Christa Wolf 189 29. In the glassed-in veranda, the silence and the rain are ticking on the windowpanes. “It’s letting up,” Schwarzenbach says. “I can go now.” But they both stay where they are. After a while, Rita says, “Sometimes I wonder: can the world even be measured by our standards? Good or bad? Isn’t it just there, and nothing more?” She thinks: then it would be quite senseless for me not to have stayed with him. Then every sacrifice would be meaningless. Just as he said: it’s always the same game. The rules change. And the smiling augurs look down on it all. Schwarzenbach understands exactly what she means. But he doesn’t give a direct answer. “Do you know why I came to see you today?” he asks. “I wanted to know: does it make sense to always tell the truth that you know, under all circumstances?” “You wanted an answer from me on that?” “Yes,” Schwarzenbach says. “And I heard the answer from you.” “What’s the matter?” Rita asks. “Why did you have any doubts?” Schwarzenbach does not consider himself too good to give an honest answer. “I wasn’t sure anymore,” he says. “You know how it is: sometimes everything comes all at once.” He’d written an article about dogmatism in class for the teachers’ journal, describing inappropriate methods used by teachers, at the college as well. He’d written: some people still try to dictate rather than convince. But we don’t need citizens who just regurgitate what they’ve learned, we need socialists. “Yes,” Rita says, “and where’s the uncertainty?” Schwarzenbach smiles. He’s become almost cheerful. The article and what came after don’t bother him anymore. Of course, he’d heard comments from people who wanted to hide the fact that they felt targeted; did you have to write that just now? Aren’t we in a special situation that prevents us from saying everything? 12 Buy Salamander—Neckermann makes it happen—4711 always with you. they divided the sky 190 Mangold had weighed in too. He thought his time had come. Schwarzenbach had always displayed a weakness for political romanticism, he said. The people who are casting suspicion on him are more powerful than he is, thinks Rita. And Schwarzenbach, as though reading her mind, says, “Let them organize a few more meetings and grumble on about me. I will keep in mind how greedy they are for sincerity. I will say: Yes, indeed, we are in a special situation. For the first time we are ready to look truth in the face. We can’t turn difficult into easy, or dark into light. Can’t abuse trust. That’s the most precious thing we have acquired. Tactics, yes. But only tactics that lead to truth. “Socialism is not some magic formula. Sometimes we think we change things just by using a different name. You confirmed for me today that nothing but the bare naked truth is the key to humanity. Why should we willingly hand over our decisive advantage?” “Oh, no,” Rita says, frightened. “You’re reading too much into my story.” Schwarzenbach laughs. “It’s all right. I understood you.” Now he’s gotten up from his seat. It’s getting dark outside. A nurse comes down the hallway and flicks on the lights. She looks in on them, nods and moves on. Now they can both hear the quiet of the big house. Finally Schwarzenbach says, “Will you walk me to the bus stop?” Rita doesn’t answer. She hasn’t heard his question. “Now we should have some wine, right?” Manfred said. Rita nodded. She watched as he took the bottle from the harried waitress and poured the wine himself. It was greenish yellow; its lightness and aroma were located in the colour. Moon wine, she thought. Night wine, memory wine … “What shall we drink to?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, he raised his glass. “To you. To your small mistakes and their huge consequences.” “I’m not drinking to anything,” she said. She no longer drank to anything. [54.163.221.133] Project MUSE (2024-03-28 09:05 GMT) Christa Wolf 191 When the bottle was empty, they left the café that was still occupied by the busybody’s family. They walked down the street to a large circular place, far away from the traffic and almost empty at this time of night. They stood on...