The Penitent

by Isaac Bashevis Singer

  She put aside her book. I knew that she’d talk to me all night, or the few hours remaining of the night, since when you go to Europe you lose a great part of the night. I had long before noted that to women talking is a strong passion, often more urgent than sex. The stewardess came and my neighbor ordered a whiskey. I hesitated a moment, then ordered a whiskey, too. Liquor isn’t forbidden, after all. The greatest rabbis took a drink. Besides, it wouldn’t be polite to abstain while she drank. I wanted to show her that I was a man of the world.

  We drank the strong alcohol, mine mixed with soda, hers straight. She didn’t even grimace. Then she resumed talking. Her father was a lawyer. He had been divorced from her mother. He wasn’t a poor man either, but hardly as rich as Bill’s father. But her mother had remarried and her stepfather was a millionaire. What was her name? Priscilla. What did she do? She was interested in psychology, in literature, in sociology. How did she meet Bill? Actually, through this diplomat. He was a friend of a boyfriend of hers. They had met at a cocktail party.

  She spoke in the smooth manner of those whose youth has been spent without worries, in an atmosphere of luxury, education, flirtation, and casual friendships. She wasn’t rich, but she would inherit a fortune from her stepfather. He had no children, he would leave everything to Priscilla’s mother, and she, in turn, would leave everything to her only daughter. Actually, her mother had been against her going to Jerusalem, especially since Bill wasn’t ready to marry. But the truth was that she, Priscilla, wasn’t yet ready to settle down either. What was the hurry? She wasn’t particularly eager to have children, especially in light of the exploding population.

  She smiled, showing her stained teeth. She ordered another whiskey and began to question me. Who was I? What did I do? Why was I going to Israel?

  I told her, “I simply want to see the land of our ancestors.”

  “A valid reason,” she observed.

  I told her that I had gone through the Hitler war and hunger and wanderings in Russia. She heard me out and said, “My God, the things a person can survive!”

  She asked me if I was married and I said, “I used to be.”

  And I put both the books in my satchel as if thinking that no matter what I said, or what happened, they shouldn’t be witness to it.

  8

  After we had eaten a supper that arrived only three hours or so before breakfast would be served, it became half dark in the plane. The passengers settled back on their pillows, covered themselves with blankets, and got ready to sleep or doze through the curtailed night. My neighbor did the same. It was hard to tell whether she was asleep or just thinking. At least she was silent. But this didn’t last more than ten minutes and she soon got her tongue back. What’s more, she now spoke in a low, confidential tone. She complained, “It never occurred to me that I’d be going to Israel. I’d be less surprised if I were going to Afghanistan. I’ve never really identified with Jews. Neither my mother nor my father showed the slightest interest in their heritage. It’s true that they sent me for a short time to Sunday school, but this was only because it was considered fashionable to be connected, no matter how superficially, with religion. The fact is that I’ve been ashamed of my Jewishness since childhood. All of a sudden I’m going to Israel and I’ll have to learn Hebrew there. The funniest part of it all is that Bill is a total atheist.”

  “Israel is no more religious a country than America or France,” I pointed out.

  “Yes, but still—it is a Jewish country. And as for the Hebrew! I’m convinced beforehand that I will never learn it.”

  “Even some Arabs speak Hebrew.”

  “Arabs are half Jews, after all.”

  After a while, the conversation again reverted to private matters, and Priscilla began to expound the fact that the whole institution of marriage was stale. How could you make a contract to love someone for a lifetime? What worth did a rabbi’s or a priest’s blessing have anyway? The world moved forward, people lived by scientific knowledge, not by traditions that were thousands of years old. God hadn’t revealed Himself to anyone, and no one knew what it was He wanted, or if He existed altogether.

  I asked her, “Assuming you are right, what about the children? They need a mother and a father. The father himself has to be sure that the child is his, not his neighbor’s.”

  Priscilla replied, “Oh, when a couple decides to have children, the woman—unless she is a monster or a lunatic—wouldn’t present the man with someone else’s child. But this doesn’t prove that you must be faithful to someone for a lifetime.”

  After a while she added, “Take me and Bill, for instance. We are great friends and we intend to become husband and wife and have a child, or even two children, one day. But in the meantime, we’re free and we aren’t tied to each other. He goes out with other women and I go out with other men.”

  “What guarantee have you that he isn’t sleeping with them?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  “What guarantee has he that you won’t do the same?”

  “He doesn’t have one and he mustn’t have one. He doesn’t consider me a piece of his property. We’re both free agents, that’s why our marriage will be a free one, not held together by false bonds.”

