The Maimed [excerpt]

translated from the German by Kevin Blahut illustrated by Pavel RÛt

t w i s t e d s p o o n p re s s Prague 2009

Translation copyright © 2002 by Kevin Blahut Illustration copyright © 2002 by Pavel RÛt Copyright © 2002 by Twisted Spoon Press All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form, save for the purposes of review, without the written permission of the publisher. isbn-10 80-86264-13-0 isbn-13 978-80-86264-13-4

since his t wentieth year Franz Polzer had been a clerk in a bank. Every morning at quarter to eight he would go to his office, never a minute earlier or later. When he stepped from the side street where he lived, the clock in the tower would strike three times. During the entire time Franz Polzer had been a clerk, he had changed neither his position nor his apartment. He had moved into the apartment after giving up his studies and entering his profession. The woman from whom he rented the apartment was a widow, about as old as he was. She was in the year of mourning for her husband when he moved in with her. In the many years of his time as a clerk Franz Polzer had never been on the street in the late morning, except on Sundays. He had forgotten what the city was like during the day, when shops are open and hurrying people are pushing each other on the streets. He had never missed a day at the bank. The streets through which he walked in the morning offered the same picture every day. In the shops the shutters were being pulled up. The workers stood in front of the doors, waiting for their bosses. Every day he met the same people, schoolgirls and schoolboys, tired female clerks, ill-tempered men who were hurrying to their offices. He walked behind them, the people of his daytime, as hurriedly, thoughtlessly, and unnoticed as one of them. People had predicted that, because of his talents, Franz Polzer would attain a leading position in his profession through diligence and perseverance. The entire time he had never considered that, basically, the hopes he had attached to his career had not 7

been fulfilled. He had forgotten these thoughts. He forgot them in all the small tasks that had carved up his time since the very beginning. He would get up in the morning, wash, get dressed, glance at the paper while still eating his breakfast, and set off for the bank. He would sit at his desk, on which piles of papers had been heaped. These had to be compared with the entries in the books in the shelves around him. Every sheet that he had checked over, he marked with his initials and then put in a folder. Around him in the room and in the cubicles many other men and women sat at desks that looked exactly like his. The smell of these men and women, the sound of their monotonous occupation and conversations, pervaded the whole building. Franz Polzer was completely suited to his occupation. It offered no occasion for distinction, and thus also no opportunity for attracting the attention of his superiors. At midday he would eat at a small tavern near the bank. The afternoon passed like the late morning. At six p.m. he would organize the papers and pencils on his desk, lock his drawer, and go home. The widow would bring him a simple dinner in his small room. He would remove his shoes, jacket and shirt-collar. After dinner he would read the paper thoroughly for one hour. Then he would lie down to sleep. He slept badly. But he seldom dreamt. When he did dream, he dreamt that he had forgotten his initials, which he had to write hundreds of times every day, or that his hand was paralyzed, or that his pencil would not write. In the morning, Polzer would get up like every other morning, and begin his day, which passed like every other day. He was sullen and morose, but it never occurred to him that there 8

could also be something else besides sitting at his place in the bank every day, that it was possible to get up later, go for a walk through the streets, to eat two eggs in a glass for breakfast in a café and eat lunch in a good restaurant. Among the interruptions of this monotony, one had made a particular impression on Polzer. This was the death of his father. Polzer had never been close to his father. What probably contributed to this was that Polzer’s mother had died soon after his birth. Maybe she would have been able to mitigate some of the conflicts. His father was a small shopkeeper in a country town. Polzer’s room was attached to his father’s shop. His father was a stern, hard-working, unapproachable man. From his early boyhood Franz Polzer had to help his father in the shop, and hardly any time remained for him to do his homework. Nevertheless his father demanded that he get good grades. Once when Polzer had a bad mark, his father refused to give him dinner for four weeks. At the time Polzer had been seventeen. One of his father’s sisters lived in the house, a childless widow, who had moved in with his father in order to manage the housekeeping after Polzer’s mother had died. Polzer had the murky idea that his father’s sister had forced his dead mother out of the house, and from the very first moment had opposed her with undisguised aversion. His aunt also made no secret of her feelings for him. She called him a bad boy who would never amount to anything in the world, dismissed him as gluttonous and lazy. She gave him so little to eat that he was forced to have an extra key made to her cupboard, and at night to steal secretly in his father’s house. 9

A problem resulted from this, which can only be spoken of with great reserve. At the time Polzer was fourteen years old and had the easily excited imagination of boys, which is further stimulated by hate. Of the relations between man and woman he had no other idea than that it was something gruesome, in and of itself nauseating. The thought of a naked female body filled him with disgust. He had once entered his aunt’s room when she was washing. The image of her wilted upper body, her tiredly drooping flesh, made an impression on him that would not leave his memory. One night he was standing in the dark threshold of the shop, in front of the open bread cupboard, when the door to his aunt’s room opened. He pressed himself against the wall. His father stepped from the bright frame of the door, wearing a nightshirt. For a moment, behind him, the image of Polzer’s aunt appeared like a shadow. She bolted the door from the inside. His father walked right past him. His shirt was open, and even though it was dark Polzer thought he could see his hairy chest. For a moment he was brushed by the smell of fresh rolls that his father always took from the shop. Polzer held his breath and remained motionless long after the door of his father’s room had closed behind him. This experience awakened impressions in Polzer that would have lasting effects on his later life. Even though he had seen only his aunt’s shadow, he convinced himself that she had been naked. From then on he was haunted by the idea of the vile scenes that his father and his aunt must be acting out at night. Polzer had no other reasons for this suspicion than this one experience. And even later nothing occurred to clearly corroborate his opinion. 10

