Vienna Blood

60

JACOB WEISS STOOD AND welcomed Liebermann into his office.

“Max, what an unexpected surprise-please, come in. This is Herr Pfeffer, my accountant.” He gestured toward a plump man in a gray suit who leaped to his feet with freakish agility. “Emmanuel, this is Max. Clara's Max.”

“Herr Doctor Liebermann,” chirped the accountant. “I have heard so much about you. It is a great pleasure to meet you.” He executed a low, almost comic bow.

“Perhaps we could finish this business some other time?” asked Jacob.

“Of course, of course,” Herr Pfeffer replied, scooping up a pile of densely annotated papers in both hands. Liebermann held the door open to facilitate his exit. Pausing momentarily on the threshold, Herr Pfeffer caught Liebermann's gaze and whispered, “Oh, and congratulations.”

This innocent felicitation could not have been more inopportune. Liebermann felt as though a dagger had been plunged into his chest. He returned a tepid smile and closed the door, silencing the heavy metallic clatter of a typewriter.

“Come now, do take a seat,” said Jacob, proffering a wooden chair. “How are you? Busy as usual, I suppose.” He sat down behind his desk, linked his fingers, and leaned forward. Behind the oval windows of his spectacles Jacob's eyes sparkled. Liebermann squirmed in the heat of the man's benevolent scrutiny.

“Herr Weiss…” Liebermann had rehearsed the speech he had intended to deliver for days. Even as he had climbed the stairs leading to Herr Weiss's office, the words he had chosen felt trustworthy, solid, dependable. But now they had become fluid and vaporous, impossible to discipline.

“Max-what is it?” For the first time, Jacob's bluff bonhomie faltered.

“Herr Weiss… I have come here today to discuss a delicate matter.”

The older man's expression suddenly lightened. “Ah yes, I see. The loan is it? You need a little something earlier than expected?” Herr Weiss anticipated an interruption. “Please, you owe me no explanation. I am delighted that you have decided to accept my offer.”

The encounter was becoming intolerable.

“Herr Weiss.” The name sounded like an entreaty.

“We want you to stay in medicine,” Jacob continued. “It's your calling. And it won't be that long, surely, before you become a… what do you call it? A privatdozent?” Jacob waited to be corrected but Liebermann remained silent. “And then your circumstances will be very different. The Viennese love a specialist.”

“Herr Weiss, I do not require financial assistance.”

Jacob drew back slightly, puzzled.

“Oh…”

Liebermann looked directly into Jacob's eyes. He could think of no way to soften the blow. Indeed, to preface his news with qualifications and apologies seemed unconscionable. It would prolong the ordeal. He was not only thinking of himself but of Jacob too. Liebermann took a deep breath and said, with remarkable evenness of tone:

“Herr Weiss, I cannot marry Clara.”

In spite of the importance of this declaration it seemed to have little effect on Jacob, whose expression remained simply perplexed.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I cannot marry your daughter.”

“What do you mean?” Jacob's head tilted to one side. “I don't understand.”

Liebermann looked away and registered some of the items in the room: a pen in its stand, a rubber stamp, a calendar hanging on the wall.

“My feelings for Clara have changed.”

Jacob floundered, struggling to make sense of the young man's curious confession. “Changed? What do you mean, ‘changed’?”

“I am fond of her-very fond of her. But I am not sure that I love her.”

“Max…”

“I do not expect you to forgive me. I am guilty of a terrible misjudgment: a terrible misjudgment that will cause you, your family, and, most regrettably of all, Clara much pain. My behavior is unpardonable.” Fragments of the rehearsed speech began to insinuate themselves into his sentences. “At the time of our engagement I believed that my feelings for Clara were sincere. However, over the last few months I have come to doubt the authenticity of my affection. I am aware that I can never make amends for my inexcusable folly, and no apology-however heartfelt-will compensate for the disappointment and sadness I shall have caused.”

The ensuing silence opened up like a chasm-a rift that carried the two men farther and farther apart. Jacob pushed a clenched fist against his mouth and rearranged a few objects on his desk with a series of abrupt and ultimately purposeless movements. When the brief flurry of activity abated, he broke the silence with a harsh accusation.

“Have you become involved with another woman? Is that it?”

A suspicious pause delayed Liebermann's denial.

“No, Herr Weiss, there is no one else. I have always been faithful to Clara.”

Weiss shook his head, attempting to assume-somewhat unsuccessfully-a conciliatory tone.

“Max… all men doubt. I remember when-”

Liebermann cut in: “Herr Weiss, I promise you that I have given this matter the deepest and most thorough consideration.” He knew that this interruption might sound peremptory but he was anxious to spare Jacob from further disappointment. Any attempt that Herr Weiss might make to persuade him to reconsider would inevitably raise false hopes and end in frustration.

“Have you told your father of your decision?”

“No.”

“Your mother?”

“No.”

“They will be very upset.”

“I know.”

Jacob paused, and tapped his index fingers together.

“Max, if you were wrong about your feelings before, how do you know you're right about them now?” Jacob sighed-a long, protracted exhalation. “Perhaps you have been working too hard? Perhaps you have made yourself unwell? Get away for a short period-go for a walking holiday. Southern Italy. What do you think? I'll pay…”

“I am sorry, Herr Weiss.” Liebermann shook his head.

Life had no spiritual purpose for Liebermann. His values were pragmatic, his philosophical outlook informed by simple medical virtues: helping others, the unquestionable good of alleviating pain. Now that he found himself to be the cause of suffering, something trembled at the core of his being. Something essential began to crack and splinter. He was suddenly overcome by a powerful need to exonerate himself.

“Herr Weiss… I have proved myself to be utterly undeserving of your respect and kindness. But please permit me to express a single hope pertaining to our future relations. When your anger-which is both inevitable and justified-subsides, I earnestly desire that you will appreciate that I have tried my very hardest to act in good faith. To marry Clara without truly loving her would be tantamount to betrayal. Even I-now a deplorable wretch in your eyes-cannot bring myself to deceive such a sweet-natured creature.”

Jacob allowed his head to drop into his hands. “Dear God… poor Clara.”

“I will arrange to meet her this afternoon.”

Jacob's body jerked upright. “What?”

“I will arrange to meet her this afternoon. I must explain-”

“Are you insane?” Jacob interrupted. “You will not see Clara this afternoon, Max. I forbid you!”

“But I must. It is my responsibility-a responsibility that I do not intend to shirk. I will not compound dishonor with cowardice.”

Herr Weiss's lips twisted to form an ugly smile. The acidity of what followed was not unexpected. “You have already shown yourself to be a coward, Max. In my day, a man honored his commitments- whatever the cost!”