The Eternal Philistine (15 page)

Then she started crying again a little bit. She had, she
said, really been looking forward to spending the next fourteen love-filled days with him (Kobler) but she simply had to marry Mister Kaufmann, if only because of her daddy, who was in urgent need of American capital despite the size of his company. Germany was only a poor country and her father was suffering terribly from the Social Security payments in particular.

Kobler was taken aback. He was watching himself lose his battle, and a decisive one it was at that. Despite his superior tactics and brilliant strategy, the USA was coming from across the ocean to strike him, to strike a crushing blow to him with its brute superiority. “That’s no great feat!” Kobler was thinking furiously when, just then, the USA arrived in the green room in the flesh.

It was a gentleman with even broader shoulders. Kobler, who was on the verge of giving Rigmor a crude answer, could only manage an acerbic smile.

“Hello, Rigmor!” the gentleman called out, and then hugged her in his ridiculous American way. “The professor says I’m all better and can start painting artistically right away. Today we’re going to Seville and then afterward to Athens! Who’s this mister?”

Rigmor introduced him. “A childhood friend from Germany,” she lied.

The American gazed at Kobler companionably. “Are you also a painter?” he asked.

“I’ve got nothing to do with art,” objected Kobler. A profound contempt could be heard in his voice.

“What’s Germany up to?” asked the American.

“We’re not doing well at all,” answered Kobler sullenly, but the American would not let up.

“What do you think of Germany?” he asked. “What do
you think of art? What do you think of love? What do you think of God?”

Kobler said that he could not think of anything at all today because he had, you see, a terrible headache. As he shut the door behind him, he heard Rigmor say: “He’s a likeable fellow!”

THAT SAME DAY KOBLER RETURNED HOME, AND without making any stops either. He just did not want to see anything else.

“I’ve almost spent my entire six hundred marks, and on what? A bunch of crap!” he lamented. “And so now I’ll get back and what’ll be awaiting me? Nothing but worries!” He was really quite depressed.

Schmitz, who had paternally accompanied him to the train, attempted to console him: “You just can’t compete with America!” he expressed sullenly.

And then he quickly explained to him that if he were in his (Kobler’s) shoes, he wouldn’t actually be complaining because after all, he (Kobler) hadn’t simply spent his honestly earned money on a bunch of crap, but rather bought himself a meaningful experience with it. And he would probably only later realize just how deep an experience that actually was, an experience that would be ideally suited to completely change a person. That is, he had just received the striking proof of America’s brutal supremacy, sensing its ominous hegemony in his own body.

“And now,” he continued with a wink, “perhaps your
feeling will also change now that you’ve got, as you explained to me earlier this morning, nothing on an intellectual level against Pan-Europe. Great events often come from little causes, and even the greatest ideas—”

—And thus Schmitz competed for Kobler’s soul. And then he confided to him that he personally could never be interested in an American woman. He also wanted to tell him some things about the League of Nations, but the train pulled out.

“You’re riding through Geneva, right?” he called out to him. “All right, give my regards to Mont Blanc for me!”

Kobler drove through Geneva, but he could not pass on the regards to Mont Blanc because it was nighttime.

He also had the misfortune of riding all the way to the German border without meeting a single passenger who spoke German, which meant that he could not take his mind off things and had to be alone. And forced solitude combined with the never-ending trip caused the figure of Rigmor to turn into something peculiar. She assumed political forms, this bride whose daddy’s firm he couldn’t marry into because daddy desperately needed North American capital in order to vegetate.

This poor European woman who had to sell herself oversees gradually turned into a depressing symbol. Mr. Kaufmann with the disorderly libido cast his shadow over Europe. Kobler was quite fierce. And when at last he set foot on German soil again, he already bore a deep grudge against all European borders. He bought himself all the available French, English, and Italian newspapers at the very same border station, despite not being able to read a single one of them. But he wanted to make a point!

He could hardly wait to meet somebody who understood German. But the train was quite empty. And on top of it all,
absolutely no opportunities to enter into a political discussion with one of the other travelers presented themselves.

It was only right before Munich that he could finally declare to an older gentleman his feelings and reasons for an absolute and expeditiously executed consolidation of Europe, especially in the field of economics, not least because of the Bolshevik menace. But the gentleman cut him off derisively: “I too was once a European, young man! But now—”

—And now nationalistic slime par excellence surged from his mouth.

You see, at the turn of the century this gentleman had married a racy Frenchwoman from Metz. She started packing on the pounds just before the World War, and in such an alarming way that the Romance race started to disgust him. It was not a happy marriage. He was a real domestic tyrant and she was secretly delighted about the Treaty of Versailles.

“From what I know of the French,” he screamed at Kobler, “they’ll never vacate the Rhineland! Never of their own free will, unless we compel them with force! Or what, do you think things can keep going on like this!? Don’t you see that we’re stumbling into a new European world-conflagration!? Don’t you know what that’s called: Amunullah and Habibullah?! Just think for a second about Abd el Krim! And what’s the Christian General Feng doing back there?!”

He was quite fanatical.

“Oh, I know the French all right!” he roared. “Every Frenchman and Frenchwoman ought to be gassed! I don’t draw the line with women, not me! Or what, do you believe in Pan-Europe or something?!”

“I have no time for your idiocy right now!” answered Kobler, and left the compartment, disgruntled. He was really piqued.

Out in the corridor, he discovered a friendly gentleman who was standing at the window. Kobler approached him and the gentleman did not seem averse to a discussion because he began speaking of his own accord, namely about the beautiful weather. But Kobler did not let him finish and instead immediately explained to him categorically that he was an absolute Pan-European. And this all sounded almost bellicose.

