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

Having said this, Mrs. Greifenbach began speaking again about their intended journey, throwing in at the same time a sort of complaint. “Your head is so full of our tenant,” she said, “that you don’t listen to what we are saying.”

“Possibly,” I answered.

“Don’t just say ‘possibly,’” she went on, “you must admit that it’s absolutely true.”

“Heaven forbid that I should contradict you, but please tell me more about Ginat.”

“Haven’t I already told you, he only stayed one night and went away next morning.”

“And didn’t you say, too, that he came back? Very well, when he came back what did he do?”

“Do? He closed the door and stayed in his room.”

“What was he doing there?”

“Oh, he may have been drawing the pyramids to scale or writing a third part to Faust. How do I know?”

I looked hard at her for some time, but she only laughed and said, “I see you want to turn me into a detective.”

“No,” I answered, “I don’t want you to be a detective. I simply want to hear more about Ginat.”

I’ve told you,” she said. “Since we gave him his key, I’ve not spoken to him.”

“But what did he do when he came back?”

“I’m sure he did one of the things I’ve mentioned. Which it was, I’ve not troubled myself to find out.”

“Gerda,” said Greifenbach, “just hasn’t got that quality women are noted for. She isn’t the least bit curious.”

Gerda tapped her long, slender fingers on his hairy hands, saying, “ You have enough of that quality for both of us. So you tell him.”

“Who, me??” Greifenbach exclaimed in surprise. “Even I can’t tell him about things that never were.”

“So you really want me to tell him,” said Gerda. “Wasn’t it you who said Dr. Ginat had created a girl for himself?”

Greifenbach laughed a long and happy laugh. “Do you know what Gerda’s referring to? She’s thinking of the legend about the lonely poet — I’ve forgotten his name — who was said to have created a woman to serve his needs. Are you familiar with that legend?”

“It was Rabbi Solomon Ibn Gabirol,” I said, “and if you are interested, this is how the story ends. News of the affair spread about until it reached the king, who gave orders for the woman to be brought before him. The king saw her and fell in love with her, but she ignored him. They went and brought Rabbi Solomon Ibn Gabirol. When he came he showed the king that she was not a real creature, only pieces of wood made up into the likeness of a woman. But what has this legend to do with Dr. Ginat?”

Mrs. Greifenbach said, “One night, Gerhard and I were sitting together reading Goethe when we heard a voice coming from Ginat’s room. We knew that Ginat was back from his travels and that he was in there reading. We began our own reading again, and again the voice came through. Gerhard put his book down and said, ‘That’s a woman’s voice.’ But it wasn’t only the idea of Ginat bringing a woman to his room that surprised us; it was the language she spoke, some strange tongue we had never heard before. Gerhard whispered to me, ‘Ginat must have created a girl for himself, and there she is talking to him in her own language.’ My dear, that’s all I can tell you about Ginat. If you want to know more, ask Gerhard. He loves to make conjectures and treat them as proven facts.”

Greifenbach, who had made a hobby of philology, began to speak of the mysteries of language and all the new discoveries in that field. I added something of what I had learned from the literature of the Kabbalah, which in this matter has anticipated academic scholarship. Mrs. Greifenbach interrupted us by saying, “The woman sang, too, in a strange language we knew nothing about. Judging by her voice, I’d say she was sad and bitter. Gerhard, where have you hidden the present our tenant gave you the morning after our anniversary? What pity you weren’t there, my dear. Our wedding, you know, was a very simple affair, but we made up for it with our party ten years after. Don’t be lazy, Gerhard; get up and show him what Ginat gave you.”

Greifenbach got up, opened an iron box, and took out two parched brown leaves that resembled leaves of old tobacco. He set them before me with pride and watched for my reaction. From the look on his face it was clear that he believed he was exhibiting a rare possession. I glanced at the leaves for a moment and then asked what they were.

“Look again,” he said. I looked again but could see nothing except certain strange lines and markings which might be taken, if one were so inclined, for letters of a secret code.

“What is all this?” I insisted.

Greifenbach answered, “I know only what Ginat told me, and what he said was that they are talismans. What kind of talismans he didn’t say, but he told me that he has a collection of such things, and these leaves are duplicates and come from a far-off country. It’s a pity they have no power against burglers.”

“Perhaps,” said Gerda, “those that Ginat kept for himself do have that power.”

Greifenbach lit his pipe and sat silent, as if preoccupied with his own thoughts. After a while he knocked out the ash and took a cigarette. He lit up and went on, “You see, whatever we find to talk about leads us back to our worries about the house. As for the squatters, it’s even possible that right is on their side. A young fellow, let us say, comes back after the war. He needs a roof over his head and can’t find one. What’s he to do but break in somewhere? Let me tell you something. One Saturday evening I was standing at a bus stop. The bus was full up and passengers were still pressing in. The driver sounded his horn and drove off. All the people left behind stood about miserably as they waited for a second bus. But, of course, it never came; the more passengers there are, the fewer the buses, as is always the case in Jerusalem. A couple were standing together, a young fellow and a girl. The girl was looking at him with passionate longing. ‘Günther,’ she said, ‘it’s over a year since we were married and we’ve still not spent a single night alone together.’ The fellow squeezed his young wife’s hand, sucked his lips in and was silent with grief and anger. Günther and his wife haven’t found a home for themselves. They live apart, wherever they happen to be. The landlords make difficulties about their visiting one another, hoping that they will get tired of their rooms and leave them, because meanwhile the number of people wanting apartments has increased and the number of rooms available has become less, and if they leave, the landlords can raise the rent. They meet each other in cafés and amusement places and separate to go back to their rooms at the opposite ends of the town, all because they have no place where they can live together. So now you know why we are so scared about our home. In fact, we got into such a state that one night Gerda woke me up because she thought someone was walking on the roof.”

“You are always telling tales about me,” said Mrs. Greifenbach. “Why don’t you tell him what you said?”

“I said nothing. I don’t remember saying anything.”

“Do you want me to remind you?” said Gerda.

Gerhard laughed heartily. “And if I don’t want you to, does that mean you won’t tell him?”

“If it weren’t so funny,” said Gerda, “I wouldn’t repeat it. Do you know what this master mind had to say? He said, in these very words, ‘It must be the girl Ginat created, taking a stroll on the roof.’”

Greifenbach laid down his cigarette, took up his pipe again, and remarked to me, “Do you really believe I said that?”

“Who wouldn’t believe a lovely girl like Gerda?”