The Wall (19 page)

I gathered myself together and slipped my fingers around the edges of the buttons on my clothes. I was free of my clothes before I knew it and took off my socks. My back hurt a bit when I stood up. I stretched, then I looked down at my poor nakedness, a strange body that I had to carry. The marks of deprivation were deep and gray, nothing familiar about these wasted limbs and nothing at all childlike, no boyish flesh. I was not at all lovely, for I had been denied too much and used for nothing good. Amid this sorrow there was certainly no longer the soul of a sanctified house, the behest of my parents having been debased to this wretched figure. I had not looked at my
body for years; there had never been time to, nor the opportunity or even the wish to. Torso and limbs, a head on a neck that was much too thin—how strange I looked, the legs trembling slightly the longer I looked. I dreamed of the quiet pleasure that comes with feeling the health of one’s own body, even if it was vain and a bit objectionable. Yet this didn’t suit me at all, for it felt too naïvely cheerful to think that I could embrace such pagan nonsense. There was no more body, there being nothing left but a shrunken skeleton that hardly existed, unaware and afraid, consumed by deprivation, unhealthy and condemned. I shivered as I touched my belly, bloated and pasty, and yet scrawny and puckered, the haunches flabby, the long arms like twigs. What could one possibly do with it all? I unfolded the dressing gown, soft and cool in my hands, the monogram embossed upon it. That was good, for it provided a strength under which I could hide my anxious human figure. I already had the sleeves spread out and wanted to slip my arms into them. Then I stopped short, for sewn into the collar was the silken name of the firm: Haberdashery Albert Landau—HAL—Reitergasse 8.

That I didn’t need. It was too much for this hour. I asked myself angrily, how can you wear this article of clothing with the monogram “HM”? How could you be so unjust! HM was an account, the good standing of a paying customer. Back in the workshop sat the hunched-up old Fräulein Michelup, tirelessly stitching monograms with her needle-thin fingers. She never came out into the front of the shop. One brought her the goods and instructed her briefly, at which she nodded, and that was all. “This needs an ‘HM,’ please—that pattern there, you know the one.” It was ordered for Herr Meisenbach. Therefore Hermann had bought from my father or Anna had, most likely she, for she had known the shop since childhood. She wanted the best for Hermann, nothing cheap, for it wasn’t good enough, and she wanted good value. Father himself had served her, standing next to her with a knowing smile, running his fingers over the fabric so that she could be sure of what she chose. The clothes were always better after they were washed, and they lasted a good while, much longer than Father in the Reitergasse, a memento of his superb good trade, his impeccable honesty. Unforgettably, his clothes were still worn throughout the city and far beyond the neighborhood and throughout the land. The clothes rested in the drawers and slept, a soft treasure bound with small paper bands, perfumed
with lavender, reminding one of pleasurable, cool memories of celebrations at home. Gravely the father looked down, for he knew that he profited from clothing the nakedness of the citizens in the warmth of smooth fabric. But now there was no longer any father and no Hermann, I having come instead to assert my right. I kissed the precious label that was now familiar to me, sorrow withdrawing deep inside me and into my innermost parts, pride and joy suffusing me on the surface. What I possessed as clothes in my poverty were meager threads that didn’t belong to me, yet they were mine, they were mine! Somehow they had found their way to me.

And there I stood in fine trousers and a handsome jacket. I turned toward the mirror and stood there in this outfit. I was myself again, happy to be so, for I had chosen my garments myself and shouldn’t be ashamed of such splendid things. I no longer needed the dressing gown. The way I was dressed now, I could let myself be looked at by anyone. Therefore I took the dressing gown and lay it over my arm, wanting to go to Anna outside in the room. Then she would recognize who I was, and she would find me handsome and somewhat like my old self—a person, someone who would make her forget her husband and all her friends. No introduction at all would be required, for who but the son of Albert Landau could so unselfconsciously step out? After just a few steps, any tempting vanity would be satisfied. But something held me back, the dead man’s monogram. Was it on fire? I couldn’t cause Anna such a shock. Perhaps with my teeth or nails I could pull out the stitching. But no, the monogram was too firmly embedded in the fabric; only a couple of threads were plucked out, poor Fräulein Michelup bent over in the back and nimbly sewing. It just wasn’t right. Maybe cover up the tag, as if it irritated my skin—that was an idea, its prickly fire needing to be subdued—but I couldn’t really hide it. A hand covering a name, and the name placed over a stranger’s heart, what unbearably close relations! And so I relinquished my disguise.

