Dr. Freund was surprised. "How does Albert happen to be there?"
"I brought him along," said my son. "We've thought up something and would like to tell you about it."
April 7
And then the two boys were standing in front of Dr. Freund's big desk: Martin, the speaker, and beside him, with a red face, shifting from foot to foot in his embarrassment—Albert. "It's about Adam, Herr Doktor"
"Haha!" said Albert, apparently in agreement.
"So .. . what about Adam?" Dr. Freund leaned forward. The telephone rang. He picked up the receiver and said brusquely, "Not now," and put it down again.
"Well, Herr Doktor, you know that Adam is very poor in arithmetic." It was Martin speaking, my son Martin, expelled from four schools and written off as hopeless. "Adam is a poor thing, Herr Doktor. Our teacher has explained it to us. He's been very ill for a long time; now at last he's getting weU. Of course he's still very weak, and he doesn't function as well yet as Albert and I do."
"Haha!" said Albert, who wasn't functioning too well either.
"Well, and what about the arithmetic?"
"It's always the same thing, Herr Doktor, When the teacher calls on Adam, he gets so excited that he can't answer the question. And he's so excited because a few idiots always laugh when the teacher calls on him."
"Always laugh," was Albert's hoarse echo.
"And how many of them are there that laugh?" asked Dr. Freund.
"Oh, about six to twelve. It isn't always the same. Any-347
way, quite a few more than Albert and I can take on. We did think of it, but it's no use."
"No use," croaked Albert and hopped up and down. "No use, haha!"
"Albert and I, Herr Doktor, we sit side by side now, and we've often talked about Adam. We know him very well because he . . ."
"... sits in front of us," said Albert
"So we can see what he writes."
"Yes?" said Dr. Freund softly.
"And Albert and I think Adam knows the answers correctly before the teacher calls on him, but then there's this laughing. And that upsets him so, he doesn't know the answer any more."
"Silly laughing, siUy laughing," said Albert.
"It's so bad now that Adam is afraid of the laughing before the teacher.calls on him. Adam's afraid through the whole class, Herr Doktor. If things go on like this, those twelve idiots will have got him where he can't think right any more at all, whether he's called on or not."
"That's a dreadful story you're telling me," said Dr. Freund. "And of course things can't go on like that. We're going to have to think of a way to help poor Adam, aren't we?"
"We have, we have!" cried Albert.
"What have you thought of?" Dr. Freund asked softly. He was holding a cigarette in his hand but he had forgotten to light it.
"We have thought of something, Herr Doktor," said Martin. "And we want to ask you if what we have thought of is right and whether we may do it." "So let's hear it."
"It's really quite simple, Herr Doktor. As I just said, we can't beat up the ones that laugh. There are too many of them. And talking to them is no use because they're idiots. So we decided we had to do something in spite of the fact that they're laughing. We've got to find a way for
Adam to give the right answer however much they laugh."
"Donnerwetter!" Dr. Freund's eyes were shhiing. ''You thought of thatr
"Yes, Herr Doktor, Albert and I did. You do understand what we mean, don't you?"
"I'll say I understand! You mean if you can get Adam to answer correctly in spite of the fact that the idiots are laughing, then next time he won't be afraid of the laughter "
"He may still be afraid, but much less "
"Much less, much less," Albert nodded and clapped his hands.
"And how are you going to manage that?"
"Well," said Martin, looking worried. "We can only swing it if you talk to the teacher and she'll play along with us. We sit behind Adam. If the teacher would tell us before class what she's going to ask Adam, then we—Albert and I—could write the correct answer on a Uttle piece of paper. When she calls on him and he stands up and the others are laughing, then he has the piece of paper where he can see it, and all he has to do is read the answer off."
"Not notice, not notice!" warned Albert.
"He means the teacher mustn't let anyone notice she knows Adam can see the piece of paper. She must pretend to be very pleased with his correct answer and must praise him."
"I understand," said Dr. Freund softly. "And in the next class you may want to do it again, and once more after that, until the idiots don't have any cause to laugh any more."
"Yes, Herr Doktor," Martin nodded eagerly. "And when they don't laugh anymore, we won't have to prompt Adam anymore. Then he'll know the right answers without any help." He looked at Dr. Freund expectantly. "Is that a good idea?"
Dr. Freund stood up and shook hands with the boys
solemnly. "My friends," he said, "that is the best idea I have ever heard from two boys, and I have heard the ideas of a great many boys. I congratulate you both. Send your teacher to me during recess. I'll talk to her, and then she'll work everything out with you. But don't let anyone else in on this. It's our secret, right?"
Martin was radiant. "Thank you, Herr Doktor. Aiif Wiedersehen, Herr Doktor!" And with an absent-minded look at me, "Auf Wiedersehen, Father." Then he took Albert's hand and said, "Come on. We'll go now." And together they left the room.
I looked at Dr. Freund. He was wiping his glasses. "It is moments like this," he said, "for which one lives." He put on his glasses again, cleared his throat, and finally lighted his cigarette. "You see, that's how it is. The infirm help the sick, the poor help the needy. It is not the mighty who are going to find the solution but those who themselves are helpless. It isn't the strong who know the secret of healing, but the weak. An asocial child and a cretin join forces to help another cretin. That's the way it goes in our school, and that's how it's going to be the world over. Those who have no rights, those who have been betrayed, the hopeless and the despised, will support and strengthen and in the end redeem each other. Once I read a poem; there was a line I shall never forget: *Coward, take the hand of a coward. . ..' That is the beginning. That is how things will get better, day by day." He looked at me. "What's the matter? You're not saying anything . .."
"You may not have heard it," I replied, "but ... just now . . . Martin . . . today he . . ."
"Today he what?"
"He called me Father for the first time."
When I began this story, I said it was the story of a mistake. This evening, April 7, as I write these lines, I recognize with joy that I have been granted the blessfng of recognizing my mistake. I just called Hohenberg; he has promised to come by after supper. I must tell him the story of Martin and Albert because it has moved me deeply. How wonderful that I can still be in on it, that I can still witness this experiment with Adam!
It is my intention to capture everything about this happening; I shall report on it day by day. Perhaps I shall not live long enough to witness the final, definitive progression, the turnabout toward what is good. I know I don't have much longer to live. I can still hear the Munich specialist saying, "If the patient is fortunate, death comes to him out of the blue, from one second to another, in the middle of a step he is taking, of a sentence he is speaking, of a word he is writing."
But even if death should come to me here, today, in the middle of a word I was writing, I would be happy. The seed is sown and will germinate. It isn't necessary that I see it ripen. I know that it will ripen. And looking at it that way, even my infamous life was not lived for nothing, even I was not a barren seed. I found Martin and brought him to Dr. Freund and thus made it possible for Martin to help Adam. Once there was one—now there are three. When Adam helps a fourth, there will soon be eight, then sixteen, then thirty-two . .. eventually a hundred million.
I didn't believe that I would ever find peace again, but I ha
ve found it. I didn't think I would ever be happy
351
again, but T am. I have lived in hatred, not in love. But hatred is death and love is life. Now I shall not hate anymore, now I shall lo
Affidavit:
I herewith confirm that on April 7, 1952,1 received from Dr. Alexander Freund, the attached manuscript, written by James Elroy Chandler, alias Walter Frank. This manuscript is to be considered the dead man's confession and will be forwarded to the police in Munich, to serve as the ultimate clarification of the case.
Robert Hohenberg Police Investigator.
"Knowledge is free to those who seek it"
Digitized by the Internet Archive. Cracked and Scrubbed by Fynn (aka Tashfin) in 2014.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Pages
Back Cover
I Confess Page 31