by H. G. Adler
Derek busied himself in the back of the hearse, fiddling with the flowers; he might even have shoved the coffin around a bit, but I might have imagined that. I realized that I shouldn’t wait much longer, even if Brian was the model of politeness and wouldn’t make the least effort to remind me to hurry. He placed himself next to Johanna and me like an old member of the family, his motions becoming more and more refined, none of them seeming at all vulgar or common, as I had felt his earlier demeanor to be. The truth was that his face possessed a mixture of noble seriousness, fatherly reserve, kind apology, and something unusual that deeply affected me. I would have been happy to shake his hand and press it in gratitude, but I didn’t think it at all fitting, this kind of open bond not being the least proper to our different positions, and so I was satisfied with sharing a secret meeting of the minds between us. No matter how much I tried to resist, I couldn’t help having the impression that I was standing face to face with my father, a younger version of my father, indeed, but nonetheless him, to whom I owed all honor. The man had given this impression so strongly that I could feel my father within me. I didn’t want that to go on for too long, so I told Johanna to join the others in the vegetable truck. She squeezed my hand silently, laughed at me, and went off.
Now all that was left was to get in with Brian; I didn’t want to waste another minute, but I was too shy to step into the hearse ahead of my companion, not so much because I was the main person of concern as because I couldn’t help seeing my father, to whom the greater honor was due, in this man. I knew that it was all up to me, and I had to decide and make my wishes known that Brian should step in first. However, I didn’t want to use words and had only to think it in order to choose. Then it was made clear to me that I had to make the sacrifice and be the first. I pointed a finger at the hearse, and Brian nodded. And so I went, my father following me with an assured gravity; I sensed the almost soundless sureness of his step landing large and meaningful around me like a protective coat. At the running board I took hold of Derek’s helping hand, and was struck by how much easier it was than I’d thought it would be to climb into the mighty glass cabinet of the hearse.
Brian had not helped me, he feeling certain that all was okay, and the fact that he was behind me was all that mattered. I tried to take my place atop the coffin, but that was not so easy. Coffins are meant to be lain in, not to be sat upon, and certainly not with legs straddling either side. I bemoaned my clumsiness and wanted to ask Derek if I couldn’t sit on the coffin sidesaddle. I could do that, it was within my rights, but again I had to think of Brian and his words; I mustn’t disappoint his pure humanity. No matter how much I wanted things my way, I couldn’t have them. I was dependent on others; I was connected to them and had to do what was expected of me. It had come to be true that, to whatever extent my doubt in existence could be dissolved, something essential was attained, and I was stretched between these two extremes. Thus the most uncomfortable seat was good enough for me, the grace of life sitting upon a shrine of death within the vehicle of death.
The flowers in front of and behind me were painfully pressing against one another with their coolly swirling scents, but there was nothing I could do, some of them being askew, many of them squished. I felt bad and complained, looking apologetically at Derek and his now less telling face, while I didn’t dare turn to Brian. But now, at last, I was sitting, it being hard and painful at the same time, the ridges of the coffin cutting into my thighs. I only hoped that the drive would soon start and soon end. My friends touchingly made the effort to push me into the middle of my saddle, but they didn’t succeed entirely, no matter how much I tried to advise them of the best way to go about it. Finally they gave up trying to jockey me into the best spot, probably feeling sorry for me or sorry for themselves. So they left me to it, closed the glass doors, at which I heard further sounds whose meaning I couldn’t quite make out, though likely they had to do with the folding up of the steps used to climb in and the turning of the lock. Then the pallbearers got in. Derek was to my left, while Brian was to my right. I wasn’t feeling all that good, though the moment felt like the evening of a sacred day of rest, rather than like the morning of a weekday. I whispered the words of a prayer that was appropriate to it:
“Our Lord and the Lord of our Fathers, be pleased with our rest, bless us with Your commandments and allow us to know Your teaching. Satiate us with Your goodness, gladden us with Your salvation and purify our hearts, so that we may serve You in truth.”
I had not completed this sentence before Brian knocked on the window that separated the glass cabinet from the driver, as Jock acknowledged the signal. Then I heard the motor start up, and soon we were off. I would have fallen over if my helpers had not taken mercy on me. I would have been happy to lock arms with them and give up, though I had to settle for the quiet support they extended. I would also have liked to look out at the people on the street, though given the way I had to crouch, there was no way of doing so without bending over dangerously, besides which I was too tense and wanted nothing else but a fast and happy end to the journey.
The sounds of the vehicle were drowned out by a heavy rumbling from behind. Simmonds rumbled along, but the sound pleased me, for then I could sense that Johanna was near, as well as the children. The separation couldn’t last long. Then we braked somewhat sharply, but unfortunately we had not arrived at our destination, only at Halstead Way. Yet before I knew it we were already at the edge of Shepherd’s Field. I was feeling very uncomfortable, because outside there was an oppressive crush full of a horrible buzzing and drowning music. This was no Sociology Conference; it was the regular fair with its usual, though today unexpected, bustle, even if upon closer inspection the number of people out at this early hour was not all that large. I couldn’t resist looking intently at Brian and Derek, though to my annoyance they were not the least concerned. Thus they had managed to make a fool of me, and it rightfully happened to the failed scholar Arthur Landau, who deserved a place in a show booth at the fair. There I sat as a figure of shame, powerless in a hearse, having to wait to see what tasteless pranks awaited me.
