by Agnon, S. Y.
Shira stood gazing at him in silence. Manfred said, “When I was a child, I read a story about an Indian holy man. There was a beautiful woman living in this holy man’s town, who was pursued by all the men. I won’t prolong the tale, nor will I try to tell you about her beauty and about all the men and their attempts to approach her. But I can tell you this: that monk, that holy man, was the only one in the entire land who had no interest in approaching her, even in looking at her. She sent a message inviting him to visit her, but he didn’t come. She sent another message, but he didn’t come. In time, she was stricken with leprosy, and all her admirers kept their distance. He, however, went to see her. She said to him, ‘My beloved, my holy one, you are too late. I can’t be anything to you now.’ Do you hear me, Shira?” Shira said, “I hear you. And what was that holy man’s response?” Manfred said, “I don’t remember his response, but I remember the end of the story.” Shira said, “What is the end of the story?” Manfred said, “Wait, Shira. I already recalled the end of the story.” Shira said, “Then what is the end of the story?” Manfred said, “In the end, though she had so many admirers, only he stayed with her.” Shira said, “And what did he say to her?” Manfred said, “He said this to her: ‘In your days of glory, I could already foresee your end.” Shira said, “And you saw in me just what that holy man saw?” Manfred said, “I didn’t see those things but…How can I tell you? I once read a poem, and I found a line in it that sticks to my tongue.” “What is it?” “‘Flesh such as yours will not soon be forgotten.’“
While they were standing there, a nurse came and said to Dr. Herbst, “Doctor, it’s time to take leave of the lady.” Manfred said, “Dear nurse, would you allow me to stay just a few minutes more?” The nurse said, “You can stay another five minutes. Five minutes, and no more.” Manfred bowed to the nurse and stood before her in an attitude of mock reverence, saying, “Many thanks to you, kind lady. May the Lord respond to your prayers.” He turned back to Shira rather suddenly and said, “He – that is to say, the Indian – stayed on with her.” Then he said to her, in an altered voice, “And I intend to do what that Indian did. I’m going to stay with you, Shira.” He seized Shira’s hand and held on to it. Shira tried to extricate her hand from his. But he held on to it, fervently, until her hand and his were both bathed in sweat. As he held her hand, he leaned his mouth over hers and kissed it. For a long time, her lips clung to his, of their own accord. She suddenly slipped her mouth away from his and brushed his lips with her hand. Then she brushed her own lips. He, in the meanwhile, embraced her lovingly and exclaimed, “Shira, Shira.”
Another Version
[This fragment seems to fit into the final chapter (at the break on p. 745), though the chronology is problematic.]
Herbst asked how he was and what he was doing. The young man smiled with characteristic shyness and thanked Herbst for taking an interest in him and asking about his affairs. But, being too shy to talk about himself, he fell silent. Herbst took no note of this and resumed his conversation with Taglicht. Taglicht interrupted and said to Herbst, “I see that you two are acquainted.” Herbst nodded, as if to indicate that there was no need for elaboration, and once more resumed his conversation. Taglicht placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder and said to Herbst, “Let’s hear what our friend has to say.” Herbst gazed at the young man, somewhat surprised, as one might gaze at a person he knows well enough to be certain he has nothing to offer.
At this point, it is worth mentioning that this young man, whose name was Heinrich Reiner, had come to Jerusalem a year earlier to enroll in the university, bringing with him letters to several professors and lecturers, including Dr. Herbst, from colleagues abroad, along with the request that they take him under their wing, et cetera. They may have taken him under their wing; they may have not. In any case, each and every one of these professors invited him to attend his lectures. He may have attended one or two lectures, but he didn’t become a university student. Herbst saw him once or twice, after the first time, when he came to his home to deliver regards from a friend. It was not that the young man didn’t appeal to Herbst. But Herbst didn’t especially welcome him and didn’t ask him to come again, because the relationship with that mutual friend was outdated, or perhaps for other reasons. In the interim, Herbst dismissed the young man from his mind and took no interest in him. Being somewhat shy, he didn’t presume to call on Herbst again. Now that he was with Taglicht, they met Herbst, and Taglicht said, “Let’s hear what our friend here has to say.” Herbst seemed surprised but willing to listen. Let me present the substance of his story, some of it in his language and some in my own.
