Shira

by Agnon, S. Y.

  Time plays its part, and Shira plays hers. She doesn’t show herself in any of her usual haunts. Herbst is glad that she doesn’t show herself to him, but he is also puzzled.

  The days proceed in orderly fashion; the household functions in its usual way. Henrietta does her work, and Manfred does his. He is busy with his books and his students, at home and at the university. She is busy in the house and garden. It should be mentioned that, were it not for the fact that Firadeus helped her, Henrietta’s work would not get done. Her body is enormously heavy, and her legs seem to be weighted down with stones. We will therefore sing the praises of Firadeus, who is a helpmate to Henrietta. You cannot imagine what a skilled worker Firadeus is. In addition, she has good sense. Henrietta recognized this even before she became pregnant, when she could manage without help. Now that she can no longer manage on her own, she gives herself credit for having recognized Firadeus’s special qualities early on. She often says, “What I observed earlier in my mind, I now observe with my eyes.” Henrietta is pleased with Firadeus, and Manfred is equally pleased with her. Actually, Manfred was always pleased with the household help, to the extent that he was aware of its existence, since his main needs were met by Henrietta. When Firadeus arrived, she took on some of the chores that had always been reserved for Henrietta, both in the house and garden, and in Herbst’s study. Since Firadeus has begun to do his room, he finds everything in place. Not just the smoking paraphernalia, the pens, and the ink, but slips of paper, blown under the furniture by the wind, are arranged neatly on his desk. Herbst admires Firadeus for not being lazy. Slips of paper he has lost track of, with notes on forgotten books, are set out in front of him, reminding him of material he didn’t remember, although he himself had copied it. For this reason, he is always very cordial to Firadeus, and, even if he is involved in reading or writing, he stops to say a kind word. Firadeus listens and makes an effort to satisfy her employers.

  Firadeus has many thoughts in her heart. First about her father, who was killed by an Arab while on his way home from work in Talpiot. As he did every day, on that day he walked home after collecting the garbage from the houses of Talpiot, an empty sack on his shoulders and an Ashkenazi-style hat on his head – a hat he had found in a Talpiot garbage can. It was a fine hat, and, being unfamiliar with the Ashkenazi practice of throwing out something perfectly good, he assumed it had landed in the garbage by mistake. He picked up the hat and knocked on the door of the adjacent house. The man of the house appeared and asked, “What do you want?” He pointed to the hat he was holding and told the man, “I found it in the garbage, sir, and I am returning it to you.” The man laughed and said, “It’s all yours. You can wear it on Shabbat and holidays.” Father took another look at the hat and said to that gentleman, “May many blessings come your way.” Father used to wear the hat on Shabbat, on holidays, on all joyous occasions. A fine man and full of good cheer, Father was invited to every celebration that took place in our neighborhood. After a while, he began wearing the hat every day, but not when he was dealing with the garbage. After a further while, he began wearing it when he was working. The day he was killed was the third time he wore the hat to work. Firadeus was sitting in the bus, on her way to Talpiot. All of a sudden, a shot was heard. Everyone began shouting. The driver stopped the bus, and a body was carried in. Firadeus had never seen a dead body and had no wish to see one. But her eyes were drawn in its direction. Her heart stood still. She tore at her heart with her fingernails, shrieking – a terrible shriek that still rings in her ears. After that, she didn’t shriek at all; she was taken somewhere and given a drink to induce sleep and inhibit tears. To this day, her eyes remain inhibited, and only her heart murmurs: My sweet father, my sweet father. Unlike that moment when she saw that the dead man was her father and shrieked a single shriek: “Father!”

  Mother is second only to Father. Like her neighbors, Mother works all day. At night, another mood takes over. She gets up from her mat and paces back and forth, her eyes closed tight, her spirit lamenting, wailing, mourning the father of these tender orphans, a blameless man whose innocent blood was spilled while God in heaven remained silent. He remained silent as an evil nation had the temerity to murder a righteous man in this land ruled by violence.