Polzer spent his nights, until morning, without sleeping. He listened. He believed he could hear creaking doors and careful, tentative steps on the rotten floorboards of the old house. He emerged from a light slumber and felt that he had heard a suppressed cry. He was filled with bitter revulsion. At the same time, curiosity forced him to tiptoe past his aunt’s door at night. He could never hear anything but her breathing. Polzer’s father often beat him, and his aunt held him. In dreams his horror for the sight of his father was infinite; horror for his filthy clothes, his blunt, red dream-face. And behind this face he could see his aunt, encouraging his father to torment and beat him. When Polzer had such dreams, he wanted to be beaten again during the day. It was as though he needed to make everything true, also his hatred for his father, by actually feeling the blows of the heavy fists on his back. At the same time he felt that he was already an adult, but then he thought that he was weaker, much weaker than his father. A maid named Milka worked for the people who lived on the second floor of the house. She wore a loose blouse and often came to the shop. Once Polzer saw his father touch one of Milka’s breasts. That evening Polzer dropped a plate on the floor. His father beat him and his aunt dug her fingers into his lean flesh. He did not cry, and because of this his father beat him more severely. This is what Franz Polzer wanted. Whenever he had the opportunity, he would leave the shop and walk around the streets of the small town, just so that he did not have to be at home. He often spent the entire day in the house of a rich man named Fanta, whose son went to Gymnasium 11

with him. A deep friendship bound him to Karl Fanta. At first Polzer had been reluctant to enter the Fantas’ house. He knew that the Jews had murdered the Savior and that they worshipped their God with dark, cruel customs. He thought it must be sinful and dangerous for a Roman Catholic to visit the house of a Jew. Milka told his aunt that she had worked for Jews before, and that she had run away before Easter. Because she had been afraid. Polzer was able to overcome his fear only gradually, through his love for Karl Fanta. Karl Fanta saw that Polzer was unhappy, and often both boys embraced, kissing each other while they cried. Polzer did not dare to open his heart to Karl Fanta. He grew up in the small, narrow house, in the dirty shop where he was forced to spend his free time between sacks of flour and pepper, pickle jars and boxes of candied fruit, asking insignificant people what they wanted, or sweeping the floor. He was ashamed of this shop. He was ashamed of his father, whose jacket was always covered with flour, who deferentially got out of the way when a rich bourgeois walked toward him. And he was ashamed of his aunt, who did not wear a hat, and whose black hair was slightly graying at the temples and disheveled by the wind. She also did not wear a kerchief on her head; one always saw the white line where her hair was parted, between the black hairs on the left and on the right. His friend’s mother was a large, dignified woman, who wore jewelry and dark clothes. She had a pale face with fine features, like her son, who bore a great resemblance to her. She also had black hair like his aunt, but it was combed into a crest. At her temples, as was the case with her son, one could 12

see small, shimmering blue veins. The most beautiful thing about her, as with Karl, was her narrow white hands. Karl’s father was a corpulent gentleman, who spoke softly and deliberately, full of confidence and dignity. In this environment, in front of Karl, who was so beautiful, Polzer could say nothing about his father’s small shop. Polzer brushed his suit and pressed his pants under books. He wanted to look like a Gymnasium student from a bourgeois household and not like an old widower’s son. He concealed his hands, which were thick and red from his work in the shop, a habit that contributed to the impression of great uncertainty and awkwardness, which, even later, he never shook off. When a stranger was visiting Karl’s parents and quietly asked the master of the house about Franz Polzer, Polzer was aware that he blushed. It was as though this question were asked as quietly and unobtrusively as possible. Franz Polzer did not hear it; he felt it with an excessively sharpened inner ear. He wanted nothing more than to be from a good home. He blushed a long time afterward when someone asked him more specifically about his background. He always answered evasively. Sometimes he lied and said his father had been a Gymnasium teacher, or a judge. Once he even said that he was the son of an industrialist. In the next moment he felt the scrutinizing glance of the questioner glide over his suit, and, with humiliation, became aware of how wretched he looked. Karl Fanta’s father made it possible for him to attend the university in the capital. Polzer moved in with Karl. He decided to study medicine, while Karl studied law. Polzer was happy to 15