Heinrich Reiner took on a job with a salary that didn’t quite support him but supplemented the allowance his father had provided. What sort of job? One could consider it a job or a mission. There is a place in Jerusalem called a leper colony, inhabited by those whose affliction is incurable. Reiner took it upon himself to visit them, and he made a special point of visiting the newcomers, who did not yet accept their fate and were unwilling to be shut in forever. At this point, Reiner recounted what we already know from the newspapers: that thirteen lepers had been found in an old-age home, that most of them had mild cases of leprosy, but that there was one advanced case among them that seemed to be the source of the contagion. From which ethnic group and from which social class did the patients derive? From every group and every class. Men and women, old and young, Orthodox and free-thinking, poor and rich. Yes, even the rich. There was a young girl there from a rich family. How did she contract leprosy? Until yesterday, no one knew. Her mother visited her yesterday. She saw a woman there who looked familiar, but she didn’t know where she had seen her. She asked her who she was, but the woman couldn’t answer, because half of her tongue and also her lips were so severely infected that she could no longer speak. But the girl’s mother couldn’t rest until she discovered who this woman was. She went to the office to inquire and was told who she was. She remembered that this woman had worked in her house fifteen years earlier, when her daughter was born. Reiner said many other things about those wretchedly afflicted individuals, who are betwixt the living and the dead, who are not quite alive and not quite dead. What he related he related so vividly that one could actually picture it. Now, imagine Manfred Herbst: Manfred Herbst, who could barely tolerate a leper drawn on canvas, was now standing with this man who mingles freely with lepers, speaks with them, and talks about them. True, there are ways to protect oneself from leprosy. Some people spend their vacations in that place. Professor Dalman, for example, spends all his vacations in the leper colony, because his wife is a nurse there. Herbst kept conjuring up images of every deformity, of each disintegrating limb, and the like. He responded with a revulsion that superseded any sort of compassion for these living corpses. At home, he found no respite from this sensation. He washed his face and hands many times with soap and eau de cologne, as if they had the power to erase the filth that filled his imagination. The next day, Herbst still could find no respite. He washed his hands several times that day, and, if he touched a book, he washed again. He didn’t go out for two days and didn’t go to Shira’s apartment. He pictured all sorts of ways to contract that affliction. On the third day, when he went out, he met one of the clerks from the home for the aged, who was strolling with Axelrod, the hospital clerk. Herbst was overcome with terror, for the clerk was from the old-age home where those thirteen lepers had been discovered. And Axelrod, who, after all, worked in a hospital, was walking with him. Who knew if the other clerk had the disease, if he would infect Axelrod, if all the patients in the hospital would then be infected, including women in labor and newborns? But Herbst succeeded in controlling himself and resisted making a fool of himself by scolding Axelrod. He walked on, speculating: What do we know about these living corpses, and what don’t we know about them? Apart from several myths and inane tales, Herbst knew nothing about lepers. He proceeded to collect all his knowledge about them and to consider it deta
il by detail. They say that, in days past, yet not so distant, when the Turks ruled the country, lepers used to walk through the city, and the people who lived there would fling them food. Herbst remembered this too: he had once read in the newspaper that some lepers in Rumania, who had been contained in a leper colony, escaped and went to a dentist’s office. Several gentlewomen were there at the time. The doctor called the police, who came quickly, aimed their pistols at them, and returned them to the leper colony. Among this profusion of memories, he became aware of the drawing he had seen in the bookstore, with the leper peering at him, studying him, the bell in his hand rattling continually. As it happened, Herbst happened to recall the night he sat with Shira, when she showed him her picture album with an empty space where there had originally been a picture. When Herbst asked about the missing picture, she explained that, when she lived abroad, she had tended a patient who was a Spanish prince, that the prince had befriended her, giving her many gifts, as well as his picture. When, in the end, it turned out that he had leprosy, she was asked to accompany him to the leper colony in Breslau. At this point, she burned all his gifts, removed his picture from the album, and flung it into the fire.
Once again, I will say what I already said. Imagine this: Manfred Herbst enters a bookstore, finds a picture of a leper, hears references to a leper colony, suddenly remembers what he heard from Shira. Could such a chain of events fail to have an impact? Henceforth, Herbst was haunted by these concerns. Although he didn’t put them into words, they remained fixed in his mind, so that, when he woke up knowing he hadn’t dreamed about lepers, he felt that they had done him a favor.
