Shira

by Agnon, S. Y.

  Herbst looked at her and said in a whisper, “Miss Shira is tired. I will go now so she can sleep.” Shira said, “I’m not tired. I don’t want to sleep, and there’s no reason to go.” Herbst said, “Then I have some advice to offer.” Shira covered her eyes and, peering through the cracks, said, “We’ll hear, then we’ll see.” Herbst said, “Miss Shira should stretch out and close her eyes.” Shira opened her eyes wide, stared at him with the aforementioned curiosity, and asked, “What will Dr. Herbst do meanwhile? Dr. Herbst will sit with Shira and sing her a lullaby? But Shira is afraid he’ll be bored. Besides, Shira is not a baby and Dr. Herbst, who is the father of two grown girls, may not remember any lullabies. It’s too bad that I don’t have a phone. We can’t call the maternity ward and check on Mrs. Herbst, who may have just now presented her lord and master with a glorious songbird. Dr. Herbst can see I am treating him as an adult. I haven’t mentioned the stork that brings babies from heaven.” Herbst was startled and began praying he would forget all that had transpired here. He looked at Shira, wishing that she too would erase from her heart all that had happened. Knowing this was a futile wish, a deep sigh erupted from his heart.

  Shira smoothed her shirt, touched her thumb to one of her freckles, and sat watching Dr. Herbst. She watched him for a long time, her eyes growing bigger and bigger. Herbst sat with Shira like a man who sees that his downfall is imminent and there is no way to avert it. He shifted from one foot to the other, let his shoulders droop, and stood ready to submit. After a while, since Shira hadn’t said a word, he thought to himself: What will be will be, but I ask only one thing – that she not mention my wife. As Shira sat in silence, not saying a word, he repeated to himself: Why is she so silent, why doesn’t she speak, why doesn’t she say something to me? Shira remained silent, giving no sign that she intended to speak.

  All of a sudden, she stirred and said in a singsong, like a woman telling some old tale, “Now let’s go back to the beginning. He said I should close my eyes and try to sleep, that he would sit beside me. I said I was afraid it would take too long and be boring. If I hadn’t interrupted, he might have added, ‘How can anyone be bored in Shira’s presence?’ So much for that. Let’s deal with another matter. I didn’t serve him cholent, and the cognac I offered never appeared. Now, all the evil spirits in the world will not keep me from pouring him a drink.”

  She straightened up and, moving gracefully, with a youthful stride, went to the chest. She took out a bottle and a glass, poured a drink, and said, “Have some. As a licensed nurse, I can guarantee that this drink is harmless.” “And what about Shira?” Herbst asked in a whisper. “If he insists, I’ll drink with him.” She went to get another glass, poured herself a few drops, lifted her glass, and said, “L’hayim, doctor, l’hayim.” She drank up and was about to refill his glass when Herbst cried in alarm, “No, no, no!” She glanced at him, and in a flash she understood: He is afraid I will drink to his wife.

  She stood over him, her arm on his shoulder, and declared, “Dr. Herbst is a baby.” Earlier, when he had held her hand, it was cold. Now it was warm, so much so that he felt it through his clothes. He grabbed her hand and held it in his. Shira withdrew it and, stroking his head, remarked, “What a full head of hair, like a young man’s.” Herbst said, “I meant to get a haircut.” She said, “It’s just as well. I prefer a full head of hair.” Herbst brushed his hand over her head and said, “Then why does she cut her own hair?” She said, “Did I say I like my own hair? That’s not what I said.” While she was talking, he brushed her cheek with his hand. As his hand brushed her cheek, fingering its freckled surface, the blood rushed to his hand, emitting flashes of violent fire that stemmed from his blazing blood. Shira closed her eyes, opened them again, and stared at him. A bond seemed to stretch between her eyes, not a bond of curiosity, as before, but more like the bond that marks a woman whose heart has turned to love, who would give her life for love. She tilted her head to the left, and her eyes turned toward him, studying him obliquely, fixing themselves there, unswerving.

  I will stop in the middle, leaping over those things that transpired between him and her, and continue to relate what followed, that is to say, after Manfred Herbst took leave of Shira.

  Chapter five

  What happened then? Manfred Herbst left Shira and went on his way, not knowing if he was happy or sad. But he was perplexed. How could he not be perplexed? He, the father of two daughters, the husband of a fine woman with whom he lives amicably, is on his way back from a woman he met in a telephone booth and was drawn to follow home, staying from early evening until past midnight. Despite all this, he sees no change in himself. Nor has there been any change in the world.

