Two Tales: Betrothed & Edo and Enam Page 9

  Shoshanah’s sickness caused no public alarm and her nursing gave rise to no difficulty, but she was in need of careful supervision. She was put to bed in her room with a nurse to watch over her, and everyone who passed by the room moved very softly, so as not to disturb the invalid and so as to catch something of her slumbering presence.

  As for Rechnitz, he pays his calls on Shoshanah’s father, as he did years ago, except that then he would visit him twice yearly and now he comes twice a week. The Consul treats him even more cordially now and talks away on any topic that his mind prompts into words, or that words call up in his mind. So he describes his travels and the various kinds of people he has encountered. What extraordinary things he has seen. Even at the doorstep of his house, a man may behold such things as sometimes lead him to doubt his own eyes; how much more so when he travels into strange and far-off lands. At times the Consul repeats the same story, or confuses persons and places; for having known and seen so much, he is liable to substitute one person for another or this place for that. And when he says, “Now I am going to tell you something I have never talked about before,” you may be sure that he will go over the same story he has related a hundred and one times already. Or he will stop in mid-course, look up alertly, and say, “Haven’t I already told you this? It’s hard on me, Rechnitz, the way you let me run on about things you’ve already heard.” Then Jacob will answer, “Not at all, it’s quite new to me.” So the Consul returns to his story without misgivings. But even if he remembers having told it before, he continues just the same. It is like those songs we sing all our lives; they stir our spirits and remind us of the time we sang them first. The hotel servants come up and remove the loaded ash tray in front of him, replacing it with an empty one. In a deferential whisper they ask, “Would the Consul care for anything?” and withdraw as silently as they came.

  Sometimes the Consul would call back the old days when Frau Ehrlich was still alive. When he spoke of those times his description was accurate in every detail, there were no slips; the miracle happened and the past was present once again. Jacob asked no questions about Shoshanah and her father made no mention of her. But now and then he would clutch his head and say, “Any pain’s better than a pain in the head,” as if he had become a partner in Shoshanah’s suffering.

  Once before Purim, Rechnitz was about to leave for one of those field trips in which teachers and their students take part together at this time of year. There is no better time for them; mountains and valleys, hills and groves are covered with green and all the country blossoms like God’s own garden. Before going away, Rechnitz came to say goodbye. The Consul gazed at him with admiration. “You look as fresh and blooming as a young god,” he exclaimed. He took Jacob by the arm and led him out into the garden. The young man seemed to him a personification of spring, when the entire world is made new. He, too, would gladly renew himself; if not in the mountains and the valleys, at least in the garden of his hotel.

  The flowers were all in blossom, the lemon trees gave off their scent, the spikes of the palm trees reached up to the blue sky, and the sky itself seemed to blossom over every tree and bush. So deeply moved was the Consul that he could hardly find words to speak, beyond exclaiming at the beauty of this tree or that bush. Suddenly he reached out his hand in a gesture of helplessness, saying, “And there Shoshanah lies, unable to see all the things that we can.” A sigh broke from Jacob as he asked, “How is Shoshanah now?”

  The Consul took Jacob’s hand in his. “Never,” he said, “have I wished for a better husband for my daughter. But…”

  Jacob lowered his eyes and waited. There was a pause, the pause continued, and still Shoshanah’s father did not speak. Jacob raised his head again and looked up. Shoshanah’s father became aware of him and said with a sigh, “Soon we are going to Vienna to see Nothnagel. Let’s pray that he can find a cure for her disease. And you, my son,” he went on, “here you are…” But the words failed him. He remembered a letter that Jacob’s parents had written to him and tried to recall its contents, but could not bring them to mind. To Jacob he said, “Let me put it to you in this way. Suppose I am holding on to some valuable object, which I am about to return to its rightful owner. Suddenly the object slips from my hands before it has reached the owner and there we are, both left empty-handed; I who had it in my grasp and he who reached out to take it.” While he spoke he looked down at his hands as if puzzling over how they had let it slip. Finally he extended his right hand to Rechnitz by way of farewell, and said, “Let’s go now.” Yet he held on to Rechnitz’s hand, as old people do, clinging to the warmth that has come their way. And Rechnitz perceived this and was glad that he had this warmth to offer.

