Shira (48 page)

Father Manfred sits talking to his daughter, as always. But in the course of conversation he notes that his voice is different; something is missing, and something else has been introduced. This is true of her voice as well. Where is the lilt that used to be so refreshing? He had a daughter once, who belonged entirely to him, but someone came and took her away.

Father Manfred sits and talks to his daughter, thinking to himself: How did this transformation occur? It had nothing to do with him, that was certain. It took place before he became aware of it. Father Manfred smoothed his temples. He smoothed them again, thinking to himself: First I smoothed my temples unconsciously; I smoothed them again, deliberately. He looked directly at Zahara to see if she was responding to the message. She hadn’t even noticed that her father had smoothed his temples twice. Father Manfred was accustomed to having Zahara question everything he did in her presence. He had just now smoothed his temples twice, and she hadn’t reacted.

Father Manfred got up and went to take one of the cigarettes he had tucked away in the closet for a rainy day, though there was a full pack on the table. Zahara saw him get up and made the mistake of taking this as a signal for her to leave, so her father could get to work. He noticed and said, “Sit down, my child. Sit down. I didn’t see that there were cigarettes right here on the table, so I was going to get some from the closet. You might think I’m hiding them from Tamara, but I don’t even hide them from myself. It’s a lost cause. I’m already doomed to end my days in smoke. Everyone has faults. Your father isn’t short on faults, and smoking is not the worst one. I say this, not in self-reproach, but to be truthful.” Just as it began to seem to Father Manfred that he had access to his daughter again, that he could talk to her in their usual mode, he realized that this was not their usual mode. Then what was it? He was testing himself to see how much he could say to her, now that she was transformed. Again he wondered: How did that transformation take place? Actually, that was not the proper form for the question. He should have asked: When did it begin? Between the time it took to strike a match and light a cigarette, Manfred remembered that once, several years back, when Zahara was still a girl, he went into her room as she was taking off a dress and putting another one on, and that she shuddered when she saw him. This was the first such shudder, the response of a newly adolescent girl when a man sees her half-naked, even though he is her father. In any case, it was adolescence that brought on the change, and I took no notice until she appeared with him, that is, with Avraham-and-a-half.

Father Manfred is curious about Avraham-and-a-half and engages him in conversation. Father Manfred has two motives: first, to find out what the young man is like and get to know the qualities through which he prevailed and won his daughter; and, second, to show his daughter that he is fond of her mate. Be that as it may, Herbst’s conversation is an empty gesture. He asks questions without hearing that they have already been answered. He makes a statement without hearing that he has already said the same thing several times. The young man realizes this and has no interest in chewing over what’s already been chewed. Manfred realizes this and makes a move to placate the young man. How does he placate him? With a cigarette. But he’s not a smoker. Manfred searches the recesses of his heart for something endearing and finds nothing. Again, he offers him a cigarette. He takes the cigarette, lights it, but doesn’t smoke. Father Manfred notices and says, “I just remembered that you’re not a smoker. How I envy you. I wish I weren’t a smoker.” The young man says, “Does anyone keep you from quitting?” The father smiles graciously and says, “Really, there is nothing easier than giving up smoking. Isn’t that what Mark Twain said – ‘I know from experience, because I’ve given up smoking dozens of times’?” The young man listens but doesn’t laugh. Father Manfred thinks to himself: This young man has no sense of humor. Father Manfred doesn’t realize that most of the jokes being told in town have already made the rounds of the kibbutzim and have lost their punch. Father Manfred eyes the young man intently. What does Zahara see in him? How could she leave her father for him? The young man gets up and leaves. Father Manfred remains alone, whispering to himself, “I hope he didn’t notice what a failure I was.”

Avraham-and-a-half didn’t notice Manfred’s failure, nor did he notice his efforts. People like Herbst are of no interest to Avraham-and-a-half. Having never paid attention to avuncular types, here in the Land of Israel he was certainly not burdened by the yoke of excessive manners imposed by the leisure classes. It was merely Avraham’s good nature that kept him from walking away in mid-conversation. After each conversation with Avraham, Herbst felt as if a weight had been lifted from his heart. Herbst had made many attemptsto ascertain just what it was that oppressed him when he was with Zahara’s young man, but without success. He did not want to admit to himself that he couldn’t talk to a young person about anything but academic subjects.

