The Passenger Read online

  After a short ride the taxi pulled up in front of his building. Frau Friedrichs, the wife of the concierge, was lingering in the stairwell. She greeted him politely and Silbermann was somehow glad to see that her behavior remained unchanged. As he stepped onto the red plush runner and climbed the stairs, he once again had the sensation that his life was only half real. Recently such ruminations had become a habit.

  I’m living as though I weren’t a Jew, he thought, somewhat incredulously. For the time being I’m simply a well-to-do citizen—under threat, it’s true, but as of yet unscathed. How is this possible? I live in a modern six-room apartment. People talk to me and treat me as though I were one of them. They act as if I’m the same person I used to be, the liars—it’s enough to give a man a guilty conscience. Whereas I’d like to show them a clearer picture of reality, namely that as of yesterday I’m something different because I am a Jew. And who did I used to be? No—who am I? What am I, really? A swear word on two legs, one that people mistake for something else!

  I no longer have any rights, and it’s only out of propriety or habit that so many act as though I did. My entire existence is based solely on the faulty memory of people who essentially wish to destroy it. They just happen to have forgotten about me. I’ve been officially degraded, but the public debasement has yet to take place.

  Frau Zänkel, the councilor’s widow, was just stepping out of her apartment. Silbermann doffed his hat and greeted her with a “Guten Tag, gnädige Frau.”

  “How are you doing?” she asked kindly.

  “I’m fine, by and large. And yourself?”

  “Tolerably well. For an old lady.”

  She held out her hand in parting.

  “These must be difficult times for you,” she added, regretfully, “terrible times…”

  Silbermann contented himself with an attentive little smile that was both cautious and thoughtful, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “In essence we’ve been assigned a peculiar role,” he said at last.

  “But they’re great times, too,” she consoled him. “There’s no doubt that you’re being treated unjustly, but that’s exactly why you need to be fair-minded and compassionate in your thinking.”

  “Isn’t that a lot to ask, gnädige Frau? Besides, I don’t think at all anymore. I’ve given that up. It’s the best way to deal with everything.”

  “They’ll never do anything to you,” she assured him, and banged the umbrella she was clenching in her right hand resolutely on a stair, as if to signal that she wouldn’t allow anyone to get too close to him. Then she gave him an encouraging nod and stepped on by.

  As soon as he was back in his apartment, he asked the maid if Herr Findler was already there. She said he was, so Silbermann hastily took off his hat and coat and stepped into the study, where his visitor was waiting.

  Theo Findler was examining a painting with clear disapproval. When he heard the door open, he quickly turned around and smiled at the man entering.

  “Well?” he asked, knitting his brow as he always did when he spoke, thinking that the wrinkles added weight to his words. “How are you, my friend? I was afraid something might have happened to you. You never know … Have you given my last offer some more thought? How is your wife? I haven’t seen her at all today. So, Becker’s off to Hamburg.”

  Findler took a deep breath, because he was only at the beginning of his monologue.

  “Well you two sure are clever! A person could learn from you. Becker has a Jewish head on his shoulders. Ha ha, he’ll manage all right, he’ll manage. I’d have been happy to join in the business, but too late is too late, right? By the way, where did you dig up these awful pictures? I don’t understand how anyone could hang rubbish like that on their walls. No order to the things, you old culture-Bolshevik you. Now don’t go thinking that I’ll be raising my last offer even by just another thousand marks. Not on your life, I can’t do it.

  “You think I’m a rich man, Silbermann. Everybody does. If only I knew where they came up with that idea. And here I’m having a hard time paying what I owe in taxes. Speaking of taxes, can’t you find me a clever bookkeeper or point me to someone? I mean I know my way around a little bit, but I don’t have time to take care of all that properly. These taxes, these goddamned taxes. Tell me, am I supposed to support the whole German Reich all by myself? Well?

