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

Several days later we received a parcel from my aunt. She had also thought of Kaila and sent her a new dress. My father looked and said, “So, she has sent gifts. But she did not come to look after you when your mother passed away.” Only then did I understand why my father resented his sister.

Autumn drew to an end. A tinge of leaden white obscured the eye of the heavens as swirls of mist were driven every which way and the rooftops shone under a thin drizzle of rain. A tainted melancholy spread over the land. The last shriveled leaves bent under the weight of the raindrops. Clouds, wind, rain, and cold. The raindrops chilled and froze and pricked like needles in the flesh. The stove was lit and Kaila spread thatches of hay on the windowsills. The stove blazed the entire day as Kaila cooked for winter. Soon snow began to fall and cover the lanes, and bells from the winter carriages jingled merrily. Leaving the college one day I caught sight of some girls with ice-skates slung over their shoulders. They were going to skate on the river, and they persuaded me to join them. I bought myself a pair of ice skates and slid along the ice with them. Snow drifts covered the frozen earth. The woodsmen chopped timber in the streets and the crisp winter air mingled with the fragrance of wood shavings and split wood. The days grew colder, the snow creaked under the soles of every passerby. And I raced along with my girlfriends, swallowing the river with our skates.

Those were fine times when I skated on the river. My body grew stronger and my eyes widened in their orbs and were no longer overcast with melancholy. My flesh and bones had found a cure. I ate heartily and when I sat down to read a book I lost all sense of myself. Twice on returning home I tiptoed up to Kaila as she bent over her work and suddenly lifted her into the air. Kaila cried out in vain, for I clashed my skates together and the din drowned out her voice.

But such times did not last for long. Although the sun was not to be seen, the snow melted. And when I went down to the river I found it deserted. The ice had almost thawed and crows perched on the loose floes of ice. It was then I felt sharp stabbing pains in my chest, and the doctor came and gave me medicine, and forbade me to exert myself over my lessons. “But sir,” I said, “I have to complete my studies this year.” “If that is so,” he replied, “your turn to teach the villagers will come a year from now.” And having gone that winter with the schoolgirls to skate on the ice I grew almost fond of the college. If the thing on which love depends ceases, love ceases.

Now the house was swept clean for the Passover holiday. And I fetched old books from the closet to give them a good airing. Whenever I found a book with a damaged binding I told myself, I will take it to the bookbinders. And rummaging through the closet I found the mizrah that had hung in the home of my mother’s father, and I tucked it into my bag along with the books, intending to take it to the glazier, for its glass casing and gilt frame were cracked and scraped, and the crimson ribbon that my mother, may she rest in peace, had used to hang the mizrah was torn. And as I was about to leave, the seamstress arrived with my new spring dress. I quickly slipped on the dress, put on my hat and set out with the books and the mizrah for the bookbinder and the glazier. While at the bookbinder Mazal came in and stared at the books I had brought and then at the mizrah that was wrapped in broad sheets of paper, and he asked, “What is that book?” I removed the paper and said, “One moment, sir,” and I unwound the string that I had twisted round my hand after running into Mazal and the dog, and I fastened the string to the mizrah and hung it on the wall. Mazal stared in disbelief. I read what was written on the mizrah : Blessed is he who shall not forsake Thee. Mazal bowed his head. I blushed and my eyes filled with tears. One moment I longed to cry out: You have brought upon me this shame! And the next moment I longed to prostrate myself before him. I made to leave, not wanting to linger at the bookbinder’s.

But I stepped outside only to find Mazal standing on my right. I laughed and said loudly, “Now you know, sir.” My throat burned and I could hardly bear the sound of my own voice. Mazal grasped my hand. His hand shook like his voice. He looked askance and said, “Soon we shall be seen.” I dried my tears and tidied my hair. “Let them look,” I said, still upset. “It’s all the same to me.” We walked on for a short while and, reaching the corner of my street, Mazal said, “Here is your father’s house.” I stared hard into his face. “I will not go home,” I declared. Mazal remained silent. I was at a loss where to go. Many thoughts stirred within me and I feared lest Mazal abandon me without my having said a thing. Meanwhile we left the town behind and approached the edge of the woods. The verdant forest was about to burst into leaf. Birch trees opened their buds and a new sun rose over the woods. Mazal said, “Spring has arrived.” And he gazed at my face and knew I was annoyed by his words. And he swept the palm of his hand over his head and sighed.

I sat on a tree trunk and Mazal was ill at ease and groped for words. He stared at my dress, my spring dress, and said, “The tree is still damp and you are wearing a light dress.” I knew the tree was damp and that my dress was light. All the same I did not rise and I even took pleasure in my discomfort. Mazal turned pale, his eyes dimmed and an odd smile swept over his lips. I thought he would ask, Has your hand healed from the dog bite? My spirits weighed upon me. But I suddenly sensed a joy which until that moment I had never experienced, a wonderful warmth kindled within my heart. I quietly smoothed my soft dress. It seemed then that the man with whom I sat in the woods on that early spring day had already revealed to me all that was harbored in his heart. And I was startled to hear Mazal say, “I heard your voice at night. Was it you at my window?” “I was not by your window,” I replied, “however I have called out to you from my bed at night. I think of you every day, and I looked for traces of you in the cemetery, by my mother’s grave. Last summer I left some flowers and you came and went but you did not stop to smell my flowers.” “Now let me tell you something,” Mazal said, “such feelings will pass. You are still young. Another man has not captured your heart yet. That is why your heart is set upon mine. The men you have met were shallow, whereas you were not bored in my company and so you swore to yourself, It is he. But what will you do the day you find the man who will really capture your heart? As for me, I have come to the age when all I desire is some peace and quiet. Think of your future, Tirtza, and admit it is best we part before it is too late.” I gripped the tree trunk and a stifled cry escaped from within me. “Let us remain good friends,” Mazal said, placing his hand on my head. “Friends!” I cried out. How I loathed such romantic nonsense. Mazal stretched out his warm hand and I leaned forward and kissed his hand. And Mazal rested his head on my shoulder, which he then kissed.

The sun set and we made our way home. A spring chill, doubly potent after a sunlit day, settled in my bones. “We must talk again,” Mazal said. “When, when?” I asked. Mazal repeated my words as though he did not grasp their meaning. “When? Tomorrow, before dusk, in the forest.” “Fine.” I looked at my watch and asked, “At what time?” “At what time?” Akaviah repeated, “At six o’clock.” I bent over my watch and kissed the very same numeral on the face of the watch. And I relished the warmth of the watch that hung over my heart.