Mother Henrietta was different from Father Manfred. Even before she knew Avraham, Henrietta approved of him, and the first time Zahara brought him home, she became quite fond of him. Now that Zahara had chosen him, Henrietta considered him to be the most splendid young man in the world. Whatever Avraham-and-a-half did was just right.

Henrietta moves through her house marveling over this young man, whose manners and conversation are so appealing, whose timing is so perfect, who can answer any question. Subjects that were far from her heart, in which she had no interest, suddenly engage her. When Avraham brings them up, they become important, and she wants to hear more. She declares, “I always wanted to know more about that, but I couldn’t find anyone to explain it to me until Avraham appeared and made it all clear.” Manfred hears this, and an angry sneer distorts his lips. He had tried many times to explain just those things to Henrietta, who had put him off, saying, “Let me be. I don’t have to know such things.” Along comes this whippersnapper whose learning is minimal, and she sits at his feet, a humble student, devouring his every word with no thought of fatigue, displaying her ignorance shamelessly. Manfred tries to say something to her, but she interrupts to sing the praises of Zahara’s Prince Charming, who embodies all the finest qualities one could look for in a young man. If it’s a question of tact, there is no one so tactful as Avraham; as for kindness, there is no one kinder. Henrietta has never even imagined a young man finer than this one.

Manfred jokes with her and says, “You pride yourself on being a good judge of character. In that case, how did you happen to choose me?” Henrietta says, “In those days, when we first met, you were all right.” “And now? Am I not all right?” Henrietta answers, “Now, my dear, I am tired, and I’m not in the mood for conversation.” Manfred says, “You’re not too tired to listen to that maypole of Zahara’s.” Henrietta says, “Please, Fred, cut out the nonsense. It doesn’t suit you at all.” “It doesn’t suit me because it’s nonsense, but if I said something smart, would you prick up your ears and listen?” Henrietta says, “Judging by what you just said, I doubt you could say anything smart.” Manfred says, “Then let me try.” Henrietta said, “I already told you, I’m tired.” Manfred says, “And what was my answer to that? Have you already forgotten?” Henrietta says, “Whether or not I forgot, I don’t have the strength to hear any more.” Manfred says, “Very well, then. That’s how I’ll treat you too.” Henrietta says, “Go right ahead. Whatever you like, Manfred.” Manfred says, “I’d like to see if I can really do as I like.” Henrietta said, “Since when don’t you do as you like with me? Anyway, I already told you, you have your rights, you can do as you like. Don’t you always claim your rights?” Manfred said, “Just when did I ever claim my rights?” Henrietta said, “When, when, when. Every day, all the time, at any hour, you always claim your rights. Anyway, Fred, you know what I’m going to say. It might be best to conclude this silly conversation.” Manfred said, “If it’s best for you, it’s certainly best for me. Now, what was I going to tell you?” Henrietta said, “Maybe you could put it off until tomorrow.” Manfred said, “I could put it off forever.” Henrietta said, “What were you going to tell me?” Manfred said, “Curiosity has gotten the better of you.” Henrietta said, “If you think it’s curiosity, let it be curiosity. It doesn’t matter at all to me. I’ve given up on having an ounce of understanding between us. You can’t stand to see me happy for a minute.” Manfred said, “So you’re happy. I didn’t know that.” “You didn’t know?” “I didn’t know.” “Yes, yes. A father’s eyes are too dim to see his daughter’s happiness.” Manfred said, “It’s enough for me that the daughter’s mother sees her happiness.” Henrietta said, “So let me be happy with her, and don’t interrupt with complaints and grievances. If I were as hard as a rock, I’d be worn thin by your complaints. You think I don’t see how your every move is one more gesture of protest. I wonder what you would do if…” Manfred asked in dismay, “If what?” Henrietta said, “Better to be silent.” Manfred laughed bizarrely and said, “Let’s be silent, madam. Let’s be silent.”

