The Collected Stories

will tell you the truth, I brought almost no money with me. My great friend and benefactor, Dan Kniaster, is now a refugee himself. I worked on an encyclopedia, but we left the plates in Berlin—even the manuscripts. The Nazis had placed a time bomb in our office and we just missed being torn to pieces. Does anybody know that I am in New York? I traveled, as they say, incognito. As things are now, perhaps it would be useful to let the newspapers know. I have many enemies here, but perhaps somewhere a friend might be found.”
    “I think Lipman Geiger notified the newspapers.”
    “There is no mention of me anywhere. I asked for the papers.” Dr. Walden pointed to a pile of Yiddish newspapers on a chair.
    “I will do my best.”
    “At my age one should not undertake such adventures. Where is that Mr. Geiger?”
    “He had to fly to Mexico but he will be back soon.”
    “To Mexico? What is he doing in Mexico? So, this is my end. I am not afraid of death, but I have no desire to be buried in this wild city. True, London is not much quieter but at least I have a few acquaintances there.”
    “You will live, Dr. Walden,” I said. “You will live to see the fall of Hitler.”
    “What for? Hitler still has something to spoil on this earth. But I have already committed all my blunders. Too many. This unlucky trip is not even a tragedy. Just a joke—well—
ja,
my life is one big joke, from the beginning to the end.”
    “You have given much to humanity, to the Jewish reader.”
    “Trifles, rubbish, junk. Did you personally know Miss Seligman-Braude?”
    “Yes—no. I just heard of her.”
    “I didn’t like that Geiger—a buffoon. What do you write in the Yiddish newspapers? What is there to write about? We are returning to the jungle.
Homo sapiens
is bankrupt. All values are gone—literature, science, religion. Well, for my part I have given up altogether.”
    Dr. Walden took a letter from his pocket. It was stained with coffee and ashes. He scrutinized it, closing one eye, wincing and snorting. “I begin to suspect that this Miss Seligman-Braude never existed.”
    V

    Late one evening when I was lying on my bed fully dressed, brooding about my laziness, neglected work, and lack of will power, I got the signal that I was wanted on the pay telephone downstairs. I ran down the three flights of steps, lifted the receiver, which dangled from a cord, and heard an unfamiliar voice saying my name. The voice said, “I am Dr. Linder. Are you a friend of Dr. Alexander Walden?”
    “I have met him.”
    “Dr. Walden has had a heart attack and is in the Beth Aaron Hospital. He gave me your name and telephone number. Are you a relative?”
    “No relative.”
    “Doesn’t he have any family here?”
    “It seems not.”
    “He asked me to call Professor Albert Einstein, but nobody answers. I cannot be bothered with such errands. Come tomorrow to the hospital. He is in the ward. That’s all we could give him for the time being. I’m sorry.”
    “What’s the situation?”
    “Not too good. He has a whole list of complications. You can visit him between twelve and two or six and eight. Goodbye.”
    I searched for a nickel to call Friedel but found only a fifty-cent piece and two dollar bills. I went out on Broadway to get change. By the time I had it and found a drugstore with an unoccupied telephone booth, more than half an hour had passed. I dialed Friedel’s number and the line was busy. For another quarter of an hour I kept on dialing the same number and it was always busy. A woman entered the next booth and lined up her coins. She looked back at me with a smug expression that seemed to say, “You’re waiting in vain.” As she spoke, she gesticulated with her cigarette. From time to time she twirled a lock of her bleached hair. Her scarlet, pointed claws suggested a rapaciousness as deep as the human tragedy.
    I found a penny and weighed myself. According to this scale, I had lost four pounds. A slip of cardboard fell out. It read, “You are a person with gifts but you waste them on nothing.”
    I will try once more, and if the telephone is still busy I will go home immediately, I vowed to myself. This scale told the bitter truth.
    The line wasn’t busy. I heard Friedel’s mannish voice. At that very moment, the lady with the bleached hair and scarlet nails hurriedly left the booth. She winked at me with her false eyelashes. “Mrs. Bendel,” I said, “I am sorry to disturb you. Dr. Walden has had a