The maimed, p.6
The Maimed, page 6
Since Franz was coming to pick up his homework the next day, Polzer woke up early. He wrote the exercises cleanly, on white sheets of office paper, without crossing out a word. He hurried home from the bank so that he would not miss Franz. He heard his voice from the kitchen. Polzer entered his room. He waited for Franz to come to him. He had cleared his throat in the hall and had been intentionally loud about closing his door, so that his arrival could be heard in the kitchen.
Polzer paced his room nervously for a quarter of an hour before Franz appeared.
Polzer handed him the assignments. Franz looked them over quickly.
“No mistakes, Polzer?”
“I don’t think there are any mistakes. How is your father doing, Franz?”
“Oh God,” said Franz, “my father! I think Father will never get better.”
“One should not abandon hope, Franz.”
“Right ... tell me Polzer, people say I look like my father when he was younger. Do you think that someday I’ll also be sick like him?”
Polzer pulled him close. He pressed the boy’s head to his chest. Franz Fanta’s question had touched him. For a moment his hand lay on Franz’s soft hair. He pulled quickly away, struck by indistinct memories of the boy’s father, of the work from the assignment book, of tears and distant affection.
“I’m sure you won’t get sick,” he said.
“It bothers us,” said Franz, “me and my mother. Mother thinks you could help us.”
Polzer held Franz Fanta tight. He felt his thin limbs against his body, felt the way Franz’s chest rose and fell as he breathed.
The boy looked at Franz Polzer.
Polzer avoided his eyes. He felt the boy’s heartbeat. It was a face he had seen before. Dora was right. Forgotten similarities filled Polzer with consternation and anguish.
Franz Fanta said:
“Do you love me, Polzer?”
Shocked, Polzer let go of the boy.
That Sunday they took a short trip. Frau Porges had also invited the blond student, the doctor, and Kamilla. Kamilla was a friend from Frau Porges’s childhood. Her husband was a merchant on Kohlmarkt.
In his wardrobe Polzer had a black jacket that he wore on special occasions. The last time he had worn it was the day of his father’s funeral. He decided to wear the jacket on the trip. He also wore a straw Panama hat and yellow shoes. These were his best clothes.
They all met at the Powder Tower. The head secretary and Herr Fogl were there from the bank. Polzer’s other colleagues had gone to a soccer game. They belonged to a soccer club.
The head secretary was wearing black pants and half stockings. He waved from a distance when he saw Polzer and Frau Porges approaching. He looked cheerful, and smiled as he sized up Polzer’s festive outfit. Polzer realized his clothes were inappropriate, and he began to feel uncomfortable. Herr Fogl was wearing a light suit and a light hat.
“You’re dressed like you’re going to a baptism,” said Herr Fogl.
Everyone laughed and looked at Polzer.
They walked along Elisabethstrasse and over the bridge, then along the riverbank, and finally along a few more streets until they reached the Baumgarten. They had decided to go to Troja. Walking made Polzer feel warm. The sunlight was hot and his jacket was heavy. He removed his hat and stopped. The others continued walking.
At first the head secretary had been talking to Frau Porges, who was walking with the student. Then he began talking to Kamilla. The women wore bright blouses and dark skirts. Kamilla walked with Fogl, who was telling jokes. Her laugh was loud and deep, like a man’s.
The head secretary also told jokes, and looked around to see if everyone was listening. He turned to Polzer, who was walking with the doctor:
“Herr Polzer, what do you have to say to the young man who is walking with Frau Porges? They look like they don’t want to be disturbed.”
“Herr Polzer knows,” said Herr Fogl, screwing up his eyes, “that she will soon long for the old fleshpots again, and moreover: Variety is the spice of life, isn’t it, honorable lady?”
Kamilla lowered her eyes.
“You are horrible, Herr Fogl,” said Kamilla, and softly pressed his hand.