have left home. He no longer had to see the shame of the shop before him, to obey his father’s strict commands, to see the part in his aunt’s hair and feel her words of abuse. From home he took a single memory that had always been dear to him: the memory of his mother. He had hardly known her. However, he believed he could remember that she had had him brought to her on her deathbed, where she lay with her hair undone. She pressed him to her and his hair became wet with her tears. This memory always warmed his heart. He fled from his aunt’s hate to his mother’s love, which grew in the same measure as his aversion for his aunt grew stronger. Polzer’s relationship with Karl was as intimate as such a relation between two young men of the same age could be. Polzer was happy to be able to live beside this beautiful young man, whose self-assurance and irreproachability he admired no less than the noble proportions of his body. Karl was always friendly to him, and Polzer felt a great need to be able to read Karl’s wishes from his eyes and help him in small ways. He prepared his linen for him and made sure that there was not a single speck of dust on Karl’s clothes. Karl had black hair that felt like silk. Despite his friendly confidences, Polzer often felt that Karl, inwardly, took no notice of him. He longed for a small show of tenderness, a repetition of those boyhood kisses. But this longing was not fulfilled. At the university people praised Polzer’s industry and intelligence. He passed the first preliminary examinations with excellent results. Then Karl became sick and the doctors sent him to the south, where he was supposed to stay for a year. No 16

longer the companion of his rich friend, it was impossible for Polzer to continue his studies, and he was fortunate that Karl’s father found him a position in the bank. After a short time in the bank he became a different man. Everything melted away. Regularity, punctuality, and the inescapable certainty of the next day destroyed him. He became consumed in duties that carved up his time. In these seventeen years he had hardly ever met with anyone socially. Thus he became uncertain whenever he had to do something other than what he was accustomed to. If he had to talk to strangers, the words he was supposed to say would suddenly not come to him. He always had the feeling that his clothes were inappropriate, that they did not suit him, that they made him look ridiculous. The most minor irregularity confused him. In his room he also valued the most painful and familiar order. Every day the newspaper had to lie on exactly the same spot, parallel with the edges of the table. His pedantry went so far that he became annoyed when the curtain chords were not arranged equally in their length and did not lie bent in the right corner on the windowsill. Disgruntled, he arranged them properly. Franz Polzer had been working in the bank for ten years when his father died. The burial was on a Sunday, which meant that he would not have to miss a day at work. On Saturday afternoon he took a train out of the city. The day of the burial always remained Polzer’s most unpleasant memory. On the way there he couldn’t find a seat on the overcrowded train, and had to remain standing the whole time. His feet, unaccustomed to such exertion, hurt for days 17

afterwards. He arrived in a bad mood and was greeted sullenly by his aunt, who probably believed that he had come to cause a dispute over his father’s shop. Despite the bitter winter cold, he found his room unheated. He slept on his old bed, tormented by bad dreams. In the morning no breakfast had been cooked for him. He found the idea of going to a tavern inappropriate, and had to remain hungry until the burial. People came whom he scarcely knew anymore. They shook hands with him. His aunt stood in the middle, beside his father’s body, laid out in state. Polzer stood like a stranger in a dark corner of the room. When the consecration began, he had to go to his aunt’s side. Now he saw his father for the first time. He was wearing a black jacket, which made folds over his chest. His hair had become completely gray. His face looked small and haggard. The sight of the body made no impression on Polzer. It affected him no differently than the sight of an unfamiliar object. He did not feel reminded of his father. In the cemetery his aunt took his arm and wept loudly. Polzer stood in the light snow and felt the dampness seeping into his shoes. He knew his susceptibility to colds and stepped uneasily from one foot to the other. The glances of all the people who had come to the burial lay on Franz Polzer, as though testing him. The attention he attracted made him uncomfortable. In his helplessness he felt several times for the buttons of his pants to make sure that they were closed. He was ashamed of this conspicuous movement, but after a few minutes the feeling of his nakedness irresistibly forced him to do it again. 18

After the burial, Franz Polzer told his aunt that he did not want to inherit any of his father’s legacy. His father had left no money behind. The house was heavily mortgaged. Polzer did not want suits or pieces of furniture. He wanted no memories.

19

a f t e r k a r l fa n ta’s d e pa rt u re for the south, Polzer moved in with the widow. At that time she had been pale and skinny. The clothes of mourning hung loosely about her body. It was in the first months after the death of her spouse. Her skin had the yellowish color of old paper. Only later did her shape become fuller, her hips broad and round. Her name was Klara Porges. Later it seemed to Polzer as though her name had contributed to everything. From the very first moment this name had disturbed him. The combination seemed to him outrageously ludicrous and annoying at the same time. Polzer lived alone with Frau Porges. One of the rooms was empty, the chairs draped with linen covers. Because there was no servant, Frau Porges had to take care of all the domestic chores alone. Polzer’s shoes were the only things he cleaned himself. The widow also wanted to take this occupation from him, but he would not let her. He had always thought it important to brush his shoes himself, and had never met anyone whose boots shone like his; with a quick glance it was possible to believe they were made of patent leather. When he was living with his father and his aunt, he had also been responsible for polishing their shoes. But he had never worked very hard at it. Every morning he cleaned his own shoes for half an hour. He used, in succession, several brushes and polishes of varying quality. Frau Porges thought this was an improper occupation for a man. However, Polzer knew how pleasant and refreshing it was to have reliably cleaned shoes on his feet in the morning. He also knew that there could be nothing unmanly about this occupation, because 20