  The Consul for his part became aware that Rechnitz still stood expectant. He saw in Rechnitz a healthy, fresh-cheeked young man in all his vigor, at a time when Shoshanah was perhaps more seriously ill than the doctor would admit. His expression changed suddenly to resentment. What does he want of me? he thought. He let his hand fall and said briefly, “Goodbye.”

  Rechnitz parted from the old man feeling dejected, for never before had he been treated in this way. As he was going he heard the Consul call after him. Conflicting thoughts entered his mind; hope and expectation, and against this, anxiety and grief, which told him that if he turned back he would hear what was better left unheard. “Oh God,” he prayed under his breath, “save me in your great mercy.”

  The Consul said, “I meant to tell you that when you are back from your walking tour you must not forget to come to us.”

  Rechnitz laid a hand to his heart and replied, “I shall come.”

  The Consul shook hands with him again, wished him a successful trip and showed by his expression that all his former affection had returned. Rechnitz, too, was calm again. Now, he thought, I must set about making the arrangements for my journey. He began reckoning up all the articles he must take with him. At first they came to mind in a confused jumble, but in the end they sorted themselves out of their own accord and there was no need to make a second reckoning.

  XXVI

  No change, no alteration in Shoshanah’s condition. She would sleep for days on end, or if she awoke, it was only to fall asleep again. Good God, what harm had Shoshanah done that You punish her so? If it was for her haughty bearing, wasn’t this an effect of the disease itself, which makes it harder to behave with normal friendliness towards others? Who would suppose that this charming girl, whose lids close over eyes so beautiful that no man seems worthy to behold them, whose figure has the stateliness of a solitary palm tree, is fated to sleep out her days?

  Thus Shoshanah lies in her bed and everyone who passes her room walks softly. Many days have gone by since Jacob last saw her; meanwhile her father has aged beyond his years. Although he has not been visited with the sickness of his daughter, he has lost his capacity for staying awake. When most men are fully alert, he is liable to drop off to sleep, even in the middle of speaking. Bestirring himself, he will sigh and say, “At night when I want to sleep I lie awake, and in the daytime when I want to talk to people I can’t resist the desire for sleep.”

  Rechnitz saw his embarrassment and began to keep away from the hotel. Yet when he called to inquire about him, the Consul refrained from asking why he had not been round in the last day or two. There was no change in their relationship; in fact, the Consul felt a new kind of affection for Jacob, but the old age which had so suddenly fallen upon him inevitably left its mark.

  When the university appointment was first made public, everybody showed even more friendliness towards Jacob than before, and this without any designs for themselves or their daughters. They recognized that Dr. Rechnitz was intended for Shoshanah Ehrlich and there was nothing to be done about it. But when Shoshanah fell sick, they again began to regard him in the old light. Sometimes the expectations of parents have a solid basis, sometimes not, and new hopes grow out of their very despair. The sleep into which Shoshanah Ehrlich had fallen served to awaken such parent
al hopes. For their daughters, however, it was different. Of all their expectations nothing remained in their hearts but a sense of loss as they looked ahead to Rechnitz’s departure.

  Rechnitz now made his arrangements for the journey to America. On the way, he planned a stopover in Europe to visit his father and mother. Three years had gone by since he had seen them, for any holiday trips he had made were to the marine biology station in Naples, and not to his home. From the day he first hinted to his mother that he might be arriving, she had taken to sitting at her window reading his letters, one after another, or rereading the letter which the Consul had sent her from Jaffa. At this same time, Jacob in Jaffa was picturing himself as a child again with Shoshanah. In her short frock, she chased butterflies, picked flowers and made a crown of them for her head. Actually, the Consul’s house now stood desolate and empty and Rechnitz’s parents had long since moved out of that neighborhood. But whenever his father’s home came to his mind, he saw it still as standing next to the Consul’s.

