Anna Mitgutsch: Die Annäherung

(The Reconciliation)

Excerpt

In the afternoon we sat and stood around outside; the general polite chatter had broken into smaller group discussions, a murmuring and humming that father calmly let flow past him. Then suddenly he drew attention to himself, unexpectedly, with a bitter outcry: Am I not dying fast enough for you? An angry revolt against the question that they surely all secretly harbored and all would have denied, appalled: How old does he want to get?
Father’s giving insurrection a go, I said to Edgar and laughed out loud.
Was he going to become a rebel in his old age, who finally dared to assert himself? For a while now, I’d noticed that he parried his wife’s attacks with a directness she was not used to. Usually she tolerated it, shaking her head and mumbling, annoyed. He had tried to please everyone his entire life, he never countered any accusations, he even took the mistakes of others upon himself, unable to assert himself and insist upon his rights. And now all of a sudden he ignored the feelings of others and revolted, now that nobody took him seriously anymore. And then that outburst about his war years in front of the guests, none of whom he actually truly cared about. It wasn’t like him. Was it supposed to be self-incrimination, a late confession, or was he just playing to the gallery? Did he think he was revealing crimes that no one had known of up until now?
Just like forty years earlier, I wanted to contradict him: Tell the truth – you know what it is. You say you were there, so then you also know that Ukrainian nationalists were welcome collaborators; they received you as friends because you killed their Jews. But this time I said nothing. Why lecture a ninety-seven-year-old? Another question is nagging at me. Is he lying out of conviction or ignorance? In the conversations we used to have, had he been lying to bend the truth to suit his needs? And who was the target of his unfamiliar vehemence? Was he putting me in my place because I’d criticized Ludmilla? Did he want to tell me: Whatever the truth is, you can judge me but not Ludmilla and her people – I’d rather take the blame first? Did his reckoning with his comrades in arms include himself? I couldn’t remember him ever saying "we" when he spoke of their crimes. I saw his nostrils quiver, his mouth was pinched like he had been offended. I knew his face, I had had many decades to study it, and I could see his body trembling under his much-too-loose clothes. I could sense the rancor of some guests and the helplessness of the others. There would be no more easy conversation if I remained. I exchanged glances with Edgar and he nodded – time to go. I leaned down to father and whispered quickly: I love you. I knew he couldn’t hear me; since his stroke he no longer registered quietly spoken asides. I wouldn’t have had the courage to say it loudly, neither was I sure whether he would have wanted to hear it. He didn’t react; maybe he didn’t notice that we were leaving.
I hope everyone can relax again, said Edgar once we were sitting in the car. He gave that little speech for you; he wanted to show you he’s got guts.
To me he seemed like an actor who hadn’t learned his role well. I think he was trying to prove to Ludmilla that he’s ready to protect her from me, from the slightest suspicion, even from the truth. The Germans didn’t need accomplices to their crimes, that’s what he wanted to say. It’s not true and he knows it.
You’re being unfair, Edgar retorted. The men of his generation will never manage to talk about it the way they talk about the rest of their lives. Whatever you don’t know by now, you’ll never get out of him.

Translation by Laura Radosh

>> Incentives