Among the educated people one had also to consider the great lawyers, whose witty and poignant speeches could be read in the newspapers. These defence lawyers sometimes took on a cause for free if it was a very challenging case and there was a chance they might become celebrities. Unfortunately murderers were not very wealthy. Herr Perlefter felt sorry for the lawyers. ‘If I think about it,’ he said, ‘quite often such a celebrated and gifted man must work for free. And how he must work, the poor fellow! How much intelligence a lawyer must apply! The prosecutor is no dummy either, eh? But the defender must be a thousand times smarter. He can even convince a murderer himself that he has not murdered!’
‘So,’ I said to Herr Perlefter, ‘is that OK? Can one allow a murderer to be acquitted just because the public defender comes up with good excuses?’
‘He won’t be acquitted!’ replied Perlefter.
‘But what if he is acquitted after all?’
‘It happens once every ten years!’
‘That’s quite often enough!’
‘It’s actually very seldom!’
‘But let’s not argue over this!’
‘We already are! I say “seldom”; you say “often”!’
And thus could Perlefter silence even a stubborn opponent. He escaped from arguments. He was actually not as dumb as he made himself out to be. It was as if he were made of rubber. He curled himself up, but then he was there again at the forefront, where you had not expected him. The truth was, he actually had nothing against acquitted murderers so long as the defence lawyer gave a handsome argument. These he read at night before he fell asleep in the Freien Zeit, the big newspaper that came to the house twice a day and which had a fondness for sentimental and witty articles. Herr Perlefter first read the business section, for which the editor Philippi was responsible. Then came the daily editorial, which Perlefter sometimes read twice. The editorial was always anonymous, but the whole world knew that it was personally written by the publisher of the newspaper, Herr Brandstadt. Nobody called this anonymous personality by name, although everyone knew who it was. One said only ‘he’.
‘What did he write today in the Freien Zeit?’ asked Herr Perlefter’s brother who never had time to read.
‘He wrote an excellent piece on obligations. You must read it!’ answered Herr Perlefter.
But when Herr Brandstadt dealt with home politics Perlefter said, ‘Phenomenal, this editorial, a magnificent article!’ He agreed with all the opinions of the author. Brandstadt wrote to Perlefter’s soul. The editor found exactly those words upon which Perlefter had chewed but could not quite get out. Nevertheless it seemed to Perlefter as soon as he had finished reading the article that the very same words had escaped his lips once before. He often said, ‘I said exactly the same thing to Hahn yesterday. Today it’s in the newspaper.’
What had he said word for word to Hahn? ‘On principle, I am against unrest. At a minimum, every incidence of unrest corrupts and damages our business transactions. One mustn’t do everything to the extreme. Let me speak of all this. Disputes are unnecessary. One can always reach an agreement. I want peace at any cost. We all want peace. We need it. I’m not in favour of extreme antagonism, but rich and poor must both exist. The rich, however, must sustain the poor. I’ll do what I can. God is my witness!’
Well, this was not the speech from the editorial in the Freien Zeit verbatim. But the sense was, without question, the same.
Perlefter’s political world-view was ever unchanging. Thus the views he held before the war remained the same after the war. Formerly he had proper respect for the Emperor. Although he was not in love with the monarchy, he believed it was a necessity. The war disturbed him, although his earnings were ever greater. Yes, I must confess to Perlefter’s credit that he did not like war. It is true that he had been exempted. He had nothing to fear. He feared anyway. Everything was topsyturvy. If a clerk was absent-minded they could still call him to arms! Out of error, but the misfortune would be the same. When once I came to Perlefter with two medals that had been given to me during the war he brought me to the club. He infused a tenderness into all the words he spoke to me. He led me through all the rooms and showed me to anyone who would see me. He was proud of my bravery, and I had to play the victim that Perlefter was introducing to the public. I played it.
‘For what did you receive these medals?’ he asked.
‘Certainly not for something respectable!’ I said.