If not for the mailman, who brought them a card, the two of them would not have been silent. Henrietta took the card and looked at the picture. Whenever she saw that heroic figure with the outstretched arm, she regretted her inability to remember who he was. Now it wasn’t her forgetfulness that she regretted, but the fact that the figure occupied half of Tamara’s card. Manfred peered over Henrietta’s shoulder and marveled at the fact that even on such a cheap postcard one could see the splendor of the sculpture. Henrietta soon handed the card to Manfred and said, “You read it now.” Henrietta had learned to decipher her daughter’s handwriting, but she wasn’t always sure she got everything right, so she was in the habit of reading it to herself, then giving it to Manfred to read to her. Now she had tried unsuccessfully. She handed the card to Manfred and said, “What is this? Is it Greek?” It wasn’t Greek writing, but every word was surrounded by the scrawl of some member of the tour group, and the entire picture was surrounded by greetings and good wishes, such as the message inscribed under Apollo: “We’re all having a marvelous trip. We were in Athens, Delphi, and Olympus, and tomorrow we’ll travel through Arcadia as far as the eastern shore of the Peloponnesus. With best wishes…” Under Apollo’s arm was another message: “Greetings to you, Herbst. Olympic greetings. Sorry I can’t convey them in person.” The message was signed by the professor who was leading the group.

“I see, Fred,” Henrietta said, “that, when it comes to your daughters, you have reason to complain. Tamara is so attached to you – she goes on a short trip, and every day there’s mail from her. I forgot to tell you. Sacharson returned the Baedeker. Why does that startle you?” “I wasn’t startled. You imagined that I was startled.” Henrietta said, “If you say you weren’t startled, I believe you. It’s all right to lend Sacharson a book. Not only did he return it in one piece, but he put it in a beautiful cover. Here’s the Baedeker. Find me Arcadia.” While Herbst was opening the Baedeker, Henrietta leaned her head on his shoulder and began singing, “I too lived in Arcadia…”

Zahara and Avraham didn’t stay very long. They spent four days with the Herbsts. Not counting the day they ate only breakfast at Henrietta’s table and the half-day they spent at Kiryat Anavim visiting a friend who had been on the training farm in Germany with Avraham, but adding the extra half-day they threw in for the yeast cake she baked them.

There was work to be done in Ahinoam, and it could not be postponed because of the sentiments of the old people, who would have had them stay on day after day. The air of Jerusalem, its cool nights, the friends from all over the country whom one runs into everywhere, the secrets the city reveals to its guests – all these things make it special. But to someone from a
kvutza
, particularly to a founding member, the
kvutza
is even more special. If there is still not a single tree – no shade, only thorns, briar, snakes, and scorpions – all the more reason why one has to hurry back to water the fragile plants, clear away the thorns and briar, and wipe out the nests of vipers.

When Henrietta realized that the children were determined to hurry back to Ahinoam, she tried to work out a compromise, to have Avraham go back to Ahinoam and leave Zahara to spend another two or three days in Jerusalem. But Zahara would not agree to stay even an hour without Avraham. Henrietta set about collecting all the things she had made for Sarah and passed them on to Zahara, specifying with each item, “This is for your baby, not for anyone else’s.” To which Zahara answered, “I can’t accept your conditions. In our
kvutza
, we each get what we need.” Henrietta said, “Still, this shawl, which I made myself – don’t give it to anyone.” Zahara said, “You can trust me.” Henrietta surveyed everything, praying to herself: I hope at least some of these things will be used by Zahara’s child.

Finally, she took another tack. She stopped praying, fingered the items she was especially fond of, and appropriated them with her eyes, reflecting: It’s not possible, it’s not possible that Zahara would offer this to the first taker. She couldn’t possibly give this up. She looked at Zahara and was amazed that her daughter didn’t seem to appreciate the baby clothes. And what baby clothes they were! Henrietta roamed from room to room, from closet to closet, from drawer to drawer, taking out everything, saying to herself: This will be good for Zahara. I’ll give this to Zahara, this will be very useful. As for Zahara’s statement “I can’t keep these things for myself,” those were just words. Zahara was joking. It was impossible that a treasure her mother gave up expressly for her could be offered to the world at large.

Henrietta had already forgotten what Zahara had said and was looking over other things that might suit Zahara and her unborn baby. She was suddenly overcome with worry that she had forgotten the essentials. In fact, she was certain she had forgotten the essentials, that everything Zahara and her infant were sure to need had slipped away from her mind, so that, when Zahara got back to Ahinoam, she wouldn’t find what she hoped to find, nor would she find what she needed. The pile she had dragged from Jerusalem to Ahinoam would have none of what she needed in it. Nor would those essentials be available in Ahinoam, for the entire community was made up of youngsters who had no idea what a mother needs. Henrietta refocused her thoughts, and it was not her mind that roamed through all her rooms, but her soul that roamed and fluttered like an anxious bird.