Shira (26 page)

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

H
erbst 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 original; 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.

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.