S. Agnon - A Book that Was Lost

He began comparing one form to another, that is, the fish he had drawn to the fish he was bringing to Fishl’s wife. He admitted without shame that Fishl’s was handsomer than those he himself had drawn. In what way? This is impossible to portray in words, something that needs a visual demonstration. He looked all about. He saw no one. He put his hand into the fish’s dwelling and removed the fish. He picked it up and looked at it. I would be surprised if any fish eater in the world ever looked at a fish the way that orphan did at this time. His eyes began to grow ever larger to encompass the fish, its fins, its scales, and even its head — it and its eyes, which its Creator had made to see the world with.

The fish began to shed one form and don another, until it left behind the image of the fish that Fishl had bought for a tidy sum and began to resemble the fish that had been in the will of the Holy One, blessed be He, to create when He created the fish. But He had not created it. He had left it to artists to draw. And since this is one of those wonders that we are not permitted to interpret, I shall be brief.

9

Torments of the Will

When an artist wants to draw a form, he detaches his eyes from everything else in the world aside from what he wishes to draw. Immediately everything departs except that very form. And since it regards itself as unique in the world, it stretches and expands until it fills the entire world. So was it with that fish. When Bezalel Moshe set his mind to drawing it, it began to enlarge and expand to fill the entire world. Bezalel Moshe saw this, and a chill seized him. His heart began to flutter and his fingers trembled, as it is with artists who quiver with torments of the will and desire to recount the deeds of the Holy One, blessed be He, each in his own way — the writer with his pen and the painter with his brush. Paper he had none. Now picture to yourselves a world whose essence had been blotted out because a single form was floating in space and occupying all of existence, and there was not a piece of paper to draw on. At that moment Bezalel Moshe felt similar to that mute cantor whose heart was stirred to sing a melody. He opened his mouth and moved his lips until his cheeks crumpled and shattered from his torments. The mute cantor was given the inner sensation of a melody and denied its expression with his voice, whereas Bezalel Moshe was capable of drawing, but he was denied paper. His eyes expanded like nets fish are caught in and like ornamental mirrors into which one gazes. The form of the fish came and settled there, taking on an extra portion of life — more than was in the fish while it was living. Bezalel Moshe fumbled in his pockets again. He found no paper, but he did find a piece of black chalk. Feeling the chalk, he looked at the fish. The fish too looked at him. That is, its form rose up and gripped him.

He grasped the chalk and kneaded it with his fingers, like someone who kneads wax with his fingers, which is useful for memory. He looked at the fish and he looked at the chalk. A model for drawing was there. There was chalk for drawing. What was lacking? Paper to draw on. The torments of his will intensified. He looked at the fish again and said to it, “If I want to draw you, I can only shed my skin and draw on my skin.” He could have drawn on the fish’s skin, just as Yitzhak Kummer drew on Balak’s skin, but Balak was a dog, whose skin absorbs color, which is not true of a damp creature full of moisture, where the color spreads in the moisture and will not register a form.

Bezalel Moshe yielded and returned the fish to the bag. He was about to walk to Fishl’s wife, for the time had already come to prepare the fish for the meal.

Without doubt Bezalel Moshe would have brought the fish to make a meal of it, were it not that the fish was destined for greater things. What greater things? Why use words if you can see with your own eyes?

Now when Bezalel Moshe put the fish into the tallit and tefillin bag, his hand happened upon a tefillah for the head. He saw the tefillah and was surprised. What was that tefillah doing here? One cannot say that it had remained in the bag with Fishl’s knowledge, for what would Fishl do without a tefillah for the head? One cannot say that it had remained in the bag without Fishl’s knowledge, for does a man who has a head remove his tefillin in order to pray and take the one for the arm but not the one for the head? You must conclude that Fishl had another. But if so, what was this one doing here? He had found a flaw in it and ceased using it, and perhaps the parchment with the verses had even been taken out, and there was only an empty case here.

Had Bezalel Moshe known that it was a kosher tefillah, he would have kissed it and run to the synagogue and given it to Reb Fishl, and Reb Fishl would have placed it on his head and prayed and finished his prayer and returned home to eat breakfast and examine his accounts and lend to borrowers in their hour of need and eat the day’s dinner and lay himself upon his bed and sleep until the fourth meal and eat and attend afternoon and evening prayers and return and eat the evening meal and gratify the Holy One, blessed be He, with blessings for pleasures and with the grace after meals. But now, since Bezalel Moshe did not know that the tefillah was kosher, he did not run to the synagogue and did not return the tefillah to Reb Fishl, and Reb Fishl was prevented from praying and from eating his fill, and so on.

And why was the head tefillah left in the bag? Because of Reb Fishl’s craving for a fish dish. When he sent the fish to his wife and cleared out his tallit and tefillin bag, he did not take care about what he removed, and the head tefillah had been left there. And what caused Bezalel Moshe to suppose that it was flawed? Because the straps were dirty, like the cords used to tie up chicken legs, and they were tattered, and the paint on them had crackled, for it is a commandment revealed to Moses on Mount Sinai that the straps of tefillin must be black. The tefillah itself was wrinkled and colored like a goose’s bill. The rim was broken and it was coated with a finger’s thickness of grease.

Bezalel Moshe said to the fish, “Since a cat, which is not a kosher animal, had the merit of wearing tefillin, you, who are kosher, and who are a Sabbath dish, and who are perhaps even the reincarnated soul of a saint — so much the more so are you worthy of the commandment of wearing tefillin. But what can I do? Your Creator did not create you with a head for wearing tefillin, for your head is narrow and long, like that of a goose. In any event, I’ll tie the tefillah on you with its straps, and if you don’t take your mind off the tefillah, you shall be garbed in splendor.”

What was that story about the cat and the tefillin which Bezalel Moshe mentioned to the fish? If you do not know, I shall tell you.

At that time all of Galicia was in an uproar about a certain Enlightener of the age who wanted to get rid of his wife, but she refused to accept a bill of divorce. He went and took a cat and placed his head tefillah on it. The woman’s father saw what sort of a man he was and forced his daughter to accept her bill of divorce.

Thus a head that was not required to wear tefillin merited tefillin, and Reb Fishl, who was required to wear tefillin, was kept from the commandment of tefillin. Why? Because he had not been careful to make certain that his tefillin were tidy and that their straps were black. For had he made sure that they were tidy and that the straps were black, the orphan would not have been sure that he had found a flawed tefillah, and he would have run to return it to Reb Fishl, and Reb Fishl would have prayed and returned home and eaten breakfast and sat and examined the accounts of his loans and he would have made loans to merchants in their hour of need, and he who needed to be repaid would have been repaid, and thus a religious duty would have been done, for it is said that the payment of a debt is a religious duty.