  I knew very well that this was the Evil Spirit talking through her. There was no reason whatsoever why she should confide in me this way. You see me. I’m not handsome and I don’t have the figure of a ladies’ man. To you, perhaps the expression “Evil Spirit” has no more than a symbolic meaning, but to me, both the Evil Spirit and the Good Spirit are real, the very essence of reality. It isn’t important whether I consider them spirits or other beings. The important thing is that they do exist and that they exert an effect on man virtually from the cradle to the grave, particularly the Evil Spirit, who has the strength of iron. Flesh, blood, nerves, and emotions are all on his side. In this world, where it takes a year to build a house and a minute to wreck it, the Evil Spirit is the master. He has all the means at his command, all the powers of destruction. If he needed a Priscilla to do his bidding, he promptly came up with one.

  Yes, I knew all this, but at the same time the Evil One urged me: “Here is your chance. Don’t be an idiot! Take advantage of it—the wench is willing. Such opportunities don’t come up often.”

  I sat there baffled by the dramatic turn of events my life had taken and by my own lack of character. I had abandoned everything to flee from the lie, but the lie now sat next to me, promising me who knows what joys. I had stolen several glances at her knees and imagined all kinds of delights reposing between them. Well, but how would I go about it? Sin, too, requires time. Until we got to talking it over, it would be daytime and they’d be serving breakfast. Once in Rome, we’d probably be assigned different seats. She certainly didn’t want to continue the affair with me in Israel, where her fiancé, the professor, was waiting for her. I suddenly felt as if I were merely a spectator at a play or a film in which I was also the actor. I sat still and just let things happen. I was overcome by that kind of fatalism that is not faith, but the opposite. I was half resigned and half curious to see how the director of this drama would bring all the factors together, if that was his intention.

  For a long time, Priscilla didn’t speak either. Then she asked, “Why don’t you get a blanket? It’s getting cold.”

  At that moment, a steward came over and asked if I wanted a blanket. I said yes, and a few seconds later my lap was covered. I don’t remember where I had read—maybe in one of your stories—that man plays chess with his destiny. Man makes one move, fate makes another, and so on, until he is checkmated and the pieces are scattered. Wasn’t this in one of your stories?

  You see! I sat there and asked myself, What now? What’s the next move? I’m not aggressive by nature. Another man in my place mightn’t have hesitated another moment. He would touch her and the rest would take its natural course. But somehow I don’t have this in me, thank God. I was still restrained by that Jewish sense of shame whi
ch is actually a moral force. I can’t be brazen. I’ve avoided many pitfalls this way, but at the time, I knew that because of my shyness I had lost many rare opportunities.

  I’ll cut it short. All of sudden I felt her hand under my blanket. Our fingers met and the old game of squeezing, stroking, and petting commenced. Since it was she who had made the first move, I grew bolder. I put my hand on her knees—those knees that had promised me all the pleasures of this world. Needless to say, she offered no resistance. At the same time I knew that whoever might have been sitting in my place that night would have received the same favors. This woman apparently followed the theory that one mustn’t pass up any opportunity, or as the Yiddish expression goes: “Let it be from a Cossack as long as it is for life.” Not only did I break and defile my supposed repentance, my new way of life, and my most sacred resolutions, I also abandoned my masculine pride. I was fondling a depraved female who would give herself to anybody. Even as I fumbled with her dress and stockings I thought with a mocking sense of pity about the professor, Bill, who was waiting for this “bargain” in Jerusalem and who planned to build a family with her. The Pentateuch promised the Jews that no matter where they were dispersed, God would gather them and bring them back to the land that He had promised their ancestors. Yes, God had kept His word, but whom had He gathered? He had exiled sin and He was regathering filth.

  These were my approximate thoughts, but my actions were of another sort altogether. It’s hard to sin physically on an airplane. Passengers kept going to and from the rest rooms, the stewardesses weren’t sleeping, the lights weren’t completely extinguished, only dimmed. I felt some passion for this female, but I also felt revulsion. It’s odd, but although modern woman is ready to commit all kinds of abominations, nevertheless she girds herself in such a thorough fashion that it’s a struggle to get at her. The desire to appear slim is even stronger than the urge to sin. We fumbled around this way for many minutes. At the same time, we both trembled lest someone see what we were trying to do and make a scandal. It seems that the Evil Spirit or Satan was anxious to show someone in Heaven that all my vows and resolutions had been worthless, but it wasn’t important to his scheme that I garner satisfaction. It is always this way with all passions. The actual deed is nothing in comparison to the anticipation. That’s how it is with adultery, with theft, with murder, with a craze for honors or for revenge. There is always a letdown. I don’t have to tell you about that.

  It’s getting late and I won’t be able to finish my story today. But I’ll add only one more fact.

  After we realized that what we were trying to do wouldn’t work out, we were left sitting there like two whipped dogs, ashamed before each other. At least, that’s the way I felt. Things began to stir on the plane. Day was breaking outside. The sun rose from the sea all red and rinsed. I weighed my insignificance against its enormity. It illuminated planets, made grain grow, gave life to countless creatures, and did it all with purity and a divine calm, while I had tried to steal some petty and questionable pleasure and had failed. My journey had now become as meaningless as everything else about me.

