Shira

by Agnon, S. Y.

  As soon as the amulet was in Wechsler’s hands, he – unlike those who find something rare and disclose it only when it is worth their while, who collect many opinions and finally publish them, prefaced by “in our opinion” – immediately photographed it and circulated the photograph. The amulet acquired renown; Jews and non-Jews were busy decoding it. And, whenever they mentioned the amulet, they mentioned Wechsler. Wechsler’s name became known around the world and all the way back to Jerusalem.

  Mrs. Herbst returned and was bewildered. When she regained her bearings, she asked, “Wasn’t Wechsler here? Did he disappear? I never saw him go. I may have no choice but to believe in magic. I’ll bring supper in a minute. Don’t go, Taglicht. Stay, your supper is ready. Boiled eggs and a glass of tea.”

  Chapter twenty-seven

  As they ate, the conversation turned to the amulet and from the amulet to Wechsler, who was transformed by the amulet. This lazy fellow, whose laziness exceeded his ambition, was suddenly the darling of the scholarly world because of a snip of an amulet that fell into his hands. Most Orientalists became preoccupied with it and credited it to him.

  Let us present their views first, followed by Wechsler’s. Some of them wrote, “Traces of three Aramaic letters can be discerned on the amulet. If we identify the middle one as t and the final one as n, we have two letters of Satan, from which we conclude that the amulet was related to Satan and that both the person who made it and the person for whom it was made were Satan worshipers. Inasmuch as there are no other indications of Satan worship in Ashkelon and its environs, it is more likely that it was invoked to counter Satan’s power. There are grounds for the assumption that this small object is part of a larger one with a more extended inscription. Which is cause for regret. If the amulet had been preserved in its entirety, we would have the formula for a spell against Satan.”

  Other scholars maintained that the symbols on the amulet were not letters, and certainly not Aramaic letters; that, if they were letters, they were related to proto-Sinaitic script; that the word had to be read from left to right and was one of many words we cannot as yet attach to a particular language group with total certainty. In any case, three letters can now be added to the proto-Sinaitic alphabet, whose letters have not as yet all been discovered.

  Other scholars regarded it as a transitional sort of script, a bridge between Semitic and ancient Greek, though they weren’t sure how it should be read, since it leaned in both directions, toward the Semitic and toward the Greek as well.

  What did Professor Wechsler say? Wechsler said, “The inscription is not Aramaic. It is not proto-Sinaitic. Nor is it a transition between Semitic and Greek script. Those are Hebrew letters, not three but four of them. They are t, y, g, y, which should be read as a segment of ptygyl, a word in First Isaiah. Since the word occurs in First Isaiah, this bit of leather is obviously from the time of First Isaiah, one of the earliest and thus most precious disclosures provided by the soil of Palestine. Henceforth, we must dismiss all existing theories about this word. We can no longer say it refers to a silk belt or a fringed buckle – a forced interpretation to begin with – since what we have here is leather, not silk or fringes.”

  The saga of Wechsler and the amulet adds nothing to our story, but it was useful to Herbst. It distracted him from what had happened with Shira the night before, so that he seemed to himself much as he had been in the old days, before he met Shira.

  Chapter twenty-eight

  Although the meal was over, the conversation between Herbst and Taglicht was not. It shifted from the amulet to other objects discovered in the country, from the cave in which it was found to other caves whose mouths remain sealed and, when they are finally dug up, will also yield great rewards. The strip of land known as Palestine, seemingly parched and denuded, is actually a treasure trove with all sorts of riches ensconced in it.

  Taglicht said, “If you’re referring to geology, you’re right.” Manfred said, “What about archeology?” Taglicht said, “No one can deny that archeology has expanded our horizons. But, when I see how discoveries are interpreted, I’m reminded of biblical criticism. It seems that the people who deal with these subjects don’t have enough imagination to write historical novels, so they push themselves to make hypotheses. Scholars from other fields use these as a basis for some system of their own, on which they build vacuous structures – like that famous man who published a book proving whatever it was he proved, using an archeologist’s hypothesis that the archeologist had already retracted and declared to be wrong.”

