NORMAN MANEA
201
In
1944,
as the German troops were pulling out of Moghilev, the
Ukrainian city to which we'd been deported, a German officer saved my
father's life. My father was being threatened by two Ukrainians belong–
ing
to
a notorious troop of Nazi volunteers who found it fun to murder
Jews. Having become completely hysterical over their imminent defeat
in a war in which they'd been complicit with the Germans, their bestial
anti-Semitic deeds increased during the retreat of the Wehrmacht. After
driving off these shrieking "volunteers," the German officer shared
some biscuits with us. Exhausted and depressed, he seemed relieved over
the defeat of his army. One German officer doesn't thereby undo
Auschwitz, but I should not forget him when I speak about Germany.
for half a century Germany was fascinated by the "conservative,"
nationalistic, anti-modern revolution. During the Cold War, half of the
country stood under the red flag of internationalism that called itself
proletarian, while the other half gradually integrated itself into the
democratic Western Europe. After reunification, the Germans discov–
ered that one can dislike not only foreigners, but also one's own people,
despite the shared cultural tradition.
Today's Germany stands under the symbol of a new universalism,
that of computers and postmodern globalization, an unexpected and
welcome irony of history. One more reason to direct our gaze to Ger–
many, a gaze burdened with memories that fail to heal.
EK: Now, let's talk about the most recent events. How did you experi–
ence September
I I, 200 I
?
NM: That morning I was at Bard College, about one and a half hours
from New York City. I was preparing my afternoon seminar, "Exile and
Estrangement in Modern fiction." I only heard about the brutal attack
on America rowa rds noon. Most professors cancelled their classes. I
asked my students whether we should go ahead as planned with
Nabokov's novel
Pllill,
call off the class, or discuss the event rather than
the book. Their presence showed that they didn't want to be alone, and
I assumed that the theme of exile would allow for a wide-ranging dis–
cussion of toclay's world-a world in which estranged people, and not
only they, are obsessively looking for a lost center, even reacting hyster–
ically
to
their own tensions, trauma, and mystifications.
"You are sixteen students, an even number," I said.
"If
half of you
decide one way and the other the opposite, you may also need my vote.
However I would vote, some of you would not be happy. They could
