It was already lunchtime, but he hadn’t been called for lunch. He had already smoked a cigarette, meaning to allay his hunger, and still he wasn’t called. He thought of going downstairs to remind Henrietta that it was lunchtime; that he was hungry; that, even before it was lunchtime, he had been hungry, very, very hungry, really hungry; and, now that it was in fact lunchtime, it was surely time to eat. That’s how Henrietta is: she is so orderly and meticulous about having things done on time, yet, when he is hungry and it’s time to eat, it doesn’t matter to her that it’s lunchtime. Is she so busy with the baby that she lost track of time? He may have to go down to the kitchen and remind her that it’s time for him to eat. He knows it won’t help; that, until he is called to eat, nothing will help; that he might, on the contrary, confuse Henrietta and delay her further. He doesn’t really mind about confusing her, except that confusion might lead to anger, and he doesn’t want to make her angry. Anyone who has enjoyed several months of domestic harmony isn’t eager to get involved in strife. He reached for the cigarettes again, meaning to take one, but he took two. It was because he was so befuddled that he took two. Seeing what he had done, he meant to put one down and light the other. Because he was so befuddled, he put them both down. Meanwhile, he heard footsteps. Firadeus was on the way to his room, leaping up the steps. Then, remembering that was not the proper way, she slowed down. Herbst thought: They’re finally coming to call me. My fingers were better informed than I was. They put down the cigarettes even before I heard anyone coming.
Firadeus appeared. She was small, young, weary; weary from the troubles in her mother’s house, weary from the work in her mistress’s house, which was compounded the day they brought the baby home. Two shining eyes, a fiery mix of reticence and humility, illuminated her pale, dark face. Rarely do eyes convey a message and its reverse at one and the same time; where there is reticence and humility, how can there be such fire? She entered, accompanied by the good smell of peaches, which she brought on a small tray that had been made in Damascus. Herbst gazed at the peaches and inhaled their fragrances, hoping it would quell his hunger. It didn’t occur to him that the fruit was for him, because Henrietta was strict about not eating before meals. If fruit was being brought to his room, he couldn’t assume it was to be eaten, for Henrietta was not likely suddenly to change her ways. “What is this?” Herbst asked. “You’re bringing fruit? Your mistress knows I love fruit, so she sent me some. But it isn’t time for fruit now, is it?” He consulted his wristwatch to see if he had misjudged the time. He looked up at Firadeus and said, “It isn’t really time for fruit now. Do you, by chance, know what moved our mistress to send up such a thriving garden? I have never seen such splendid peaches, not this year, not the year before. Do you know, Firadeus, if not for Persia, there would be no peaches in the world. Persia is a country that cultivates peaches. I can tell from these peaches that we won’t be eating lunch today. Do you happen to know how lunch has sinned to keep us from eating it today?” Firadeus said, “I was told to say we’ll be eating later.” “Later? Why not now?” Firadeus said, “A guest has arrived.” “A guest? Who is the guest?” Firadeus said, “A nurse from the hospital.” Even before Herbst heard what Firadeus was saying, he heard himself whisper, “She has finally come.” Even before he heard himself whisper, he felt his heart begin to flutter with yearning. He was quick to relax his left hand, so he wouldn’t place it on his heart and let Firadeus see he was upset. He looked up at her boldly, eyed her fiercely, to inform and forewarn her that she was to tell the truth, that he would countenance no deception. He finally asked, in a voice that was neither bold nor fierce, “What does the nurse look like?” Firadeus repeated his question, without understanding what he wanted to know. Herbst stared at the new apron Firadeus was wearing. He stared at the wildflower pattern on the apron and asked, “Is she old or young?” Before she could answer him, he twisted his lips in a mock smile and added, “Is she very old?” Firadeus answered, “She’s not young or old. Just some woman who works with the sick.” Herbst said, “Maybe you can describe her to me. You did see her; what does she look like?” Firadeus said, “She wears a nurse’s kerchief that covers her head, as well as her hair, and white