Two Tales: Betrothed & Edo and Enam Page 7

  Rechnitz entered the hotel. Nobody was in the lobby, except the waiters setting the tables and brewing coffee. He walked through, glancing from side to side. The absent guests, he thought, the honored guests, are still sitting in their private rooms waiting patiently until the mere nobodies have prepared their food and drink. As for me, I’m one of the nobodies; and if I haven’t the ability to prepare meals and drinks, at least the gods have given me the power to save somebody from boredom. “Schmeckt’s, Herrchen?” he asked himself and looked around again. The hotel clerk saw Rechnitz and said, “There’s a letter for you, sir.”

  “A letter?” Rechnitz stammered, and his heart began to pound. The clerk brought the letter; Rechnitz took it and went outside. He walked through the garden, stopped under a tree, and leaned against it with the letter in his hand. A letter from Shoshanah? Let’s see what Shoshanah has to tell me. Let’s open the letter and see. But when he opened it he saw it was not from Shoshanah but from her father. Again his heart began to beat fast, not the rapid heartbeat of a man awaiting some happy event, but such as one feels when expecting disaster.

  Again he looked round. Seeing that no one was about, he reflected: Shoshanah has told her father all that happened by the sea and he must be punishing me with a reprimand. Rechnitz was filled with rage. Does that old man think because he has thrown me a few crumbs from his table that he has the right to abuse me? Keep your crumbs, old man, for the dogs. I can provide for myself and, as for my name in the world of science, I don’t owe it to you. Verflucht, these people with money! If you have taken the least scrap from them, they think they have bought you. I don’t mind thanking you, Consul, for all you have done on my behalf, but you have not bought my soul. And if your daughter should be pleased to follow me, I shall take her from under your nose.

  While he was saying this to himself, he looked at the words of the letter, and as he looked his eyes lit up. Here was no rebuke but instead a kind of apology. The Consul and his daughter had departed for Jerusalem without managing to take leave of him in advance. He saw too that the Consul sent his best greetings, as well as his regards, and added: “As soon as we are back in Jaffa, we shall be delighted to see you.”

  It was a good thing that Rechnitz read that letter. Even as he did so he put all the bitterness out of his heart. His soul returned and he reflected: All my life I never aspired to Shoshanah. When I used to speak about her to her father it was with humility, and suddenly I’ve grown bold. If I were now to go to him and demand his daughter, he would be shocked. No, I shall not argue or pick a quarrel or talk big, but act modestly until he sees and understands for himself how much I love Shoshanah. And if she is indeed to be my partner for life, as she pledged to be, I shall wait patiently for good angels to spread their wings over us and make our wedding canopy.

  As he reflected, Rechnitz felt a lighter, calmer spirit. It is best for a man to act in character. What nonsense to think I had it in me to carry off Shoshanah against her father’s will – as if I had the power to do any such thing! At that moment Rechnitz saw himself as a man who has gone after an enemy, only to find that very enemy his friend. His humility gave him strength. He looked into himself and said, That is how I have been all my days and that is how I have come through. And so I shall be all my days and so continue to come through.

  XXI

  Herr Ehrlich stayed in Jerusalem longer than he had intended. The anniversary of his wife’s death came around while he was there and he wanted to commemorate it in the Holy City. The day passed fittingly: he said Kaddish at the Western Wall, gave alms to the poor and visited various houses of charity. Certain things he saw met with his approval and he took due note of them. As for the rest, he looked the other way and ignored shortcomings, being mindful of the city and the occasion. He also paid a visit to the Sha’arei Zedek Hospital, where he made the acquaintance of a certain doctor who sacrificed his sleep for the sake of his patients, not laying his head upon a pillow unless it were on a Sabbath or festival night and taking no payment beyond his simple needs. When Herr Ehrlich saw plaques affixed to the walls of the hospital and on each plaque the name of some benefactor who had contributed to the cost of the building or the care of the sick, he too made a contribution for the upkeep of a bed, to grace his wife’s soul and serve as a lasting memorial in Jerusalem.