  Mrs. Herbst shook her finger menacingly and said, “Because a scholar makes a mistake, his entire field isn’t invalidated.” Herbst laughed and said, “Bravo. But I’m surprised, Henrietta, to hear you champion something you usually scorn.” Henrietta said, “Fred, do you want to argue? I don’t.” Manfred said, “I don’t mean to argue, but, tell me, Henrietta, where did you hide the cognac?” Henrietta said, “Now I’ll be the one to argue. Tell me, what do you see in that drink that consumes the palate, deadens the mind, and confounds the senses?” Herbst said to Taglicht, “You try. Describe the taste of cognac to her. Come on, Henriett, let’s drink to peace.” Henrietta said, “If you want to drink, drink. But I’m not drinking.” Manfred said, “I am given to understand that I have your permission.” Henrietta said, “And without my permission, you won’t drink?” Manfred said, “Tell me, Mother, do I ever make a move without your permission?” Mrs. Herbst said to Taglicht, “After such a speech, particularly when you look at his face, would anyone suspect he might make a move without my permission? Sit down, Taglicht. Sit down. There won’t be any scenes out of Strindberg. I’m bringing the cognac, and you can drink with Fred.” Herbst said, “Taglicht, I renounce all the other women in the world. I love only Henrietta.” Henrietta laughed and said, “Listening to you, one would think you’re involved with other women.” Herbst said, “Taglicht, what’s the hurry?”

  Taglicht sat down again and stayed another half-hour. At ten o’clock, he left. Herbst didn’t detain him; even though he hadn’t mentioned the events of the previous night, there was no way of knowing what might still come up. The fact that it hadn’t come up yet didn’t mean it couldn’t.

  After accompanying Taglicht to the bus stop and waiting for the bus with him, Herbst went back to Henrietta. He found her tired from the effort of having company, from the day’s work, and from lack of sleep. As usual, just when the lady of the house needed help, there was none at hand. Of all times, on the day when Zahara came with Avraham-and-a-half for the workshops organized by Berl Katznelson, hoping to find some rest at home, just then the Kurdish woman asked for the day off, because she was invited to an important event. What sort of event? It was in this connection, I believe, that Sarini referred to the university, to fingers dipped in fat, to a donkey, to drinks.