Defenseless and awkward, I couldn’t go after the mighty pallbearers, or even yell at them as I wished to. The ridiculousness of my situation in the glass cabinet was not to be overestimated. I at least got down from the coffin—how had I let myself fall for such mischief?—but it wasn’t easy to do so, for even after such a short journey my legs were stiff, me feeling as if I’d been broken on the wheel. Stiffly I swung my right leg to the left side and sat facing Derek. I hoped that it upset Brian, for now I detested him; Derek seemed to me much more bearable as the less important man. But I had to learn that I had not properly sized up my companions. Derek was pleased that in turning to him I had deemed him worthy, he laughing at me respectfully and also jokingly, while from behind Brian tenderly ran his hand from the top of my head down the back of my neck, which made me shiver. Up ahead the door was opened, and outside the noise abated, something that certainly had happened at a given signal. I noticed how people had gathered about the vehicle and recognized a number of familiar faces among them.
Jock jumped out from his seat, causing the vehicle to rock, and helped the old man, who trembled as he got out but was then happy to stand on solid ground again with his own two feet. I then needed only a quick glance to know who the old man was; his movements were unmistakable. It was exactly how old Prenzel would look, my old history teacher. I recalled my terrified face when I had last seen him, how he had met me on the train platform and then had dropped me off at the guardhouse like a piece of luggage that he had found. Why was the old man in the metropolis? I would not have thought to have found Prenzel still among the living, least of all here in the metropolis, since travel from back there had not been allowed in years.
My companions in the glass cabinet then moved to open it up from the inside, but in vain they rattled the double doors. Only when Jock hurried to the back, Prenzel following slowly but curious to h
elp his colleagues with all his strength, did the closed door finally function. At last Brian and Derek stood outside. Someone blew a fanfare, at which everything let loose with a fierce roar produced by music machines and instruments of alarm, as I worked as fast as possible to free myself from my dungeon. The pallbearers offered me a hand, but my pride refused their help. I withdrew from their too-confident grasp and staggered unassisted and alone over the running board and onto solid ground.
All around me I saw my family and all the others who had come in the vegetable truck, but also a large number of other people I knew, or at least could recall. Even the strangers who had gathered here seemed somewhat familiar to me. I probably had this impression because the strangers, as well as those I knew, aggressively tried to get within my range of sight. Yet all of them kept their distance out of a seeming shyness, such that there was an open space between me and the onlookers. Only the four men who had ridden with me in the hearse stood near me, until finally it was Professor Kratzenstein who approached, though still keeping his distance. Prenzel trudged over to me, blessed me, and took me by the hand like a little child who needed to be protected. It was touching. I believe it wouldn’t have taken much for him to kiss me. Then he walked with me ahead of the others who had traveled together, bowed before the crowd, and introduced me:
“I have the great honor to introduce to you my old student Adam, also known as Dr. Arthur Landau. Many of you know him already, others will soon get to know him, but none of you really know who Adam is. Please take it all in and learn from his example. I am very proud of him, and he’s earned it. I beseech all of you wholeheartedly, most honored attendees, to prove yourselves worthy of him. Make amends with him, bestow upon him what you owe him! He was always gifted, and the best history student I had. It’s no wonder that he causes such a stir now in sociology.”