Herr Fogl’s successes improved his mood, and he took Kamilla’s arm. The head secretary, who was walking on the other side of her, did the same.
Polzer, however, noticed a hole in his pants, which he had not worn for several years. The hole was the size of a two heller piece, about a handwidth above his knee. His white underwear shone through it. Polzer was very disconcerted, and covered the hole with his hat. He wanted to have a talk with Frau Porges, who obviously wasn’t taking good care of his clothes or preventing the moths from devouring them. As soon as he got back he would have to look through his wardrobes. He realized that by counting his things he could make sure nothing had been stolen, but that this told him nothing about other types of losses. It was possible that moths would eat holes in all his clothing and underwear, making them unwearable, and that, since he had never thought of this before, they already had. The thought stayed with him all the way to Troja, and filled him with such discomfort that he paid no attention to the people who were walking with him. He did not respond to the doctor’s many attempts at making conversation.
Nevertheless, this trip was important to Polzer because of a conversation he had with the doctor. But this happened when it was already dark, on the way back.
In Troja they stopped at a tavern. They ordered wine, cold cuts, and butter. Herr Fogl rose to make a witty toast to the ladies. Kamilla gave Herr Fogl and the head secretary reproachful glances, but still let them continue holding her arms. Polzer noticed that Frau Porges clinked glasses with the student and that, just as in the café, he had put his hand on hers.
Suddenly they noticed that Klara Porges and the student had disappeared. They all laughed and looked at Polzer. The men told him to go look for them, and Polzer set out to do what they had suggested. After a while he found them in the thick bushes behind the tavern. They had been looking for forget-me-nots. Polzer knew there were no forget-me-nots at this time of year, and told them it was futile to look for them.
When darkness fell, the conversations waned. Someone had given Polzer a Virginia cigar. He sat and smoked. The doctor, who was sitting beside him, was also silent. The chair to Polzer’s left was empty.
Suddenly Polzer felt movement in the empty chair and sensed someone’s proximity. He knew from the rustling of clothes and the body warmth that it was a woman. He recognized Kamilla. Her eyes shone with excitement, and her hair was disheveled. Her face was close to his.
“Both of them are boring,” she said in a whisper. “They paw you like a piece of livestock, like that was all you were meant for. You’re not like that, Herr Polzer. You don’t paw people like these bears.”
Polzer said nothing.
“Klara told me,” said Kamilla. She was now sitting quite close to him, and had put her warm hand on his thigh.
Polzer recoiled with shock.
“She told me everything,” Kamilla whispered.
“Everything?” Polzer mumbled.
She was as fat as Klara Porges, but much smaller. Her hair was combed into a high crest, her large eyes underlined with black.
“Klara told me everything,” she said again. He sat back in his chair. “Are you afraid of me? Don’t shy away from me like that.”
Her hand was still resting on his thigh. He tried to free himself from this warm hand and pull his leg away, but she only held him tighter.
“Let me,” she said into his ear. Her breath smelled of wine. “Let me. She told me everything.”
Polzer gave a deep sigh. It sounded like a suppressed scream or a child crying. All of them were startled, and they turned to look at him.
Kamilla had stood up. She called for the waiter.
The waiter brought a lantern. Kamilla arranged her hair. Klara Porges went to Polzer.
“Should we go home?” she asked.
“If you want to, Frau Porges,” Polzer responded.
Herr Fogl and the head secretary took Kamilla by the arms. They left. Frau Porges and the student followed them out. The women were speaking too loudly, and laughing. They had drunk a lot of wine. Frau Porges leaned heavily on the student’s arm.
“Where is Polzer?” she asked in a whiny voice.
She stopped walking, and was reassured only when Polzer and the doctor were standing in front of her.
“It’s you,” she said affectionately and tried to touch him.
Polzer was ashamed in front of the doctor and the student. The other two men had continued walking and had not heard.
Polzer walked beside the doctor. He kept his hat pressed against the hole in his pants.