wherever there were servants, in hotels or in the homes of the rich, this task was performed by men. He reminded Frau Porges of this. The widow had taken care of him from the very first day. He let her assume responsibility for everything that disturbed him. Above all these were the unusual events that the day brings along with it. Everything that he did not do on a daily basis, no matter how small, filled him with anxiety and consternation. The knowledge that he would have to go into a shop on the following day in order to buy something unsettled him; without interruption his thoughts revolved around this theme, the fear of neglecting it tormented him, he calculated the amount of time that would be necessary, he prepared the sentences he wanted to say. Immediately he felt that there was no time for anything else, as though his entire life were no longer sufficient for anything but this. Accidents could happen, and there was no way to take them into account beforehand. Above all, the asking price could be higher than the amount of money he had with him. Payments, like the rent, which were due on a certain day, would not let him sleep for weeks in advance. At night he counted the necessary money. During the day, occupied with other thoughts, or asleep at night, he would suddenly realize with horror that he had, at this moment, forgotten, and he reproached himself because he could not forget it, and yet was capable of forgetting it. But Frau Porges was prepared to accept his salary at the beginning of the month and take care of everything herself. Every week she gave him a few crowns, with which Polzer was able to pay for his lunch and his tram tickets. She 21

even bought new clothes for him, without him ever having to go into a shop or knowing anything about it. All of this went on, even though Polzer’s attitude toward Frau Porges was defensive. Her gaze, with which she tried to embrace him in a tender, maternal way, frightened him. There was something about it that was too close, something that desired greater proximity. Polzer saw her only in the morning, when she brought him his breakfast, and in the evening, when she brought him his dinner. He evaded her gaze and did not speak to her. His door was directly opposite hers. At night he heard her breathing, heard her bed creak when she moved in her sleep. But all these years he had never been with her in the same room for more than a few minutes. From the first moment, Klara Porges’s presence had made him feel uneasy. Her hair emitted a smell that reminded him vaguely of soap. She wore it parted in the middle, like his aunt. As a result, the sight of her made the thought of her naked body come involuntarily to his mind. This made him deeply ashamed of himself and filled him with revulsion. It was the thought of a vaguely black body. As her body became fuller, the force of this idea increased. From the time of his earliest youth such ideas had filled him with loathing. Polzer would not have had anything to do with women, if Karl, who did not understand this, had not brought him to women and coerced him into sleeping with them. Polzer often vomited after leaving the house to which Karl had brought him. Even as a boy he had feared the sight of women. He avoided Milka because he thought her round breasts were constantly 22

changing shape beneath the fluttering of her loose blouse, which drew one’s glance. He did not dare to look at Milka’s breasts. When he learned from Karl that boys would wait for Milka in the woods, he avoided touching Milka’s hands whenever he was alone in the shop with her and had to take a coin. Because he was terrified of Milka’s hands. And Milka noticed that he fled from her, and often tried to grab him and press him to her. Once she met him on the dark stairwell. He pressed himself into the dark niche, where a wooden cross of the Savior was hanging. He could no longer flee. She approached him, and laughed because she saw that he was afraid of her. Her hands grasped him. He did not move. Her hands fumbled at his buttons. Polzer trembled. She took hold of his penis. Milka laughed when his semen came. Then she slapped him, and he staggered. As soon as the shadow of his aunt fell across the lighted door, Polzer had known that a woman’s nakedness was something horrid. Even before seeing his aunt’s shadow, he was tormented by the horrible thought that her naked body was not closed. He felt the same way in the presence of Frau Porges — like he was plunging endlessly into a terrible slit. Like open flesh, like the folds at the edge of a wound. In galleries, he never wanted to see the pictures and statues of naked women. He never wanted to touch the body of a naked woman. He felt it was the locus of impurity and a disgusting smell. He only saw Frau Porges during the day, when she was fully clothed. Yet he was tormented by the thought of her fat, naked body. Whenever Frau Porges entered the room, Polzer would read his newspaper and avoid looking at her. Nevertheless, he noticed 23

that she became fuller from year to year. Sometimes he felt her glance on him, and he did not dare move. He could never understand how their first conversation had come about. He had believed that she scarcely paid any attention to him either. It happened in the evening, when she brought him his food. This evening was the beginning of everything. Polzer was sitting at the table when she entered. He lifted his gaze to the paper, but he did not read. He waited uneasily for the door behind him to close again. He heard her steps approach the door. Suddenly he was aware that she was standing in the door and looking at him. He looked steadily at his newspaper. He sensed that she wanted him to say something, but he remained silent. He wanted to wait and not to move until she had left. Then he heard her sob. He looked up. She threw her hands in front of her face and began to weep. It disturbed him that she lost her breath while she wept, gasping for air. He understood that he would have to do something, and stood up. He did not know what to do. Helplessly, he asked her to calm down and tell him the reason for her pain. But Frau Porges kept crying. She had sunk to the floor and, more and more alarmingly, continued to gasp for air. Then he walked up to her and tried to remove her hands from her face. At the same time he lifted her up. She stopped crying and began to speak haltingly, interrupted by sobs. She was upset because he was so unkind to her, an abandoned widow. She worked and slaved for him alone. In all these years she had not even heard a soft word of thanks from him. 24