  The small filigreed streetlamps, designed to bestow romantic sleep on the city – by a shortsighted mayor who regarded himself as the last scion of the Crusaders and prided himself on doing as they did – these small beacons gave off light that was scarcely visible. Though Jerusalem already had electricity, it was expensive, and most people used kerosene. The city was quiet; there was not a person in sight. Earlier, when we were seeing Shira home, there was not the image of a person in sight; now there was not even the image of an image. Who is it who said, “In Jerusalem, if you see anyone stirring about at night, he is heading for the safety of home”? Now I am the one seeking the safety of home.

  Herbst has already left Shira’s street. He is winding his way through the alleys that serve as shortcuts. Alley bites alley, lane is joined to lane, yard to yard. And from alley to alley, from lane to yard, you imagine you are back where you started, that you will have to retrace your steps and find another way out. But we are fortunate, for, along with the earth under us, we have sky, moon, stars above, so that, when we look up, we are never lost. Herbst looked up at the sky, oriented himself, and found the intersection from which a broad street led to the upper valley and to his house.

  By now, other winds were blowing, cool winds from Talpiot, where the good winds gather to give life to the entire region. On such a night, at such an hour, when Herbst happened to come home and find restful quiet pervading every rock, every mound, every hill, breezes blowing and bringing with them the fragrance of cypresses, pine, garden flowers, wild grasses, desert plants, cool earth, his heart was tranquil and his soul soared. Now his mind was distracted, his heart impassive, his soul in turmoil. When Herbst happened to be coming home from an academic meeting or lecture on such a night and at such an hour, he would take short steps, enjoying every breath. Now he was running, though there was no one waiting for him at home, no one to ask where he had been and why he was late. Earlier would have been better. Why, he didn’t know.

  His thoughts suddenly shifting to his wife, he speculated: While I was with Shira, my wife could have given me a son or a daughter. “No!” Herbst shouted. “The good Lord wouldn’t do such a thing!” Herbst lifted his head toward the sky, as if to probe God’s mysterious ways. The skies were pure; the stars were in place, showing no trace of evil design. But Herbst’s mood was foul, more so than at first, for it occurred to him that, while he was with Shira, his wife could have had a difficult delivery and died. He pulled off his hat and crumpled it angrily. Among his numerous thoughts, not one was of sorrow, grief, sympathy for his wife. His were thoughts of revenge, retribution, recompense for his malice and villainy. All of a sudden he laughed derisively and said to himself, still laughing: Now, Manfredchen, all you need is for that freckled one to come and say, “Now that your wife is dead and you are without a wife, take me as your wife.” Where is my hat? My God, I left it at Shira’s. He didn’t realize he was holding it. When he realized his hat was in his hand, he recovered, and his thoughts were once more with Henrietta. You are a good woman, Henriett, you’re a good woman, Henriett, he singsonged sadly. You were with me, and you are with me now. You raised the girls, you made me a home, looked after my interests, seeing that I did my work, not letting me be distracted by these troubled times. And when we began to be discouraged about my ac
ademic prospects, you never came to me with recriminations or complaints. You gave me support and kept me from joining that thwarted lot that degrades itself through gossip and slander. After all this, that woman could come and say, “Take me as your wife.” But the choice is mine, and what Miss Shira wants is not what I want. An evil spirit responded, saying: If so, if the choice is yours, where were you an hour ago, when Henrietta was in the throes of labor? And what will you do when Shira informs you that she is carrying your child? No need to worry about that. Women like Shira protect themselves. If she was careless, there are ways to terminate a pregnancy. And if she wants to have the child, there are places in the world where no one asks the mother if she is properly married. In any case, Shira is not one of those who attach themselves to a man against his will. And, in any case, from now on I will never again darken her doorstep.

  Herbst was already at his house. When he saw he was there, he lunged toward the gate to the garden that surrounded the house and found it was locked, just as he had left it when he took Henrietta to the hospital. But there was a break in the fence. When Arab shepherds notice there is no one home, they poke a stick through the wiring and make a hole, a bit yesterday, a bit today, until the fence is destroyed and their sheep have the run of the garden. I see, Herbst said, that, first thing in the morning, I must fix the fence, or not a single bush or flower will survive. Now I’ll go and see if there are any letters.