  I began to think about buying a ticket back to New York when I got to Rome. Since I couldn’t be a Jew, I must be a pagan. Since I couldn’t live in purity, I must sink deeper into the slime. Suddenly a man walked by me. He wore a rabbinical hat, had a wide blond beard, long earlocks, and the front of his coat was open to display a ritual garment with fringes. My neighbor looked at him and grimaced. Her eyes reflected embarrassment and scorn. I realized at that moment that without earlocks and a ritual garment one cannot be a real Jew. A soldier who serves an emperor has to have a uniform, and this also applies to a soldier who serves the Almighty. Had I worn such an outfit that night, I wouldn’t have been exposed to those temptations. The way a person dresses expresses a resolution, and an obligation to the Kingdom of Heaven. Such is the nature of man that he is more ashamed of his fellow man than he is of God. If he doesn’t display a sign, if he doesn’t broadcast to the whole world who and what he is, he leaves himself open to transgressions that cannot be resisted.

  9

  In Rome, we had about a three-hour wait for the plane to Israel. My new friend didn’t have the patience to sit in the airport and wait. I saw a young man offer to give her a quick tour of the city. He promised to bring her back in time. These kind of people strike up fast acquaintanceships. I sat down on a bench. I hadn’t eaten much, since I couldn’t get kosher food on the plane and had become a vegetarian besides. But I wasn’t hungry. I watched the crowds. I listened to the announcements made in Italian and English. I observed the people coming and going. Some were going to Paris, some to New York, some to London, and some to Athens. Their eyes displayed the same restlessness, the same sense of urgency, and the same queries: Why am I running like this? What am I seeking? What do I expect to find there?

  A passenger had lost his baggage and was complaining bitterly. The officials wouldn’t hear him out and they shuttled him from one to the other. Problems and failure had no room in a system where everything must operate with the precision of a fine watch. A person with complaints was a misfit and a burden.

  During this whole time a force spoke within me: “Since you’ve defiled everything and broken all your resolutions, where are you running? What will you do in Israel?” But despite this, I stayed put and waited for my plane. I had no one and nothing to go back to. After a while, I went into a restaurant and ordered dry toast and tea. I ate, drank, and thought about suicide. Since I couldn’t live, I should die. But I wasn’t ready for death. I sat there till it was time to leave. When I came to the gate from which the plane left for Israel, I noticed the man in the rabbinical hat and earlocks whom I had seen previously on the plane. He had several yeshiva students with him. They were dressed more or less like him, but their earlocks were even longer. People stared at them with mocking glances, but apparently these youths didn’t care in the slightest what others thought of them.

  I cocked my ears and listened. They were talking about some rabbi and recalling a subject they had all studied. They spoke the kind of Yiddish I had heard at the old rabbi’s house in New York.

  How did they become what they are, I wondered. How did they decide at such a young age what I still couldn’t decide after so many disappointments, so much introspection and suffering? Weren’t they subject to temptations? Were they born holy? I had the urge to speak to one of them, but they were busy with the older man, who I gathered was the head of a yeshiva. He held a book in his hand and from time to time he opened it as if resenting every moment away from it. Obviously, the Torah and good deeds represented to him and to his disciples not simply a duty or a burden that they had assumed but great exaltation. There was something akin to passion in their eyes—a thirst for the Torah, a fervor to serve the Almighty, to carry out all His commandments and to assume even more rigors and restrictions, thus denying the Devil the slightest access to them.

  Yes, restrictions do serve as barriers. If someone has a treasure that he doesn’t want stolen, he hides it in a place inaccessible to thieves and robbers. If he fears that one lock isn’t enough, he affixes two locks. If he suspects that someone may try to tunnel toward them, he’ll post a guard. Think of the many restrictions assumed by those who are concerned with literature, theater, music, fashions, women, or other worldly passions. I read somewhere that Flaubert never repeated a word within the same chapter. There are rich and elegant women who won’t wear the same dress twice. Yes, worldliness is full of restrictions, too (or maybe I should apologize for using the comparison). They squander thousands, they sacrifice themselves because of these worldly pedantries. But when these same people meet an observant Jew, they start asking such questions as: “Where does it say in the Torah that you mustn’t trim the beard?” “Where does it say that you must wear a long gaberdine?” They forget or make themselves forget that trimming the beard and wearing modern clothing is a compromise with worldliness, an attempt to mimic the Gentile o
r the Jewish Gentile. The Torah says, “After the doings of the land of Egypt shall ye not do … and in their ordinances shall ye not walk.” According to the Gemara, you may not even tie your shoelaces the same way the idolators do. Without these determents, you open the door to evil. Just as fads constantly change among the pagans, so must the true Jew constantly assume new rigors and restraints.

  I often heard worldly Jews ask, “How do you know that Jacob or Moses wore a satin gaberdine on the Sabbath?”

  I say to them, “Moses didn’t imitate the idol worshippers of his time and we mustn’t imitate the idol worshippers of our time.” If it should ever happen that the worldly put on satin gaberdines, then the pious Jews would wear jackets.