  Third in the thoughts of Firadeus are her brothers and sisters, who have never known any kindness. She alone has found kindness, in the Herbst household.

  Many people come to the Herbst home. Almost all of them are doctors, which is how it is with the Ashkenazim. They smoke a lot and talk a lot. The most peculiar one is the raving doctor whose name she has given up trying to pronounce. She calls him Dr. Felfrem. He is tall, broad shouldered, constantly swearing and cursing. As he rants, he holds the tip of his nose between his thumb and index finger, scowling at everything in sight. When he comes into the house, Firadeus feels as if he were placing his heavy arms on her shoulders, pushing her down to the floor, scowling at her. She is still surprised that he has never once done this. Mrs. Herbst says he’s not a bad person, that it’s just his way to be angry, which one should never say to his face, or he will become all the more angry.

  Dr. Taglicht, the skinny man whose name means “daylight” in the language of the Ashkenazim, but whom Tamara calls Talglicht, meaning “tallow candle” in the language of the Ashkenazim, is the reverse of Dr. Felfrem. He is a fine man, and his manner is pleasant. Whenever he comes, he asks how she is; if he hasn’t seen her for a while, he asks about her mother, as well as her sisters and brothers. One Shabbat afternoon, walking with a girlfriend, she said hello to him, but he didn’t recognize her. When she told him her name, he reached out his hand and said, “Please introduce me to your friend.” This was before she knew about “introducing.” What did he do? He said to her friend, “Taglicht is my name, Dr. Taglicht.” She will never forget how he said “Taglicht is my name” – how he added “Dr. Taglicht,” so her friend knew that the gentleman who said hello to her was a doctor.

  Apart from the doctors who come to the Herbst home, many young people come who aren’t doctors yet, but who will become doctors. They go to the room with all of Mr. Herbst’s books, the room Mr. Herbst works in. Some of the young men wear flamboyant clothes, but her perceptive eye discerns that they are worn. Often, there are no buttons on their coats. Were it not for fear of her mother, she would sign up at the youth center and sit in the corner examining coats and mending them as she had done for one of Herbst’s frequent visitors, a young man who forgot his coat. When Firadeus noticed that its buttons were missing, she took it in order to sew on buttons and saw it was torn as well. She sewed on new buttons, found similar material from which she made a patch, and brushed off the dust. Days later, the young man came to ask about his coat. Firadeus assumed he wouldn’t recognize the coat – that, if he recognized it, he would wonder about the transformation – but he took the coat and put it on without even noticing that it had new buttons and was no longer torn.

  Along with the young men who come to Mr. Herbst is a young woman, also a student on Mount Scopus. Firadeus assumed she was like all the other young women studying at Mount Scopus, until she learned she was married, the mother of a baby. She leaves her little girl in Tel Aviv with her husband’s mother and comes to Jerusalem to study with the young men. We all know of women who abandon their children to go off with some scoundrel who steals other men’s wives. But never had she heard of a woman leaving her child to pursue academic studies. The one they call Dr. Krautmeir must have behaved in this fashion, which is how she became a doctor. Not merely a doctor, but a medical doctor – a real doctor, who is paid to see patients, whether they are brought to her or she goes to them. Her lips are always clenched. The whites of her eyes are bright. Her hand is large and plump, her face round and smooth. Her every hair stays in place out of fear of this mistress. Some of the women who call on Mrs. Herbst intimidate Firadeus, though she knows they have nothing against her. There are others she is fond of: the wife of the raving doctor, for example, wh
ose name is Mimi, although Mrs. Herbst calls her Mi. Her blue-gray hair is like the soft feathers under a bird’s throat; her entire being suggests that she has no real substance. She is extremely thin; her face is transparent, her eyes bewildered. Everyone enjoys looking at her and listening to her voice, except for her husband, Dr. Felfrem. As soon as she opens her mouth, his attention wanders. Whenever Firadeus sees Mimi, she has an urge to smooth her sleeves, to touch her. Once, Firadeus heard her play the piano, and the sounds that came out of the instrument still vibrate in her ears, like the piano keys themselves when Mimi’s fingers darted across them. The same fingers do all the housework; she has no household help, because her husband can’t afford to pay the price.