Polzer had stepped away from her again and did not interrupt her. “You treat me like a servant,” she said. She was silent, as though expecting an answer. “I never intended to create that impression, Frau Porges,” he answered. “Just as one treats a servant,” she said. “You have never asked me what I’m doing, when I am finished with my work, how I spend my Sundays. You go out, and I stay at home by myself.” “I have neglected it, Frau Porges, because it never occurred to me and because I didn’t know that you had any desire for my company. But if it pleases you, on Sunday we could go for a walk together, Frau Porges.” She regarded Polzer happily. He was surprised by what he had said. “We will go to Kuchelbad,” she said. “First thing in the morning.” “In the afternoon, Frau Porges,” Polzer responded. That happened on Thursday. Polzer spent Friday and Saturday in a state of agitation. In the kitchen he heard Frau Porges arranging the silverware and singing. He met her on the stairs. She regarded him with a friendly smile. Polzer decided to flee. That was during the night between Saturday and Sunday. He looked over his things and tried to think of a plan. He had to leave the house in the morning, while she was still asleep. He would have to find an apartment in the suburbs, where he could stay out of sight. He had seen notices hanging on buildings. He 25

resolved to be careful and to find out before taking the apartment if any young women or children lived there. He had been afraid of children for as long as he could remember. He also wanted to see if the people made an honest impression. According to the news, robberies, and even murders, were becoming more frequent. Near dawn it occurred to him that there was no way of saving his luggage and that he had no money, since Frau Porges held all of it for him. What was more, she could wait for him at the bank at any time. He realized that flight was impossible. In addition to the disgust with which he awaited having to spend several hours with Frau Porges, he found the peculiarity of the event oppressive. Franz Polzer was used to taking the same walk every Sunday afternoon. He left the house at four o’clock, walked across Karlsplatz to the water and walked along the riverbank for a while. At certain points he would stop and look at the water. Then he would turn toward the center of town. At five o’clock he would enter a small café and sit at a table in the billiard room. He watched the billiard players. Watching them always made him happy. He followed the smooth balls as they rolled over the green cloth, and enjoyed the bright sound they made when they collided. At the same time he studied the movements of the players, the way they bent over the table and prepared to shoot. He attentively counted the good points that each player scored. He wished one of them would put together an endless series of winners. He held his breath at every shot and was hurt and disappointed whenever it was unsuccessful. 26

He longed to play billiards himself. But this longing was never fulfilled. Polzer was horrified at the thought of offering his motions for everyone to see. Once, later, the doctor asked him to play. Polzer picked up a cue and was aware that he would have to chalk it carefully. Then he realized that he had held a cue in his hands before. It seemed that there had been people present. At the moment he did not know if it had been in a dream. But of course it could not have been anywhere else. As he began to chalk the cue, it grew and became heavy, and he lost his balance. Polzer was shocked by this memory and carefully put the cue back in its rack. Near dawn, Polzer wondered if he should feign illness. But he discarded these thoughts because he had never been sick a single day since he had started living with Frau Porges. There was nothing else he could do to avoid her. Even if heavy rains were to make the excursion impossible, he was still afraid that Frau Porges would accompany him to the café. That would be even worse than the excursion. Polzer did not know what Frau Porges wore when she went out. He had never met her on the street. Perhaps, like his aunt, she did not own a hat. He did not dare to ask her. Under no circumstances could he expect elegance. But even if she came without a hat, he would have to walk next to her among the other people. Because Kuchelbad was a popular place for excursions, he could expect a large crowd. Polzer thought of how he would have to force his way through the people to get the tickets, and 27

of how he would have to stand on the small boat, crammed with strangers, even if he were quick enough to be one of the first on board. He had sometimes seen the panic of such moments from the riverbank. The pushing and shoving of the people as they boarded the steamboat could also provide good opportunities for pickpockets. Polzer decided to leave his pocketwatch at home. On Sunday, he had scarcely put down his fork before Frau Porges entered the room. She was well-dressed. She was wearing a black dress with a long jacket, a small black hat with a veil, black gloves, and she was carrying a leather pocketbook and an umbrella. Polzer put on his jacket and stuck the newspaper in the pocket of his overcoat. The landing was full of people. Polzer saw that the price of a second-class ticket was not too high, and decided to travel second class. He had always gone in for traveling elegantly. Frau Porges prudently secured two seats. Then she began to speak in an inordinately loud voice. Polzer looked to make sure that no one he knew was on the boat. He did not answer Frau Porges, because it bothered him to think that the people standing there might overhear their conversation. Then Frau Porges also decided to remain silent. In Kuchelbad, Polzer and Frau Porges climbed a hill where there were not many people. It occurred to Polzer that he would not be able to distance himself from Frau Porges if he needed to. Shortly thereafter, symptoms began to appear that filled him with apprehension. His discomfort increased when he reached the point where necessity was no longer in doubt. No opportune moment presented itself to give a plausible reason 28