  The Consul was very pleased with the city. True, what he had seen with his own eyes was unlike the Jerusalem of legend or the Jerusalem of his imagination. There were many things that could well have been dispensed with and also many things lacking that might well have been there. But since one did not really know where to make a start, or how to proceed in the way of reform, it was best to leave Jerusalem as she was.

  Once again, Rechnitz is seated facing the Consul in the Jaffa hotel. The weather is chilly, the air damp; hot embers glow in the copper tray before them. The Consul has a thick cigar in his mouth and a woolen rug rests on his knees. He warms his hands alternately with the cigar and over the hot coals. Shoshanah is some distance away, wrapped in her beaver coat. The coals whisper to themselves and the tray, reflecting their red glow, whispers back. The room grows warmer, the air more heated; a sweet languor seeps into the spoken word, like the languor that surrounds the body. From the sea outside the sound of waves mounts like the distant roaring of beasts of prey. The Consul shakes the ash from his cigar and remarks, “Today it’s impossible to take a walk on the beach.” And Rechnitz blushes; can the Consul be alluding to the walk he had taken with Shoshanah?

  But in fact the Consul was only referring to the stormy weather that had delayed his departure. What is more, he was glad that he did not have to travel, after wandering from country to country for over a year. He had seen so many lands: more than he could number, more names than he could remember. If he had not listed in his notebook the name of each place visited he would never have known where he had or had not been. Shoshanah too was glad of the delay. She had taken many photographs and collected many souvenirs and now she needed time to arrange them.

  On the day of her return from Jerusalem Shoshanah had been very fatigued. Without finishing her meal she had left for her room and gone to bed. But on the next night she lingered over dinner. Unasked, quite of her own accord, she brought an album of her photographs and souvenirs to show to Jacob. She was astonished at the way he recognized each object and gave it its proper name, and even happier at the serious interest he took in her collection. And because she was grateful, she wanted to repay him by recounting various stories. That night, Shoshanah told Jacob many tales. This was one of them: “Once upon a time there was a king who wished to marry me. This king had a fine palace made of palm fronds, and he also had two wives. One of these wives wore sardine tins in her earlobes to enhance her beauty; the other one looked just like the girl you were walking with on the day I arrived in Jaffa. But,” added Shoshanah, “you were out with two girls together and as I don’t know which is which, I can’t tell you which one looks like the king’s wife.”

  The Consul laughed and cried in surprise, “What? Do you take girls out for walks? I thought scientists were completely wrapped up in their work! It looks as though science is a complacent mistress who doesn’t object to rivals. Tell me, Shoshanah, are they pretty, these two girls?”

  Shoshanah looked at Jacob and answered, “That is for you to say.”

  “If,” said her father, “he is thinking of his own reputation, he will answer that they are extremely beautiful; if he is thinking of yours, he will say they are not at all attractive. And so, my dear daughter, you tell me – are they good-looking?”

  Shoshanah replied, “Whatever I may say, Dr. Rechnitz thinks they are.”

  “How do you know that?” asked the Consul.

  “If it were not so, he would not have brought them along to exhibit to me.”

  “I did not bring them along to exhibit to you,” Rechnitz protested.

  “No?”

  “No! It was like this, really. That afternoon after leavin
g here, I just happened to see them on my way and we took a walk together. And since I was invited to dinner and didn’t know when it would be served, I went to ask the waiter, and they were good enough to come along with me.”

  “And the flowers you presented to me,” said Shoshanah, “were they given to you by one of them, or by both?”

  “What you say is partly true,” Jacob answered. “They both put themselves out to bring you flowers, but those I actually brought to you came from the gardener.”

  “They assumed,” said Shoshanah, “that I would be here today and gone tomorrow?”

  “Quite possibly.”

  “But if so, they were wrong.”

  “Wrong indeed,” answered Jacob, and he did not know whether to be glad or not.

  Shoshanah added, “Father intends to spend the whole winter here – don’t you, Papa?”

