to fill the issue, we made use of reprints when they were given to us free.

  After the collapse of Eusemia, I felt completely lost for the first time and had to keep quiet about my disaster in order not to harm my reputation. I said nothing to anyone in regard to veiled allusions about the mockery of this venture. I told So-and-So a bit more, but as soon as he heard the name Eberhard S. he grew furious. I should have nothing to do with this no-good liar, who was not a credible person, and who years ago had plans for a journal called Eusemia, and in the process had pulled the wool over the eyes of many people, including Oswald Birch. So-and-So had given him, in order to support what seemed a worthwhile undertaking, an article to use. To this day, he had never received a response. Supposedly it was meant to serve intellectually starved men over there, who, presumably, lapped up vast amounts of indoctrination, to give them some scholarly and cultural-political content so that they had something to read, so that after having made so many fateful errors they could find their way again. Because of such shady dealings that good man was ruined, nor could he ever again show himself in respectable company.

  I was hardly inclined to believe everything So-and-So said, and thus ignored all his warnings, for I only took them as a sign of his jealousy. I made it look as if I was convinced of the truth of his words, said nothing more about the journal, and drifted off into my misery. The concern that Johanna raised was minimal, and when she saw how I blossomed with enthusiasm for this work she hoped, despite her fears, that it would all come to good. Therefore Johanna went easy on me, and I held her responsible for this after everything went wrong. I was unappeasable and bitter, but she spoke to me sweetly and helped me get through this deep disappointment. That, in the process of this misfortune, I had forfeited any outward chance at security she could not indeed deny, but with her help we were finally able to move on nonetheless.