  Meanwhile, Rechnitz turned back to his work. He was busy at his microscope, and happy, for sometimes small things give us great happiness, especially when they link together into something large. The humble sea plants with their tints of green, red, brown and blue, which have neither taste nor scent, and are without any counterpart on land, were dearer to Rechnitz than all the trees, bushes and shrubs of the earth. Out of the strength of his love, and his capacity to take unqualified delight in the smallest of things, his own soul grew and perfected itself ever more. And with this wholeness of spirit came tranquility. Once again he surveyed, examined and tested, with an undistracted love, objects which he had set aside for many days, perhaps since the day when Shoshanah Ehrlich came to Jaffa. Science is a complacent mistress who is not jealous of others; when you return to her you find what is not to be found in a thousand rivals. How many days and weeks had these sea plants lain, floating in salt water within their oblong trays of clear glass, exuding their salt water like tears! But now that Rechnitz had returned and wiped their tears away, they looked up at him so lovingly that in their presence he forgot any other concern.

  Jaffa, darling of the waters, is crowded with men of all communities, busy at trade and labor, at shipping and forwarding, each pursuing his own ends, absorbed in his own task. There are others who take no part in any of these activities: such is Jacob Rechnitz. Yet even he is not idle; you might even say that he is busier than all the rest. What need is there for those plants he is so concerned with? The stars adorn the sky and provide light for the world and those who dwell in it, the flowers adorn the earth and give off their good scent; for this the stars and the flowers were created. But those weeds of the sea, which have neither scent nor taste, what good is to be found in them? Yet far away from Jaffa, from the Land of Israel, there are men who make a study of seaweed, just as Rechnitz does, men who value his activities and pay him honor and esteem.

  XXVII

  In honor of Rechnitz, all his colleagues, as well as the school trustees, got together and arranged a farewell party. At first they meant to hold it in the Hotel Semiramis, but finally they settled on the schoolhouse where Rechnitz had taught.

  They seated Rechnitz at the head of the table with the two principals to his left and right and all the other teachers and trustees in order of precedence. The table was spread with an array of wines and cakes, oranges, almonds, pistachio nuts and various fruits of the season.

  The first principal rose to his feet and said, “Gentlemen, we all know the reason why we are assembled here. One of our number, who has spent the last three years with us, is now leaving us. There is no need for me to say how much we regret this, but our joy is equal to our regret for we know that he is going to a great and honored position. We too gain credit from his advance, so I raise my glass and drink a toast to him, to us all, and to our school – a school where we have such teachers as Rechnitz!”

  After the toast had been drunk, the second principal began as follows: “My colleague has said that our joy is as great as our regret, since our friend here has been advanced to a great and honored position, namely, to a certain university abroad. But for my part, I admit to feeling sad. Why is Rechnitz departing? Because we have no university here. If there were one, he would not have to leave us; he would join our own university and teach there. My dear colleagues, I am raising an issue which, after all, needs to be frankly discussed. Why have we no university? Because we are content with too little and therefore get nothing at all. I know that people make fun of me for wanting a university. Why do they laugh? Is there any enterprise of ours which they don’t deride? When we founded our school here, did they not laugh at us? Did they not call us charlatans? Now those who mocked us come begging for posts. I am not saying, of course, that a university is the same as a high school. No two things in the world are completely alike – except for the smart-alecks and scoffers, who are the same in all places and times. Today they laugh, tomorrow they are dumb-founded, the day after tomorrow they see what they can get out of it for themselves. Finally, they boast that it was they who suggested the whole idea. Let me say in conclusion that I hope we, too, will achieve a university before long to which we can invite our friend Rechnitz to come and lecture. What a great university that will be, when all the scholars of Israel, from all the universities of the world, gather in Jerusalem, on the Temple Mount, to teach wisdom and knowledge! Such a university, my dear friends, the eye has not beheld. But it follows of necessity that I mean no mere seminary for religious studies. We have enough already of this ‘religious study’ stuffed into us morning, noon and night. When I say university, I mean a real one, where all the forms of knowledge to be found in other centers of learning will be taught. And at this point let me turn to our colleague Rechnitz. My dear Rechnitz, just as we regret that you are leaving us, so shall we rejoice on the day you return here to our own university. ‘Blessed be your going out and your coming in.’ To your health!”