for stepping off to the side. Meanwhile, what had been a tormenting desire became an increasingly painful pressure. He spread his overcoat out on the slope. They sat down next to each other. He took the paper from his pocket and began to read. Frau Porges reproached him half-jokingly. The setting sun illuminated her face. He noticed that her cheeks were covered with soft little hairs. “You really don’t want to talk to me,” said Frau Porges, sighing. “You took a trip with me and now you just stare in front of you without saying anything. I was enjoying it, but now you’re making me very sad.” “That is not what I intended, Frau Porges,” said Polzer. “You really didn’t intend it? You didn’t want to ruin my happiness?” Frau Porges moved a little closer to him. “No, I didn’t mean to, Frau Porges,” he said, without looking at her. “I think you are not at all what you appear to be. I’m right, aren’t I?” “That is beyond my judgement, Frau Porges, but let us assume it, let us assume it.” “Frau Porges, always Frau Porges! When we have been living together for so long! Who would believe it if he heard it!” She regarded him tenderly. “Call me Frau Klara!” “No,” Polzer responded immediately. It was already evening when they returned to the boat. Sitting down, Polzer’s pain continued to increase. Nearby he recognized a higher official from the accounting department. The boat was 29

overcrowded, and it rocked and listed to the side. Frau Porges screamed and grasped his arm. It was completely dark. “Let me go this instant,” said Polzer. He pressed his thighs together. He was sure his bladder would burst. “What’s wrong?” asked Frau Porges. “Something terrible,” he said in a flat voice, “something terrible.” When they landed, he could hardly walk because of the pain. Frau Porges took his arm and supported him. Polzer did not protest. He clenched his teeth against the pain and whimpered softly. With every step he feared that the pressure would finally be stronger than his will. They were passing through a dimly lit street. Frau Porges stopped. She looked in every direction. “So,” she said, “we’ve gone far enough. No one can see you.” Polzer could not have borne it any longer. He was still able to open his buttons quickly. Then he freed himself from his torment. The sound made him aware of what he was doing. It seemed unspeakably loud, and he tried unsuccessfully to reduce the noise. At Karlsplatz they passed a brightly lit café. “We’ll go have a coffee,” said Frau Porges. He did not dare contradict her. They entered and sat at a small table by the window. He saw no one he knew. Polzer was ashamed of the weakness that had demeaned him in front of Frau Porges. She looked at him. He understood that 30

he had to say something, however humiliating it all was. He sensed that she was expecting it. “Frau Porges,” he began, “you have the right to demand an explanation from me. The thought that you were a lady did, I admit, momentarily slip from the foreground of my consciousness, although what you said might have had some effect on my actions, Frau Porges. I almost believe that I never would have done it on my own.” “You are very considerate,” said Frau Porges. “It makes me happy that you treat me like a lady, even when I am just a simple woman and no longer a girl.” It seemed to him that she had not completely understood him. He recalled the unseemliness of his behavior toward Frau Porges at other times. For a moment he considered addressing her henceforth as “honorable lady.” But he abandoned this thought because he did not know how he would be able to explain the change. In the dark stairwell Frau Porges was overcome with fear and clung to Polzer. He had no matches and managed to comfort her with a few words. When they said goodbye, Frau Porges mentioned how much she was looking forward to next Sunday. Polzer avoided making any premature objections.

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ove r f r a n z p o l ze r’s b e d h u n g a picture of his patron saint. It was white and rectangular, not much larger than a postcard. The brightly painted saint stood in the middle. The picture was framed and covered with glass. Polzer’s mother had given him the picture. The saint had once hung in his mother’s room, between the colorful pictures of other saints. Polzer’s mother had been a pious woman. Every day she had poured oil into the lamp that hung at the foot of the saints on the dark stairs. The lamp burned fitfully day and night. She also took him with her to church. Polzer still clearly remembered his first visit. He kneeled beside his mother, beneath the dark pictures, stirred by anxious thoughts. He feared the bloody images of the martyrs and yet was not able to look away from them. They were half-dressed, their flesh painted red and their faces directed upward, torn by pain. Polzer left the church oppressed by images of sin and torment, frightened by the thought of having offended the holy. He went to church regularly until he moved in with Karl Fanta. Thereafter he seldom went to church, and always kept it a secret. The picture of his patron saint had also hung over his bed while he was living with Karl. He had a special relationship with the picture of Saint Francis. He would never have slept a single night without the picture hanging over his bed to protect him, and he even took it with him on short trips. He felt his destiny was bound to the picture’s. At the same time, he had never imagined a personal saint who was protecting him. He always thought of the picture and never of the person. The picture hung over his bed at night. Polzer had never had 32

