Shira

by Agnon, S. Y.

  At this point, however, Herbst didn’t go back to his work, nor did he turn to those biographies and monographs. His depression was so great that it resisted every antidote.

  Herbst sat as one whose world has vanished, for whom there is nothing left to do. Even cigarettes, which sometimes pulled him through desolate moments, did not trick him into thinking he was occupied. He sat alone with himself, a cigarette in his mouth, picking at his chin and whispering, “What am I to do?”

  He spit out the cigarette, crushed it with his foot, and cried out, “I’ve got it!” He knew what to do. He went into the bathroom, tossed off his sandals, took off his clothes, got in the tub, and turned on the shower. The water poured over his head, his shoulders, his back, his entire body. The moist chill engulfed him from outside, and some of its sweet freshness seeped in, permeating his body with pleasure. Herbst was renewed from within and without, and was like a new creature. He dried himself, put on his clothes, and went to the kitchen for tea. He found some coffee Zahara had made before she left. He drank it. As soon as it began dripping down his throat, his fatigue was dissipated. After two cups of coffee, he was totally alert. He didn’t feel like getting back to work, so he went looking for his wife.

  He found her sitting alone in the dusk, her chin on her heart, like someone overwhelmed with worry who obscures it rather than let anyone see her worrying. Henrietta didn’t know what she was worrying about, or why. But, since she was alone in the dark, it seemed to her the right time to examine her soul and render an account. Tired from the day’s work and from all that had happened to her, she allowed her head to droop and dozed off. Herbst looked at her and whispered, “Henriett, you’re sitting in the dark.” She was startled and said, by way of an excuse, “Yes, I didn’t turn on the light.” Herbst said, “Zahara is gone.” Henrietta nodded and said, “Yes, Zahara is gone. She went to your room twice, and you were asleep. She didn’t have the heart to wake you, so she left a note, but I don’t remember where I put it.” Manfred said, “You don’t remember where you put the note?” Henrietta said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember.” Manfred said, “You have no way of knowing, since Zahara slipped the note under my door. You say Zahara found me asleep. Yes, that’s right, Henriett. It’s a long time since I’ve had such a good sleep. Now I’m up, and I don’t know what to do. Very simply, I don’t know what to do.” Henrietta said, “Go for a walk.” “A walk?” Manfred asked in dismay. Such a thought hadn’t occurred to him. “You suggest I go for a walk? And you, Henriett, will you be stuck here in the house? Will you stay home while I go out?” Henrietta said, “The baby can’t be left alone. Besides, my dear, I don’t have the strength to pick up my legs. Go ahead, my love. Don’t give me a hard time. I know you would rather walk with me than walk alone. Go ahead, and, when you come back, you’ll find your supper ready and waiting for you in your room, on your desk. If it’s a simple meal, don’t be angry. I gave Zahara every last bit of food for the road. Actually, she only took four slices of buttered bread, but Avraham said, ‘I’ll take the rest and I’ll feed her.’“ Manfred said, “You ought to turn on the light rather than sit in the dark.” Henrietta said, “Of course, of course. Do you think I’ll sit here all night in the dark? Don’t I have to put Sarah to sleep and make you some supper? I might even eat too.” Manfred offered his right hand and said, “Give me your hand, Mother, and I’ll say goodbye.” Henrietta said, “Here, my love. Goodbye. Don’t be late, Fred. Come back before you get tired. I hear Sarah. Go ahead, Fred, don’t let me keep you.” Fred said, “I’m going, I’m going. Bye, Mother. Bye.”

  He went out, meaning to walk, but he saw a bus coming from Talpiot and jumped on it. The bus was nearly empty. There were only a few passengers. Because of Arab attacks, people from Talpiot were reluctant to go into town at night. Those who went into town couldn’t be sure they would make it back that night, for the authorities could suddenly proclaim a curfew, which would bring transportation to a standstill. Still, the inspector sent out buses rather than disrupt the system. When Herbst arrived in town, he was astonished to see the streetlamps lit as usual, the streets filled with men and women, ambling in a leisurely manner, in no hurry to find refuge at home. Even the shoeshine boys were there, plying their trade. People get their shoes shined, not in order to wear them in bed, but to walk in them, which suggests that the night has not closed in on us and there is no danger of a curfew.

  Worried by what he saw and worried by his thoughts, Herbst strolled down Jaffa Road, which was as crowded with people as in peacetime. Soldiers of the Mandate government added to the bustle. Whether they ambled along like everyone else or stood like observers or inspectors, they were different, not only because of their uniforms, or because they were armed, but because of the expression on their faces.

  I will dwell on this matter for a moment and explain my remark about the expression on the Englishmen’s faces. It seems to me that I speak for Herbst. I may be slightly mistaken in this matter, but surely not by very much.