“Put on your hat, Herr Polzer, the night air is cold.”
Polzer did not answer.
“It’s dark,” said the doctor.
Polzer was shocked and stopped walking. He tried to look the doctor in the eye. Did he know?
“Come on,” said the doctor.
After a few steps he added, in a soft voice:
“I know you have a hole in your pants.” He took Polzer’s arm.
Polzer felt the blood rushing to his head. It was dark and the doctor could not have noticed. But the first arc lamps were visible in the distance. Soon they would be walking through the brightly lit streets. Polzer pressed his head against his chest. He heard the sound of the gravel beneath his feet. He was afraid to continue walking.
“Herr Polzer,” said the doctor, “I know I have touched a nerve. It might seem tactless to you. But think of it this way: I am a doctor and am used to touching the most painful places, and, if necessary, cutting them open.”
The doctor paused before continuing:
“I admit that you did not ask me to examine the reason for your pain. And I also admit that your astonishment about what I am saying is in no way unfounded. You hardly know me. But you would be wrong to believe that what I am offering to you comes from some deep feeling, from friendship, predisposition, love of one’s neighbor, compassion, human kindness, or for any other noble reason. I do it innocuously, by the way. Please try to understand me. This way your pride won’t be wounded.”
The doctor stopped again. Polzer did not know what he was talking about.
“You certainly would not be able to accept a favor. No, certainly not. But you might accede to one of my whims. You know that I am fairly well off. I do not practice my profession. I travel, but until now I have really done nothing but look around. I am not a compassionate person. I give nothing to the poor. If I were compassionate, I would offer you nothing, and certainly not what I am thinking of offering you now. I am offering it because it corresponds to the way I see you. I want my conception to be realized. I know nothing about you. But I think you come from a good bourgeois home in the country. In your home town your father might have been a respectable merchant, or a doctor or lawyer. I assume the family became poor and that you, coming perhaps from a sheltered upbringing, did not have the strength to win a position that would ensure you an income corresponding to your origins. Am I right, Herr Polzer? Or do you have any objections?”
Despite the darkness, Polzer could feel the doctor’s questioning glance. He knew that his face had become a burning red.
“No, no,” he said.
“I can see it from the propriety with which you wear your old and worn-out clothes. From the lovable shyness with which you move in your suit, the inadequacy of which you are aware. Your whole being reflects the dignity of the bourgeois tradition. And I know you find nothing harder to bear than that your exterior is not in harmony with the line of your movements, that it contradicts the memories of your upbringing, I mean to say, of your father. It lies on you and oppresses you. This is the reason why you feel so constrained in society, and also in your profession.”
They were standing beneath the first lamps. Polzer lowered his hat to cover the hole.
“Now do you know what I want to do?” asked the doctor.
“No,” said Polzer.
“You need a suit. A well-tailored new suit, linen, a hat, shoes and whatever else is necessary. We will try to do this tomorrow, Polzer. I simply extend the offer. You can see I am not a philanthropist. The whole affair will be our secret. You know you can accept my offer without feeling any excessive obligation to me.”
Polzer looked at him. The doctor smiled, avoiding Polzer’s glance. Polzer did not answer.
“I will wait for you tomorrow afternoon in front of the bank,” said the doctor.
They parted at the tram stop. Polzer rode home with Frau Porges, and the student accompanied them. Polzer thought of a long brown jacket with rounded tails. Karl Fanta’s father had worn something similar. It was an elegant and dignified jacket.
The following afternoon Polzer and the doctor went to the tailor, who fitted him for a brown coat with round tails. This was what Polzer wanted.
When he returned from work that evening, he heard Kamilla’s voice from the kitchen. He entered his room. Kamilla often came to visit Frau Porges in the evenings. When she did, Polzer often heard the two women laughing and speaking well into the night.
The sound of familiar voices from the kitchen made the darkness more bearable. The floorboards did not creak with unknown footsteps.
