S. Agnon - A Guest for the NIght

His affairs were many, however, and his mind was not free. When he remembered the poor of his town, it was only to put them off. “Can one man support a whole town?” he said. But he made a vow in his heart that if his fortune reached this-and-this sum he would give such-and-such for the needs of the many. When his fortune reached that sum, he was in need of money, because he was about to undertake a large contract. So he relied upon the Holy One, blessed be He, and on the charitable societies, although he did not like them: that the One should lengthen the lives of the poor and the others should support them until he could become very rich and attend to their needs himself.

He went to the supply official to receive the contract. While he was sitting and waiting he thought about his constantly growing business, and his constantly passing years, and his only son, who followed his fancy and sought all kinds of pleasures. Only yesterday his son had received the degree of doctor and today he had gone on a trip to the mountains with his friends. If he would put aside his pleasures and apply himself to his affairs, he could double his possessions and make a great name in the world. But before examining the deeds of our sons, let us examine our own deeds. After all, he too, namely old Mr. Shulkind, had left his father’s affairs and gone to Vienna. If he had listened to his father he would have been a small shopkeeper and would have suffered with all the exiles of his town here — or, even worse, in the exiles’ camps in Nikolsburg.

While he was sitting and thinking, he looked at the door of the official’s room, which was still closed to him though he had been waiting an hour or more — which was not usual, for whenever he used to enter, the official would immediately come out to meet him and take him into his room. He pulled out his watch from his pocket and looked at it, although he did not need to, for there was a clock hanging on the wall.

As he was looking at his watch it occurred to him that perhaps it was not really made of gold, although he had bought it from an expert watchmaker and paid him the price of gold, and, after all, experts are not in the habit of deceiving. In order to put this thought out of his mind, he began thinking of other matters. Suddenly he saw that the sleeve of his coat was getting threadbare, as was common with the cloth made in wartime. He said to himself that if the official saw him he would imagine that he was a poor man, or perhaps he had already seen him and that was why he was not taking him into his room.

He pulled out his watch again and looked at it. Hardly a moment had passed since he took it out first, and how many thoughts had gone through his mind! As he put it back into his pocket, he dozed off. Or perhaps he did not doze, and he was awake when he saw this thing. What did he see? Shifrah Puah’s coffin, followed by nine hundred and ninety-nine men and one woman. And that woman was his wife, the mother of his only son. This he found surprising, for she had been born in another town, not in Shifrah Puah’s, so what was she doing beside the midwife’s coffin? While he was thinking this, he saw that all the mourners were well dressed and each of them had a gold watch, pure gold, hanging on his clothes, while he, Mr. Shulkind, was ragged and barefoot; except for a threadbare coat he had nothing on his body.

At that moment he heard the voice of a newsboy. He awoke and bought a paper. When he looked at it he said to himself: There’s nothing new, for all the Austrian and German victories in the paper are imaginary; they are meant only to prop up the people’s enthusiasm and keep them from despair. So he folded the paper and gave it to someone else. While the other was sitting and reading, Mr. Shulkind felt sorry he had let the paper out of his possession without reading it to the end, for no doubt there was something in it about the hikers in the mountains. And even if there were no such news there, why shouldn’t he make sure there was not, for in any case he had nothing to do. He put out his hand to ask for the return of the paper, but just then the attendant summoned him to the official’s room. He went in and received the contract, and he was also entrusted with some new business, namely, making clothes out of paper.

As he left the official’s room he said to himself that this new business was bigger than anything he had undertaken before. He felt angry with his son for chasing after pleasure while he had to look after the business. On his way home, Mr. Shulkind went up to a newspaper kiosk and bought a paper, but before he could read it a drizzle began to fall, so he folded up the paper and put it in his pocket.

As he reached his house he heard a scream. He went in and found his wife in a state of collapse, with a paper in her hand, screaming and weeping, “My son, my son, my only son! Fallen on the mountains and your bones scattered!” Immediately he knew that his son had been killed on the mountains. Or perhaps he had known it already, having read it in the paper, or perhaps he glanced at the paper now and thought he had read it before.

In short, through that old man Mrs. Bach succeeded in learning to become a midwife, teaching her daughter, Yeruham A, and Yeruham B Hebrew, and having them admitted to the institute. Thus she succeeded in seeing her daughter a teacher of Hebrew; and Yeruham A, namely her father-in-law’s son, and Yeruham B, namely the Lithuanian’s son, earned through her their going up to the Land of Israel. And it was agreed between them, namely between Yeruham the Lithuanian’s son and Aniela, that is Erela, that he would bring her there. But what do you think he did? He came back from there and began to court another girl. As he had betrayed the Land, so he betrayed his betrothed. But Erela did not betray her early ideals, and now she was teaching in the town’s Hebrew school and educating pupils. If you heard children twittering in Hebrew, you could be sure it was Aniela who had taught them. Aniela is the same as Erela, for Aniela in Polish means an angel, and as the ordinary Hebrew word for angel does not apply to a woman, she called herself Erela after a word we find in the Book of Isaiah.

Besides teaching the children Hebrew, Erela has a number of other merits. Nevertheless, I do not like her; first, because of the way she articulates her speech, for she slices up her words as if with a sword, and second, because of the spectacles in front of her eyes. After every word that comes from her lips she applies her spectacles to you like a plaster to a wound. It seems to me that her father’s wooden leg is as nothing compared to her spectacles. Once Rachel asked me, “Why do you keep away from Erela, sir?” “Because of her spectacles,” I replied. Rachel said jestingly, “And what can a person do if his eyes are weak? But I’m sure it’s only for this — that spectacles are not mentioned in the Torah.”

Since I have been living here I have not had occasion to speak to Erela except by chance. And I must say that it is no pleasure to speak to her. First, because she has seized the whole truth for herself and leaves no part for anyone else. And second, because she hangs on to every single word you utter, and from the things you have said she ascribes to you things you did not say, and argues with you about them. For instance, if you say that Reuben is a decent man, she jumps up and asks, “Why don’t you think Simon is decent?” Or if you say that a Jewish child ought to study the Bible, she jumps up and asks why you object to Tales from the Scriptures . “In my opinion,” she says, “one must not burden a child with matters that don’t appeal to him; it’s much better to instruct him in the Tales from the Scriptures .”

Between ourselves, it was a mistake to arrange the Bible stories by themselves, for this takes them out of the sphere of holiness and makes them secular. But I have never expressed my opinion on this subject in public, for if I ever began to express my opinion about everything I do not like I’d never finish.