S. Agnon - A Guest for the NIght

When we had gone out Kuba said to me, “That girl really pleases me. But isn’t she too silent? All the time she didn’t utter a word.” “You showered her with talk,” said I, “and did not give her a chance to speak.” “You’re right,” said Kuba, “sometimes I talk too much. Did I really talk too much this time, too? Let us go to the pharmacy.” “You want to go to the pharmacy?” said I. “Didn’t you say you have all the drugs at home?” “I have some of them at home,” he replied, “and those I haven’t I shall take from the pharmacist and prepare them myself, so that it won’t cost him anything. A clever girl, isn’t she? What is her name? Hannah her name is. Not an ugly name.”

I followed Kuba into the pharmacy. From the way the pharmacist spoke, I saw that he had not much respect for Dr. Milch. During the conversation, Kuba took him aside and whispered in his ear. Apparently he didn’t have enough money to pay, but the pharmacist patted him on the shoulder and said courteously, “Never mind, Doctor,” and gave him the drugs.

I asked Kuba if there was any hope that Reb Hayim would get well quickly. “It’s a slight dislocation,” said Kuba, “nothing at all. How old is Reb Hayim? If he hadn’t been an old man everything would have been all right. In any case, he won’t dance at his daughter’s wedding.” “You mean at the wedding of Hannah and Zvi?” said I. “What Zvi?” “That young man you were praising so much.” “Is there something between them?” asked Kuba. “So you let me make a fool of myself and did not give me a hint? In any case, it is good that you’ve told me now. You know that girl really pleases me.” And as he spoke he scratched his beard. I smiled and said, “You have already told me that.” “What did I tell you? And if I told you, has she become uglier in the meantime? When did I tell you? I’ve never spoken about her. I’ve just seen her for the first time, haven’t I. Well, so she’s engaged to Zvi. I must say our fellows are handsome and they have good taste. And she is not beautiful, but she has another quality that is more than beauty. Don’t you think so?” “What quality is that?” “I don’t know what it is,” said Kuba, “you can’t see anything in her face, but there is something about her that I can’t describe. I have seen many beautiful women without losing my head over them, except for my wife, or — as you insist I should say — my former wife; besides her face and her nose being beautiful, her soul is beautiful. Now let us go and mix the drugs.”

So Kuba took a kind of long bowl and a pharmacist’s spoon, and ground drugs and mixed them with each other. “Do you remember Reb Hayim in his greatness?” said he. “The whole country was in a tumult over the controversy. Where was the sense of it? We all have the same Torah, haven’t we? So why did we have to argue with each other? All the troubles of the Jews come from nothing but controversy. Sometimes I say to myself: We are no better than the Gentiles; they make war upon each other and spill visible blood, while we make controversies and spill blood that cannot be seen. Well, you said that girl is engaged to Zvi. Good you told me. I don’t interfere in things that are none of my business. The affair of Babtchi is in a bad state. The rabbi’s grandson has found another girl, the daughter of his father’s friend. The apple always ends up near its tree. So Babtchi has no one left but Zwirn. May she please him. The swine stretches out his hoofs and finds what suits him. Well, I’ve finished making up the drugs. Now let us put them up in a packet and take them to Reb Hayim. And if they’re not zierlich manierlich like those of the Prussians the pharmacist hates — and I don’t like them either — the main thing is, they will do their job. Perhaps you are hungry? Take an apple or a pear and put it in your pocket; I’ll do the same and we’ll eat on the way. I forgot to tell you, Schutzling was asking after you.” “When did you see him?” “When he was about to leave.” “So you are Genendel’s doctor. How is she?” “I don’t know,” said Kuba. “What do you mean you don’t know?” “I am no doctor for patients who make their doctors sick. I was visiting Bodenhaus.” “Has he got a pain in his legs too?” “Not in his legs, but in his right thumb. It’s a pain that comes from too much writing. Writers’ cramp.” I laughed and said, “And he told me the rhymes flew out without any trouble by the inspiration of God above. It seems the inspiration of God above does not rest on his fingers.” “You’re a bad man,” said Kuba. “But I love good rhymes,” said I. “I have no need of poems,” said Kuba. “I don’t read them. What do you think of Bach?” I laughed and said, “You’d better ask about his daughter Aniela first” “Why?” “Because her name begins with aleph .” By this time we had already arrived at our destination.

Reb Hayim made light of his illness; he was sorry we were taking so much trouble with him. But this was not the doctor’s opinion. As he left, he said to me, “I am not worried about his legs; it is another disturbance of his that worries me.”

A slight dislocation in the leg had been followed by another, more serious illness, which afflicts old men as a result of much lying down. Reb Hayim accepted his pains lovingly; there was no perceptible change in him and he did not utter a groan. Every day Kuba came to change his drugs and talk with Zippora. Hannah and Zippora took turns sitting with their father, Hannah at night and Zippora by day. Sometimes Zippora would leave him, because her mother was tired out and could not stand and cook; then Zippora would have to cook for the whole family — including her father, for since the day he fell sick Reb Hayim was not fussy and ate whatever they brought him.

Once, when he and I were alone together, I asked him, “How are you?” He whispered to me, “God will do whatever He thinks right,” and closed his eyes.

I thought he was sleeping, and saw that he was muttering with his lips. I bent closer to him and heard him saying, “And these are the cases in which a fowl is fit for eating: if there is a hole in the gullet or a slit…” When he noticed me he whispered, “This was the halacha over which the controversy started.”

After a little while he raised his head somewhat and said, “When a man is lying like this, he lacks nothing. He could even be content; except that man is defined as a being that moves, not as one that stands or lies. For the essence of a man’s existence in the world is to acquire good deeds — and so long as he is able to walk.”

I was shocked and distressed, not because of the things he said, but because he spoke at all. Reb Hayim, who used to nod his head instead of speaking, had begun to talk at length.

In all his talk he said neither good nor ill of any human being. That was one of the things that surprised me about Reb Hayim: he did not mention any man in connection with the things that had happened to him, but would open every talk by saying, “The Cause of all causes, in His blessed mercy, brought it about,” and when he concluded he would say, “Through the Cause that produces all causes, this event was caused.” You and I, dear brethren, are also aware that everything comes from the One Master of the world, but you and I add the deeds of human beings to His deeds, as it were, as if He and they were partners in the matter, while Reb Hayim did not bring in any human being as His partner.

Finally he held out to me an old, creased sheet of paper and asked me to open it immediately after his death, before they brought him to his last resting place. He saw that there were tears in my eyes. He took my hand in his and said, “The hour of my death has not yet come, but it is close, and I ask that the terms of my testament should be carried out to the full.”