Once again, I will say what I already said. Imagine this: Manfred Herbst enters a bookstore, finds a picture of a leper, hears references to a leper colony, suddenly remembers what he heard from Shira. Could such a chain of events fail to have an impact? Henceforth, Herbst was haunted by these concerns. Although he didn’t put them into words, they remained fixed in his mind, so that, when he woke up knowing he hadn’t dreamed about lepers, he felt that they had done him a favor.
One Shabbat morning, Herbst went out for a walk. It was one of those delightful Jerusalem mornings, with a lull between rains. Since the day was so delightful, the roads were a delight, his heart was filled with delight, and all his thoughts were delightful too. He wasn’t thinking of Shira or of anything else that might confound him. He was seeing every tree, every rock that was there, all basking in the sweet Shabbat morning sunshine. Since he wanted to enjoy these pleasures fully, he turned toward the less frequented spots, where he found himself alone, like in the old days, when he had just come to the country. He kneeled down to collect some of the colored pebbles that were scattered along the road. Now that most areas have been built up, these delightful pebbles have all but disappeared. But, in those days, they were everywhere. If you were clever, you could collect them and make yourself a floor, which probably would not be a source of delight, because mosaic design was already a forgotten art. It’s a fact that the territory he was walking in that day was right next to the leper colony. I don’t know if Herbst realized this, but, even if he did, he would not have been upset. Because on that particular day he was utterly composed and untroubled.
He returned from his walk refreshed and happy. Henrietta was seated in her chair, all bundled up. Herbst looked at her, at her bloated face, at her belly, and said, “I’m hungry, Mother, hungry as a dozen wolves. I could eat you up, along with the baby that’s inside you.” Henrietta smiled and said, “I’ll set the table right away, and we can have lunch. Please, dear, don’t eat anything now, so you’re sure to be hungry when you come to the table.” Henrietta got up and went to the kitchen. Manfred went to the icebox, which had no ice in it because summer was over, took out the table wine, and poured some into a glass. The cool drink revived him. Meanwhile, little Sarah appeared, with the pipe Henrietta had given him for his birthday dangling from her mouth. That child is so adorable, she makes such delightful noises holding the pipe in her mouth and pretending to smoke it. “Mother, Mother,” Manfred shouted. “Come and have a look.” Now that she realized she was doing something special, the child continued to perform. Manfred lifted her up, sat down, and placed her on his lap, contemplating the small pleasures a man can enjoy in his own home, reflecting on the cleverness of Sarah, and of Zahara and Tamara when they were small. Now that they were both grown, distant and remote from him, though they caused him no pain, they didn’t add to his pleasure. But he expected pleasure from the child Henrietta was about to produce. The fact is, before Sarah was born, it didn’t occur to him that she would give him pleasure. But, now that he took pleasure in her, he was also pleased about the baby Henrietta was going to present him with very soon. What should we name the child? If it’s a girl, we won’t call her Atara. A three-way rhyme, Zahara-Tamara-Sarah, is quite enough.
While they were waiting, Manfred took Henrietta’s hand and said, “Now, Mother, it’s time you gave us a boy. Do you hear, Mother? I want a boy.” Henrietta was quiet. Then she said, “I’ll try.” Manfred said, “Do you know something, Mother? I have a nice name for a boy.” “What is it?” “Shlomo Yehuda.” Henrietta said, “The name Shlomo is enough for me. Was your father’s name Shlomo Yehuda?” Manfred said, “My father didn’t have a Hebrew name.” Henrietta said, “Then why is your heart set on Shlomo Yehuda?” Manfred said, “Let me tell you. The very first modern Jewish scholar was named Shlomo Yehuda Rappaport, the Shlomo Yehuda Rappaport who is known by the acronym
Shir
.” Henrietta said, “Why do you suddenly look so downcast?” “Downcast? I didn’t notice. Hand me the mirror,” he said, pretending to joke. Manfred was immersed in thought. To keep his wife from noticing, he got up from the chair and said, “It was a mistake to drink wine, especially when I was overheated from my walk.” Henrietta said, “Don’t worry, Manfred. A healthy man like you can allow himself a glass of wine. In any case, don’t have any more today.” Manfred said, “Unless you give it to me, I won’t have any more.” He suddenly looked up at his wife and addressed her with affection, “Just say the word, and I’ll abstain until the
brit
.” Henrietta said, “You’re certain it will be a boy?” Manfred said, “You must admit, we’ve had more than enough of this
Weiblichkeit [femininity]
. You yourself, Mother, and Zahara and Tamara and Sarah, as well as Zahara’s daughter Arlozora. I am amazed that no one suspects Arlozoroff was killed by Germans. It’s logical that he would have been killed by Germans.”