clothes. A nurse’s uniform, like the ones Ashkenazi nurses wear.” Though Firadeus tried to describe everything about that nurse, she was very sorry not to be able to describe the nurse’s face to her master’s satisfaction. Herbst asked Firadeus, “Was she invited to have lunch with us?” Firadeus said, “The mistress didn’t say anything to me.” “The mistress didn’t say anything to you? She didn’t say anything to you about the nurse, such as, ‘Add a dish, a spoon, a fork’? When a guest is invited to a meal, you add a plate, a bowl, a knife, a fork. But what do I know about these matters? You, Firadeus, can’t tell me who the guest is?” Firadeus turned a bewildered face to her master and stared at him, bewildered and distraught, distraught and bewildered. She had told him explicitly that the guest was a nurse from the hospital. Why did Mr. Herbst persist in questioning her, when he had already heard the answer. She wanted so much to please him by telling him what he wanted to know, but what was there for her to do when this was impossible? An Ashkenazi girl would know how to answer, but she doesn’t. Now, when Mr. Herbst wants to know, she can’t tell him, and, even if Mr. Herbst doesn’t hold it against her, he probably regrets the fact that she can’t do what would be simple for an Ashkenazi to do. She was saddened by the fact that there was something she couldn’t do for her master, something that seemed so simple to him. She stood reticent and humble, her eyes seething with sadness, like her father when he found a hat in the trash near a house in Talpiot and took the hat to the owner, who told him what he told him. Herbst suddenly altered his tone and said; “I shouldn’t be keeping you, Firadeus. You are probably needed downstairs. Did the nurse just happen to come, or was there something wrong with the baby? Do you know if that nurse was ever in our house before?” Herbst knew that no nurse had ever been in the house, and he knew that Firadeus could answer that she had never seen a nurse in his house. He therefore altered his tone again and said, “Now, Firadeus, it’s time to eat some of these splendid peaches. I’ve never seen peaches like these. If I were to examine them with a magnifying glass, I wouldn’t find any freckles on them. Tell me this: does that nurse have freckles on her face? You don’t know what freckles are? The singular
is freckle
; in the plural, we say
freckles
. I see that I’m detaining you, and they are probably missing you by now.”
When Firadeus left, Herbst sat alone, pondering: Henrietta has a guest, a nurse from the hospital. Anyone who has no illusions would know the guest is not Shira. She is just some nurse who attended Henrietta in the hospital, who no doubt promised to visit and came today, keeping her promise, which Shira didn’t do. Shira might have also done so, if there had been nothing between us. Once again, he reviewed the incident in the telephone booth, when he spoke with her there, as well as his visit to her house and her room, which took a turn he wouldn’t have thought possible, as well as what transpired the following day, when Henrietta herself put them in each other’s hands. Herbst sat reviewing everything that had transpired with Shira. There wasn’t anything that he didn’t remember, nor was there anything he forgot. He didn’t omit anything that transpired with Shira, and he especially didn’t omit those things that did not occur between them. He was even more keenly aware of what did not occur between them than of what did, as if what did not occur was the essence. And, that being what he lacked, he would be keenly aware of this lack forever. Now Shira has exceeded everything. She doesn’t show herself; she simply doesn’t show herself. She has absented herself from the places she used to frequent. She has vanished, vanished so that she can no longer be found. It would be worthwhile to know where she is. He said it would be worthwhile, and his heart began to flutter with yearning, so that he knew he would have no rest until he finds her. He reached for the tray, to take another peach, not realizing he had finished them all, that there was no fruit left. But the fruit he had eaten did not satisfy him. As a matter of fact, it stimulated his appetite. He deliberated awhile and told himself: If I go downstairs, I’ll surely find her. He knew clearly that the guest wasn’t Shira; that, since she wasn’t Shira, he had no interest in her; that all nurses were the same to him, and he had no need to go and see which one was sitting with Henrietta. Nonetheless, he got up to go downstairs.
