S. Agnon - Two Tales - Betrothed & Edo and Enam

Shoshanah nodded her head in silence. After a while she said, “Now we can go.”

They walked on; then she stopped again. “And what do you think, Jacob? Are we now exempt from that vow?”

His heart pounded so that he was unable to speak.

“Jacob,” she said to him, “do you stand by your word?”

Still he stared at her without speaking.

“Are you prepared to keep your vow?” said Shoshanah.

Jacob cried out loudly, “Yes, I am, I am!”

“Good,” said Shoshanah. “Let us go back to the hotel.”

On the way she stretched out her hand to him, saying goodbye.

“Don’t you want me to see you back?” said Jacob.

“It’s not necessary.”

“You may lose your way.”

“I shall never lose my way,” said Shoshanah. “I never forget any place I have been; not even in my sleep.”

A slight shudder ran through Rechnitz; the roots of his hair tingled. He whispered, “But still…”

“If you really want to come, then do so. But don’t speak on the way. I want to do some thinking.”

When they came to the hotel, she offered her hand to her betrothed and said goodbye.

XVI

Rechnitz shook himself out of a deep sleep. If you are told that people have a way of turning in their beds, you must not believe that this applied to Rechnitz, at least not that particular night. From the time he went to bed until the time he got up, he lay still as a post.

This fine sleep was the result of his afternoon walk with Shoshanah along the beach. Now he put out his hand, picked up his watch and looked at it as if he were gazing through a soft curtain. “God above,” he cried, “if my watch isn’t playing tricks, I’ll have to run all the way to school just as I am!”

But to run to school without dressing is impossible, and a man also has to wash himself. Accordingly, when Rechnitz had jumped out of bed he filled a basin with cold water, plunged his head into it, and after washing, shaved himself too. Asclepius the god of health protected him, so that he escaped from slashes on the chin or cuts on the cheek. Finally, he put his wet shaving kit down on the bed, threw on his clothes and raced off toward the school.

The pupils were all gathered in the yard and the corridor. Some were munching at the snacks they had brought, some were improvising comic rhymes to set each other laughing. With all the noise, they overlooked the caretaker who was standing in the doorway ready to ring the bell. When they caught sight of him at last, they crowded around, taking hold of his arm, some to hinder and some to help in the ringing. In the meantime Rechnitz arrived and they followed him into the classroom.

Soon they were seated in their places. Rechnitz mounted the platform and took all in with a glance. Everyone was present. Rechnitz was in good spirits, as he always was when surrounded by his pupils. He began teaching in that resonant, cheerful voice which the boys and girls of his class liked so much, speaking or reading with a restrained ardor that awakened their enthusiasm, listing on the blackboard any words whose spelling might give them trouble. Had the bell not rung for the second time that day, he would have continued his teaching, and the class would have continued to listen attentively. After the lesson he ran the eraser over the board and went out. Only now did he notice his hunger, remembering that he had not had anything to eat either that morning or on the previous evening.

Rechnitz went into the staff room. The teachers were sitting together, drinking tea or eating the rolls which the caretaker’s wife baked for them daily. They dipped the ring-shaped rolls into their tea, sucking away as they read the books set in front of them. Rechnitz drew up his chair alongside them and hummed the tune of the Hapsburg anthem, beating out the rhythm with his knuckles on the table. This fetched Yehia, who greeted him with “What would you like, Rabbi?” The caretaker always called him “Rabbi,” because he knew that Rechnitz was a great scholar in secular science; therefore, needless to say, he must also be greatly learned in the Torah; perhaps also because when he first came to Jaffa he had worn a beard.

“What would I like?” repeated Rechnitz. “I should like a full stomach for myself and happiness for you and all Israel.”

“God willing,” answered the caretaker.

Rechnitz looked up at Yehia’s swarthy face and great black eyes. “Make it black coffee in a tall glass.”

The caretaker brought it. Rechnitz clasped the sides of the glass in both hands and lowered his head as if he were trying to conceal his expression. He took a sip, added sugar to the coffee, and sipped again, while trying to think of what he had told the Consul about Yehia. Then he drained his glass. The teachers got up and went off to their classrooms, and he too made his way out.

Now my dear fellow, he said to himself, we can take a stroll in the school yard, or perhaps we ought to go over to the secretary’s office and see if there’s a letter addressed to the Herr Doktor .

Rechnitz went to the office. He had not been there on the previous day, or indeed on the day before that, for he was not a great letter-hunter like some teachers, who were constantly in and out of the secretary’s room, rummaging and staring through all the mail for an answer to the crucial question of whether or not a letter had come for them. Even now he would not have entered had he not been at a loss for something to do between lessons.

The secretary sat at his little desk, his nose buried in a ledger, a pen in his hand, pretending to ignore the not inconsiderable presence of Rechnitz. And Rechnitz, having time to spare, and having also forgotten what he had come for, forgot the secretary’s existence, too. He looked at the pictures on the wall, and at the space between the pictures. The secretary glanced up, then down again at his ledger, where he continued with his writing. Doubtless, thought Rechnitz, the celebrity whose portrait hangs on the wall believed a stern unbending expression suited him best. If not, he wouldn’t have pulled such a face. — As for you, sir, you whose name I’m afraid I’ve forgotten, what exactly was the impression you were trying to make?

The secretary raised his nose like a divining rod, and their eyes met.

“Is there a letter for me?” asked Rechnitz.

The secretary stared at him contemptuously. “When do letters come from the post office? In the morning or afternoon? Since letters come in the afternoon, what is the sense in asking for them before people have properly digested their breakfasts?”

“I rather thought there might have been a letter for me from yesterday.”

“From yesterday ?” exclaimed the secretary in a tone of amazement. “Do you mean to tell me that a ship put in yesterday? Let me tell you there was no ship, or at any rate, no ship that brought any mail. But perhaps, Dr. Rechnitz, you mean inland mail? If it was inland mail, that is of course another matter.”

“Yes, yes,” said Rechnitz, grateful that this pedantic master of logic had put the subject on a reasonable basis. “Yes, indeed, I meant a letter from within the country; for example, from Jaffa itself.”

The secretary laid his hand on a pile of letters and said, “The inland mail has indeed arrived, but I must inform you, Dr. Rechnitz, that no letter has come for you. That is to say, no letter from within the country and none from Jaffa, which, as you may know, forms part of that country.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Rechnitz replied.

Why do you keep yessing at me? thought the secretary to himself. If there’s no letter for you, what’s the sense in saying yes? A queer lot, these Germans. You can never get them out of the habit of conforming. And yesterday he took out some new girl from Austria, a Viennese she might well be, besides all the others. Now where did they go walking? By the sea. And what time did they choose to go walking? Just at the time when the sea turns cold and gives you a chill. A teacher with a cold! — Well! The secretary sneezed.