a good night’s sleep. At night he lay awake. He heard a buzzing sound. He felt as though shuffling steps were approaching him, and he was afraid. In the evening he would read the murder reports in the newspaper and the descriptions of trials, even though they increased his anxiety. He cut these reports out of the newspaper, marked them with the date, and filed them in his desk. In the evening he also used to read the books that Frau Porges borrowed from the library. They contained the descriptions of crimes and the stories of detectives. He read all of this because of the uncertain desire to prove that his nightly fears were justified. There was no question that danger was at hand. One thought comforted him on such nights: the thought of the picture over his bed. He never wondered if it were capable of protecting him. Its presence comforted him. It proved to him that everything was as it should be, that everything was in its proper place, that even in the uncontrollable darkness nothing had changed, and that he himself had done nothing that could disturb the careful order, opening the door to the extraordinary. Karl had made fun of the picture when Polzer was living with him. Karl called him superstitious. It did not occur to him that Polzer’s relationship to the picture could be a relationship to order, or that superstition could be precisely the anxious attention to order and regularity and the fear of the extraordinary. For decades, Polzer had used a fountain pen he had purchased as a boy. It was a simple fountain pen, black and foldable. As a young student he had never dared to write his essays with another pen. Even as a university student and now as a clerk 33

he continued to write with this pen, which he always carried with him. Suddenly the black fountain pen was missing. This happened when the widow was making her first attempts at drawing closer to him, and he did not doubt that Frau Porges had gotten rid of it because she knew how much its disappearance would disturb him. Polzer was never able to separate himself from his possessions of his own free will. His boxes and his drawers were full of old forms, newspapers, and pieces of clothing that were no longer wearable. The terrible thought of robbery never left him. He constantly feared he might lose possession of something and not notice it was gone. Polzer found no way of overcoming the constant unease this thought created in him. All his senses had to be constantly on guard, because the danger was real. He could not overlook any change. Every week he counted his possessions: books, newspapers, old forms, linen, clothes. He wanted to be certain that nothing had changed. Polzer knew that he owned no treasures. There was no doubt that his belongings, his patched-up linen and his shabby suits, were not worth very much. It was hard to imagine that anyone might want to take them. Nevertheless, he could not rid himself of this fear. It overcame him as soon as darkness fell. Night concealed all the dangers. He was defenseless and did not trust his solitude. Something was hiding, the conspiracy breathed from the darkness, and Polzer could not do anything against it. The attack rasped, breathed, and skulked at the door. It could break through a gap once it had loosened the first stone where it could find a foothold. Polzer’s belongings had been counted, 34

the curtain line lay in the right corner, order had not been disturbed. The picture over his bed bore witness. Polzer longed to share his room with someone, someone whose presence would silence the menacing solitude. He longed to sleep beside a human being. He heard the bed creak beneath the burden of Frau Porges’s body and decided to ask her in the morning to allow him to sleep in her room. He wanted to buy a screen that would separate his bed from hers. He also wanted his nights to be restful and peaceful, like hers. In the morning he discarded these thoughts. The friendly look in her eyes scared him away. He was afraid that she would not understand the real reason for his request. It did not seem unlikely that she would take the opportunity to walk up to him and embrace him, as she always seemed prepared to do. The possibility of this happening destroyed his courage. His posture stiffened when the widow entered the room, and he let his arms hang limply. He pushed his head back. This was his silent defense. On Polzer’s desk there was a box of letter paper. He corresponded with no one and seldom had to write a letter. But it seemed necessary to him always to be prepared for this possibility. After a sleepless night, he often felt the need to count the sheets of letter paper and reassure himself that not a single sheet was missing. Once, just as he was counting the sheets of paper, Frau Porges entered the room. She was bringing him his breakfast. She regarded Polzer silently. It was as though he had been caught doing something shameful. At the same time, it bothered him that she had entered without knocking. 35

“You didn’t knock, Frau Porges,” he said. He sensed that by saying this he had only made the situation worse. “Herr Polzer,” said Frau Porges, “I have known it for a long time. You go out of your way to offend me. I think you should find another place to live.” She was angry at him and stepped closer. He retreated to the window. “You know I am the only one who ever comes in here,” she said. “And you suspect me of stealing from you?! I will find a tenant who trusts me better.” “Frau Porges,” said Franz Polzer, quite startled. “Frau Porges, you can’t be serious. If knocking on the door bothers you, then don’t knock, Frau Porges! Come right in without knocking! But you shouldn’t throw me out of the apartment, Frau Porges! You know that the cupboards are full of my things. I don’t know where everything is. How will I be able to move them? How should I pack them? How will I find honest people without children, Frau Porges? I could only move on Sunday. Who will carry my suitcases for me on a Sunday? The whole thing is unworkable. You don’t want to hand me over to strangers, Frau Porges! It is unworkable, Frau Porges, unworkable!” “You count all your things and suspect me of stealing your letter paper. It is true that I am poor, Herr Polzer, but I would never steal anything! I would never do that, Herr Polzer!” “I have never believed otherwise, Frau Porges,” he said. She dried her eyes with a handkerchief. “Sit down, Frau Porges,” said Polzer, “sit down. Please believe 36

