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

Tamara had this virtue too: she never used to complain or seem angry. She would look up at you admiringly and accept whatever you said as a gift of grace. So you would sit contentedly surveying the tip of her nose and letting the radiance of her face wrap you in a sweet blue mist. Only once had Rechnitz kissed Tamara and he did not repeat the performance; he was, after all, her teacher, and it was not proper for teachers to kiss their pupils. This applied even though there were teachers who permitted themselves such conduct and even though Tamara had now left school and belonged to his group of friends. At times Rechnitz regretted the kiss; at other times he regretted not having made a second attempt. However that may be, it was a good thing that he had no occasion to be alone with her, for more reasons than one. Since the school Secretary had his eye on her with a view to marriage, it would not have been decent to spoil someone’s life for the sake of a fleeting pleasure. That was a sufficient reason, but there was still another one which Jacob buried in his heart.

XX

A strange shriek interrupted the train of Rechnitz’s thoughts. The parrot, which on the evening before last had perched in his cage at the hotel imitating the jackals’ screams, was now in the garden answering the sound of the striking clock. Before him stood the old Baron, dressed in white, with a tropical sun-helmet on his head. The Baron was holding out an apple and the parrot, standing on one leg, extended the other, snatched the apple and pecked at it. “ Schmeckt’s, Herrchen? — Tasty for you sir?” the Baron asked. The parrot shook his hooked beak and cried, “ Schmeckt, Herrchen!”

“A fine bird,” said the Baron to Rechnitz. “I bought it from a hunter who had caught it to eat. There are places, you know, where they eat parrot meat. “ Verflucht! Dammit! ” he called to the parrot.

“ Verflucht! ” it answered back.

The Baron laughed and wagged his finger at the bird.

“ Verflucht ,” he said to it, “Dammit, bird, you mustn’t curse!”

The parrot replied with a shriek, “ Verflucht! Verflucht! Dammit! Dammit! ”

When Rechnitz had disengaged himself from the Baron, he went on to the hotel. By now, he reflected, the Consul will have awakened from his nap and lit the cigar he smokes out of boredom. I shall go across to him, perhaps he will be grateful to me for rescuing him from his boredom. And what will Shoshanah have to say? She will say nothing be-cause that is her way. There are some people whose silences are awesome; we imagine their minds to be full of great thoughts beyond our ken, thoughts which keep them from communicating, and this makes us shrink in their presence, believing that they hold in their hands the keys of all wisdom. Yet if we consider the matter well, we shall find that their silence grows out of overweening pride and that they don’t surpass us by so much as the breadth of a parrot’s claw. It is only because we shrink that they tower above us. And why do we thus belittle ourselves before them? This calls for investigation but I have no time for it. It is after four o’clock, the Consul is already up and having his boredom. I have extended my reflections too far and extended monologues are to be avoided in modern drama. Verflucht! I like the smell of baking in butter over there. Yehia’s wife does all her baking in oil because the Jews here don’t have any butter and because people in the East prefer olive oil to dairy products anyhow. It isn’t a thing you can reason about but simply a matter of taste, just as the Sefardi teacher will say “a quarter-hour” instead of “a quarter of an hour.” And now a quarter of an hour has gone by and I am still standing outside, delivering long monologues.

Rechnitz entered the hotel. Nobody was in the lobby, except the waiters setting the tables and brewing coffee. He walked through, glancing from side to side. The absent guests, he thought, the honored guests, are still sitting in their private rooms waiting patiently until the mere nobodies have prepared their food and drink. As for me, I’m one of the nobodies; and if I haven’t the ability to prepare meals and drinks, at least the gods have given me the power to save somebody from boredom. “ Schmeckt’s, Herrchen? ” he asked himself and looked around again. The hotel clerk saw Rechnitz and said, “There’s a letter for you, sir.”

“A letter?” Rechnitz stammered, and his heart began to pound. The clerk brought the letter; Rechnitz took it and went outside. He walked through the garden, stopped under a tree, and leaned against it with the letter in his hand. A letter from Shoshanah? Let’s see what Shoshanah has to tell me. Let’s open the letter and see. But when he opened it he saw it was not from Shoshanah but from her father. Again his heart began to beat fast, not the rapid heartbeat of a man awaiting some happy event, but such as one feels when expecting disaster.

Again he looked round. Seeing that no one was about, he reflected: Shoshanah has told her father all that happened by the sea and he must be punishing me with a reprimand. Rechnitz was filled with rage. Does that old man think because he has thrown me a few crumbs from his table that he has the right to abuse me? Keep your crumbs, old man, for the dogs. I can provide for myself and, as for my name in the world of science, I don’t owe it to you. Verflucht , these people with money! If you have taken the least scrap from them, they think they have bought you. I don’t mind thanking you, Consul, for all you have done on my behalf, but you have not bought my soul. And if your daughter should be pleased to follow me, I shall take her from under your nose.

While he was saying this to himself, he looked at the words of the letter, and as he looked his eyes lit up. Here was no rebuke but instead a kind of apology. The Consul and his daughter had departed for Jerusalem without managing to take leave of him in advance. He saw too that the Consul sent his best greetings, as well as his regards, and added: “As soon as we are back in Jaffa, we shall be delighted to see you.”

It was a good thing that Rechnitz read that letter. Even as he did so he put all the bitterness out of his heart. His soul returned and he reflected: All my life I never aspired to Shoshanah. When I used to speak about her to her father it was with humility, and suddenly I’ve grown bold. If I were now to go to him and demand his daughter, he would be shocked. No, I shall not argue or pick a quarrel or talk big, but act modestly until he sees and understands for himself how much I love Shoshanah. And if she is indeed to be my partner for life, as she pledged to be, I shall wait patiently for good angels to spread their wings over us and make our wedding canopy.

As he reflected, Rechnitz felt a lighter, calmer spirit. It is best for a man to act in character. What nonsense to think I had it in me to carry off Shoshanah against her father’s will — as if I had the power to do any such thing! At that moment Rechnitz saw himself as a man who has gone after an enemy, only to find that very enemy his friend. His humility gave him strength. He looked into himself and said, That is how I have been all my days and that is how I have come through. And so I shall be all my days and so continue to come through.

XXI

Herr Ehrlich stayed in Jerusalem longer than he had intended. The anniversary of his wife’s death came around while he was there and he wanted to commemorate it in the Holy City. The day passed fittingly: he said Kaddish at the Western Wall, gave alms to the poor and visited various houses of charity. Certain things he saw met with his approval and he took due note of them. As for the rest, he looked the other way and ignored shortcomings, being mindful of the city and the occasion. He also paid a visit to the Sha’arei Zedek Hospital, where he made the acquaintance of a certain doctor who sacrificed his sleep for the sake of his patients, not laying his head upon a pillow unless it were on a Sabbath or festival night and taking no payment beyond his simple needs. When Herr Ehrlich saw plaques affixed to the walls of the hospital and on each plaque the name of some benefactor who had contributed to the cost of the building or the care of the sick, he too made a contribution for the upkeep of a bed, to grace his wife’s soul and serve as a lasting memorial in Jerusalem.