One Shabbat morning, Herbst went out for a walk. It was one of those delightful Jerusalem mornings, with a lull between rains. Since the day was so delightful, the roads were a delight, his heart was filled with delight, and all his thoughts were delightful too. He wasn’t thinking of Shira or of anything else that might confound him. He was seeing every tree, every rock that was there, all basking in the sweet Shabbat morning sunshine. Since he wanted to enjoy these pleasures fully, he turned toward the less frequented spots, where he found himself alone, like in the old days, when he had just come to the country. He kneeled down to collect some of the colored pebbles that were scattered along the road. Now that most areas have been built up, these delightful pebbles have all but disappeared. But, in those days, they were everywhere. If you were clever, you could collect them and make yourself a floor, which probably would not be a source of delight, because mosaic design was already a forgotten art. It’s a fact that the territory he was walking in that day was right next to the leper colony. I don’t know if Herbst realized this, but, even if he did, he would not have been upset. Because on that particular day he was utterly composed and untroubled.
He returned from his walk refreshed and happy. Henrietta was seated in her chair, all bundled up. Herbst looked at her, at her bloated face, at her belly, and said, “I’m hungry, Mother, hungry as a dozen wolves. I could eat you up, along with the baby that’s inside you.” Henrietta smiled and said, “I’ll set the table right away, and we can have lunch. Please, dear, don’t eat anything now, so you’re sure to be hungry when you come to the table.” Henrietta got up and went to the kitchen. Manfred went to the icebox, which had no ice in it because summer was over, took out the table wine, and poured some into a glass. The cool drink revived him. Meanwhile, little Sarah appeared, with the pipe Henrietta had given him for his birthday dangling from her mouth. That child is so adorable, she makes such delightful noises holding the pipe in her mouth and pretending to smoke it. “Mother, Mother,” Manfred shouted. “Come and have a look.” Now that she realized she was doing something special, the child continued to perform. Manfred lifted her up, sat down, and placed her on his lap, contemplating the small pleasures a man can enjoy in his own home, reflecting on the cleverness of Sarah, and of Zahara and Tamara when they were small. Now that they were both grown, distant and remote from him, though they caused him no pain, they didn’t add to his pleasure. But he expected pleasure from the child Henrietta was about to produce. The fact is, before Sarah was born, it didn’t occur to him that she would give him pleasure. But, now that he took pleasure in her, he was also pleased about the baby Henrietta was going to present him with very soon. What should we name the child? If it’s a girl, we won’t call her Atara. A three-way rhyme, Zahara-Tamara-Sarah, is quite enough.
While they were waiting, Manfred took Henrietta’s hand and said, “Now, Mother, it’s time you gave us a boy. Do you hear, Mother? I want a boy.” Henrietta was quiet. Then she said, “I’ll try.” Manfred said, “Do you know something, Mother? I have a nice name for a boy.” “What is it?” “Shlomo Yehuda.” Henrietta said, “The name Shlomo is enough for me. Was your father’s name Shlomo Yehuda?” Manfred said, “My father didn’t have a Hebrew name.” Henrietta said, “Then why is your heart set on Shlomo Yehuda?” Manfred said, “Let me tell you. The very first modern Jewish scholar was named Shlomo Yehuda Rappaport, the Shlomo Yehuda Rappaport who is known by the acronym Shir.” Henrietta said, “Why do you suddenly look so downcast?” “Downcast? I didn’t notice. Hand me the mirror,” he said, pretending to joke. Manfred was immersed in thought. To keep his wife from noticing, he got up from the chair and said, “It was a mistake to drink wine, especially when I was overheated from my walk.” Henrietta said, “Don’t worry, Manfred. A healthy man like you can allow himself a glass of wine. In any case, don’t have any more today.” Manfred said, “Unless you give it to me, I won’t have any more.” He suddenly looked up at his wife and addressed her with affection, “Just say the word, and I’ll abstain until the brit.” Henrietta said, “You’re certain it will be a boy?” Manfred said, “You must admit, we’ve had more than enough of this Weiblichkeit [femininity]. You yourself, Mother, and Zahara and Tamara and Sarah, as well as Zahara’s daughter Arlozora. I am amazed that no one suspects Arlozoroff was killed by Germans. It’s logical that he would have been killed by Germans.”
