Durrenmatt: Barlach: Suspicion

“What will happen now?” Barlach whispered. “Nothing will happen,” replied the Jew, grabbing the old man by the shoulders and pulling him up so that their faces were close together, eye to eye. “Nothing, nothing at all,” the giant whispered again. “No one knows, except for you and Hungertobel, that I was here; inaudibly, I glided, a shadow, through the corridors, to Emmenberger, to you, no one knows that I exist, only the poor devils I have saved, a handful of Jews, a handful of Christians. Let the world bury Emmenberger and let the newspapers publish their eulogies and memorials for this dead man. The Nazis wanted Stutthof; the millionaires, this hospital; others will want other things. We can’t save the world as individuals, that would be a task as hopeless as that of poor Sysyphus; it is not up to us, nor is it up to any man of power, or any nation, or the devil himself, who is surely more powerful than anyone; it is in the hand of God, who makes his decisions alone. We can only help in particular cases, we cannot affect the whole. Those are the limits of the poor Jew Gulliver, those are the limits of all human beings. Therefore, we should not try to save the world, but we must endure it. This is the only true adventure left to us at this late hour.” And carefully, like a father with his child, the giant lowered the old man back into his bed.