  Before Herbst came to the Land of Israel, he had little contact with other nationalities. Except for Jews and Germans of foreign extraction, he knew no other nation. When he came to this country and saw various peoples, distinct from each other, he became interested in their characters. When he knew a person well, he tried to determine which of his qualities were national traits and which were unique to that individual. I don’t know what he achieved or what he failed to achieve. It is clear that, of all the nations and tribes in this country, he was least acquainted with the English. And I would not be straying far from the truth if I were to say he made no effort to know them, although he often had the opportunity for close contact with the English. At public events, such as concerts and exhibits, for example, and even in private homes. I will try to explain why he didn’t get to know the English and why he made no attempt to do so.

  As soon as Herbst arrived in the Land of Israel, he was imbued with a spirit that was totally new to him. It could be called the spirit of freedom. Herbst suddenly felt that he was in his own land, with his own people, with others like him, who shared many of his qualities and many of whose qualities he shared. He felt that he no longer needed to strain to be like others, for he simply was like them, which had not been the case before. As long as he was living in Germany, he made an effort to accommodate his ways to those of the Germans and to be like them. Even after becoming a Zionist, he didn’t change very much; nor did his Zionist friends.

  As for all the other peoples to be found in this country – be they ordinary people or scholars and intellectuals – whether he considered them natives or guests who are here today and gone tomorrow, should this suit them, he saw no reason to change his character on their account. But the Englishman, lording it over a land to which he had no claim, considering himself superior to all its inhabitants, was strange in Herbst’s eyes, and he had no wish to make his acquaintance. Since the English were strange to him, the expression on their faces was equally strange.

  Herbst was jostled, sometimes by a drunken sailor, sometimes by an ordinary person. Still, Herbst functioned under his own power, dispatching his eyes in whatever direction he chose: at the pedestrians, the houses and stores, the vehicles and their passengers, those little houses in Nahlat Shiva with larger structures and stores built to the right and left of them, about to swallow them up, along with all of Nahlat Shiva. The neighborhood, being modest and discreet, accepted its fate in silence. But, as you and I well remember, it paved the way for the building of modern Jerusalem, providing it with the vigor and courage to expand. When Herbst first arrived in Jerusalem, Nahlat Shiva, with its stone buildings, was still a defined neighborhood. Now it is overshadowed by houses built of concrete and stores with goods Jerusalem had no need of until they appeared, or, let’s say, until the shopkeeper explained how necessary they were. Herbst, who generally stayed at home, whose shifts and changes led him from workroom to dining room to bedroom, is suddenly in the midst of a crowd. There are many people
on the street, so many that he can’t see if there is a friend or acquaintance among them. He doesn’t recognize anyone, yet he feels he is a partner, though the nature of the partnership is unclear. He sees himself as part of the crowd. He suddenly finds himself standing in front of a large store. Its windows are brightly lit, and the wares are skillfully arranged to catch the eye of strollers.

  What did I want to look at? Herbst asked himself. I didn’t want to look at anything. Actually, I did. Before he could decide whether or not he did, he was interrupted by a bell being rung by the shoeshine boy sitting in ambush at the edge of the street. Herbst’s thoughts were interrupted. He looked up and saw a small boy sitting at the entrance to an office building, one hand on a bell, the other on a bristled implement. The boy jingled the bell again and said to him, “Here, here, sir. Let me shine your shoes. I’ll do it tiptop.” The word appealed to Herbst. He laughed and said, “If you can really do it tiptop, I’ll let you shine my shoes.” The boy said, “If I don’t do a good job, you don’t have to pay.” Herbst said, “That’s not the point. Just make it tiptop.” The boy said, “All right, sir.” Herbst extended his foot. The boy picked up his tools and began to work. Herbst watched him and said, “I see you are really making it tiptop. What do you earn in a day?” Herbst also asked the boy where he lived and if he had a father, a mother, brothers, sisters. I’m not sure just how interested Dr. Herbst really was. But the boy answered, adding even more information than was asked for.

  This is roughly his story. His father had left his mother for someone younger, his mother having aged rapidly because she worked so hard, at home and away from home, in the homes of Ashkenazim, who are so rich that they don’t have to work and their work is done by others. As for his brothers, one of them, sort of a halutz, who studies at night and can even read a newspaper, was in partnership with a Yemenite. The Yemenite would give him a pile of newspapers to distribute and a share of the profits. On Friday nights, he would bring home a newspaper and sit reading it, like a scholar with a sacred text. And what about the sisters? They were up to no good. Victoria went with some Englishman. She was attacked by fanatics, who beat her up and poured acid on her face, which ruined her looks. When the Englishman saw this, he got angry and said he would kill all the Jews. Balfouria heard this and began to cry inconsolably. She said to the Englishman, “Don’t kill the Jews.” He took her to the movies, and she didn’t come back. When she came home in the morning, Victoria jumped on her, bit her, pulled her hair, shouted, and wept. Our brother Musa appeared and beat up Victoria and Balfouria, screaming, “I’ll kill all the English! They’re making our girls into whores! Even if they kill me, I’ll kill them first.” Then he joined forces with Fat Musa, who loved Balfouria dearly. They planned to ambush the Englishman, and Mother was terrified that Musa would kill him. Musa has a fierce temper, and, when he is angry, he turns red as a bull’s blood; his eyes get twice as red, so he can’t see what he is doing. He pounds with his fists, kicks, and thrusts his head into the enemy’s belly until the victim collapses in defeat.

