I have said so much about seemingly trivial matters that are not actually trivial, for they shed light on the people Herbst lived with. If I weren’t afraid to be too abstract, I would say that all the household winds were at one with the man of the house.
Chapter five
H
erbst sits at home. He doesn’t go to Shira’s, so, obviously, he doesn’t stay there late. But he is at his desk late, with his books and his papers. Some of the papers are in the new box that was made for him; others are on the desk in front of him, so he can jot down ideas that will enhance his book. He is about to turn out a new book, a sequel to the first one. A true researcher – even if he turns out many books, each one brimming with new and different ideas – will relate them all to his very first book, the one that took shape in his mind when he first began to respond to intellectual stimulation, before he even knew why he was responding.
So Herbst is at his desk. He compares one text to another, one document to another, and studies photostats without a magnifier all day and into the night. Since he began to smoke less, his eyes have improved. And, since he began to smoke less, Henrietta comes in more often. When she comes, she brings a flower from the garden, fresh fruit from the tree, or any one of his favorite foods. When she comes, he clears a chair for her, and she sits down to talk to her husband. What does she talk about, and what doesn’t she talk about? Things she has talked about already, things Manfred himself knows about, such as the baby boy she expects to give birth to. How does she know it will be a boy? Because that’s what Manfred told her, and Manfred is dependable. When she was pregnant with Sarah, Manfred did not predict that she would give birth to a boy, and, in fact, she had a girl, not a boy. The night Sarah, their little daughter, was born was the night Herbst got to know Shira. Now that Henrietta is going to give birth to either a boy or a girl, Herbst has put Shira out of mind.
From the time Herbst first knew Shira to the present, he had never realized just how good it was for a man to be faithful to his wife. The poets have wrought splendid poems about love, yet not many of them celebrate a husband’s love for his wife.
Nevertheless, Herbst was surprised not to be tormenting himself over Shira. Was his connection with her such a casual matter? Everything is determined by agreement. If we agree that something is important, then it is; if we don’t, then it is of no consequence. This applies to his relationship with Shira.
Herbst makes no effort to see Shira, and Shira makes no effort to show herself to him. If Shira had come to visit Henrietta, as she had promised the day Sarah was born, he would not have minded. He would have welcomed her, asked how she was, spoken to her, as he did to most of the women who called on Henrietta.
He acted on his intentions. Not at home, but when he was out. Once, he was standing in front of a shoe store, considering whether to buy new sandals. His sandals were worn. He had brought them in for repair and retrieved them in worse shape than before, so he decided to get new ones. While he was standing in front of the store, Shira emerged, carrying some shoes in a paper bag. She saw him and said, “You disappeared from the horizon.” He said to her, “Would you like me to show myself on your horizon?” Whatever he said was said only to be polite, which was the tone of the entire conversation.
When they parted, she said to him, “I have moved to a new place. If you wish, you can write down my new address.” She also said to him, “You are going to buy yourself some shoes.” And he said, “I’m not going to buy myself any shoes.” She said, “But you’re standing here and looking in the window.” He said, “The window is full of children’s shoes.” Shira said, “Are you looking for shoes for your son?” He said, “You mean my daughter.” She said, “Your daughter’s son or the son your wife is about to give birth to.” Herbst said, “Nothing is hidden from you, Shira.” Shira said, “In any case, you may visit me in my new apartment.” He said, “With pleasure, with pleasure. Let me have your package, and I’ll carry it.” Shira held the package with one finger and said, “It’s light. I can carry it.” He said, “No is no.” She said, “I’m busy arranging furniture, or I would invite you to come this evening. This is your bus stop. If you’re not in a hurry, I’ll tell you something. You once asked me if I ever dreamed about you, and I told you I don’t dream. But, of all things, the night after I told you that, I dreamed I was in my bed, and near my bed, at an angle, under the Böcklin picture, some sort of creature was walking along jauntily. I looked more closely and saw a little hat. Do you understand, Manfred? A little hat was walking around the room. A little hat, walking, on its own. Here comes your bus. Goodbye now, and
au revoir
. You didn’t take down my new address. Too bad.”
Herbst boarded the bus, sat down, and thought: I was in town, and I didn’t buy anything for Henrietta’s birthday. If Zahara were here, I would consult her about what to buy. I could consult Mimi Weltfremdt, or maybe…Before he could think of anyone else to consult, he was at his stop. Herbst got off the bus and went home.