  “You’re not saying anything? What is it? Did you think things over? Are you going to take my offer? Your wife must have something against me. I see she’s kept herself completely out of sight. I don’t understand it. Is she upset with me because we didn’t say hello to you the other evening? But good grief, how could we have? The place was teeming with Nazis! Later my wife pestered me that we should have said hello. But I told her that Silbermann’s far too reasonable. He realizes I can’t compromise myself on his account. Well?

  “So, Silbermann, out with it. Do you want to sell or don’t you?”

  Findler seemed to have finished talking—in any case he was now looking expectantly at Silbermann. They sat down at the smokers’ table, but Findler must have moved too abruptly, since he winced and, with a concentrated expression, started rubbing his left hip.

  “Ninety thousand,” Silbermann said, ignoring all the various questions and remarks he realized were mostly meant to throw him off guard. “Thirty thousand in cash, the rest secured by mortgage.”

  Findler started up as if he’d been given an electric shock.

  “You’ve got to be joking,” he shouted, sounding offended. “Listen, it’s high time we stopped all this dithering. Fifteen thousand on the table, you hear? What on earth—thirty thousand marks! You know, if I had thirty thousand marks lying around, I could think of better things to do than buy your place. Thirty thousand marks!”

  “But consider the net income from rent. And since the sale price is already ridiculous, the least I have to have is a decent down payment. The building’s worth two hundred thousand marks, you’re buying it…”

  “Worth, worth, worth,” Findler interrupted. “What do you think I’m worth? Except nobody would pay a thing for me. Nobody can pay what I’m worth, and nobody would even think of putting down just a thousand marks. I’m unsaleable. And so is your building. Ha ha ha, Silbermann, and I say it as a friend. I’m taking the shack off your hands, and if I don’t then the state will. And they won’t give you a lousy pfennig.”

  The telephone rang in the next room. For a moment Silbermann wondered if he should answer it. Then he jumped up, excused himself, and left the study.

  I’ll probably take what he’s offering, he thought as he picked up the receiver. After all, Findler’s still a relatively decent fellow.

  “Hello, who is this?”

  The long-distance operator answered. “Please hold the line, you have a call from Paris,” said a cool female voice.

  Silbermann felt a flash of excitement and lit a cigarette. “Elfriede,” he called out in a low voice.

  His wife, who had stayed in the salon just as he’d suspected, came in, quietly opening and closing the door behind her.

  “Hello, Elfriede,” he said, covering the receiver with his hand. “I just arrived five minutes ago. Herr Findler is here. Won’t you go in and talk with him?”

  She stepped close and they exchanged a fleeting kiss.

  “It’s Eduard,” he whispered. “The call is coming at an awkward moment. Please go talk with Findler, otherwise he’ll listen in. It’s already practically a crime to telephone with Paris.”

  “Tell Eduard hello from me,” she said. “I’d really like to say a few words to him myself.”

  “That’s out of the question.” He warded her off. “The lines are all being tapped. And you’re too careless. You’d say something you shouldn’t.”

  “I should at least be able to say hello to my own son.”

  “I’m afraid you can’t. Please understand.”

  She looked at him beseechingly. “Just a few words,” she said. “I’ll be careful.”

>   “The answer is no,” he said firmly. “Hello? Hello … Eduard? Hello Eduard…” He pointed imploringly at the door of the study.

  She went.

  “Listen,” Silbermann said, going back to the phone call. “Have you managed to arrange our permit?” He spoke very slowly, weighing each word before he uttered it.

  “No,” Eduard answered on the other end. “It’s extremely difficult. You can’t count on getting it. I’m trying everything I can, but…”

  Silbermann cleared his throat. He decided he had to be more forceful.

  “That’s unacceptable. Either you’re making an effort or you aren’t! And I’m sure you realize the matter is of some importance. I don’t even know where to start with these lazy excuses.”

  “You’re overestimating what I can do, Father,” answered Eduard, upset. “Six months ago it would have been a lot easier. But you didn’t want to. And that’s not exactly my fault.”