  There were no letters in the box. Only notices, announcements, invitations, and other printed matter that comes our way, to which we pay no attention, except for a reprint that would have interested him at any other time, as there were arguments in it challenging Alfred Neu’s theories. His eyes skimmed the article, but his mind was elsewhere. He was in a hurry to get to bed, for he had to be at the hospital early to see Henrietta. By and by, his mind lighted on Lisbet Neu.

  If I were to speak to you today, Lisbet Neu, I would not choose my words so carefully, and you, my dear, would not be such a sheltered rose. When he left Shira, he was not aware of any change in himself, but he now had the air of a youth, confident of success.

  Enough about Lisbet Neu, who is only an accessory to the story, and enough about Shira, who is not yet at its core. I will merely take what comes, event by event, and set it in its place.

  Chapter six

  The next morning, he was up early, shaved with a new blade, changed his clothes, and put on the tie Henrietta had bought him for his birthday. It was the color of dark Bordeaux, woven of silk thread that popped up in balls between the rows like berries between the furrows of a garden. Then he rinsed the kettle to make coffee. While waiting for the water to boil, he picked up that fool’s article and, with a single glance, skimmed his misguided version of Professor Neu’s theories. Herbst laughed, ranted, laughed again, threw it on the floor, flung it in the air, drew donkey’s ears on it. Then he made his snack, which he ate and drank. He looked in the mirror, adjusted his tie, locked the door, and jumped down the three steps in front of the house.

  He noticed that the hole in the garden fence was higher than it had been the previous night. A large creature could shove its way in. As he was in a hurry to get to Henrietta, time was precious. He looked around for a neighbor he could ask to keep the Arabs from sending their animals into his garden. There was no one in sight. Just as well, he thought. Since there’s no one around, I don’t have to account for myself.

  “A most felicitous morning, sir!” A voice was heard, hoarse as an old parakeet, and an odd creature appeared, perhaps male, perhaps female, perhaps priest, perhaps actor. Herbst pretended not to hear. The greeting was repeated: “Good morning, professor! Good morning, professor! I see you are already up tending your garden. Morgenstund hat Gold im Mund – he who makes the early rounds will reap success beyond all bounds.” Herbst answered curtly, “Good morning.” And that creature Sacharson, that convert, that priest of Jewish Christians, ignoring his neighbor’s grudging tone, leaped over to join him, walking and talking like those agitators who speak when no one listens and are nevertheless paid for their words. Herbst pointed to an approaching bus, jumped on, pushed his way in, and adjusted his tie. A child on her way to school got up to give him a seat. Someone else grabbed the seat, so Herbst and the child both had to stand. Like a man whose senses are impaired, he took no notice. She was offended and enraged – enraged at the Arab policeman who took the seat she had given up for Dr. Herbst and offended that Herbst did not acknowledge the seat. Herbst suddenly recognized her, asked about her parents, how she was doing, all the other questions one asks a friend’s daughter. The child was appeased and answered all his questions. When they arrived in town, she took another bus to the high school, and he went on to the hospital.

  The hospital gates were open, but no one was allowed in, as a truck was delivering ice and the help was working frantically to finish before the heat set in. Herbst moved aside to make way for the ice carriers, whose hands were red and chilled. One of them looked up from the ice and informed him that his wife had borne him a daughter. “A daughter?” Herbst stammered. “A daughter is not a son,” the informant added. “But, in these times, with wars raging everywhere, it’s a blessing to have female children rather than males, who are likely to be sent off to war.” Herbst nodded and moved out of the way. Someone shouted, “Make way for the doctor!” Herbst tried to make himself inconspicuous, so he wouldn’t be mistaken for a doctor of medicine, and went in. When he arrived at the maternity section, he asked, “Which room?” Realizing the question was vague, he added, “Mrs. Herbst’s room, please.” They opened a door and led him to Henrietta’s room. He scanned it quickly and went to her bed. She was lying there, radiant. She offered him her hand, gazing up at him like a woman gazing at the beloved husband whose child she has just borne as if to proclaim, “Look, my darling, look – I have overcome all obstacles and fulfilled all your hopes.”