The old man’s voice quaked toward the end of his short speech, which was listened to intently and was met with resounding applause. I was delighted with Prenzel’s clumsy and, above all, exaggerated praise, and bowed first to him and then to the gathering, which generally pleased them. I would have been happy to respond to the old man with something nice about his service as a high-school teacher, and then thank him several times for not having missed my special day, despite the arduous journey that had no doubt caused him many difficulties. But I never got a chance to, for Professor Kratzenstein stepped over and warmly embraced me and then began to speak:
“Fellow sociologists! Thank you, Professor Prenzel, for taking the opportunity to personally introduce your star pupil at the Sociology Conference held by the International Society of Sociologists here in Shepherd’s Field, which I hereby declare to be open. However, it is you, my dear Dr. Landau, it is you whom I wish to thank from the bottom of my heart, in the name of all the gathered sociologists and associated scholars, for accepting our somewhat late and most likely somewhat surprising invitation. May it please you to be among our circle as an honorary member of the society from this day forth, and may this day bring you much joy and encouragement, as well as much gratification, as your work, which silently grew on its own, and is now finally seeing the light of day, and whose renown, ever more appreciated, spreads throughout the world, though earlier for years it brought you nothing but deep disappointment, painful misunderstanding, and even shortsighted rejection. Let that now lie behind you forgotten, and remember that the women and men gathered here carry no responsibility for the world’s neglect that has caused you to suffer so much. It is my humble duty to report that all those gathered here before us knew the extent of your accomplishments from the start, and never wasted an hour in trying to knock down the wall that stood between you and the world, and actively tried to support your work, and you personally, in your days of need. It was never a secret to us who you were, and each one of us who had the chance to encounter you gave you our full attention, and for the most part also love, taking you under our wings and supporting your work openly, or, more important, behind the scenes. Never can too much come to the good, an old wise man said, and so let me state openly, dear Dr. Landau, that still not enough has come to you. I would be the first to acknowledge the deficiency in the human limits of our support for you. You, however, would kindly think of it as only the external challenges that any genius must press through in order to realize his full potential. We all know that has been achieved, and so I bid you, in the name of all present, once more a heartfelt welcome. Perhaps, honored friend, I could now ask you to come over to me. As it no doubt has already occurred to you, we have arranged for this conference to take place at Shepherd’s Field for special reasons. Sociology would be worth nothing unless it applied itself to practical matters and thus studied life’s problems where they live and breathe. You understand, and I hope all of us gathered here understand, how symbolic this is. Which is why I ask that next, before you move freely and openly about the conference site, you accompany me and honor the bumper-car palace with your presence, where talks about the sociology of traffic will be presented. You know these little electric cars—they’re pure pleasure and entirely safe, even if one collides hard with another.”
Rousing applause rose up, and I was surrounded by many people, all of whom wanted to shake my hand and clap me on the shoulders. Also, the music machines blared once more, and I was shoved along by the line of people who pushed toward the bumper cars, while the Professor continued to link arms with me. There the colored cars pleasantly ran about, little electric sparks springing from their electrical contacts that touched the wire netting, while two loudspeakers poured forth blaring noise.
As we drew closer, the electrical current was turned off, the occupants of the cars jumped nimbly out and respectfully withdrew from the course to the balustrade on the other side, where many conference participants had gathered who wanted to see me drive a bumper car. Professor Kratzenstein was polite enough to let me have my choice of cars, and so I chose a blue one. The other cars were also filled with selected guests, for during my turn none could remain empty. I would have been happy to take a seat behind the wheel, but the Professor informed me that it would be more honorable for me, as well as for him, if I turned the driver’s wheel over to him. He also believed it would be more satisfying for me, for I could simply look about wherever I wished, besides its publicly marking my place within scholarship forever.
“That is a distinction, my friend, that no other can claim. I have never driven such a renowned colleague with my own hands around such a course.”
“Good. Whenever you are ready, so am I.”
I took it for granted that it wouldn’t cost anything, at least for invited guests, but I was wrong about that. The Professor could see that I was surprised, and explained about the high cost of the electricity and for the attendants needed to work the ride. Mrs. Mackintosh, the wife of a high-ranking official at the British Embassy, arrived with a leather bag on her shoulder and asked for some money, though I didn’t receive a ticket in turn as I had hoped. That would be too official, she explained in a friendly manner. Besides, everything good in the world should be based on good faith and well-meant intentions. I wanted to pay, but Kratzenstein wouldn’t let me. Then I at least wanted to pay for Johanna and Anna, who occupied two cars with my children, but the Professor wouldn’t allow that, either. When I tried to press my coins on Mrs. Mackintosh, she let me know that she agreed with him and would have none of it.
“You wouldn’t sell me the furniture back then, as I wanted you to. Do you remember? It’s been a long while since I was angry with you, but it wasn’t very kind of you. Since then I’ve gotten some that is much nicer. But back then I swore that I wanted nothing more to do with you, so then I don’t want your money. Got it?”
Hence, I had to let it go, Kratzenstein’s coins rattling as they disappeared into Mrs. Mackintosh’s shoulder bag.
“An outstanding scholar!” boomed the Professor with the air of an expert. “I have a great soft spot for her. But her husband is the one to know, an
embassy official and a writer and critic besides. He’s just come out with another book, which he’s always doing. What a fine person! Everyone says that about him.”
Mrs. Mackintosh went about her business with care and speed so that the race could soon begin. The Professor didn’t at all steer with the kind of elegant skill that I had expected of him, but rather in such a hilarious manner that it was twice the fun. He clutched the steering wheel tightly and turned it wildly about, such that we almost continually crashed into other drivers, slamming into them, almost tipping them over, after which it all repeated itself, us hitting other drivers sometimes slightly, sometimes harder, until my head was humming. It was lucky that the little oval cars were covered on the outside with a thick rubber pad. Once we crashed into Mrs. Stonewood, who with her two boys riding with her zigzagged back and forth awkwardly, and who was often warned by Mrs. Mackintosh to be more careful. Then there was a little while when there were no crashes, but Kratzenstein looked too long with pride at me, rather than at the oncoming cars, until we painfully crashed into Oswald Birch, who as a master driver boldly drove about on his own, the result being that his and our cars became wedged with each other and stood locked.