  “It’s not a question of who’s at fault,” Silbermann snapped back, fuming. “Your job is to see to the permits. And be so kind as to spare me your wisdom.”

  “Listen, Father,” Eduard said, indignantly. “You want me to get you the moon and the stars and you’re bawling me out because I haven’t delivered them!” Then he added, “But how are you both doing? How is Mother? Please give her my best. I would have been happy to speak with her.”

  “Fix the permit and do it quickly,” Silbermann repeated sternly. “That’s all I’m asking! Your mother sends her best. Unfortunately she can’t talk with you right now.”

  “I’ll get it done,” answered Eduard. “At least I’ll try everything I can.”

  Silbermann placed the receiver back on the hook.

  That’s the first time in my life I’ve wanted something from my son, he thought, disgruntled and disappointed. And I know for a fact he’s bound to fail! If I had a business friend in Paris, he’d be able to come up with the entry permits in a few days, but Eduard … I shouldn’t expect too much. He’s simply not accustomed to doing things for us. When someone’s used to you always being there for them it’s very hard for that person to switch roles. Eduard’s used to my helping him and now I’m asking him to help me. And he’s not well suited to his new part.

  Then Silbermann shook his head, ashamed of his own ruminations. I’m being unfair, he thought, and what’s worse, I’m being sentimental.

  He went back to the study.

  “I was just explaining to your wife,” Findler said, by way of greeting, “that it’s very careless of you to keep going to the same old places. If you run into some acquaintance who isn’t kindly disposed toward you, you could wind up in a lot of trouble. Your wife is an Aryan, she can go anywhere she wants, but you … God knows I’m not approving of the circumstances that make such advice necessary, but I’m speaking with your own interest at heart. The best would be for you to stay home or with friends. Of course no one can tell by looking at you that you’re Jewish, but why tempt the devil? Incidentally what’s Sohnemann up to? He hotfooted it, and in the nick of time, too. Ha ha ha, funny times we’re living in, right?”

  “Listen, Findler,” Silbermann began, “I’ll let you have the place for a down payment of twenty thousand marks, just so we can finally come to a deal.”

  “Don’t talk nonsense. Why would you want to hoodwink your old Findler? Besides they’ll take whatever money you have at the border. For you I’d even chip in a few marks more than what the joint’s worth to me, but to pay extra just so it winds up in the state treasury—I have no interest in that.”

  “For the moment I don’t have any intention of leaving Germany.”

  “Well, children, do as you like. I really wish something better for you than the current circumstances. It’s Jewish blood that’s bringing the German people together. And I fail to see why my friend Silbermann of all people should wind up as glue. Running for your life, on the other hand—that I understand completely.”

  “Don’t you think what’s happening to the Jews is a horrible crime?” asked Frau Silbermann, who was horror-stricken by Findler’s proclamation that “it’s Jewish blood that’s bringing the German people together,” and who still hadn’t given up searching for some moral in the events of the times.

  “Of course,” Findler said dryly. “A lot of bad things happen in the world. And some good things as well. Today it’s this person, tomorrow that one. One person’s consumptive, another’s a Jew, and if they’re really unlucky they’re both at once. That’s the way it is. How much bad luck do you think I’ve had in my life? There’s nothing you can do about it.”

  “I knew that you aren’t exactly the most tactful person, Herr Findler,” said Frau Silbermann, indignant, “but that you’re so cold inside and so…”—here she swallowed the word “brutal”—“indifferent, that is something new to me.”

  Findler smiled, unmoved. “I love my wife and my little daughter. As far as the rest of humanity goes, everything is strictly business. There you have my entire relationship to my surroundings. I don’t love the Jews, I don’t hate the Jews. I am indifferent to them, though as capable businessmen I admire them. If an injustice is being done to them, I’m sorry, but it doesn’t surprise me, either. That’s the way of the world. When the time comes, some fail and go bankrupt while others prosper.”

  “And if you were a Jew yourself?”

  “But I’m not! I’ve given up racking my brain about what might be. I have enough to deal with what actually is.”