Manfred put his head on the table and smoothed the cloth with his chin. He continued the gesture for a while. Then he lifted his head and stared at Henrietta for a long time. Henrietta felt his eyes on her and returned the stare, waiting for him to speak. Manfred said, “Do you remember the day I brought you to the hospital when Sarah was about to be born?” Henrietta smiled and said, “Now, Father, no woman is likely to forget such a day. Why do you ask if I remember it?” Manfred said, “You may remember the nurse who brought you flowers.” Henrietta said, “Her name was Shira, wasn’t it?” Manfred said, “If you say her name was Shira, let’s assume it was Shira. I want to tell you something now. No one knows where she is.” Henrietta said, “What do you mean, ‘no one knows where she is’?” Manfred said, “If I say so, you can believe me. She left the hospital three months ago. She didn’t say where she was going. She left no trace.” Mrs. Herbst shuddered. After a brief pause, she said, “She probably went away and doesn’t want anyone to know her whereabouts.” Manfred said, “I know what you’re thinking. You think she got pregnant and is hiding until after the birth.” Henrietta said, “I really didn’t think of that, but what you say is logical.” Manfred said, “Actually not, Mother. There is reason to suspect she was killed or kidnapped by Bedouins.” “And what is the government doing? Is it searching for her?” Manfred said, “The government! What an inspired idea! People are disappearing, and the government doesn’t lift a finger to find them.” Henrietta said, “Why did you push away the dish? Try some meat. It’s very good, Father.” Manfred said, “So, in your opinion, she is pregnant, and she’ll suddenly reappear on the scene. I am of the opinion that someone like Shira, if she were pregnant, wouldn’t be ashamed and wouldn’t go into hiding.” Henrietta said, “You know, Father, there are women who are daring in theory but timid in practice.” Manfred lowered his head, fixed his eyes on Henrietta’s feet, and said, “Mother, I must tell you something. I’m not pleased that you wear sandals all the time. True, sandals are comfortable. But, in your condition, there is reason to worry about flat feet, or, to use a more respectful term, fallen arches. When did you buy those sandals?” “When? If I’m not mistaken, I bought them before Tamara was born.” Manfred said, “We calculate time by births, don’t we, Mother. By now, even Tamara has left home. She is on her own and doesn’t need us. In a few years, Sarah won’t be dependent on us either. Where is the pipe? Where did it go?” Henrietta said, “Do you want to smoke the pipe?” “I don’t want to smoke the pipe, but I don’t like it when things disappear.” Henrietta said, “We’ll find it, we’ll find it.” Manfred said, “I already told you, the government doesn’t lift a finger.” Henrietta said, “I thought you were referring to the pipe, but I see you were referring to the nurse Shira.” Manfred said, “I wasn’t really thinking about her, but, now that you mention her, I remember.” Henrietta said, “If we were to think about everything there is to think about, we wouldn’t manage at all. Have some pudding. I made it from a recipe in the WIZO cookbook.” Manfred said, “You yourself are quite a whizz-o.” Henrietta smiled and said, “There are other women who are whizzes too.” Manfred said, “I shouldn’t have had wine, certainly not a whole glass, and on an empty stomach.” Henrietta was amazed. “You had a whole glass?” Manfred nodded. “A whole glass, to the last drop. I was thirsty from my walk.” Henrietta said, “You didn’t tell me where you walked today.” Manfred cried out in surprise, “I didn’t tell you? I told you, and you forgot. I definitely told you that I went up to Mount Zion, circled the entire wall, and came down at the Dung Gate. Then I made my way back via the shelters, which is where I met the old printer, the one who printed my article and made the offprints for me. You might have a dress or a blouse you have no use for, Mother. I promised the printer’s wife I would find something for one of her acquaintances, a Polish aristocrat who has nothing to wear. I think the wine is wearing off. At any rate, I learned my lesson. A man tries to snatch some pleasure, and it retaliates for hours on end. After dinner, I’ll lie down and sober up. Why didn’t I loosen my tie before dinner? I’ve been sitting here feeling this burden on me, as if there were a noose around my neck, as if I were going to be hung from the gallows. Remember the night we spent in Ahinoam, Mother? When Zahara was waiting to give birth?”