Chapter six
E
ven though Herbst had put Shira out of mind, he realized that he should have written down her new address. Not in order to visit her, but to be polite, especially since she had told him twice, “Write down my new address.” Actually, she had said, “Write it down,” only once. The second time, before she went off, she didn’t say, “You can write it down”; she said, “You didn’t take down my new address.” She also said, “Too bad.” It’s a bad sign when a man treats a woman he was once intimate with as if she no longer exists for him. But what’s left undone may be for the best. Why fill our notebooks with useless data? Shira’s name and address would take up only a single line, but, when you opened the book and saw the name, it would arouse all sorts of thoughts.
Time plays its part, and Shira plays hers. She doesn’t show herself in any of her usual haunts. Herbst is glad that she doesn’t show herself to him, but he is also puzzled.
The days proceed in orderly fashion; the household functions in its usual way. Henrietta does her work, and Manfred does his. He is busy with his books and his students, at home and at the university. She is busy in the house and garden. It should be mentioned that, were it not for the fact that Firadeus helped her, Henrietta’s work would not get done. Her body is enormously heavy, and her legs seem to be weighted down with stones. We will therefore sing the praises of Firadeus, who is a helpmate to Henrietta. You cannot imagine what a skilled worker Firadeus is. In addition, she has good sense. Henrietta recognized this even before she became pregnant, when she could manage without help. Now that she can no longer manage on her own, she gives herself credit for having recognized Firadeus’s special qualities early on. She often says, “What I observed earlier in my mind, I now observe with my eyes.” Henrietta is pleased with Firadeus, and Manfred is equally pleased with her. Actually, Manfred was always pleased with the household help, to the extent that he was aware of its existence, since his main needs were met by Henrietta. When Firadeus arrived, she took on some of the chores that had always been reserved for Henrietta, both in the house and garden, and in Herbst’s study. Since Firadeus has begun to do his room, he finds everything in place. Not just the smoking paraphernalia, the pens, and the ink, but slips of paper, blown under the furniture by the wind, are arranged neatly on his desk. Herbst admires Firadeus for not being lazy. Slips of paper he has lost track of, with notes on forgotten books, are set out in front of him, reminding him of material he didn’t remember, although he himself had copied it. For this reason, he is always very cordial to Firadeus, and, even if he is involved in reading or writing, he stops to say a kind word. Firadeus listens and makes an effort to satisfy her employers.
Firadeus has many thoughts in her heart. First about her father, who was killed by an Arab while on his way home from work in Talpiot. As he did every day, on that day he walked home after collecting the garbage from the houses of Talpiot, an empty sack on his shoulders and an Ashkenazi-style hat on his head – a hat he had found in a Talpiot garbage can. It was a fine hat, and, being unfamiliar with the Ashkenazi practice of throwing out something perfectly good, he assumed it had landed in the garbage by mistake. He picked up the hat and knocked on the door of the adjacent house. The man of the house appeared and asked, “What do you want?” He pointed to the hat he was holding and told the man, “I found it in the garbage, sir, and I am returning it to you.” The man laughed and said, “It’s all yours. You can wear it on Shabbat and holidays.” Father took another look at the hat and said to that gentleman, “May many blessings come your way.” Father used to wear the hat on Shabbat, on holidays, on all joyous occasions. A fine man and full of good cheer, Father was invited to every celebration that took place in our neighborhood. After a while, he began wearing the hat every day, but not when he was dealing with the garbage. After a further while, he began wearing it when he was working. The day he was killed was the third time he wore the hat to work. Firadeus was sitting in the bus, on her way to Talpiot. All of a sudden, a shot was heard. Everyone began shouting. The driver stopped the bus, and a body was carried in. Firadeus had never seen a dead body and had no wish to see one. But her eyes were drawn in its direction. Her heart stood still. She tore at her heart with her fingernails, shrieking – a terrible shriek that still rings in her ears. After that, she didn’t shriek at all; she was taken somewhere and given a drink to induce sleep and inhibit tears. To this day, her eyes remain inhibited, and only her heart murmurs: My sweet father, my sweet father. Unlike that moment when she saw that the dead man was her father and shrieked a single shriek: “Father!”