  “So do you always think only about yourself? Are you incapable of sympathizing with the tragic plights of other people?”

  “Who the devil worries about me when I have bad luck? Theo Findler doesn’t have anyone but Theo Findler. And those two have to stick together thick as thieves. Ha ha.”

  “Yet you claim to love your wife and daughter.” Frau Silbermann was becoming more and more agitated. “I can’t believe that someone who’s so … bestially indifferent is capable of…”

  “Hey, listen, that’s going too far. I have pretty thick skin and can stand a lot of joking, but I don’t like being insulted!”

  Frau Silbermann stood up. “You will excuse me,” she said frostily to Findler. Then she left the room.

  “Good God, you are a sensitive bunch.” Findler laughed. “My heavens! Well, honest people like myself have to put up with a lot. Back to business! So what’s the score? Well?”

  The phone rang once again.

  “Twenty thousand,” Silbermann insisted, “the rest secured by mortgage.”

  The door opened, and Frau Silbermann asked her husband to step into the next room. She was apparently still agitated, and he did not appreciate the new disturbance. “Think about it,” he said to Findler as he left the room.

  “What is it, Elfriede,” he asked his wife.

  She pointed to the telephone. “Your sister’s on the line. Speak to her. She’ll explain everything…”

  He reached for the receiver.

  “Hilde?”

  “Yes, yes?” his sister stammered, clearly upset. “Günther has been arrested!”

  Silbermann was so surprised he didn’t know what to say. “How so?” he finally asked. “What happened?”

  “Don’t you know—all Jews are being arrested.”

  He pulled up a chair and sat down.

  “Calm down please, Hilde,” he said. “There must be some mistake. Now tell me everything once more, nice and quietly…”

  “There’s no time for that. I only called to warn you. Four men in our building were arrested. If I only knew what was happening to Günther.”

  “But it can’t be! People don’t just go hauling off respectable citizens from their homes! They can’t do that!”

  He was silent. Yes they can, he then thought, they can.

  “Shall I come over?” he asked after a while. “Or do you want to come to our place?”

  “No, I’m not leaving the apartment, I’m staying here. And you shouldn’t come, either. That won’t hel
p anything. Good-bye, Otto.” She hung up.

  Distraught, he looked at his wife.

  “Elfriede,” he whispered, “they’re arresting all the Jews! Maybe it’s just a temporary scare tactic. In any case Günther has been arrested, but you already know that.”

  Silbermann paused for a moment.

  “What should we do? What do you think is best, Elfriede? Should I stay here? Maybe they’ll forget about me. I’ve never been seriously harassed before. If only Becker were here. He has a whole slew of party connections. He could intervene in an emergency. Of course if the arrests are coming from above, then he can’t do anything, either. And by the time he gets back from Hamburg I could have been beaten to death by mistake. Ach—nonsense! Nothing’s going to happen to me. In the worst case you’ll just ring up Becker and ask him to come back immediately.”

  “Six months ago we still could have gotten out of Germany,” his wife said slowly. “We stayed on my account, because I couldn’t bear to leave my family behind. If something happens to you it will be my fault. You wanted to go, but I…”

  “Ach.” He brushed aside her self-reproach. “It’s no one’s fault. Is someone who forgot to put on a bulletproof vest at the right moment to blame if he gets shot? That’s all nonsense. Besides, you were more for leaving than I was. If you’d had your way we would already be out of the country. You would have left your family more easily than I would have left my business. But it didn’t happen. And at this point the whys and wherefores don’t matter.”

  He gave her a kiss, then went back to Herr Findler. He attempted to appear as calm and composed as before, but something in his face, some excessive tension, a smile that seemed forced, made the other man suspicious.

  “What’s going on?” Findler asked. “Bad news?”

  “Family matters,” said Silbermann, and sat back down at the table.

  “I see,” said Findler, drawing the words out, his forehead more furrowed than usual. “Well, I’m sure it’s bad news, right? Family news is always bad. Believe me, I know.”