S. Agnon - A Book that Was Lost

Once he had made up his mind about what he would eat after prayers — what first, what last, and what in the middle — he took his tallit and tefillin bag and went to pray. His tallit and tefillin bag was not made of satin nor of the leather of an unborn animal. Rather, it was made from the skin of a calf, from which he had not removed even enough to make a little strap for lashes on the eve of Yom Kippur. This was the calf that Fishl consumed at a single meal before he was required to report to the army officials who had come to take able-bodied men to military service. For by then the custom had been abolished, by which one could redeem oneself from the king’s service by hiring one soul for another. Instead, anyone found worthy was taken to serve the king. Some Jewish lads would starve themselves so as not to be fit to serve the king. Fishl was a fleshy man and said, “Even if I sit and fast for a whole year, I’ll still be fitter than five men together, so why should I deprive my soul? I’d do better to eat a lot and drink a lot and treat myself well and put on a lot of weight, for they account ample flesh a flaw.” And because a miracle happened for him on account of the calf that he ate, in that he fell sick and they excused him from the king’s army, he made a bag out of its skin for his tallit and tefillin.

Fishl gathered himself up to go to the house of prayer. As he left, he said, “I won’t linger there long,” to announce that he didn’t have it in mind to prolong his prayers, so they would hurry and prepare his morning meal, so that upon his return he would find his table laid and he would start his meal without delay. Finally he kissed the mezuzah, thinking: Something new has just become clear to me. If you eat some fruit preserves before going to sleep and kiss the mezuzah in the morning, you can find a bit of sweetness on it.

He said, “I won’t linger long,” and Hentshi Rekhil his wife knew that he was just talking nonsense, because even if he intended to return immediately, he would not, since it was his practice on the way to the house of prayer to stroll through the market and look into the butcher shop and to go out to the crossroads and meet the Gentile men and women who brought poultry and vegetables to town. So it was on that day. He set out for the house of prayer, but his feet brought him to the center of town to see the foodstuffs with which the villagers supplied the town.

He met a fisherman with his net coming from the Strypa. He was stooped under the weight of the net, and the net was shaking itself and its bearer. Fishl looked and saw a fish quivering there in the net. In all his days Fishl had never seen such a large fish. When his eyes settled down after seeing the new sight, his soul began to quiver with desire to enjoy a meal made from the fish. So great was his appetite that he didn’t ask how such a stupendous fish had found its way into waters that do not produce large fish. What did Fishl say when he saw the fish? He said, “The Leviathan knows that Fishl Karp loves large fish and sent him what he loves.” Though he had still not made up his mind how he would eat it, whether stewed or grilled or fried or pickled, in his thoughts he gathered together all the tastes that the white flesh of that water wolf was likely to give him.

Fishl’s lips quivered with hunger, like a mullet with its many scales and fins. His eyes dimmed, and he did not see the fish. As the saying goes in Buczacz: One sees the Purim goodies, but not their sender.

The fisherman saw a Jew staring at the fish without saying a thing. He took his mind off him and went on his way.

Fishl was alarmed and raised his voice in a shout, “Hey, fellow, where to?” The fisherman replied, “To sell the fish.” He said to him, “And I, am I nothing?” He said to him, “If you want to buy, buy.”

He said to him, “How much?” He answered, “This much.” He said to him, “And if I give you so much, will you write your will and die?” Fishl knew that the fish was worth twice what the fisherman asked, but if you can lower the price, you lower it. In short, the one swore he would not reduce the price by even a farthing, and the other swore that he would not pay half a farthing more. One swore by his God and all his saints, and the other swore on his own head. One raised, the other lowered; one added, and the other subtracted. Finally they came to terms. Fishl opened his purse and got his bargain.

The fisherman went on his way and Fishl stood there, devouring the fish alive. Not that he ate it alive, but he was like a man who sees a fat goose and says, “On your life, I’d swallow you just as you are.” Though Fishl was used to fish, such an enormous one had never come into his hands. Even though they bring fish from all the great rivers, from the Dniester and from the Danube, a fish this big had never appeared in our city, or if it had, someone else had beaten him to it.

He looked at the fish again, and then at his own belly, at his belly and at the fish, and he said to them, “You see, you gluttons, what’s waiting for you. Right after we finish morning prayers we’ll sit down together and eat.” He raised his eyes upward, thinking to himself: The Holy One, blessed be He, knows that in the whole city there is no one who makes as many blessings over food as Fishl. When they make their blessings, they bless on the measure of an olive or an egg, but when I make a blessing, it’s over a satisfying meal. So may it be Thy will that there’s a bridegroom or the father of a child about to be circumcised in the synagogue, so we won’t be delayed by saying the prayers for divine mercy.

One good idea brings another. From thoughts of the prayers for mercy he turned his mind to the entire service, when it is long and when it is short, when one recites many verses and when one recites fewer. He began to be amazed at the wisdom of Moses, our teacher, who arranged everything in timely fashion. You find that on Yom Kippur, when it is forbidden to eat and drink, you spend all day in prayer. So it is with the other fasts: since there is no eating and drinking, one recites many penitential prayers. But on the eve of Yom Kippur, when you are commanded to eat and drink, you don’t say the prayers for mercy, you don’t add “He shall answer you on this day of affliction” to the Eighteen Benedictions, and you skip the Psalm of Thanks. The same holds true for the day before Passover, when you give a banquet to honor the completion of a tractate, and you eat a lot of cakes and biscuits left over from Purim. True, a slight difficulty is presented by the Fast of Esther on the day before Purim, a day of baking and cooking, a day when savory odors waft from oven and range. Yet if you only delve deeply into the matter, you find that even the Fast of Esther has something good about it, for by starving yourself during the fast, you double your pleasure in the food and drink taken after the fast, just as meat eaten on Sabbath during the nine days of mourning preceding the Ninth of Av gives double pleasure. So why does the eve of Yom Kippur come before the day? So that a man will prepare himself for it with food and drink.

What good thoughts would Fishl Karp have savored in his heart were it not for that fish. Consider the matter: the very same fish that taught him the ways of the world put an end to his thoughts. Why? Because not all views are the same. The man thought: I’ll bring him to make a fish meal for me. And the fish wondered: How long will I be stuck in this man’s hands? The man stroked its fins and savored the taste of fish, and the fish grew angry like a bird in a hunter’s hands. The man was at peace, the fish at war. At last the fish tightened all its scales like a suit of mail and lifted one of its fins, nearly slipping out of Fishl Karp’s hands.

Fishl noticed and said, “If that’s how you are, I’ll show you that I’m no worse than you are.” He pressed his two hands together, clamping the fish between them. Its scales stood still as its fins opened, and its eyes were about to pop out when they saw the extent of human wickedness. Fishl looked at the fish and said, “You evil scaly thing, now you know that Fishl is not one of those self-righteous folk who pretend to be merciful while they’re waving about a rooster that’s going to be slaughtered for Yom Kippur.”