No, it wasn’t Feuerbach — W. shook his head, lost in thought — the first lieutenant hadn’t appeared until later. . still, this other man embodied an equally ageless type. . Feuerbach could well have appeared at this point, and the other could well have appeared in Berlin. — One time another man in a grey suit, about the same age, came into the room, said two or three words, and left again. . W. wondered whether this was when he first heard the bass voice from the office next to Feuerbach’s (from the back office, from the main office?). — All he could remember with any degree of clarity was the first remarks by the man at the desk: Well, finally I get to see you in person! Actually, you could congratulate me on my birthday, if you like, but I’m afraid the coffee’s all gone. . He waited a little to see the effect these collusively ironic words upon W. . Nonsense, he added then, you have yourself to congratulate!
W. had still harboured the hope that this might at least be a public prosecutor. . though it was improbable that an authority with the final word in child-support cases should make an appearance now. . Who are you? asked W.; he shouldn’t have done that, he knew. What he was told he later found downright implausible: the discussion seemed to labour in a spasm of contradictions; it was a maddening unresolvable error in which both sides persisted in different ways. . later W. had the sense of a nightmare. This sense was heightened by the fact that the issue ostensibly at stake was promptly forgotten. . after the breezy gentleman had summoned him two or three more times (within weeks even the number of these conversations faded from his memory), the whole affair seemed to break off inconclusively. W., with only a very conditional belief in the congruence of his perceptions with reality, came more and more to doubt the accuracy of his memories.
The man in the grey suit had put it to him that they were quite grateful for a few very important pieces of information he’d provided. . such timely assistance had not been anticipated. . W. didn’t feel he was meant, thought he’d been mistaken for someone else. . Who is ‘we’? he asked. — The other didn’t even respond to the question: Concerning that circle where that Harry Falbe kept trying to play his role, unfortunately they were groping in the dark; they were less and less able to keep tabs on these people. . We never hit on the notion that you might provide a valuable link to this circle, said the breezy gentleman, we didn’t even venture the thought. — You didn’t even venture the thought. . repeated W., who is ‘we’?—Another thing. . the gentleman appeared to change the subject. Regarding your child- support obligations for your little son. . surely you’ve noticed that the State is footing the bill. Punctually and in full, every month. . yes, really you can congratulate yourself on that as well. Have you visited the child lately? — There is no child I should have to pay for, said W.; that struck him as the first concrete statement of the conversation — which was evidently why it evaporated without a trace. — He hadn’t even been prepared to state his annual income — well then, they’d found that out for him too. There was no great sum to be paid, not much. . and so it wasn’t much they had in mind by way of a quid pro quo!
With surprising calm W. replied: Never! There will be no quid pro quo from me, and the State needn’t pay a pfennig on my behalf. There is no child. . that’s a fabrication!
There is no child. . I see! Well then. . if you say so! As the grey gentleman continued, W. searched his face for a flicker of emotion he could read somehow — there was no emotion. — You know, we can imagine that you don’t earn much, especially now that you’ve gotten yourself moved out of the assembly hall and into the boiler room, that’s a setback. It makes you vulnerable when you suddenly have to pay child support too, that’s why we’re concerned. And we also know you could achieve more as a writer than in the boiler room. . (W. asked himself whether the man had said: Achieve more for society. .)
More valuable things than down there in the boiler room, the gentleman went on after a pause. But of course you’d earn even less, at first, anyway. Naturally, as you will have noticed, the payments have already begun. .
Once again, W. interrupted him, speaking as though in a soundproof chamber, once again, the State doesn’t need to pay me a pfennig. .
Of course not, said the gentleman, of course it doesn’t need to, whatever are you thinking? Did you really imagine we hadn’t thought of that? You don’t get a pfennig, of course, the payments go de facto to the mother of the child. But, as you probably know, she’s run up big debts with the State. . and she doesn’t have a clean slate, either! But she’ll give us what we need sure enough! So practically no money changes hands, you understand, we’ve just got to keep the receipts going strong. And as far as your quid pro quo, the only thing would be. .
There won’t be any quid pro quo from me, none!
That’s all we ask. Don’t you understand, the only quid pro quo is that you keep mum about it. That you genuinely keep mum about the whole business. . not a word to anyone about this baby! That you genuinely act as if you didn’t have a child. . then you’ll be acting exactly in our interests.
W. hadn’t thought himself still capable of anything like bafflement: Now what am I really supposed to do, in your opinion — should I acknowledge the child, or should I keep quiet about it?
The gentleman sighed, as if overtaxed by the difficulty of the explanation he was about to provide: The best thing is for you to act exactly as usual. . really, that’s the best thing!
No. . said W.
Yes it is. . said the gentleman, it’s not that hard, just act as if we didn’t even exist!
No, said W., for me you really don’t exist!
Wonderful! said the gentleman.
You don’t! It’s not: as if you didn’t exist, it’s: that you don’t exist! said W.
What a subtle distinction! Isn’t it silly of us to take it all so seriously? I’ll think about it, I’ll let you know the upshot the next time we see each other, maybe here in Room 17, maybe somewhere else. .
No, said W., don’t expect me to get involved with you. As far as I’m concerned, the issue is closed!
That’s perfectly all right, he said, it’s high time we closed it then. I’d much rather talk literature with you, that’s my issue, properly speaking. The matter is closed, no more child issue, no more Harry Falbe. .
I’ll be going now. . if you don’t mind!
That’s fine, he said, I didn’t want to keep you, you’re a busy man. With us, mind you, you’ll sometimes have to act as if the things that don’t exist were really there.
W. hoisted himself up out of the armchair and was on his way to the door when the man behind the desk called him back again: One more thing! I’m going to shout something down the stairs after you, please don’t get me wrong. It’s best you act as if you hadn’t heard it at all.—W. left without a parting word; as he went down the staircase a door flew open upstairs; he quickened his steps but could not escape the voice shouting across the town hall lobby: Don’t do a thing for us, it’s all for your child! And don’t forget to do something for yourself!