Whoever loses his home against his will, simply because he has been expelled by the powers that want to annihilate him, cannot return alone to the site of expulsion as one who happened to be saved from joining the fellowship of the murdered, no matter the reasons that move him. He can no longer go home, back to where he came from, for only a foreign land suits him, and he cannot get far enough away from the place that bore him. This
I had realized before I began my journey. Nonetheless, I had to at least risk such loss, seeing that I was this and not that, observing the traces, taking in what was left of the past, gathering it and burying it. But now I knew that it was futile, it was forbidden. I no longer wanted to be here. Yet how could I get away, myself too tired and my strength gone? And so I thought. How pathetic the nightshirt from the Reitergasse had been, how sinfully foolish my desires. Hermann’s torso was the same size as mine, but my legs and arms were too long, a little bit of my hands and feet remaining uncovered. The father had in mind a stranger’s measurements, mine having long since been crossed out. “The young Landau?” came a painfully hard voice. “He no longer shops with us.”

How could I let Anna look at me, a joke at this hour, now too late, a dreary, sad man turning up in front of a strange woman? She would judge me harshly, and I had to inform her of who I was. Should I stay in the bathroom and sit on the edge of the tub or on the toilet? If I sat there, I’d fall asleep. Anna would also fall asleep in the room and forget about me. If she remembered me and knocked on the door—“Where are you, Hermann? It’s late!”—I could say, “Don’t be upset that it’s taking so long! I’m here. I’m here for you.” I threw the pajama top over my shoulders, it being an old piece softly worn through that fit me surprisingly well, striped fleece, the colors shimmering. The shirt didn’t belong to Hermann, for he certainly wouldn’t have liked striped clothes. Maybe I could find a monogram on it as well, but I had not paid attention and wanted to spare myself the effort. I could already tell that it belonged to my school friend and Anna’s brother, Arno the politician. It smelled of him, a little sour, while on my tongue there was an aftertaste. Thus I was properly dressed. For Anna and for me it was best, the tension between us dissipating, her own man and the strange one forced out of the house. Quickly I got my clothes together, not wanting to bring them into the room, and hid them in a corner under a hand towel.

“I no longer exist! I no longer exist!” Softly I breathed that through my teeth as I emerged from the bathroom. I knocked tentatively on the door of the room and heard a dry sound that formed itself into no words. Anna lay awake and covered in her bed, her hands moving uncertainly about, her expression dreamy yet untroubled. I relaxed, cautiously ready, standing back in the right corner at the other end of the wall. The bedding was laid out
such that our feet were pointed toward each other when I lay down, our heads resting at either extreme.

“I no longer exist! Anna, I no longer exist!”

She looked at me questioningly, as if she hadn’t heard right, yet she said nothing. Then I spoke louder, and it sounded unmercifully loud.

“I am not Hermann!”

“What’s the matter with you? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I wanted to ask you to forgive me for being so terrible.”

“Forgive you … what do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing, it doesn’t mean anything. A dumb thing to say. You don’t know me; sometimes I say such stupid things.”

“Is there something else you need?”

“It’s too much.”

“I mean to eat or drink.”

“I’m a widower.”

Anna sat up halfway, propped up her elbows, and rested her chin in her hand. She looked at me as if my last words were a heap of tangled, cut threads underneath Fräulein Michelup’s worktable, meaning nothing more, me needing to at least explain.

“Not only Hermann, Anna. Myself as well. I am also dead. I mean, the woman whom I was married to.”

“Dead?”

“Yes, completely gone. No longer here. Just the same as Hermann … Did you love him very much? Were you happy? And now you have to look for your Hermann in every person, in every man? Or has he sunk away, the surface closing smooth as a mirror over him?”

Anna lifted herself up higher and shoved the pillow behind her back.

“How can you ask me that? And what do you want me to answer?”

“I know it’s unreasonable. It was too much. I don’t want to impose—no, that’s not what I want. Understand, it creeps up on me. I imagine everything in the extreme—that which once was, that which is lost. Until a certain, but unknown, moment, when it’s still all there: anyone you wish, your Hermann, your brother Arno. Two years or more he sat on the same bench as me in class. Everything there. Also Franziska, my wife. Then gone.”

“You loved her very much, very much.”

“I still love her. But she is more gone, much more than my parents. I miss my parents and keep looking around for them, expecting always some sign. And I can confess to you that this dauntless pursuit is what brought me to you.”

“Your parents?”

“Let’s not talk about them now. Maybe later. But I don’t miss Franziska. I can hardly remember her. She is nowhere, nothing. She also has no hold over me, but I love her. That’s all.”

“And what do you know about your Franziska today?”

“Nothing, nothing at all! I can, and should, try to find out about her.”

“Is she dead for sure?”

“Is Hermann?”

“I don’t know. The notice was clear. Of the entire platoon, not a single one was still alive. A direct hit to their bunker, everything gone up in flames.”

“The same for me. But no notice. Just everything in flames.”

“Even a woman?”

“Everyone!”