  Manfred went back to Henrietta. Even before his thoughts were organized, he began talking. About Zahara and Avraham-and-a-half, who were together, alone in the car, with no one else there, such a long distance – all the way from Ahinoam to Jerusalem and from Jerusalem to Ahinoam. Manfred said to Henrietta, “You and I, Henriett, are of the old school, and our road never deviated, so we can’t fathom this new generation, whose emotional discipline is lax. Tell me, Henriett, what did Zahara say to you? I myself am out of step with this world, with this generation, with these daughters. But you, Henriett – you as a woman, a mother – are entirely of this world, and you sense what this generation is after.” Henrietta looked at him fondly and said, “If I weren’t an old woman, I would kiss you for your innocence. What should Zahara have told me? In any case, you can sleep peacefully. It’s past eleven, and here we are, chattering away like a pair of youngsters. Go to your room, my dearest. Get into bed and get some sleep. Last night you came in after midnight. Incidentally, where were you last night? What did you do?” “Where was I? What did I do?” Manfred cried in dismay. “Taglicht already told you.” “Taglicht told me? Not a word, not even half a wo
rd.” “What are you talking about? He distinctly said…” “What did he say? I didn’t hear a thing.” Manfred answered her, “You’re teasing me, Henriett. He certainly did tell you, and, if you don’t remember, I’ll remind you. Take a chair and sit down. I don’t like to see you standing when you should be lying in your crib. Taglicht came tonight because of last night’s events; he was here because of last night, Henriett.” “What happened last night?” “Last night? I didn’t really want to tell you about last night, but do we keep secrets? Is there anything in the world that I hide from you? You know the meaning of the riots only too well, and all about those young men who refuse…refuse to be slaughtered like the Jews of Hebron and Safed. You know all this, and about the Haganah too. But you don’t know that even Taglicht, even Taglicht is a member of the Haganah, and, like most Haganah members, he spends most of his evenings training. Tell me, Henriett, would you ever dream that such a fellow holds a rifle? Well, last night he dragged me to their training site. This is a forbidden subject, but we don’t have secrets between us. I said ‘training,’ but actually they were military drills. Real military drills. Please, Henriett, bury this information in your heart and don’t mention it to anyone in the world, not so much as a hint, especially not in front of Taglicht. I’m amazed that he revealed all this to me. It’s top secret. True, some of the English know what we’re up to, but they don’t want us to know that they know. Do you see, Henriett? On the one hand, they instigate the Arabs to fight us, and, on the other hand, they’re pleased that we create a counterforce. Who can grasp the English mentality? It may all be one scheme: the English want the Arabs to riot against us, and they want us to retaliate. Understand, Henriett?” Henrietta said, “I understand one thing: I understand that what Taglicht is doing is right, and I don’t understand why you and your friends stand by with folded arms. If I weren’t a woman, I would learn to use all those weapons.” “You? You, Henriett?” “Yes, Fred. Or would we do better to wait for the Arabs to come and slaughter us?” Manfred said, “Then I’ll confess in a whisper that there are not only young men in the Haganah, but young women as well. In a separate section.”

  What he had feared the day before had come to pass today. But he emerged unscathed. True, he had given Henrietta an earful of lies. He may or may not have regretted these lies. In any case, he was astonished at his ability to heap lie upon lie without stammering.

  He held Henrietta’s head in his hands and said, “Now, let’s say good night. But first, I want to seal our conversation with a kiss on the forehead – a modest kiss, with no ulterior motives.” Henrietta said, “Remember, no ulterior motives. You, my dear, need rest, and I, as you well know, am deadwood. I hope Zahara comes home soon. Liar, I allow one kiss and you pucker your lips for another. Scram. You woke the baby. Let me go to her. Be quiet, little one. Be quiet. Mama’s coming.”

  Chapter twenty-nine

  Herbst lay in bed on the verge of sleep. He put down the book he was meaning to read and turned out the light, in order to yield to sleep. His fatigue should have brought on sleep, but it was dispelled by his thoughts. He got up, turned on the light, and picked up the book. If he had only the book to deal with, he would have either read and enjoyed it or read and fallen asleep. But, apart from the book, he had his thoughts. He stared at the page, only to be diverted by his thoughts; yielded to them, only to have them abandon him and vanish. He turned back to the book, only to have his thoughts return; when he returned to his thoughts, they abandoned him and vanished. After several hours, he put down the book, turned off the light, turned it on again, and picked up the book. Finally, he was overcome by uneasy sleep, the sort of sleep that brings the body little pleasure.

  Nevertheless, he was up at the regular time and got right to work. He wrote, erased, rewrote what he had erased. What did he write, what did he erase? What did he add, what did he delete? Between one thing and another, half a day passed, and it was time for lunch. When he heard Zahara calling, he put down his work, got up, and went to the dining room, as Henrietta made a point of promptness, insisting that everything be done on time, and Manfred made a point of not disrupting her routine. In his haste, he forgot to put the stones on his papers, so, when he got back from lunch, he found they had been scattered by the wind. The meal had been prolonged because of Zahara and because it was unusually good. Since he was tired because of his sleepless night, he ignored the scattered papers on the floor and stretched out on his bed. The papers started to fly. He got up and began collecting them. He soon gave up, and went back to bed. All of a sudden, he started, looked at his wristwatch, and saw that he had been sleeping for more than an hour. The house was quiet. Not a sound was heard. Not the baby’s voice, not any other voice. The window was open, and the sun shone in. The papers lay scattered but unharmed by the wind. Herbst unbuckled his watch, took it off, and picked up a book, meaning to read for a while. The book slipped out of his hand, and he dozed off again, then fell into a deep sleep.