Mother is second only to Father. Like her neighbors, Mother works all day. At night, another mood takes over. She gets up from her mat and paces back and forth, her eyes closed tight, her spirit lamenting, wailing, mourning the father of these tender orphans, a blameless man whose innocent blood was spilled while God in heaven remained silent. He remained silent as an evil nation had the temerity to murder a righteous man in this land ruled by violence.
Third in the thoughts of Firadeus are her brothers and sisters, who have never known any kindness. She alone has found kindness, in the Herbst household.
Many people come to the Herbst home. Almost all of them are doctors, which is how it is with the Ashkenazim. They smoke a lot and talk a lot. The most peculiar one is the raving doctor whose name she has given up trying to pronounce. She calls him Dr. Felfrem. He is tall, broad shouldered, constantly swearing and cursing. As he rants, he holds the tip of his nose between his thumb and index finger, scowling at everything in sight. When he comes into the house, Firadeus feels as if he were placing his heavy arms on her shoulders, pushing her down to the floor, scowling at her. She is still surprised that he has never once done this. Mrs. Herbst says he’s not a bad person, that it’s just his way to be angry, which one should never say to his face, or he will become all the more angry.
Dr. Taglicht, the skinny man whose name means “daylight” in the language of the Ashkenazim, but whom Tamara calls Talglicht, meaning “tallow candle” in the language of the Ashkenazim, is the reverse of Dr. Felfrem. He is a fine man, and his manner is pleasant. Whenever he comes, he asks how she is; if he hasn’t seen her for a while, he asks about her mother, as well as her sisters and brothers. One Shabbat afternoon, walking with a girlfriend, she said hello to him, but he didn’t recognize her. When she told him her name, he reached out his hand and said, “Please introduce me to your friend.” This was before she knew about “introducing.” What did he do? He said to her friend, “Taglicht is my name, Dr. Taglicht.” She will never forget how he said “Taglicht is my name” – how he added “Dr. Taglicht,” so her friend knew that the gentleman who said hello to her was a doctor.
Apart from the doctors who come to the Herbst home, many young people come who aren’t doctors yet, but who will become doctors. They go to the room with all of Mr. Herbst’s books, the room Mr. Herbst works in. Some of the young men wear flamboyant clothes, but her perceptive eye discerns that they are worn. Often, there are no buttons on their coats. Were it not for fear of her mother, she would sign up at the youth center and sit in the corner examining coats and mending them as she had done for one of Herbst’s frequent visitors, a young man who forgot his coat. When Firadeus noticed that its buttons were missing, she took it in order to sew on buttons and saw it was torn as well. She sewed on new buttons, found similar material from which she made a patch, and brushed off the dust. Days later, the young man came to ask about his coat. Firadeus assumed he wouldn’t recognize the coat – that, if he recognized it, he would wonder about the transformation – but he took the coat and put it on without even noticing that it had new buttons and was no longer torn.
Along with the young men who come to Mr. Herbst is a young woman, also a student on Mount Scopus. Firadeus assumed she was like all the other young women studying at Mount Scopus, until she learned she was married, the mother of a baby. She leaves her little girl in Tel Aviv with her husband’s mother and comes to Jerusalem to study with the young men. We all know of women who abandon their children to go off with some scoundrel who steals other men’s wives. But never had she heard of a woman leaving her child to pursue academic studies. The one they call Dr. Krautmeir must have behaved in this fashion, which is how she became a doctor. Not merely a doctor, but a medical doctor – a real doctor, who is paid to see patients, whether they are brought to her or she goes to them. Her lips are always clenched. The whites of her eyes are bright. Her hand is large and plump, her face round and smooth. Her every hair stays in place out of fear of this mistress. Some of the women who call on Mrs. Herbst intimidate Firadeus, though she knows they have nothing against her. There are others she is fond of: the wife of the raving doctor, for example, whose name is Mimi, although Mrs. Herbst calls her Mi. Her blue-gray hair is like the soft feathers under a bird’s throat; her entire being suggests that she has no real substance. She is extremely thin; her face is transparent, her eyes bewildered. Everyone enjoys looking at her and listening to her voice, except for her husband, Dr. Felfrem. As soon as she opens her mouth, his attention wanders. Whenever Firadeus sees Mimi, she has an urge to smooth her sleeves, to touch her. Once, Firadeus heard her play the piano, and the sounds that came out of the instrument still vibrate in her ears, like the piano keys themselves when Mimi’s fingers darted across them. The same fingers do all the housework; she has no household help, because her husband can’t afford to pay the price.