me, I am not suspicious of you! I am not suspicious of anyone. I just have a habit of counting everything, Frau Porges, a habit I have from the bank, nothing more!” Frau Porges had sat down. She forgave Polzer, but she was still crying. It was twenty minutes to eight. Frau Porges was becoming more and more upset. She felt sorry for herself because of her loneliness and complained that a poor widow was open to every type of insult. Her gentle emotion was powerful. Polzer glanced nervously at his watch. It was almost a quarter to eight. He mentioned this to Frau Porges. However, because she was so upset, she considered this unimportant. “Today you will get there a little later,” she said. “You can see how upset I am! Can’t I expect you to support and comfort me?” “You can be sure of it, Frau Porges,” said Polzer. “Can I?” She smiled and began to get up. Polzer rose stiffly. The clock struck quarter to eight. Frau Porges said something else, but he did not hear it. He rushed out and arrived at the bank on time. When Frau Porges entered his room that evening, it seemed that she wanted to continue their conversation. He did not glance up from his newspaper. Then she left, and for the first time Polzer noticed that her gaze contained something hostile. The thought of her gaze still bothered him that night as he lay in bed. That summer Polzer was not able to take his usual Sunday afternoon walk to the river. He loved this walk dearly. The water 39

was full of people bathing and swimming, of rowboats and steamboats. The sound of military music came from the islands. Polzer walked among families and others who were out taking walks. He seldom saw a face he didn’t recognize; sometimes they were people from the street where he lived, or people from the bank or the café. He walked slowly and saw how his shoes shone in the sun. He stepped carefully to avoid dirtying them. Because of his fear of thieves, he kept his hands crossed behind his back, over the pocket where he kept his wallet. Sometimes he felt awkward when he sensed that someone’s glance was resting on him. He would quickly look down at his suit to make sure all the buttons were fastened. He was aware that his suit was not of a fashionable cut, and this bothered him. He could not help attracting attention. Children and adolescent girls seemed especially dangerous, and he was careful to avoid them. He walked in the sun until he reached the theater. Then he turned toward the city and went to the café. These walks were no longer possible, because every Sunday, right after lunch, Frau Porges would enter his room. She always wore her black Sunday dress. He could not imagine walking with her among all the people by the river. Karl Fanta also lived by the water, and Polzer had to pass beneath his windows. His memory of Kuchelbad was still too powerful for him to want to take another trip with Frau Porges. The only option that remained was going to the café with her. He sat with her at a small table in the billiard room. The first time Polzer entered the room with Frau Porges, the students lowered their cues to the ground and looked at her. 40

Polzer hid behind his newspaper. Frau Porges wanted to talk, but Polzer remained silent. He felt that they were being watched from all sides and was afraid that the people at nearby tables could hear what they were saying. The third time he went to the café with Frau Porges, a student sat down at the table with them. Frau Porges had met him on a tram. He was tall and thin, with blond hair and a sparse growth of beard. Frau Porges conversed animatedly with him. She laughed loudly and often. Polzer watched the people playing billiards and did not take part in the conversation. He wanted to ask Frau Porges not to laugh so loud, but found no opportunity to say it. The two of them continued talking and did not look at him. The student accompanied Frau Porges all the way to her front door. Only there did he take his leave. The following Sunday the student brought some of his friends to the table. The chairs had to be placed close together. The conversation was loud. When Polzer looked around the room, he noticed that the young man who worked at the desk across from him at the bank was sitting by the window and smiling at him. Polzer decided to leave the café immediately and rose. Frau Porges put her hand on his and gave him a pleading look. The young man noticed and nodded to Polzer. Everyone asked Polzer to stay. A heavy woman at the next table watched the excitement through her lorgnette. Polzer knew her. Her husband was a professor at the Weinberger Gymnasium. Polzer sat down, helpless. The man next to Polzer, an elegantly dressed young doctor, turned to him: 41

“I envy you! Your wife is so beautiful!” He spoke softly and slowly. When he smiled, his brilliant white teeth shone beneath his mustache. Polzer turned to him. He wanted to use the appropriate words to explain the situation. But Frau Porges had heard what the doctor had said. “If you only knew, Doctor,” she said, “if you only knew!” She looked at Polzer and couldn’t stop laughing. Everyone began to laugh with her and to look at Polzer. The doctor was the only one who wasn’t laughing. Polzer noticed that his table had attracted the attention of everyone else in the room. He was overcome with consternation. Tears were running down Frau Porges’s cheeks. She dried them with a handkerchief. “Oh, Polzer, Polzer,” she said. This only increased Polzer’s bewilderment. She had addressed him simply as Polzer. He felt that she was trying to humiliate him. He noticed that the tall student was stroking the backs of her hands, and he wanted to say something. The young man from the bank had stood up and nodded at Polzer, laughing. Frau Porges put her hand under the table; the student’s hand followed. Frau Porges’s blouse had moved out of place. Polzer was horrified to see the movement of her breasts through the opening. The young man disappeared through the door. Polzer had not returned his greeting. It was too late to run after him. He must have already vanished into the crowded street. Frau Porges spoke softly to the man next to her. During the night, Polzer was bothered by the thought that the 42

young man, Wodak, might say something in the bank about having seen him in the café. Polzer did not know what he should do when he saw him again. If his relationship to the widow were misrepresented, it might undermine his position. When Polzer arrived at work the next morning, young Wodak was already sitting there. He smiled. Polzer waited for his attack and for his own enormous humiliation. But Wodak said nothing. His manner seemed more polite and deferential than usual. Polzer was reassured. He did not think that Wodak had devised a plan to harm his reputation. That was on Monday. At the end of the week something happened that fundamentally changed Polzer’s life. This event concerned his hat.

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