  It was almost twilight when he got out of bed, sat at his desk, and leaned his head on his arms, like someone awake but still in the power of sleep. His vision was blurred, his heart confused, alternately full and empty. He placed his hand on his heart and surveyed the scene. He spotted a slip of paper on the floor under the door and noticed that it was different from the others. He picked it up and read: “Father I didn’t want to wake you All those lectures have turned my stomach so I’m going back to Ahinoam Love and kisses Zahara.” He scrutinized her letters. They were large, straight up and down, without connecting strokes, commas, periods, or vowels. He put the note to his mouth, then placed it on the desk. He took a seashell, which was shaped like an eggshell and as sharp, and put the note under it. The room began to darken, and a bird was heard returning to its nest, for it was evening.

  The books on the shelves were covered with darkness and gloom. They seemed to merge with the shelves, and the papers seemed to merge with the floor. It was hard to distinguish the shelves from the books or the papers from the floor. But Herbst picked up all the papers and placed them on the desk.

  So Zahara, having had her fill of lectures, had left. In fact, she was now with Avraham-and-a-half, and he was driving fast, in order to get to Ahinoam in daylight. With so much unrest in the country, it was unwise to travel after dark. But he was the sort of person one could count on to know that there was a time for everything, and by now he and Zahara were probably back in Ahinoam. So let’s return to Herbst now and tell his story.

  In the past, after a midday nap, it was Herbst’s custom to have some coffee and then sit and work without stopping until supper. If his nap happened to last into the evening, as it did today, he would immediately turn on the lamp and double his efforts, to make up for lost time. Or he would sit and read books related to his work, the sort of texts to which his own book and lectures were indebted, just as these texts were indebted to others, for even a learned man who has read many books and knows their views remains indebted to others. Scholars are not like poets. Poets derive their verse from what they see and feel; if they’re not lazy, they write it down. Not so with scholars, whose insights derive from predecessors and from those who preceded them. A scholar who pores over earlier books will not emerge unrewarded and will surely add to the body of literature.

  Some scholars, once they have acquired a reputation, pass on to others the drudgery of providing material for their books. They either assign their students to do research or hire a needy scholar. Manfred Herbst is not this sort. Not only are his insights his own, but even the footnotes in his book and articles are derived from his own reading, which is to say, from the books in which they originally appeared – unlike scholars who use secondary or even third-hand sources without having looked at the books they refer to, but, rather than offend anyone, simply add them to their bibliography. Some scholars identify their sources but leave a space between two citations, although both are by one author. One who is not familiar with the material would assume the second entry is origin
al; if, on the other hand, one is familiar with it, the source has been duly acknowledged. Manfred Herbst is not of that ilk. When he cites other people’s data, he doesn’t manipulate it to get credit for himself. Many researchers are so eager to come up with a theory a day that they publish instantly, only to wake up the next morning and see that the theory is groundless and must be retracted. Then why publish before verifying everything? Because they believe that, even so, they will stimulate study and research from which scholarship will benefit. Not so with Herbst. Nothing issues forth from under his hand until he is convinced of it. You see how Herbst labors over his book and articles. When he feels his work is sloppy, he doesn’t force it, unlike those whose work is the product of boredom. What does Herbst do? He puts down his work, picks up a biography or a scholarly monograph, and reads it. Whether we believe all the wonders we read about great men or remain skeptical, a reader loses nothing if the writing is good. The imagination of a competent narrator can affect and arouse the soul, mobilize faltering hands to renewed activity.