When he opened his door, the downstairs door opened and the nurse came out. She was taking leave of Henrietta. Herbst already knew she wasn’t Shira, but he wanted to see and be convinced that she wasn’t Shira. He alerted his ears to listen to the nurse’s voice as she said goodbye to Henrietta. Hearing it, he immediately knew her voice wasn’t Shira’s voice. But he held his breath so he could hear. Was she Shira or was she not Shira? After a while, Firadeus came back again. She came to tell him, “The mistress says lunch will soon be ready.”
Chapter four
S
o as not to delay Sarah and Firadeus, one of whom had to nap after lunch, while the other had to go home and prepare a meal for her mother and brothers and sisters, Henrietta instructed Firadeus to serve herself and Sarah, to sit down and eat, rather than wait for the nurse to leave. Which is why he found Henrietta alone when he came down to lunch. Manfred glanced at Sarah’s empty chair and said, “Where is the little one? Did she misbehave? Is she not being allowed to eat with the grownups because of something she did?” Henrietta said, “Sarah’s napping.” Manfred repeated, “She’s napping?” Henrietta said, “She has already eaten. It didn’t make sense to have her wait for us to sit down and eat.” Manfred rolled his eyelids comically and said, in a tone that made it clear he was anxious to know who had been visiting Henrietta, “So you had important company?” Henrietta said, “How do you know it was important company?” Manfred extended the palm of his hand and said, “There are several clues.” He flexed one finger and said: “Because, one, you postponed lunch on account of the visit; two, the guest must be very special if our meal was deemed unworthy of him.” Henrietta gazed at him questioningly, “And three?” Manfred said, “Anyone who takes the liberty of calling on Mrs. Herbst is an important person. Who was here – who is he, that you starve your heart’s chosen mate because of him?” Henrietta said, “Not because of him; because of her. If I starved you, I did at least send you peaches. If not for that guest, you would never get to see such splendid fruit outside of a display case.” Manfred said, “So how did you get the peaches? Did you smash the display case to get them for me?” Henrietta said, “At least you enjoyed them?” Herbst said, “I didn’t enjoy them, I didn’t enjoy them at all. How could I take pleasure in food, knowing someone was with you, tormenting you with conversation?” Henrietta said, “As it happens, Fred, the guest’s conversation didn’t torment me at all. As a matter of fact, the entire conversation was a revelation of sorts.” Manfred stretched his neck from right to left, peered at her, and said, in a tone that conveyed curiosity, “Is that so? Is that so? It would be nice to hear about that conversation, which was so pleasant that you found it to be ‘a revelation of sorts.’ I ought to admit that I myself don’t know what ‘a revelation of sorts’ is. In any case, I imagine the guest told you great and important things. If it doesn’t involve divulging secrets, maybe you could tell me what that gentleman told you.” Henrietta said, “You sound exactly like your daughter.” Manfred said, “I sound like Zahara?” Henrietta said, “Is Zahara your only daughter? It seems to me that, apart from Zahara, you have two other daughters.” She extended her hand, as Manfred had done earlier, and flexed a finger, saying, “One, Tamara.” She flexed another finger and said, “Two, Sarah.” Manfred said, “In what way do I sound like Tamara?” Henrietta said, “Why do you pick Tamara? I’m thinking of Sarah.” “Sarah? Do I stammer like a child?” Henrietta said, “One, Sarah doesn’t stammer; two, it’s not a stammer I’m referring to. I’m referring to grammar.” “Grammar? You’ve been studying grammar? Hurray, Henrietta. Hurray. You know my views: one cannot know a language without knowing its grammar. Which is to say that any language that isn’t native cannot be acquired without studying its grammar. Who is teaching you? Taglicht? He knows Hebrew, but he surely doesn’t know grammar. Let me tell you a paradox of sorts. Grammar is our province – the province of Germans. Among East European Jews, there are those who know grammar. But their knowledge is intuitive; it comes from the heart. They can’t externalize it and teach it to others. So, what is all this grammar talk about?” Henrietta said, “Are you thinking of Sarah’s grammar? When Sarah wants to say, ‘Sarah loves Daddy,’ she says, ‘Sarah loves his Daddy.’