Polzer felt for the picture above his bed. He heard Klara’s deep laughter and calmly shut his eyes.
During the night Polzer suddenly had the feeling that someone was speaking beside his bed. At first the voice was soft and distant, then louder and very close. Polzer was not asleep, but his eyes were shut tight. He could not open them because two thumbs were holding them closed. Despite this, it was strange how clearly Polzer saw everything. He was wearing a brown jacket with round tails, and was standing amid a group of people. He knew for sure that there were no holes in his pants, and he walked back and forth through the large rooms, speaking in a dignified manner. Karl was sitting in one corner, doing his assignments. It occurred to him that Karl was not dressed, and that this did not surprise him. Suddenly Polzer noticed someone fumbling at his pants and he was quite taken aback. He turned, pressed himself into the niche on the dark stairwell, thrust out his hands, and felt flesh yielding to his touch. He felt for the picture of the saint. He heard laughter and knew that someone could see him. He wanted to cry for help, but he had no voice. He tried hard to create a sound in his throat, to do more than hoarsely expel air. From the dull sheen of the white line he recognized the part above the brow. He knew Frau Porges had said everything just to expose him, to torment him. Why had she said it? Why did she hate him? He wanted to speak. He wanted to say: “I am the victim.” But his throat was dry and he could not swallow, no matter how hard he tried. Then the brow and the head fell onto the stairs. They leapt down the stairs and rolled in front of the figure of Christ. Someone had chopped off the head. Who? he wanted to scream. Who? he beat his chest. They all lifted their fingers and pointed at him. He stood there, helplessly exposed. There was no way out. He had to move and count his things, but there was no end to all the linen. He had to put it on his back, and it kept falling from his shoulders. He couldn’t hold it because his hands were on the picture of the saint. Then he entered a dark room in Žižkov. His sister was lying there naked, her breasts flat against the side of her body and her legs spread wide. Her body was damp and glistening. He knew her flesh was dark and soft, and he wanted to flee because there was a horrible thought in his head, a thought he could not bear. The ground creaked beneath his feet, and a man with an open shirt emerged from the door. The man was breathing heavily and his fists were raised to strike Polzer. He smelled horribly of fresh rolls. The picture of the saint had disappeared, but Polzer heard someone laughing beside him. The warmth of a fat body repulsed his breath so powerfully that he was afraid of suffocating.
Polzer awoke. He was shaking. He ran his hand over his brow. There was light in the room. Kamilla and Frau Porges were standing in front of his bed.
“What time is it?” asked Franz Polzer, startled.
“Twelve o’clock,” said Klara Porges. “You were fast asleep. Kamilla wanted to ask you if you had a good time yesterday. Why did you sneak into your room like that?”
Polzer sat up in his bed. He stared at the women.
“What do you want?” he asked in a dull voice.
Kamilla moved close to him.
“Herr Polzer, we have known each other for a long time. Why are you so frightened of me?”
She sat on the bed.
Polzer defensively raised his hands.
“Frau Porges,” he said, “oh God, what do you want from me?”
“Be quiet!” said Klara Porges. She left the room.
“What will you think of me?” said Kamilla, and bent over him. He felt her breasts against his body. “Don’t think badly of me! I want nothing from you. Klara told me everything. Why don’t you want Klara? Klara is a beautiful woman. She says you don’t want her. I am Klara’s friend, Herr Polzer, please tell me.”
Polzer said nothing. He saw the base of her breasts through the opening in her blouse. He closed his eyes and said nothing.
Kamilla was also silent. He felt her warm breath on his cheek. The clock ticked loudly.
Suddenly he noticed that her hand was slowly pulling away the covers. His mouth opened, but he did not scream. He heard Kamilla’s panting breath.
“He is obedient,” said Kamilla in a soft, affectionate voice, “he doesn’t move.”
“Why did she tell her?” he thought. “Oh God, why did she tell her?”
“He ... does ... not ... move!”
