S. Agnon - A Guest for the NIght

When he came back he said, “Now, my dear sir, she is really asleep, and I can tell you the whole story from beginning to end. You have heard, haven’t you, my dear sir, that Mr. Schutzling has three daughters from his second wife. ‘Has,’ I say, but I should say ‘had,’ for they are no longer here, my dear sir, but dwelling in the shadow of the Almighty, in the world of souls. Permit me, my dear sir, to go and see if the old woman has not wakened. She has only heard about one that was killed, but all three have been killed, she and her two sisters. On the very same day, at the very same time, my dear sir, their blood was spilt together. How did it happen? Just as it is written in the papers. That daughter of our friend Mr. Schutzling who was not being held in prison came with her comrades to the prison keepers and bribed them with a large sum of money to let her sisters go free. But the keepers did not keep their word. They opened the gates to let them escape and told the authorities. Well, my dear sir, the moment the two sisters were about to get into the automobile where their sister was waiting, they shot at them, and they died. They were wounded and died, my dear sir. And now a telegram has come from Mr. Schutzling to say that he too is not in good health. I will go and see if Aunt is still asleep.”

Genendel awoke and said, “Aren’t you hungry, son? Sit down and eat. I have just remembered, aren’t you Esther’s son? How is your mother? I believe I promised you something. What do you say to our sorrows? Leibtche, Leibtche, where is Leibtche?” “Here I am, Aunt dear,” said Leibtche, “here I am.”

The old woman nodded and said, “Yes, yes, Leibtche, here you are. Why haven’t you brought in a chair? He is Aaron’s friend, isn’t he? Sit, my dear, sit. What do you think, is there any hope the child will live? Even when he was a little boy I told Aaron, ‘Stay away from them, my son, I don’t like their Knibenkopf.’ What they tell, that he tried to assassinate the king, that is just a story. May God protect us from the mouth of Jacob and the hands of Esau. But what I see with my eyes is not a story. He wears a black cape. What is this dream I had? Leave me alone and I can remember.”

Leibtche was deeply moved and said, “It was a good dream you had. A good dream you had.” “You’re a good man,” said Genendel, “but the dream was a bad dream.” “Good will come of it,” said Leibtche, deeply moved, “good will come of it, Aunt.” “Be silent!” cried the old woman. Then she lowered her head onto her breast and dozed off. “I’m afraid she may have heard what I told you,” whispered Leibtche.

Just as the winter here is full of snow and storms, so is the summer full of rain and wind. The sun came out in full strength and the day was glad, but suddenly the face of the sun went yellow, and the wind blew, raising the dust up to the sky. When the winds were still the heavens grew thick with clouds, the rain began to fall, and the ground was blotted out and turned into mud. Because of the rains and the winds, the clay and the mud, I shut myself up in the hotel or in the Beit Midrash.

Mrs. Zommer returned to her home and her stove, and went back to cooking tasty dishes as before: first, because such was her habit, and second, because Rachel had come to live with her.

Rachel came to live with her mother, and her mother cooked tasty dishes for her. But I did not enjoy that woman’s meals, because she made them with meat for Rachel’s sake. And even when they remembered to make a vegetarian meal for me, I ate without enjoyment, because of the odor of fat and meat that pervaded the house, and I used to fill up the gap with fruit.

If it was a fine day I bought my fruit from the farmer, and on a rainy day I bought it in the market and ate it in the Beit Midrash, so that the people of the hotel should not notice that I was not satisfied with their meals.

Once Reb Hayim found me sitting and eating in the Beit Midrash. “I have bought some first fruits of the season,” I said to him, “so that I can recite the blessing, ‘Who hast kept us alive to this day.’ Will you have some, sir?” So he sat and took some.

So that he should not suspect me of just eating for my enjoyment, for these were not really first fruits, and Reb Hayim might think that I had long since recited the blessing over them, I said to him, “I have heard that a great and righteous man was punished in the world to come because he used to eat little fruit, and the fruits came forward and denounced him because they missed his blessing.”

Another time Reb Hayim found me trying hard to open a tin of sardines. I wanted to distract his attention from the fact that I was using the Beit Midrash for my meal, so I started to denounce all the works of technology. “They invent all kinds of machines,” said I, “and they have not yet invented a tin of sardines that could be opened without all this trouble.” Reb Hayim made no fuss over my using the Beit Midrash for my meals, but asked if I had some bread, for sardines must be eaten with bread.

When the rains stopped and the ground grew firm, I went out for a stroll. And as I strolled, I reached the house of Hanoch’s widow. She was not at home at the time; either she was sitting in the market or going out to the villages as Hanoch used to do, only Hanoch went around with his horse and cart while she went around on foot.

Reb Hayim saw me, came out to meet me, and asked me in. When I entered he said, “I should have offered you some fruit, but there is none here. Perhaps you will taste what I have cooked for the children?” So he brought me a plate of millet and put honey on it.

Looking like good gold, the millet filled the plate; it was covered with honey refined and pure as gold, and the fragrance rose as on the sunny days in time gone by when everything was in order and the world was joyful. For many days I had not tasted a cooked dish on a weekday, and certainly not millet with honey. But I ate with mixed feelings, because I did not know whether to pay Reb Hayim for my meal, and how much to pay. Finally I put my hand in my pocket. “No need,” said Reb Hayim. “Do you want, through me, to win credit for hospitality?” I said. “I wanted to win your praise for my skill,” said he. “Where have you learned to cook such a fine dish?” I asked him. “Tomorrow I will cook you a finer one,” said he. “Then even cooking you can do,” said I. “Where did you learn it all?” “I learned many crafts in the land where I was a prisoner,” said he, “and this is one of them.”

From then on I happened to pass by the house of Hanoch’s widow once or twice a week, and whenever I passed the house Reb Hayim would come out to meet me and invite me to eat with him. Sometimes he would eat with me too, and sometimes he would not eat, but would sit before me grinding the grits that Hanoch’s widow sold in the market, or he would sit and teach the children.

On my return I would say to myself: How much longer shall I put up with discomfort in the hotel and have all this trouble to get my food? True, from time to time my hostess remembers to make me a big meal, but since the house is filled with the odor of fat and meat, I cannot enjoy my meal. However, such a meal generally comes suddenly, after I have eaten my fill of fruit or bread and sardines, and I eat it on a full stomach. And if I should rely on my hostess and not eat elsewhere, she forgets to make me a meal. Nevertheless, this man has no reason to complain, for if he wishes he can go back to the Land of Israel.

For several months there have been no services in the Beit Midrash and no one has entered, except for myself and Reb Hayim, who comes to fill the basin and sweep the floor. Since I calculated that the time had come for me to go back to the Land of Israel, I made up my mind to hand over the key to Reb Hayim. Sometimes I wanted to hand it over with much ceremony, as I myself had received it, and sometimes I wanted to hand it to him privately. Before I had taken any action, I heard that Reb Hayim was going to stay with his daughter in the village. Several times she had sent him an invitation to stay with her; but when he did not come, she and her husband traveled to Szibucz and made him swear to visit them. Then Reb Hayim had given his word, and now the time had arrived for him to go.