That offended Perlefter. He was so vain about my medals that my disparagement outraged him. Then he became friendly again.
‘Aha, you’re modest!’ he said.
‘No, not at all,’ I replied. ‘Because it is no merit to be a hero in a war!’
‘It is, however, once again wartime,’ sighed Perlefter.
And the discussion became pointed once again.
He was anxious about the Russian Revolution. Would they socialize? Would they take everything away from the wealthy like they did in Russia? It proved that the monarchy was the safest bet. If things had gone according to his views they would have left the Emperor alone and yet still made peace. When he saw that nobody was going to socialize anything the Republic pleased him. He preferred not to worry about politics any more.
‘Now I have another worry!’ he said. But he had no worries.
He bought a large hotel. It was one of the best transactions of his life. But he sighed, ‘Ach, this hotel! Why’d I have to buy this? Such a hotel brings nothing but trouble!’
It brought him only money. There was an opening night. His colleagues at the club who had wanted to be ministers had now become ministers. It is true that they no longer had important titles, but they did hold offices whose appellations were still quite lovely-sounding titles. The editor Philippi also came. For weeks this celebration was all that was spoken of in Perlefter’s house. Should the children also go? Or Frau Perlefter alone?
Frau Perlefter went there alone. She had a dark and thus youthful-looking evening-dress made for the occasion. She could have wept for joy when she saw the brilliant sign and the dazzling reception.
But she actually wept the next day, for she had lost her brooch in the excitement. ‘This is an irreplaceable loss!’ said Perlefter. He let his wife cry for the whole day. When he saw that she hadn’t prepared any supper he softened, and he bought her a new brooch. None the less the doctor came. Frau Perlefter had a nervous heart. The loss had shaken her. She had to take bromide and yet still could not sleep. Perlefter was sincerely perturbed. He disliked disturbances, disorder, the servants free and running wild, and the commands that his wife issued from her bed made him timid. He wanted to escape the house.
But he didn’t leave. For at the depths of his soul lurked the fear of a still worse illness that could befall his wife. He remained at home. He sought comfort in unhappiness. ‘I’ll never get any peace around here!’ he lamented happily. Yes, he was genuinely happy when he complained.
III
It happened at this time that the Society for the Advancement of Tourism took note of Perlefter’s beneficent work and as a result decided to name him as an honorary member. An honorary member, as you might be aware, has no obligations but many privileges. Perlefter told of this advancement with a sigh. ‘This is another thing that will cost me money!’ said Perlefter, although it was something that cost no money at all. It was, on the contrary, a thing that brought many conveniences with it. Herr Perlefter received a permanent sleeping-car berth; a place was reserved for the honorary members of the Society for the Advancement of Tourism. Herr Perlefter developed a desire for travel.
He loved changing his whereabouts frequently. He loved to travel. He would have liked to journey to unknown regions had he been able to take risks. Alas, he disliked taking risks, as one already knows from what I have said previously. He never made a journey without being sure that the return would be safe and easy. And he never went without indicating a business necessity as the reason. He was embarrassed, in fact, about the pu
re pleasure he derived riding the train into the world. Otherwise he would have to admit that travel afforded him pleasure. But he wanted it to seem that he was forced to go.
He wanted to be able to say, ‘I have to leave again! Ach, this endless travelling!’ It was endearing to him that his family once again asked, with sadness, ‘Can’t you postpone your travels?’ And Perlefter would answer, ‘Unfortunately I have to go next week. When don’t I have to go? For all I care there should be no railways in the world. To me home is the safest place. Travels only cost money and bring in nothing! One writhes sleeplessly in a strange bed all night long, becomes annoyed about the packing, doles out tips and has no conveniences.’
In truth, however, Perlefter had nowhere so much comfort as in a hotel, even though his tips were not very large. He liked the abundance of warm water and white linen, the breakfast in a great and carpeted hall. He liked the salon music during the afternoon tea and the bustle of the greater world, the mystery of strangers and this atmosphere out of which an adventure could spring at any moment.