  He didn’t say a word. Henrietta took no notice. She was peering at him, watching him lovingly, without a word, without speech, without end. Roses sent forth their scent from the small table beside her bed, and their fresh redness sparkled. Who had already brought Henrietta flowers, and why hadn’t it occurred to him to bring some? He blushed and began to stammer, “I’m embarrassed, Henrietta, I’m embarrassed.” Henrietta looked at him fondly and asked, “Why are you embarrassed, my dearest?” Again he stammered. “Because, because I should have brought you flowers.” Henrietta pressed his hand in hers and caressed it, saying, “Never mind, my love. At a time like this, how could you have thought of bringing flowers? Tell me, my dearest, tell me truly: Did you sleep? Did you sleep enough? Now, my love, let’s call the nurse, and she’ll show you your little daughter. There’s the bell, my love. Put your finger on the button and push three times. Like that, my darling.”

  He barely touched the button. He touched it again and pressed it with trepidation – once, then once, then once again, without turning this way or that – for it might be Shira who responded. A groundless fear. Another nurse, an old woman, was on duty in that room at that hour. The old woman came and glanced fondly at the new mother and her husband. She offered her small, sturdy hand to Herbst, smiled, and said pleasantly, “Mazel tov, doctor. I must say one thing: Your wife is brave. The courage she showed last night should be engraved in gold on a marble plaque. Look and see if there are signs of fatigue on her face. Because of the evil eye, we are keeping her in bed. Otherwise, you could order a horse and she could ride to Motza or Kiryat Anavim. If you don’t believe me, ask the other nurses. They all agree.”

  Henrietta’s eyes pointed toward a wicker basket. The old woman smiled and said sweetly, “In your place, Mrs. Herbst, I wouldn’t be in such a hurry. I would let him ask again and again, and each time I would demand a gold dinar or, in the currency of our land, a shiny new lira. But since the baby is eager to see her father, I will bring her.” The old woman brought out a tidbit of flesh, swathed in linen, and began to mumble and coo, “My sweet honeycomb, my luscious nec
tar, look and see who is here. It’s your father, your sire, who has come to consider your dowry. But I can tell, you won’t need a dowry. The boys are all after you already. They’ll have you as you are, my pet.”

  She took out the baby and presented her to her father, watching to see if he could tell how fetching she was. Manfred stared at the rosy tidbit, its two spots of twinkling blue fixed on him, not knowing what to say. Henrietta turned her eyes toward her husband and toward the infant, not knowing what to say either. She fixed her eyes on his. Manfred knew he was expected to say something. He arched his lower lip and said, “So this little worm is our daughter.” The nurse put the infant back in the basket and left silently. Manfred went to sit beside his wife.

  Once more, Henrietta took his hand in hers and spoke. “Now, my love, you must relay our news to the girls, so they know they have a little sister. And now, my love, let’s get down to essentials. What name will we give our daughter? I should confess I have already given her a name, not one of those new names that are chirped over every cradle, but a name from the Bible.”

  “What do you call her?” Manfred asked. Henrietta answered, “What do I call her? If I tell you, you’ll agree.” “So?” Herbst asked impatiently. “So,” Henrietta answered, “so I call her Sarah.” Manfred heard and was silent. After a while he asked, “Why did you choose that name?” Henrietta looked up at her husband with special affection and answered with a question. “Wasn’t your mother called Sarah?” Manfred nodded and said, “Yes. Yes, my mother’s name was Sarah, but she was called Serafina.” Henrietta said, “Tell me this, my love. Can a child be called Serafina in this country?” Manfred said, “It’s truly impossible.” Henrietta said, “So let’s name her for your mother’s grandmother, who was probably called Sarah.” Manfred said, “Yes, yes.” Henrietta said, “I assumed my lord and master would be thrilled to name his daughter after his mother,” Manfred said, “Yes, yes. Of course, Henriett. Of course.” Henrietta said, “Unless you prefer one of those new names, such as Aviva or Zeva.” At this point Henrietta puckered her lips and chirped like one of those women, the mothers of Aviva and Zeva, “Avivale, Zevale. Remember Elizabeth Modrao, the daughter of Professor Modrao? Do you remember telling us that her grandfather was called Samuel, a rare name for a Christian in Germany? Do you remember why he was called Samuel? You don’t remember? She told you, and you told me. It was because he was born in Jerusalem, on Shavuot, and his father saw fit, in honor of the land and the festival, to give his son a name from the Hebrew Bible. After what the Germans did to us,” Henrietta added, “why say anything good about them. Still, it must be admitted, they did pay homage to Palestine.”