S. Agnon - A Book that Was Lost

The houses and barns stood in comfortable silence, and the smell of burnt weeds and of cattle rose from the pasture. Michael and Toni walked along silently. A boy and a girl sat with their arms twined about each other, talking; then their voices broke off abruptly, and the scent of hidden desire hung in the air. A light breeze sprang up, but no sound was heard. A little boy ran past holding a burning torch. He too had run like that in his childhood once, when his mother had found herself without matches and had sent him over to the neighbor’s to fetch a light. He took out a cigarette and was about to light it; but the scent of the fields took away his desire to smoke. He crumbled the cigarette between his fingers and threw it away. He smelled his fingers and wrinkled his nose.

Toni opened her handbag, took out a bottle of scent, and sprinkled her hands with it. The scent reached his nostrils and put him in a good mood. So, so, he said to himself, by way of assent or as a question.

After his talk with Toni, in which he had told her all about that business, he began chiding himself for never, in all those years, discussing his affairs with her. If he had not snapped at her every time she wanted to know something about his doings, perhaps her interests would have grown closer to his, and they would not have come to regard themselves as such strangers to one another. This lesson was good for him at the moment, since it enabled him to blame himself and to justify Toni.

Again he folded his thumbs together and said, “I can’t stand that Svirsh.”

Toni hung her head and said nothing.

Hartmann repeated: “I simply can’t stand him.”

“And Dr. Tenzer?” Toni asked softly.

“Dr. Ten-zer?” said Hartmann angrily, stressing each syllable of the name. “I hate all the Tenzers of this world. They never seem to try and get anything for themselves. All they ever do is lie in wait for things meant for other people. I know what that fellow Svirsh is after. Whenever I see those pink eyes of his and his manicured nails, I know at once what he wants. But with Tenzer you never know where you are. He makes himself out to be in love with the whole world, but in reality he doesn’t love anything. He runs after women, but he doesn’t love any woman for herself, because she’s pretty, or because she’s this or that, but because she’s another man’s wife. The very fact that someone else has an interest in her makes her desirable to Tenzer.”

Toni lifted her face toward Michael. It was night, and he could not see her eyes, but he felt that they were thanking him, as if he had taught her things she could never have learned by herself. Hartmann, who had been angry with himself for mentioning Svirsh and Tenzer, now experienced a feeling of relief, and he looked about him with a sense of freedom and happiness. He saw a light glimmering in the darkness. He stretched out his arm and, beckoning Toni with his finger, said: “Do you see the light?” Toni looked and said: “Where?” “Really, really, I can see the glimmer of a light over there,” he said. “It’s the lamp of an inn.” “Is that so,” Toni replied, “I thought it was a firefly.”

A slight shudder ran through Toni, giving her a mysteriously pleasant sensation. Hartmann’s saying it was the lamp of an inn and not a firefly suddenly set her musing about the first firefly she had ever seen. She had been on a visit to her aunt’s in the country. It was Sabbath, and she was sitting in the garden at dusk. A spark darted through the gloom and settled on her aunt’s hat. Not knowing it was a firefly, she thought it was fire and became frightened. How old had she been at the time? About seven. Now Beate and Renate were at her aunt’s, and she, Toni, was here walking with their father.

“We can rest there and have something to eat,” Hartmann said. “You must be hungry: you had no lunch. We won’t get roast duck there, but at least we can have a meal and rest.”

Toni nodded in agreement. She was thinking, When did I recollect the firefly: when Michael pointed to the light, or when I said I thought it was a firefly? But she felt she must have been thinking about the firefly before, as she had been thinking about her daughters in the country. She shivered, as if the incident had taken place only now.

The road twisted and turned, now to the right, now to the left. The inn lamp kept on vanishing and reappearing. A moist smell rose from the earth. Toni shivered a little, though she did not actually feel cold. She gazed silently into the darkness which was shrouding both her and Michael. Once more the inn lamp came into view, only to disappear a moment later. Toni drew in her shoulders, and a breeze passed across her body.

“Cold?” Hartmann asked solicitously.

“I think I see people coming.”

“There is no one here, but perhaps.”

“I’ve never seen such a tall person before,” said Toni, “Do look.” A man with a ladder came toward them. Placing the ladder on the ground, he climbed it and lit a lamp. Toni blinked her eyes and drew in her breath. “Was there something you wanted to say?” Michael asked her. She looked down and said: “I didn’t say anything.”

Hartmann smiled. “That’s strange, I fancied you wanted to say something.”

Toni blushed. “Did I want to say something?” She looked at her shadow in silence.

Hartmann smiled again: “So you didn’t want to say anything. But I thought you did.”

Toni walked on silently at Michael’s side.

Two shadows became visible. The head of one of them was close to Toni’s, while the other was close to Hartmann’s. Two young people came in sight, a boy and a girl. The whole air became charged with their unfulfilled desires. Hartmann looked at them, and they at him. Toni lowered her head and looked at her wedding ring.

4

A little later they came to a garden fenced on three sides. The gate was open, and to the right of it shone a lamp. Some smaller lanterns, in the shape of apples and pears, hung from the trees in the garden. Hartman looked at the sign and said: “I wasn’t mistaken, this is a restaurant. We’ll get something to eat here.” Taking Toni by the arm, he walked in with her.

A plump, loose-limbed girl was sitting in front of the house, cleaning vegetables and occupying half the width of the bottom step. She greeted them in a loud voice and lowered her skirt. Hartmann thought: She’s red-haired and freckled. Although I can’t see her in the dark, I’ve a feeling that’s the type she is. Toni shook her head at him. He gazed at her in astonishment. Could she possibly have sensed what I was thinking? He took her parasol and laid it on a chair, and placed his hat on top of it. “Let’s sit in the garden,” he said, “or would you prefer to eat indoors?” “No,” Toni replied, “let’s eat out here.”

A waiter came up, wiped the top of the table, spread a cloth on it, and handed them a menu. Then he fetched a glass of water and put the flowers in it, and stood waiting until they were ready with their order. Hartmann saw that most of the dishes listed in the menu had been struck out. He grumbled: “Most of the dishes have already been eaten up.” Looking over Hartmann’s shoulder, the waiter said: “I’ll bring you some others immediately.” “You’re hiding your wares under a bushel,” said Hartmann. The waiter bent down and said: “The dishes we have struck out have all been eaten. Others have been cooked instead, but we haven’t had time to enter them in the menu.” “In that case,” observed Hartmann, “we ought to be glad that we shall be getting fresh dishes.” “Your pleasure is our happiness,” the waiter replied. “Will you have brown bread or white?” “When you eat in the country,” Toni said, “you must have brown bread.” “And what wines do you care for, sir?” the waiter asked. “Wine,” exclaimed Hartmann happily, as if rejoiced to discover that such a thing still existed for people’s delectation. He studied the wine list and placed his order.