S. Agnon - Two Scholars Who Were in our Town and other Novellas

The sun rose over the town and the puddles were nearly dry. I lay wide awake in the morning, unable to sleep, as I sensed that something ominous had taken place. I turned towards the window where a faint bluish light shone. How could such a light have existed unbeknownst to me? Several moments passed before I realized I had been fooled by the curtain. And still my happiness did not leave me.

I leapt out of bed and dressed. Something had happened. I would go now and see what it was. I ventured out. And I stood spellbound whichever way I turned. I peered into the shop windows and the windows glowed in the daylight. And I told myself, I will enter and purchase something. I did not know what I would buy, but I insisted, I’ll buy something and Kaila won’t have to trouble herself. But I did not go into any of the shops and I turned and set out towards the bridge at the edge of town. And there was a cluster of dwellings under the bridge on both sides of the banks. Pigeons flitted from roof to roof and a man and woman stood on one of the rooftops mending its shingles. I called out good-morning to them and they returned my greeting. And as I made to walk on, I caught sight of an old woman waiting, or so it seemed, for me to ask her the way. But I did not ask. I returned home and gathered my books and left for the college. But the college had become alien to me. This house is a den of boredom. I realized there wasn’t a soul to whom I could pour out my heart, and my disdain grew and I could not bear my studies. So I thought, I will speak to Mazal. I did not know how he could help, still, I welcomed and toyed with the thought all day long. But how was I to approach him? I dared not approach his home, nor would I find him outside. Winter passed, the snow melted and we did not meet.

At that time my father fell ill and Mr. Gottlieb came to inquire of his health, and he told my father that he was expanding his factory, for on becoming a partner in the factory his brother had given freely of his own money and the government had stopped putting any obstacles in their way since an important minister had sought his help after taking a bribe. “My dear sir,” the minister had told Gottlieb, “all the bureaucrats, including the Emperor himself, hunger for money. There isn’t a minister in this country who won’t accept a bribe. Let me give you an example,” said the minister. “When we ask, what makes Mr. So-and-so unique, are we not surprised when we are told, why the length of his nose is five centimeters. But five centimeters is indeed the length of every proboscis.” “Heaven forbid I should condemn them,” Gottlieb said to my father, “but their hypocrisy maddens me. Today you shower them with gifts and tomorrow you are a complete stranger to them. In this I admire the Russian bureaucrats; at least they accept a bribe without pretending to be honest.”

As I accompanied Gottlieb to the door he exclaimed, “From one sickbed to another.” “Who is sick?” I asked, concealing my confusion. “Mr. Mazal is ill,” Gottlieb answered. For a second I longed to accompany him. And yet I restrained myself and did not go.

“Isn’t it amazing, Tirtza,” my father said, “Gottlieb has always been a hardworking man and hasn’t ever complained at being childless. So who will inherit the fruit of his labors when his final hour comes?” My father asked me to bring his ledger and he sat up in bed and worked until suppertime. The following morning he rose from his sickbed in good health, and that afternoon left for the store, while I set out to Mazal’s home.

I knocked on the door, but there was no sound nor did anyone answer. I then said, thank God, the man is not home. Still I did not move. All at once, thinking that no one was at home, my hand grew bold and I knocked loudly.

Several moments passed and my heart beat feebly. Suddenly I heard someone stirring within the house and I took fright. Just as I meant to go, Mazal appeared. He greeted me buried in his overcoat. I lowered my eyes, and said: “Mr. Gottlieb dropped by yesterday and mentioned that sir was taken ill and I have come to inquire of his health.” Mazal did not say anything. He beckoned me into his home with one hand as he clutched his collar with the other. I shuffled my feet in misery and he said, “Forgive me, Miss, for I cannot speak like this,” and he vanished into the back room only to reappear several moments later dressed in his best clothes. Mazal coughed. The room suddenly grew silent and the two of us were alone in the room. “Please, sit down, Miss,” he said, drawing a chair to the stove. “Has your hand healed from the dog bite?” he inquired. I stared into his face, my eyes filling with tears. Mazal took my hand into his own. “Forgive me,” he said. His soft voice was warm and full of compassion. Little by little I grew less embarrassed. I stared at the room I had known as a child and suddenly it seemed new to me. The heat from the stove warmed my body and my spirits revived within me.

Mazal put a log into the stove and I hastened to help him. But in my haste I thrust my hand out and knocked a photograph off the table. I reached out for it and noticed it was a photograph of a woman. She bore the appearance of a woman who never lacked a thing, and yet her brows were knitted in worry, for her happiness was uncertain. “It is a photograph of my mother,” Mazal said as he set it in place. “There exists only a single photograph of her, for only once in her youth was she photographed. Many years have since passed. Her face no longer resembles the face you see in the photograph, but I will always cherish the likeness of her face as captured here. It is as if time passed and yet nothing changed.” What prompted Mazal to speak? Was it the room’s stillness, or was it my sitting by his side at dusk? Mazal spoke at length, and he told me of all that had happened to his kind mother. And he said:

“My mother is a member of the Bauden-Bach family and all the Bauden-Bachs are apostates. Her grandfather, Rabbi Israel, was wealthier than all his countrymen. He had a winery and fields and villages. He gave generously to scholars and he built centers of religious study. And at the time his name was lauded in print, for he dispensed freely of his money and gold in honor of the Torah and in pursuit of its study.

In those days it was decreed that all lands owned by Jews would be confiscated. Hearing this, Rabbi Israel spared no effort to protect his land, but all his efforts came to naught. So he changed his religion and returned to his home and estate where he found his wife reciting the morning prayer. ‘I have converted,’ he announced. ‘Hurry now and take the children to the priest.’ The woman recited the Aleinu , saying, ‘Who has not made us as the heathen of the land,’ and she spat three times and pressed her lips to her prayerbook, and she and all her sons went and changed their religion. Close upon that time she bore a son who was circumcised by my great-grandfather, Rabbi Israel, for they kept the Lord’s commandments and only in the eyes of the gentiles did they behave as Christians. And they rose in their station and received the same respect accorded to nobles. The new generation, however, forgot their God, their creator, nor did they return to their religion when the decree was nullified, nor were they God-fearing, nor did they live by the commandments of the Torah. The only commandment they followed was to sell their leaven to the rabbi’s emissary on the eve of Passover, for otherwise Jews would not touch their corn wine. Such is the law concerning leaven which is not sold to a gentile on the eve of Passover. My mother is the granddaughter of the youngest son. And she sat over the catechism yet all the priest’s efforts came to naught. But time is too short to recount all that she suffered until the day the Lord took mercy on her and she found peace in his shadow. For she was also sent to a convent school and she was placed in the hands of harsh teachers. But she did not follow their ways. And she bent her mind over what was sealed and concealed from her. One day my mother found a picture of her grandfather and he looked like a rabbi. ‘Who is he?’ she asked. ‘It is your grandfather,’ they replied. My mother was stunned. ‘What are those locks of hair falling over his cheeks, and what is that book he is reading?’ ‘He is reading the Talmud and he is twirling his earlocks,’ they answered, and they told her grandfather’s story. Thereafter she walked about like a shadow and she tossed in her sleep at night on account of her dreams. Once her grandfather appeared and took her on his knees and she combed his beard. Another time she saw her grandmother holding a prayerbook in her hands. She then taught her the holy letters, and when she awoke she wrote down the letters on a tablet. It was a miracle, for until that day my mother had never set eyes on a Hebrew book.