Henrietta smiled contentedly and said, “No woman is likely to forget such a night.” Manfred said, “I haven’t forgotten it either. I didn’t tell you the dream I had, nor did you urge me to tell it. If you like, I’ll tell it to you now.” A tremor passed through his flesh; a similar tremor passed through her flesh as well. Manfred took his wife’s hand, caressed it, and said to her, “There aren’t many women like you. You don’t burden me with questions, for which I am always very grateful.” Henrietta said, “Didn’t you want to tell me your dream?” Manfred caressed her again and said, “Yes, I did. I will tell it now. That night, I was being led to the gallows.” “My God, how awful,” Henrietta cried, burying her face in her hands. “Yes, it was awful; it was dreadful,” Manfred echoed. “But not for your reason, Mother. For another reason. I knew there was one person who could have saved me. But that person didn’t lift a finger on my behalf.” Henrietta asked Manfred, “Do you remember who that person was?” Manfred said, “Don’t ask, Mother. Don’t ask.” Henrietta said, “I’m not asking, and I don’t want to know.” Manfred said, “I don’t actually remember who it was. But that night, at that moment, I knew who it was.” “That’s odd.” “Even more odd is the fact that, in my dream, I was upset by the idea that if you – meaning you and our daughters – should hear this news, you would also be upset.” Henrietta looked at him in astonishment and said, “Did you doubt that – “ Manfred interrupted her and said, “That’s not what seemed odd to me. What seemed odd was that I thought I wouldn’t be upset if I were to vanish from the face of the earth, though I was aware of the pain it would cause the rest of you. Don’t be angry with me, Mother. It’s not that you taught me at all times, to be truthful with you, Mother. But your proper life and your upright opinions lead me to tell you the truth, whether I want to or not.”
Henrietta took Manfred’s hand, placed it on her heart, and said, “Life is so hard for you, Manfred.” “Hard for me?” Manfred exclaimed in surprise, as if he had been addressed by a name other than his own. Henrietta said, “What brings on these sad thoughts?” Manfred answered, laughing, “The sad thoughts bring themselves on. It’s not a paradox, Mother. That’s really how it is. You may think I am sad because I failed to finish my book. Believe me, even if I had finished two arm-lengths worth of books, nothing would change for me. Do you remember what Goethe said about writing
Werther
? I don’t remember the precise words, but I do remember the message. Even if I had a tenured professorship, that wouldn’t change anything. My daughters don’t need me. You, Mother, don’t need me either. I myself have no need of me. So…” “So …?” “Now, Mother, don’t worry that I’ll put a bullet through my heart. People like me don’t take their own life. They go on living, even when their strength gives out and they don’t have what it takes to live. They live on, to the point of total decay, through all sorts of situations, by any means.”
Henrietta gazed at her husband with a cold, analytical eye, with neither animosity nor empathy, and said, “Has something happened to you?” Manfred said, “Nothing happened to me.” Henrietta said, “The kind of things you’ve been saying don’t occur to a person all of a sudden.” “All of a sudden?” “Henrietta added, “And their cause isn’t simple.” “Simple?” Herbst already regretted what he had said to his wife and hoped to blur his words. He looked at his wife, searching her face for a sign of affection. Her face looked harsh and was glazed with contempt. She got up, but she didn’t clear the empty dishes, nor did she collect the remnants of the meal. Manfred got up, too, and went to his room. He paced back and forth, looked out the window, and resumed his pacing, as though there were no chair or couch in the room. After a while, he lit a cigarette and went to the window. The ashes fell on the rug, but he took no notice. When the cigarette began to burn his fingers, he started, dumped it in an ashtray, and crushed it with a book. Then he went to the bookcase, extended his arms, and, with a sweeping gesture, declared, in the style of Professor Bachlam, “I am not the author of these books. I don’t wish to be an Author of Many Books. I’m willing to disavow what I’ve already written, if you like.” He gazed at the two bookcases again and calculated: What will you be worth to my wife when I’m dead? He pictured his friends coming to her, feigning virtue to acquire valuable books at bargain prices. “Damn it!” he shouted, spitting angrily. He began to pace the room again, scanning the walls, which were lined with photographs of himself and his friends, each face expressing genius that would be everlasting and eternal, all of them learned, involved in scholarship and in the pursuit of wisdom, maintaining contact with scholars throughout the world. She’s first rate, Herbst reflected, contemplating the picture of his wife that was on his desk. If not for her, I would run away to the ends of the earth, to far-off isles, leaving you, all of you, to your own devices, to make a mess of your own – to paraphrase the words of Augustus, king of Saxony, when he was about to be deposed.