Manfred put his head on the table and smoothed the cloth with his chin. He continued the gesture for a while. Then he lifted his head and stared at Henrietta for a long time. Henrietta felt his eyes on her and returned the stare, waiting for him to speak. Manfred said, “Do you remember the day I brought you to the hospital when Sarah was about to be born?” Henrietta smiled and said, “Now, Father, no woman is likely to forget such a day. Why do you ask if I remember it?” Manfred said, “You may remember the nurse who brought you flowers.” Henrietta said, “Her name was Shira, wasn’t it?” Manfred said, “If you say her name was Shira, let’s assume it was Shira. I want to tell you something now. No one knows where she is.” Henrietta said, “What do you mean, ‘no one knows where she is’?” Manfred said, “If I say so, you can believe me. She left the hospital three months ago. She didn’t say where she was going. She left no trace.” Mrs. Herbst shuddered. After a brief pause, she said, “She probably went away and doesn’t want anyone to know her whereabouts.” Manfred said, “I know what you’re thinking. You think she got pregnant and is hiding until after the birth.” Henrietta said, “I really didn’t think of that, but what you say is logical.” Manfred said, “Actually not, Mother. There is reason to suspect she was killed or kidnapped by Bedouins.” “And what is the government doing? Is it searching for her?” Manfred said, “The government! What an inspired idea! People are disappearing, and the government doesn’t lift a finger to find them.” Henrietta said, “Why did you push away the dish? Try some meat. It’s very good, Father.” Manfred said, “So, in your opinion, she is pregnant, and she’ll suddenly reappear on the scene. I am of the opinion that someone like Shira, if she were pregnant, wouldn’t be ashamed and wouldn’t go into hiding.” Henrietta said, “You know, Father, there are women who are daring in theory but timid in practice.” Manfred lowered his head, fixed his eyes on Henrietta’s feet, and said, “Mother, I must tell you something. I’m not pleased that you wear sandals all the time. True, sandals are c
omfortable. But, in your condition, there is reason to worry about flat feet, or, to use a more respectful term, fallen arches. When did you buy those sandals?” “When? If I’m not mistaken, I bought them before Tamara was born.” Manfred said, “We calculate time by births, don’t we, Mother. By now, even Tamara has left home. She is on her own and doesn’t need us. In a few years, Sarah won’t be dependent on us either. Where is the pipe? Where did it go?” Henrietta said, “Do you want to smoke the pipe?” “I don’t want to smoke the pipe, but I don’t like it when things disappear.” Henrietta said, “We’ll find it, we’ll find it.” Manfred said, “I already told you, the government doesn’t lift a finger.” Henrietta said, “I thought you were referring to the pipe, but I see you were referring to the nurse Shira.” Manfred said, “I wasn’t really thinking about her, but, now that you mention her, I remember.” Henrietta said, “If we were to think about everything there is to think about, we wouldn’t manage at all. Have some pudding. I made it from a recipe in the WIZO cookbook.” Manfred said, “You yourself are quite a whizz-o.” Henrietta smiled and said, “There are other women who are whizzes too.” Manfred said, “I shouldn’t have had wine, certainly not a whole glass, and on an empty stomach.” Henrietta was amazed. “You had a whole glass?” Manfred nodded. “A whole glass, to the last drop. I was thirsty from my walk.” Henrietta said, “You didn’t tell me where you walked today.” Manfred cried out in surprise, “I didn’t tell you? I told you, and you forgot. I definitely told you that I went up to Mount Zion, circled the entire wall, and came down at the Dung Gate. Then I made my way back via the shelters, which is where I met the old printer, the one who printed my article and made the offprints for me. You might have a dress or a blouse you have no use for, Mother. I promised the printer’s wife I would find something for one of her acquaintances, a Polish aristocrat who has nothing to wear. I think the wine is wearing off. At any rate, I learned my lesson. A man tries to snatch some pleasure, and it retaliates for hours on end. After dinner, I’ll lie down and sober up. Why didn’t I loosen my tie before dinner? I’ve been sitting here feeling this burden on me, as if there were a noose around my neck, as if I were going to be hung from the gallows. Remember the night we spent in Ahinoam, Mother? When Zahara was waiting to give birth?”