  It is not only Persians who are poor. Some Germans are poor too, because a villain named Hitler came and took their money. Some of the Germans came to the Land of Israel before Hitler came to power in Germany, and they have everything – oil and margarine and butter – unlike the recent arrivals, who spice their loaves with spit.

  Having mentioned Mrs. Herbst, a few of the Herbsts’ callers, and a few of Firadeus’s thoughts about them, I will mention Zahara and Tamara, two of Manfred and Henrietta’s daughters. In fact, I will mention only Tamara, since Zahara lives in some kvutza far from Jerusalem, and, on those rare occasions when she visits, Firadeus isn’t always at the Herbsts’. As soon as her work is done, Mrs. Herbst dismisses her so she can go home. Mrs. Herbst knows that Firadeus’s mother is a hard woman, and sometimes, out of grief, she beats her children for sins they haven’t committed. It is better when Firadeus is there, as she knows how to placate her mother. The only one left for me to tell about is Tamara.

  You are already acquainted with Tamara. She looks at you without acknowledging your existence. She probably treats Firadeus the same way. It wouldn’t be like Tamara to change her style for the household help. But two things she did for Firadeus ought to be noted: she gave her a fragrant lotion for the bruised skin on her hands, and she explained the workings of a particular object hanging on the wall – how the strip of red glass inside changes its position, jumping sometimes upward and sometimes downward, indicating shifts in temperature. Firadeus was thoroughly delighted to learn the function of that object. She doesn’t miss an opportunity to astonish her girlfriends by saying, “Do you know how hot it is today? It’s this many degrees.” More amazing, her mother was once very sick, so they called the doctor. Firadeus found a thermometer, took the patient’s temperature, and told the doctor how much fever her mother had. The doctor looked at her benignly and said, “If you’re not a doctor, you are surely a nurse.” If she were Ashkenazic, she would be in school. But she isn’t Ashkenazic, and she can’t be in school because she has to work. Since childhood, she has been working to support herself and her family. She has no great ambitions, although she would like to know about the fat letters in the newspaper from which one can tell in an instant just what is happening in the world. If Tamara would teach her, she would learn and know. But Tamara is busy and doesn’t have time to teach Firadeus. Many girls have come from the lands of exile without any knowledge of Hebrew, and they have to be taught. Because they are confined in a sanitarium for tuberculosis victims, in Mekor Hayim, Tamara goes there to teach them. These girls roamed from city to city, from country to country, pursued by border patrols because they didn’t have visas. Eluding the border patrols, they arrived at a port in the Land of Israel. But the Mandate police didn’t allow them to land, because they didn’t have certificates, and, once again, they roamed the seas in battered boats, without food or drink, until our young men took charge and arranged for them to land in secret places. Having been at sea so long, they were vulnerable to many diseases. Tamara volunteered to work with them, to teach them to speak and read the language. She goes there every day and stays into the night. It would be good for Tamara to find a paying job, so she could help her mother with household expenses. But this is good too. These are troubled times for our people, and anyone who can, should help. The Herbsts ought to be pleased with Tamara, with the fact that she has given up her earlier mode, turning away from café life and from dancing to devote herself to the advancement of young Jewish girls. What would they do if she joined one of those suspect organizations that endanger their members, like Herut, the Irgun, or the Stern Gang. It would be good if Tamara would find a job, earn a salary, and help her mother with household expenses. In any case, it’s good that she keeps busy, and her mind is no longer on cafés and on dancing with British soldiers.

  There are times, when Herbst is with his books – a cup of coffee at his side, a cigarette in hand, new documents spread out before him on his desk, his notes arranged by subject – when it seems to him that all the world’s tangles are in the process of being unraveled. Even if he should have to move to another house and relocate his books, which he estimates at five thousand volumes, he has a strategy. What is it? You take out the books, row by row, tie a string around each row, put them in boxes, mark each box A, B, C, D, et cetera, and mark the bookcases with numbers and the shelves with letters, so, when it comes time to unpack them, there is no confusion. He has already had a word with Moshe the Assyrian, Jerusalem’s chief porter, who is intelligent and strong – who transports pianos from one end of Jerusalem to the other – and he nodded his beard at him to signify agreement.