I stood exhausted in the room, where it was cool, the window hanging open. A view out. Nothing built across from it. The space was open; nearby I could see the slow-moving dark-brown river. Anna said nothing. I didn’t look at her, and yet I could feel that in this short span of time she had grown distant. Perhaps she blinked shyly and also had a couple of tears in her eyes. My hands ran along the bare round edge of the table, everything feeling very far off. As a child, I had always enjoyed running my hands around the entire circumference, but now I only rubbed a short stretch to left and right, then I brought my fingers back to the starting point.

“You could catch cold if you stand in the night air. You should lie down, Herr …”

“Landau.”

“Landau?”

“Landau, yes. Haberdashery HAL, Reitergasse 8.”

“Clothing?”

“Not me. My father. Hermann’s clothes. I don’t have any more of my own.”

“So Peter was right after all.”

“Why Peter?”

“He thought so and said so to me.”

“You knew him, my father?”

“Yes. I always shopped there. My father did as well. And I know you as well. Now I know. I simply couldn’t remember. Back then you played with Arno in the park and, if I’m not mistaken, here in our apartment as well. Everything is so changed.”

“Nothing has changed. Especially me. Nor you … still the same round face, also the hair, only back then it was neatly parted. But I, on the other hand—”

“Don’t worry at all! Sure, it’s upsetting when you aren’t recognized, and the time, so much has passed! But don’t let it cause you any pain.”

“It doesn’t hurt but, rather, amazes. I don’t even think that I can stand it.”

“What’s that? Are you feeling ill? You’ve grown quite pale. I’ll make some coffee, and you can lie down.”

“No, then we won’t be able to sleep. Please, stay! Don’t get up! It will only cause trouble, and I really don’t want anything. Perhaps it would be okay if I just lie down.”

“But of course!”

“Should I turn out the light as well? We could still talk in the dark.”

“The switch is there by the door. I’ll turn the small light out here once you’re in bed.”

“Or a little later! We can still talk. The small light feels so good. It’s much better than the dark of death.”

“As you wish.”

I had taken off the dressing gown and not looked around at Anna as I rushed to my bed. The sheets felt cool and fresh against my body as I nestled into them. The blanket rustled as I pulled it up almost to my neck and lolled about until I felt comfortable. I squinted, for I didn’t want to see Anna, but that was a pointless worry. If I lay quiet on my pillow and didn’t raise my head, the table blocked my view.

“What a wonderful bed!” I called out. “I can sleep here as good as at home. Did you know my father well? Perhaps also my mother?”

“No, Landau, unfortunately I didn’t. Your mother I barely knew by sight, your father just in passing. A dear man, he always had a joke at the ready.”

“When did you see him last?”

“Just before they closed his shop. He had an idea it was coming, probably knew already. He was very sad. I tried to comfort him. He had no confidence and said, ‘It’s all over. After slaving away for so many years.’ I agreed with him. ‘Everyone must see that,’ I said. He replied, ‘Nothing is seen, we’re simply unwanted. Our assets are what they want, and our death.’ ‘Doomsayer,’ I teased, and laughed. But he just smiled sadly back: ‘You don’t understand, my dear Frau Meisenbach. But it’s better if you don’t. I also don’t understand it, and there’s no one who can help me. Here, please take these three shirts. One can’t find such goods anymore.’ Meanwhile, I didn’t want to take the shirts, for I had no money, and I was ashamed to run up a bill. ‘No, you don’t have to pay,’ he said. ‘Money is no longer worth anything.’ Then he handed the shirts to me and went into the back—I believe at that time he had, at the most, one employee—and brought out three much nicer shirts, the kind Hermann had never owned before, showed them to me, let me touch the heavy silk, as if all of it were up to me, and then wrapped them up. ‘Don’t get caught,’ he warned in a whisper, and bent toward me over the counter. ‘Otherwise, you’ll have a helluva lot of trouble, and I’ll be up to my neck in it.’ I was shocked and didn’t want to take the packet at all, but he got really mad and scolded me like a schoolgirl, asking if I was a silly goose or a scaredy-cat, and so I had to do as he asked. Then he stepped quickly around the counter, as if I was used to him doing that, because he, as you know, was always so deliberate, even if he never moved slowly. He shook my hand, tears in his eyes, as he saw me out. I would have loved to stay in order to say something nice, nor had I even properly thanked him. He, however, pushed me firmly out the door, turned around at once, and disappeared inside his shop. I wanted to call after him, but my voice faltered, and then it felt better to get out of there, quickly across the street, the packet pressed close to me as if I were a thief, and quickly, quickly home. As I walked through the Reitergasse with Hermann a few days later—he had not yet been called up—wanting to pass on my thanks with him, it was too late. The shop was closed, the shelves empty. I never saw your father or your mother again. I
should have gone to their apartment, but then there was trouble with Arno, and we already had the police in our apartment. Some months later, I heard a rumor that your parents had been taken away. That’s what must have happened. Everyone was powerless. All we had was scandal and shame. I looked for those shirts for you today, for they’ve hardly been worn.”