An adventure? Was Perlefter an adventurer? Had he not fear of adventures?
I should insert here a general reflection about the complex nature of humans. People can have a very anxious nature and still derive pleasure out of their own anxiety. A man can be cowardly and yet long for situations in which his courage is put to the test. Yes, it is even possible that people long for what they fear. People are very strange.
And if Perlefter was a very ordinary man he was also a very strange man. He wanted, namely, not to be ordinary. He wanted very much to be a hero. He wanted to master each situation, and I know with great certainty that he himself had to suffer most on account of his own cowardice. He himself didn’t know how much he suffered. He wanted admiration but had to be content to be pitied.
Was he really waiting for an adventure? Not necessarily! There could be an assault, a theft, a strange note. Perlefter distrusted all the people whom he encountered on his travels. He shuddered when he read about robberies in the newspaper. There were no harmless faces in the world. All faces were masks. Once they fell away murderous grimaces were revealed. Therefore Perlefter was not fond of travelling alone. On the platform he looked for acquaintances. If he found one with the same destination he would be willing to pay them a quarter of his money. A travelling companion received Herr Perlefter’s entire affections. He compelled everyone he met on the train to visit his compartment. I, too, have gone with Perlefter.
Perlefter was a nervous traveller. He could not stand it when those sitting across from him looked his way if he did not know them. Therefore he buried his face in his coat. As soon as he entered the car he put on his travel cap, a green-checked travel cap. The top had a button that had become loose and hung crookedly as if dead. Then he buried himself in the newspaper. Only when he travelled did he read the other sections of the journal. Then he became annoyed and looked out the window. Here nature interested him.
Yes, I know you will perhaps not believe me. I assure you, Perlefter was a nature enthusiast. He went into the corridor, pressed his forehead against the windowpane and was wistful when he saw the wide fields, entirely indifferent as to whether they were still bearing ears of corn or whether they had been ploughed. Even snow-covered landscapes made him mournful. In the morning he loved the sunrise, the fog that slowly lifted from below and then quickly dissipated. Perlefter presumably thought of another life when he might have farmed a bit of land. He had a city-dweller’s longing for the open country, that of one who wants to be located in the countryside but cannot live without a water closet.
In particular Perlefter could not live without this superior feature of civilization. He had once read of all the various means of contagion, and he feared needing to use public facilities. He avoided them so long as he sat on the train. If, however, he really had to go, it took him half an hour to make all of the necessary preparations. He took soap, hand towel, reading material and eau-de-Cologne with him and went first to check all the bathrooms. He sought the cleanest one for his purposes, and when he returned he looked like a newborn, freshly washed and cheerful and soap-scented, with a new cigar between his pursed lips.
The other passengers caused him great distress. They smoked too much or they opened the window, and that created dangerous draughts which Perlefter asserted had already cost many a traveller’s life. Even at home Perlefter monitored the air. ‘There’s a draught!’ he would say abruptly, for he feared the draught, and he imagined that the air was chasing him. Oh, what couldn’t come from a draught? A toothache, lumbago, eye inflammation, ringing of the ears, sore throat, lung infection and, when one went to the toilet, stomach flu, intestinal catarrh and diarrhoea. Perlefter was knowledgeable about all diseases, for he felt embattled and surrounded by them; he studied them in order to fight them, avert them and prevent them. He liked to read the encyclopaedia and popular medical brochures.
Sometimes ‘something flew into his eye’. It was a cumbersome operation, involving a clean handkerchief, water and a hand mirror. But then followed reservations about the cleanliness of the handkerchief. Perlefter sought solace in a short nap to forget.
That was but a small excitement. The great adventure failed to materialize. Later these little excitements grew in Perlefter’s memory into great adventures. Thus he recounted, ‘Recently, as I looked out of the window, a large pebble of coal flew into my right eye. Everybody else got off at the next station to search for a doctor. I, however, put myself to sleep, fell asleep, as my eye began to tear up and did not want to stop, and when I awoke the fragment of coal was gone; it had just blown away!’
