S. Agnon - A Guest for the NIght

I went back to my hotel and entered my room. My throat was dry and my limbs slack, my skin was throbbing and my head felt heavy. The sun had set and the room was dark. I sat on the end of the bed and looked straight in front of me. The lamp gleamed out of the darkness. I took a match to light it, but for some reason, I do not know why, I put out the match and did not light the lamp. I took another match and lit a cigarette. And many thoughts came into my mind that are not fit to be called thoughts and do not combine to make up any matter.

Krolka knocked at the door. I was too lazy to tell her to come in. She knocked again and entered. “I thought you had gone out, sir,” she said, “and I came in to make your bed.” “I am here, Krolka,” said I, “I wanted to light the lamp and could not find a match. Perhaps you know where the matches are?” “I’ll bring you matches straightaway, sir,” said Krolka, “or perhaps you would be so kind as to give me your matches, sir, and I will light the lamp.” I was ashamed that I had told Krolka that I had not found a match, when there was a lighted cigarette in my mouth. But I gave her no reason to doubt my truthfulness and said, “This was the last match and my matchbox is empty. Or let us say that the box is not empty, but the matches do not catch fire. Are there no matches in the hotel? Heavens above, am I condemned to sit in darkness all night when all the lamps in the house are lit? And don’t be surprised, Krolka, that I can sit here and still see all that is going on in the house. There are people, Krolka, who can see even when their eyes are closed.” “Perhaps you will come and eat,” said Krolka. “That is a good piece of advice you give me, Krolka,” said I, “but what will you answer if I tell you that I am not hungry? I am not hungry at all. Perhaps you have a glass of tea? It seems to me that I am thirsty, for all day I have been standing in the sun. But I do not feel hot. In fact, I even want to get a little warmer. Well, Krolka, what were we talking about? About tea. So make me a cup of tea and I shall come straightaway.” “Straightaway, at once, sir,” said Krolka. “Straightaway, at once.”

Krolka went out, and I sat and thought: She said straightaway; did she mean to echo my words? No, Krolka didn’t intend to echo my words or provoke me. Krolka is a good Jewess for a Christian. Where have I heard these words? And who used them? Let us sit and think.

I sat and thought, but did not remember. And it was impossible that I should find out by memory who spoke in this way, for no dictionary has yet been compiled for all the words that issue from the mouths of men.

Krolka came back and brought a lit lamp, as well as two full boxes of matches, and asked, “Where would you like to drink your tea, sir, in your room or in the dining room?” I thought and thought and could not decide. On the one hand, how good it is to sit alone; still, one should not avoid people. True, all that day I had been with people, but if we look deeper into the matter, all those whom I had seen were an idea, and not men of flesh and blood — for instance, that farmer, who kept talking about the purpose of life, about bread, and about the soil.

“Will you take your tea in the dining room?” said Krolka. I nodded my head and said, “I will, I will.”

Krolka is a good Jewess for a Christian; she knows what is good for you and makes it unnecessary for you to think many thoughts. For thoughts are tiring, as Schutzling my friend said. Who asked me about Schutzling? Heaven almighty, is there no hope of remembering who it was who called Krolka a good Jewess for a Christian?

How quick Krolka is! In a brief while she managed to go to the kitchen, pour me out a glass of tea, bring it into the dining room, and come back to tell me that the tea is ready and standing on the table. I sat down to drink. Krolka came back again and brought me a glass of boiling milk, saying, “Perhaps you will drink a glass of milk? Hot milk is good for the throat and good for the nerves.”

Her voice is low and her movements restrained. Surely Rachel is not ill, heaven forbid? Rachel is hale and hearty — so may God always keep her in life and health.

Mr. Zommer rose, turned to face the corner and, leaning on his stick, started to recite the Evening Service. Mrs. Zommer entered quietly and went out quietly, nodding to me as she entered and as she went out.

I blew into my glass and said to myself: Perhaps Mrs. Zommer wanted to tell me something, but when she saw her husband at his prayers she went out. What did Mrs. Zommer want to tell me, and why did she look sad? Surely Rachel is hale and hearty.

It was many days since I had thought about the people in the hotel — first, because nothing new had happened there, and second, because thinking is tiring.

Thinking is tiring. Forty-one years had passed over me and I had still not realized this; then along came Schutzling and said it, and his words keep beating on my heart every day, every hour, every moment.

Mr. Zommer took too long over his prayers. After he had finished, he loosened his sash, rolled it up and put it in his pocket, came and sat down at his table, took his pipe and filled it, got up and went off, came back and sat down again, screwed up his eyes and opened them again, and looked at me as if he wanted to ask something.

I wondered where Mrs. Zommer was and why she had not returned. I thought she wanted to tell me something. Everyone here is more silent than usual today, though it can be felt that they want to speak.

Babtchi came in, greeted us with a nod, and offered her father a newspaper. Mr. Zommer took the paper, read the whole page that was in front of him, turned over and read on. This was a change for Mr. Zommer: he had turned over the page, though usually he does not turn it even if he is in the middle of a story. It is good for a guest when his host is a silent man. If I have no home of my own, it is good that I have found a hotel whose owner does not trouble me with talk. In any case, it would be a good thing if Mrs. Zommer came and told me what she wanted to say when she entered the dining room and found her husband at prayer.

A short time passed, and then another short time passed. Both of them combined to make a long time, and nothing at all changed in the hotel. Mr. Zommer sucked his pipe and read the paper. What was written in the paper that was so worth reading? But in any case, I bless Mr. Zommer for not stopping to tell me.

Before going to sleep I took a piece of paper, wrote on it, “Do not wake me,” put the paper in one of my shoes and left my shoes on the threshold behind the door, so that if Krolka should come to polish my shoes she would find the notice and not waken me. This I did although I had no hope or expectation of sleeping long, and moreover I took a second piece, wrote the same words on it, and left it in my second shoe, so that if Krolka should forget the first note, the second would remind her — perhaps the Almighty would give sleep to my eyes and people would not come and waken me.

Indeed the Almighty gave me sleep, and I slept till nine, and I too gave myself sleep and slept again for another hour. After I had made up my mind to get up, I put aside the blanket and lay down, as if trying to decide whether one needed a blanket. In the meantime, I fell asleep again.

I do not remember whether I was awake or dreaming. But I remember that at that moment I was standing in a forest clearing, wrapped in my prayer shawl and crowned with my tefillin, when the child Raphael, Daniel Bach’s son, came up with a satchel under his arm. “Who brought you here, my son?” said I. “Today I have become bar mitzvah,” said he, “and I am going to the Beit Midrash.” I was overcome with pity for this pitiful child, because he was docked of both his hands and could not put on tefillin. He gazed at me with his beautiful eyes and said, “Daddy promised to make me rubber hands.” “Your Daddy is an honest man,” said I, “and if he has made a promise he will keep it. Perhaps you know why your father saw fit to ask me about Schutzling?” Said Raphael, “Daddy has gone to war and I can’t ask him.”