  The Consul, questioning, looked at his daughter, then nodded his head in agreement.

  “Yes, daughter, I’ve been weighing whether it isn’t worth my while to spend the winter here. You people don’t realize how hard the European winter is, and all the harder now that I’m used to warm countries.”

  Shoshanah stood up from the table, took her father’s head in both hands and kissed his forehead. “Good Papa!” There were tears in her father’s eyes.

  XXII

  That afternoon Rechnitz went to the post office and came across Shoshanah walking about the market place. Her arms were filled with pottery. It was Shoshanah’s way to buy local wares at every place she visited, and here in Jaffa she had purchased various pitchers and clay vessels. What would she do with them? She might take a few with her or she might leave them all behind at the hotel, for next day, no doubt, she would find something more pleasing.

  “May I help you?” Jacob asked her.

  Shoshanah glanced at him for a moment and held out two pitchers. “Don’t worry about them too much; if they get broken, they get broken – the market’s full of them.”

  “If that’s the case, then give me more,” said Jacob. “I’ll be careful not to break them.”

  They left the market together by carriage. Shoshanah said, “I always believed carriages were only invented to get in my way when walking, but all of a sudden you have put me into one and I find I am no longer afraid of horses and vehicles. Why do you look surprised?”

  “I certainly am surprised. You are so used to traveling, yet you talk of carriages getting in your way.”

  Shoshanah said, “I’m used to long journeys and forget that even short distances can be made easier with conveyances.”

  “Yet you seem more tired by these short distances than by long journeys.”

  “Great things add greatly to one’s strength,” she said. “Oh, how beautiful those palms are! How many are there? Eight, nine?”

  “Yes, nine,” Jacob answered.

  “I have never in my life seen such beautiful palm trees.”

  He wanted to say that he himself had already shown them to her but thought better of it and remarked, “Surely you have seen finer ones in the tropics?”

  “Finer ones? Never in my life,” she repeated. “Driver, stop a moment. I don’t know what has come over me, I could swear I have seen them before! No, not in a dream, Jacob, but awake!”

  She blushed as she spoke; then, telling the driver to proceed, she said no more until they arrived at the hotel.

  When the carriage came to a stop, she said to Jacob, “If you don’t mind, let’s go into the garden. Tell the driver he can leave the pots in the hotel. What language were you speaking to him? Hebrew, was it? And isn’t Hebrew the language of the prayer book? So this driver speaks like the prayers; and you too, Jacob. How wonderful you all are here! Let’s sit on this bench. I knew, Jacob, that you would agree with me. What a lot of good turns you have done me today. You have carried my pottery for me, and put me in a carriage, and brought me all the way back. It’s good for a person to be good. We too ought to be good, not wicked. Do you think I am a wicked person? Sometimes I think so myself but it’s not really true, I’m just too lazy to get people out of the notion of my wickedness.”

  Jacob said, “It would never occur to anyone to call you wicked.”

  “It may never have occurred to you, but how do you know what others think?”

  “I judge the rest of the world by myself.”

  “But isn’t it a kind of sinful pride to measure all mankind by your own standard?”

  “On the contrary,” said Jacob, “it’s a virtue, because by so doing I can correct any mistaken ideas of yours.”

  “Please tell me, Jacob, what have human beings to be proud about?”

  “You speak just like your father. He asks what have human beings to dispute about.”

  “I have never disputed with anybody in my life,” said Shoshanah.

  “You have no need to, since everyone rushes to do your bidding.”

  “Everyone, that is, except myself. I sometimes think I have no will at all and whatever I do is done without any good reason. I am more frivolous than a child who makes his decisions by flipping a coin. What does a girl like me want?”

  The waitress set up a little table and asked, “What would the lady like me to bring?”

  “I don’t want anything,” said Shoshanah.

  “You see, Shoshanah,” Jacob remarked, “you have a very strong will. Since you didn’t want anything, you said just that.”