‘How fortunate!’ celebrated the family.
There were adventures that Perlefter did not recount to the family. One will immediately know of what type these adventures were when I add that he only spoke about them in the company of men – or, more accurately, gossiped.
I touch here on a topic that is quite complicated, one which I would have liked nothing better than to leave alone were it not so critically important, were it not absolutely indispensable in furthering the knowledge of Perlefter’s ordinariness. Yes, I would prefer to leave the whole thing alone. I am embarrassed about the actual and principal adventures of Herr Perlefter, about offering them up to the general public and revealing things that only took place in obscurity. But shame alone does not hinder me. I confess that I cannot assess whether I will succeed in explaining and justifying the adventurous life of my hero, whether it will come across as believable but also generally understandable. Yes, it remains a mystery even to me where Perlefter got the courage to seek pleasures that truly embodied danger and, worse still, to expose himself to dangers that cost money.
And they did cost money. Perlefter was in no way so tempting that women threw themselves at his feet. No! Perlefter had to pay well above the worth. And therefore it seems to be human nature that the drive for love is stronger than the drive for frugality. Probably even the most timid of men, such as Perlefter, lose any anxiety once the hour has struck for their passion. And certainly a man’s virtue is not his most reliable companion. The whole elaborate and painstaking construction that is morality collapses all at once. How simply marvellous the ease with which the pieces can fit together and rise up again.
Perlefter often had moments that one might call weak but which were actually his strongest. Perlefter had a longing for women. By luck, there were women in the world who had a longing for money. And, by luck, Perlefter had money.
I am familiar enough with Perlefter’s taste to be able to say that he liked size in a woman: volume and weight. His preference was blondes over brunettes and black-haired women. Perhaps, in fact, definitely, he made no distinction between fake and natural blondeness. No, he could not distinguish fake from natural; he might as well have been colour blind, as he took no notice of make-up and mistook the red of the lips for an abundance of blood and the advanced techniques of love for natural passion.
The reader might a
sk why Perlefter came to conjure up dangerous situations. But the situations exercised power and force over Alexander Perlefter. He could not resist. He was overcome by the opportunity.
He was overcome by every situation. He loved women but, still more and actually, that which heralds women, that in which they are wrapped. He loved women’s clothes. Of women’s clothes a specific type. He loved undergarments. Certainly he could not resist any women who appeared before him in underwear. For he could not even resist the magazines on whose covers appeared colour photographs of half-dressed women. This literature accompanied Herr Perlefter on his travels and prepared him for the mood that is necessary for the moral foundations of a man to waver and fall and allow him to fall with it.
In various cities Herr Perlefter knew the addresses of available women who, as masseuses, midwives and beauty-salon owners, came under his consideration. Herr Perlefter noted these addresses cryptically, so that no strangers could decode them, in his leather pocket calendar on the penultimate page, just below the Jewish holidays. In each city Perlefter had a certain hotel, a very specific hairdresser, a very specific passion. He paid gladly but moderately. After all, he had to be willing to invite the lady to a theatre, a concert, a cinema or an opera in order to complete the adventure.
But Perlefter had no interest in public performances of any kind. Everything he saw in the theatre irritated him because it meant nothing to him; he hated the cinema because it was so dark, and he found that he had to pay too much money for the pleasure of watching the agitated shadow-players. Music cut through him like a knife. He became insane with pain. He couldn’t even tolerate the harmless but detailed piano-playing of his daughter, even though her teacher insisted that she had talent. Perlefter wanted there to be absolute quiet. Music disturbed his thoughts, his plans for the hours ahead. It weakened his lust, his appetite, all his bodily desires, dazed him and tranquillized his critical thinking. The destinies of others, even if only theatrical representations, were of no importance to him; he was interested only in his own. He worried only about his own fate. There was no room for anything else. Everything else just cost money. With ordinary seats one could not be content. Perlefter had to buy box seats.