“ “What? She still doesn’t distinguish between masculine and feminine?” “As a matter of fact, she does distinguish. When she refers to Zahara, she says, ‘Sarah loves her Zahara’; when she refers to Zahara’s husband, she says, ‘Sarah loves his Avraham.’ This also applies to hate. Referring to a male, she uses the masculine form of the pronoun for herself; referring to a female, she uses the feminine form.” “And for her brother?” “She doesn’t mention her brother at all. It’s as though he didn’t exist.” “She ignores him?” “She doesn’t ignore him, but she would like us to ignore him.” Manfred said, “It’s hard on a woman who is used to be being the center of the universe to have her place usurped.” Henrietta said, “A woman! You consider Sarah a woman and assume my visitor was a man. My dear Fred, what is happening to you?” Manfred said, “So it was a woman who was here. Someone I know?” Henrietta said, “I don’t keep a catalogue of all the women you know.” Manfred said, “Bravo, Henriett, bravo. If I were to adopt Sarah’s language, I would say, ‘Manfred loves her Henriett.’ How gracious you are, Henriett, to assume I know women other than my own Henriett. That woman couldn’t have found a better time to visit? She had to come at a time when company is unwelcome?” Henrietta said, “She truly couldn’t find another time. Nurses who work in hospitals are busy. She had a bit of free time and wanted to see how I am doing. Needless to say, she especially wanted to see the baby. She was the one who brought us the peaches. An effendi, whose wife bore him a live child in Hadassah Hospital, brought her fruit from his garden, and she brought some to us.” “What do you mean, ‘a live child’?” Henrietta said, “A live child and not a dead one. Year after year, she bore dead babies. Thanks to Hadassah and thanks to our doctors, his wife finally bore him a living child. Fred, we’re developing to the point where very soon we won’t be able to talk to each other. You don’t seem to understand what I say anymore, and you question every word. I wanted to tell you some of what the nurse told me, Fred, but I see I won’t even get to begin.” “Why?” “Why? There you go again. I can’t say a word without being asked a thousand questions.” “A thousand questions? That’s an exaggeration.” “Nine hundred and ninety-nine may be more precise. My dear Fred, go and have a rest.” “And the story the nurse told you will keep until I get up?” “I’ll have to decide whether to tell it to you.” Manfred said, “I see you’re cross with me. Incidentally, I meant to ask: considering the animosity between the two of you, how did Dr. Krautmeir explain her visit?” Henrietta was stunned and surveyed her husband in wonderment tinged with suspicion. Manfred felt uneasy, without knowing why. Henrietta remained silent. Manfred remained silent too. Henrietta broke the silence and said, “Then you didn’t hear any of what the nurse told me? No, no, no. Upstairs, it’s impossible to hear what goes on down below.” Manfred said, “Of course, it’s always been my habit to stand up there and listen to what goes on down here.” Henrietta said, “That’s not what I meant. Anyway, it’s interesting that you mention Krautmeir. The story I wanted to tell you happens to be about her – a spicy story inspired by Balzac’s familiar tales. Too bad, Fred. Too bad. Even before I began, you stole the sting.” Manfred said, “Tell me.” Henrietta said, “How does one begin? I doubt that I can tell it right. In any case, I learned from this story that Dr. Krautmeir, who devotes herself to limiting our population, sometimes demonstrates – personally – how babies are made. Oh, Fred, I’ve given it away. What I’m about to say to you is: let’s save the story for another time. Because the elements are so good, the story itself suffers.” Manfred said, “Curiosity is not a virtue, but neither is it a virtue to stir up curiosity.” Henrietta said, “Will you be able to sit and listen without a cigarette in your mouth?” Manfred said, “In your honor, in honor of that lady, Dr. Krautmeir, in honor of all the genteel ladies who don’t smoke, I’m willing to forgo a cigarette for a while. Tell me, Henriett, are there many storytellers who have been so royally compensated? Now then, either you begin or I smoke two cigarettes at a time.” Henrietta said, “I really don’t know how to begin, but I’ll try.