  Shoshanah blushed. “I really deserve to be scolded; it didn’t occur to me that you might like something. But you don’t? Well then, let’s just sit and talk.”

  This was the most delightful meeting Jacob had known with Shoshanah since the day she came to Jaffa. It had about it something new and something old and familiar; new, because she had not previously sat with him in this garden, and old, too, because it was thus in their childhood that they had sat together in that other garden of her father. The good gods give us more than we deserve. Here are Jacob and Shoshanah among green boughs, and in winter time, when the garden of their childhood is covered with snow and the pond overlaid with ice. They talk about themselves and the world outside, which is no more than a small part of their own. At times, the good gods deal well with mortals, allowing them to see eternity in an hour. Let us then ask the gods to prolong this hour without end or limit.

  Shoshanah had laid her fine, delicate hands before her on the table. Jacob gazed at them, as he used to gaze at her mother’s hands when she would place them on the table and his lips would long to touch them. We are so made that our memories lead from one thing to another; sometimes these lie close together, sometimes far apart. Jacob now recalled a time when he happened to be at Ein Rogel, at Ilyushin’s, when he was stretching an animal skin on a board; he had spread his hands out like that, or almost like that, in the course of his work. As Jacob sat there, surprised at the direction his thoughts had taken, the parrot suddenly made himself heard, crying out, “Verflucht!”

  Shoshanah shuddered and looked around her. Jacob laughed. “It’s only the parrot,” he said.

  “Just this very moment,” he went on, “I was thinking about a taxidermist I know called Ilyushin. I wouldn’t say that bird is a mind reader, but all the same it’s very queer – just at the moment when I thought of Ilyushin, the parrot called Verflucht.

  “Illusion?”

  “Yes, Ilyushin.”

  Shoshanah said, “Yesterday evening you remarked that you changed the flowers your girlfriends gave you to bring me. What was the point in changing them?”

  Jacob’s cheeks flushed but Shoshanah did not notice.

  She had closed her eyes, as she had a way of doing sometimes in the course of conversation.

  “What was the point?” he repeated.

  Shoshanah nodded, her eyes still closed.

  “I changed them because I’d found nicer ones.”

  “That sounds plausible,” said Shoshanah. “Now tell me the real reason. Oh, I can see that just now you don’t know; perhaps
another time you will. What was the name of the taxidermist at Ein Rogel?”

  “His name was Ilyushin.”

  Shoshanah opened her eyes. “That’s it – Illusion.”

  “And what has Ilyushin to do with us?” asked Jacob.

  “Since you mentioned him, I wanted to know what he was called. Now that I know, you don’t have to say any more about him. Cattle and wild beasts may enjoy a privilege granted to no man except the mummies in Egypt. Don’t you smoke? I’ll call a waiter to bring you some cigarettes. Let’s honor the wisdom of Egypt, the land that gave eternal life to her sons, by ordering Egyptian cigarettes.”

  Then, forgetting all about the cigarettes, Shoshanah went on, “Our days on earth are like a shadow, and the time of our affliction is the length of our days. How fortunate are those mummies, laid in the ground and freed from all trouble and toil. If I could only be like one of them!” Shoshanah opened her eyes and looked up as if longing for release from the afflictions of the world.

  “From the day of your mother’s funeral, I have not seen you,” Jacob said. “And even on that day I didn’t really see you. You seemed so distant from this world, Shoshanah.”

  “No, Jacob, I felt as if the world were distant from me. And now, here I am, still not part of the world.”

  “And in all those years, have you really had no happiness?”

  Shoshanah neither spoke nor moved. Looking across at her, Rechnitz took in her sadness. He wanted to speak but could not find words. Hesitantly, he said, “You are so troubled, Shoshanah. What is it?”

  She stirred a little. “What were you asking, Jacob?”

  “I was asking what is it that makes you so sad?”

  Shoshanah smiled. “You ask, ‘What is it?’ as if there were one reason alone. There are many, and each is enough to make one sad, very sad indeed.”

  “But why?”

  “I don’t know—” she stopped short and remained very still.