The gentleman listened attentively to him. Then he said that Barcelona was very pretty. Sadly he had never been there, just to the European countries that had waged war with us, except for Great Britain and Portugal, so almost all of Europe. And it was indeed high time, said the gentleman, that the whole of Europe finally came to an understanding, in spite of all the historical nonsense and hostile namby-pamby stuff that kept poisoning the atmosphere between the different nations, like for instance between Bavaria and Prussia. And sure, the Pan-Europe that people were striving for today would by no means be the true one, but at least it would serve as the foundation upon which the true Pan-Europe could develop.

At the word “true,” the gentleman smiled quite strangely. Then he explained that it was the same way with this word as it was with the expression “social mobility.” That is, people were also frequently forced to use this expression instead of “liberation of the proletariat.”

—And then the gentleman smiled again, so strangely that Kobler could not make head nor tail of it.

Now came Munich.

As the gentleman had already politely taken his leave, Kobler was unable to figure out exactly who and what he was.

NOTHING OUT OF THE ORDINARY TOOK PLACE in Schellingstrasse while Herr Kobler was out of town. Life went on more or less smoothly, and nothing exciting happened to any of his acquaintances, with one exception. But exceptions, as you well know, prove the rule.

This exception was Fräulein Anna Pollinger. Out of the clearest of blue skies, she suddenly found herself out of work, and through no fault of her own. She lost her position in the rental car company because of the disastrous economy. This company had collapsed, in the truest sense of the word, overnight, from Tuesday to Wednesday. So on Wednesday afternoon there were thirty-two employees out on the street. And even the employer himself was now destitute, partly because the rapacious rates and drafts had depleted his resources and partly because he had transferred the larger half of these resources to his wife’s name in the nick of time.

Anna, too, received a white envelope. She opened it and read:

ANNA LIVED WITH HER AUNT BECAUSE SHE NO longer had any parents. But this only occurred to her once in a while. That is, she had never actually seen her father because he had left her mother quite early on. And she never got along well with her mother because the mother had been very embittered about the lousy world. When she was still really small, her mother would constantly forbid her to sing to her doll, and each time she did this more maliciously than the last. The mother did not know any songs and so was an evil person. She never deigned to give a living soul anything, not even her own daughter. She died of a headcold shortly after the World War. But for the life of her Anna could not really feel sad about it, even though it was a very sad autumn day.

From then on she lived with her aunt in Schellingstrasse, only not next to the Ludwig’s church in the posh section of the street, but rather where it breaks off. The aunt rented out two rooms on the fifth floor here and carried on the
business of her deceased husband on the first floor. The store was hardly larger than a closet. The sign read Antiquarian Bookshop, and there were torn magazines and dusty erotic postcards in the shop window.

The aunt had rented out one of the two rooms to a certain Herr Kastner. The other one was not currently being leased because it was bug-infested. For the time being Anna was able to sleep in this room instead of with her aunt in the kitchen. Herr Kastner had brought in the bugs, but you could never prove it because he was very cunning.

When Anna came home with her testimonial, the aunt ranted terribly about the whole postwar period and wanted to throw Anna out, but naturally this was not meant to be taken seriously. The aunt had a kind heart and her constant ranting and raving was just a weakness of hers. After all, Anna had already been unemployed a number of times, the last time lasting eight weeks. That was last winter. Back then Herr Kastner said to the aunt: “I hear that your dear niece is unemployed. I’ve got the best connections in the film industry, so it’s all up to your dear, unemployed niece.”

That stuff about the film industry was of course a lie. Herr Kastner had quite different things in mind. In August, for instance, he took her to the movies. The movie
Ten Days That Shook the World
was playing. Kastner kept trying to grope her the entire time, but she fought back because his pivot teeth gave her the creeps. Kastner was outraged afterward and asked her how she felt about somebody taking a young lady out to a feature film and “not even getting to do that?!” But eight days later he gave her a friendly greeting again. You see, in the meantime he had found a cashier from Augsburg who let him have his way with her.

THAT EVENING ANNA WENT TO BED VERY EARLY. While getting undressed, she heard in the other room that Kastner had remained home for a change. He was talking to himself as though he were memorizing something, but she could not understand a word. Suddenly Kastner left his room and stopped in front of her door. Then he walked in without knocking.

He positioned himself in front of her like she was a shop window. He was wearing his modern pants and shirtsleeves and smelt of sweet shaving cream.

She sat up in bed and could not figure out what he was doing there. Kastner had a strangely official expression on his face, as though he did not want anything from her at all.

“Dearest Fräulein!” and took a very ironic bow.
“Honny soit qui mal y pense!”

Kaster’s speech was very literary because he actually wanted to be a journalist, but his mother had thought differently. You see, her teeth gave her a lot of grief and she said: “Dental technicians are mankind’s benefactors. I want my son to be a benefactor!”

He was very attached to his mother and so he became a dental technician, although, sadly, not a benefactor because instead of precision he had an imagination. He was fortunate that the war broke out shortly after he opened his practice. He enlisted and became a military dental technician. After the armistice he asked himself: “Am I a benefactor? No, I’m not a benefactor. I’m a typical bohemian type of guy and such a type of guy belongs in easygoing Montmartre and not in the morgue.”

He wanted to be a journalist again, but he wound up in the film industry because he had a good conservative profile and knew an assistant director. He worked as an extra and even played a minor role in the film
The Massacre of the Innocents, or Glory to God in the Highest
.

The film was not shown anywhere and he was thrown out of the glass house for taking naked photographs of an underage extra who played the part of one of the children of Bethlehem.