  After this speech the hall rang with cheers. At last there was silence again, the toast was drunk, and speech followed speech until, when midnight had passed, the company went home quietly.

  XXVIII

  Ever since the Consul’s coming to Jaffa, Rechnitz had given up visiting the homes he used to frequent. He had started by being available to the Consul at all hours; now he neglected him, too, and stayed in his room devoting himself entirely to his work. He would take up some piece of seaweed, cut it and examine it under the microscope, then attach it to a sheet of paper, fold the sheet, place it in his great album and note down its name, its habitat, and the date when he had drawn it out of the sea. Nearly two hundred separate species had been taken by Rechnitz from the sea near Jaffa, Haifa, Acre, Caesarea, Hadera and elsewhere. It would hardly be an exaggeration to say that no one in the entire world possessed as many sea plants of the Mediterranean as Jacob Rechnitz. Nowadays we are familiar with more than two hundred kinds of Mediterranean seaweed, and the specialists know of still more. But in his time, no one had a collection to match that of Rechnitz. There they were, dried, attached to their sheets, placed in the album. At first glance you would think you were looking into an artist’s sketch book, each line was drawn with such exquisite care and beauty; for the way of seaweeds is to adhere to paper, become absorbed in it, and not protrude from the surface. But once you drop a little water on them, they grow soft and you see before you living plants, the work of the Creator who cares as much for each humble object as He does for what is high and mighty. There were times when Rechnitz shed a tear in his rapture, which fell on the plant and brought it to life again.

  The sea gave forth its daily harvest, and at night, under the moon, the daughters of Jaffa took their walks by the shore. The waves kissed their footprints and tossed up an abundance of plants such as Rechnitz had been used to gather. But you will not find Rechnitz there; he is well content with what he has taken to his room and laid out upon his table. Happy, at ease among his glass trays of saltwater, he sits with
the great album before him, its pages full. That album is the bliss of his eye and soul.

  This was all that Rechnitz did; he sat in his room and devoted himself to his work. At times he was so preoccupied that he would forget to light the little burner to make his coffee or, if he lit it, to put coffee in the pot before the water boiled over and put out the flame. Needless to say, he no longer took tea with the parents of his pupils and girl friends; thus, he made himself a stranger in all those households and with all those good people who, though they seemed unimportant then, were to count for much in the days to come. For they dwelt in the Land of Israel and were among the first of its founders. The reasons for their coming were many and varied, but it may well be that the very people whose motives were most obscure will be remembered and inscribed for all time, while those who came specifically for their country’s sake will be forgotten and ignored.

  Rechnitz turned his thoughts away from these people, and from their daughters too. This time was perhaps the best he ever knew. In his great desire for Shoshanah he had put out of mind all lesser desires; now even that desire fell away. He knew that he must prepare for his journey, whether it be to America or to Europe, for now the Consul was about to leave and it was better to travel with him and Shoshanah than to go alone. And yet work took his mind away from the journeys that lay ahead. People in Jaffa knew that he must get his lectures ready and took care not to disturb him. And Rechnitz too did not trouble himself with fancied needs. If he had found the time for it, he would have given praise and thanks to the gods for dealing with him so well.

  XXIX

  One night Rechnitz was alone in his room. The doors were closed and the blinds drawn, and the lamp lit up the table and the plants of the sea laid out upon it. This room had once been full of flowers and their scents; now he had in front of him only these odorless plants, together with the material for his course of lectures in America, which he was preparing in advance. This night, apparently so ordinary, was for Rechnitz singled out from all others, for in it he was experiencing what a man knows but once or twice in a lifetime. Having yielded his will to a single desire, the desire itself at last quits him and he is left free from any and all concerns. Never in his life had Rechnitz been so free a man as now; he had separated himself from Rachel and Leah, from Asnat, Raya and the rest, on account of Shoshanah Ehrlich; he had come to despair of Shoshanah because of her disease; his journey lay before him, and yet even this was put out of his thoughts in order that work might be his sole object and end.