  After having his shoes shined, Herbst went to a candy shop and bought some bittersweet chocolate. He didn’t know what type of chocolate Shira preferred, but the package was attractive and the price was high, so he chose that one.

  Herbst left the store pleased with himself, since he knew where he was going and he had succeeded in buying chocolate. Sometimes, when he had in mind to buy something for Shira, he restrained himself, out of fear of being seen. He imagined everyone was watching him and knew just what he was up to. Now, having entered and emerged, unscathed, he directed his feet toward the streets that lead to Shira’s.

  He met Lisbet Neu. He greeted her, and she returned his greeting, saying, “You still remember me?” He offered her the chocolate. “This is evidence that I was thinking of you. Look and you’ll see. I wrote your telephone number on the wrapper. I was about to call you.” Lisbet looked at the wrapper and saw no sign of a number. Herbst said, “Oh my goodness, the salesperson switched packages. If you have room in your purse, please take it.” Lisbet said, “To waste one’s money on such things!” Herbst said, “I bought it for my daughter, but she left.” Lisbet said, “Then keep it until she comes back.” Herbst said, “When she comes, I’ll buy her another. Meanwhile, my dear, eat the chocolate and remember me.” Lisbet said, “I remember you even without it.” He looked at her fondly, wondering why he didn’t feel as he used to feel and respond as he used to respond. Whenever he saw her, he used to be refreshed by a breath of innocence. Now his soul was unmoved and his spirits were low.

  Has there been a change in me or in her? Herbst asked himself. It’s not that, but…I’ll watch and see.

  The street was buzzing. The pastimes that occupied the passersby were passed back to them by the street. But he withdrew from the tumult into which he had been propelled and eyed Lisbet obliquely to determine if the change was in her. His eyes lighted on the bag slung over her shoulder with the chocolate in it. Your present was taken away, Shira, and given to Lisbet Neu, Herbst remarked to himself.

  Lisbet Neu interrupted his conversation with himself and said, “If you would like, Dr. Herbst, you could walk a little way with me. Only a little way. I know you are busy and have no time to waste.” Herbst said, “I’d be glad to walk all the way home with you.” Lisbet Neu said, “That’s more than I asked, and not what I intended.” Herbst said, “Intentions don’t preclude action.” Lisbet Neu looked up at him, struggling to fathom his words.

  When they had walked a few paces, his mouth was empty, and he could find nothing to say. He thought: Will we walk in silence, like those couples who are weary of each other? He lit a cigarette and said, “If the lady agrees, we can stop for coffee.” Lisbet Neu said, “With your permission, I’d rather walk. I’ve been sitting in the office all day, and I don’t get a chance to stretch my legs. That’s why you found me on the street. If it’s all right with you, Dr. Herbst, let’s walk a bit.” Herbst said, “Let’s walk.”

  They left Ben Yehuda Street and were on a road that had no name yet but is now called Shammai Street. They were suddenly encircled by the quiet that sweetens the summer nights of Jerusalem in those few remaining spots that have not been ruined by this perplexed generation. When they reached such a place, Lisbet Neu began telling about herself, things that astonished Herbst. Lisbet Neu said, “All my energy is wasted selling furniture and dealing with customers.” After talking about furniture and customers, she began to discuss how girls were educated, the fact that they were not taught a trade. What were they taught? To hope for husbands. And husbands didn’t appear, since most husbands were looking for a dowry and most girls didn’t have a dowry. Even back in Germany, where life was orderly and conventional, it was hard to find matches for daughters. Here in the Land of Israel, where there was so little order and few conventions, these young women hoped in vain. From these young women and their plight, she turned to tales of travel in Africa which she had been reading. One can hardly say there is a connection between the education of women and tales of Africa. Still, she saw some connections; but Herbst wasn’t listening.

  They were already beyond the quiet streets, entering an area filled with houses, stores, pedestrians. When Herbst first came to Jerusalem, this entire territory was desolate. Now it was bustling, mostly with Jews, but with a few Arabs and a few Englishmen as well – Jews because they lived here; Arabs because, if the Jews thought that building houses and opening stores gave them the land, that’s not how it was going to be. For the time being, they were simply here; but, in time, they would have a chance to deal with the Jews. And why were the English here? They were here to bestow peace on the land. But, from the day they arrived, they have promoted hatred, envy, and contention, which will end in murder and bloodshed.

  Herbst and Lisbet Neu didn’t talk about the usual subjects – Lisbet Neu, because she wanted to speak of her own affairs; Herbst, because he wanted to hear what she had to say. But Lisbet didn’t get around to he
r own concerns, because whatever she thought of seemed too trivial to say to this learned man, whose name she first heard from her uncle when he went to visit him. Whether or not her concerns were important, Herbst enjoyed her verbal contortions.