  As I noted, it sometimes seems to Herbst that the world has become less and less tangled. To confirm this, he would remind himself of what happened to him with Shira and be glad that his heart was purged of her. In which case, what did he see in her to begin with? Why was he ever attracted to her? It was an accident of fate. Just as a person can make a mistake, fate can also make a mistake. All those events were one extended accident. Some errors can never be purged, but Herbst’s error is not one of those. Just as he seeks nothing from Shira, so Shira seeks nothing from him. The fact that she doesn’t show herself to him is evidence. To celebrate his soul, now liberated from its delusion, Herbst goes to his wife and embraces her, whispering sweet nothings invented at that moment. He takes pleasure in his wife, and his wife takes pleasure in him. Those who assume that an older man is no longer capable of inventing an amorous phrase for his wife are mistaken. Seeing Manfred and Henrietta together, although he is past forty-three and she is about thirty-nine – perhaps forty-one – one cannot but marvel and acknowledge that the love displayed by this middle-aged couple may even surpass the love of youngsters. Subjecting himself to the ultimate test, Manfred repeats that verse in a whisper: “Flesh such as yours will not soon be forgotten.” Whether or not you believe it, the verse is no longer associated with Shira.

  Having observed that the world is being restored and that its tangles are in the process of being unraveled, I should get back to Tamara, whose footsteps don’t always lead her to Mekor Hayim. I wouldn’t be divulging secrets or gossiping if I were to disclose that I once saw her learning how to handle weapons with some comrades and that they were not from the Haganah, but from the Stern Gang. Her mother and father don’t know about this, but British Intelligence, from whom nothing is hidden, has her name in their files. They still pretend not to know, but, when it suits them, we will feel the impact of their knowledge. For the moment, I’ll say no more about Tamara’s activities. In fact, I might as well dismiss her entirely, rather than risk getting sidetracked, by her story, when my real purpose is to tell about Herbst and Shira. Similarly, I’ll say no more about Zahara, to whom so much has happened that, even if I were to write about her, I couldn’t cover everything. I’ll say no more about the daughters and get back to the father of these daughters.

  Manfred’s life is in good order; Henrietta’s life is in good order too. His work is bearing fruit; her belly is bearing fruit. His manuscript continues to grow thicker; her body continues to expand. It’s a pleasure to see the two of them together. When they are together, his spiritual quality becomes physical compared to hers, and her physical quality becomes spiritual. That is to say, Manfred’s entire t
hick manuscript has physical reality compared to Henrietta’s baby. True, her face is drawn and very wrinkled, and her cheeks have several blotches of color, which are not attractive. She is wan, and her bearing is slovenly. But the new light shining from her eyes is the light that wells up in mothers, who are the foundation of the world and make it possible for the world to survive.

  At about this time, it was Henrietta’s birthday. Manfred went to town and bought some pretty sandals, pretty and just right for Henrietta. True, the doctor had advised her to pay attention to her shoes, to wear only sturdy footwear, and, of course, to avoid high heels, as her arches were weak and she could become flat-footed. But is it possible to heed all medical advice? It was a lovely moment when Henrietta extended her feet so Manfred could help her slip into the new sandals he had bought her. Little Sarah laughed when she saw her mother suddenly turned into a baby, having her shoes put on for her.

  I will say a word or two about little Sarah’s cleverness. After watching her mother, she asked whether the baby inside her mother was wearing sandals too. What’s so clever about this? She was such a clever little girl that she didn’t wait for anyone to come and tell her, “The stork is going to bring you a sister, a brother, a doll to play with.” She knew on her own that the baby was growing out of her mother’s heart, just as flowers grow out of the belly of the earth.