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

If Shraga is dead, then, how do you propose to send him a letter?

Tehilla answered: I suppose you are thinking that this poor old woman’s wits are beginning to fail her, after so many years; and that she is relying upon the post office to deliver a letter to a dead man.

I said: Then tell me, what will you do?

She rose, and picking up the clay jar that stood on the table, raised it high above her head, intoning in a kind of ritual chant:

I shall take this letter — and set it in this jar;—I shall take this wax — and seal up this jar;—and take them with me — this letter and this jar.

I thought to myself, And even if you take the jar and the letter with you, I still do not see how your message will come to Shraga. Aloud I said to her: Where will you take your jar with its letter?

Tehilla smiled and said softly: Where will I take it? I will take it to the grave, my dear. Yes, I shall take this jar, and the letter inside it, straight to my grave. For up in the Higher World they are well acquainted with Shraga, and will know where to find him. And the postmen of the Holy One are dependable, you may be sure; they will see that the letter is delivered.

Tehilla smiled again. It was a little smile of triumph, as of a precocious child who has outwitted her elders.

After a while she let her head sink upon her walking-stick and seemed again to be half asleep. But soon she glanced up and said: Now that you understand the whole matter, you can write it yourself. — And again her head drooped over her stick.

I took up the quill and wrote the letter. When I had finished, Tehilla raised her head and enquired: It is done now? — I began to read the letter aloud, while she sat with her eyes closed, as if she had lost interest in the whole matter and no longer desired very greatly to hear. When the reading was over, she opened her eyes and said:

Good, my son, good and to the point. Perhaps it might have been phrased rather differently, but even so, the meaning is clear enough. Now, my son, hand me the pen and I shall sign my name. Then I can put the letter in the jar; and after that I shall go about my lease.

I dipped the pen in the ink and handed it to her, and she took it and signed her name. She passed the pen over certain of the characters to make them more clear. Then she folded the letter and placed it inside the jar, and bound the piece of parchment over the top. Then she kindled the lamp, and took wax for sealing, and held it against the flame until the wax became soft; then she sealed the jar with the wax. Having done these things, she rose from her place and went towards her bed. She lifted up the coverlet and placed the jar under the pillow of the bed. Then she looked at me fairly, and said in a quiet voice:

I must make haste to confirm my lease. Bless you, my son, for the pains you have taken. From now on I shall not bother you any more.

So saying, she made smooth the coverlet of her bed, and took up her stick, and went to the door, and reached up that she might lay her lips to the mezuza , and waited for me to follow. She locked the door behind us and walked ahead with brisk steps; and I overtook her and went at her side.

As she walked, she looked kindly upon every place that she passed and every person that she met. Suddenly she stopped and said:

My son, how can they abandon these holy places and these faithful Jews?

At that time, I still did not comprehend all she meant by these words.

When we reached the parting of the ways, she stopped again and said: Peace be with you. But when she saw that I was resolved not to leave her, she said no more. She went up by the wide steps that lead to the courtyard of the Burial Society, and entered, and I followed.

We went into the Burial Society, which administers the affairs of the living and the dead. Two of the clerks sat there at a desk, their ledgers before them and their pens in their hands, writing and taking sips at their black coffee as they wrote. When they saw Tehilla, they set their pens down and stood up in respect. They spoke their welcome, and hastened to bring her a chair.

What brings you here? asked the elder of the two clerks.

She answered, I have come to confirm my lease.

He said: You have come to confirm your lease: and we are of opinion that the time has come to cancel it.

Tehilla was terrified. — What is all this? she cried.

He said: Surely you have already joined the immortals?

Laughing at his own joke, the clerk turned to me, saying: Tehilla, bless her, and may she live for many, many years, is in the habit of coming every year to confirm the bill of sale on the plot for her grave on the Mount of Olives. So it was last year, and the year before that, and three years ago, and ten and twenty and thirty years ago, and so will she go on till the coming of the Redeemer.

Said Tehilla: May he come, the Redeemer: may he come, the Redeemer! Would to God he would hasten and come! But as for me, I shall trouble you no more.

The clerk asked, assuming a tone of surprise: Are you going to a kibbutz , then, like these young girls they call “pioneers?”

Tehilla said: I am not going to a kibbutz , I am going to my own place.

What, said the clerk, are you returning abroad to your home country?

Tehilla said: I am not returning to my home country; I am returning to the place whence I came: as it is written, And to the dust thou shalt return.

Tut-tut, said the clerk, do you think that the Burial Society has nothing to do? Take my advice, and wait for twenty or thirty years more. Why all the haste?

She said quietly: I have already ordered the corpse-washers and the layers-out, and it would be ill-mannered to make sport of these good women.

The clerk’s expression changed, and it was evident that he regretted his light words. He now said:

It is good for us to see you here: for so long as we see you, we have before us the example of a long life; and should you desert us, God forbid, it is as if you take away from us this precedent.

Said Tehilla: Had I any more years to live, I would give them gladly to you, and to all who desire life. Here is the lease for you to sign.

When the clerk had endorsed the bill of sale, Tehilla took it and placed it in the fold of her dress. She said:

Now and henceforth I shall trouble you no more. May God be with you, dear Jews; for I go to my place.

She rose from her chair, and walked to the door and reached up to lay her lips to the mezuza , and kissed the mezuza , and so went away.

When she saw that I still went with her, she said: Return to your own affairs, my son.

I thought, said I, that when you spoke of confirming the lease, you meant the lease of your house; but instead…

She took me up in the midst of my words. But instead, said she, I confirmed the lease of my eternal home. Yet may the Holy One grant that I have no need to dwell there for long, before I rise again, with all the dead of Israel. Peace be upon you, my son. I must make haste and return to my house, for I am sure that the corpse-washers and the layers-out already await me.

I stood there in silence and watched her go, until she passed out of sight among the courts and the alleys.

NEXT morning I went to the City to enquire how she fared. On my way, I was stopped by the man of learning to whose house Tehilla had led me. For some while he kept me in conversation, and when I wished to take my leave, he offered to accompany me.

I am not going home yet, I said. I am on my way to see Tehilla.

He said: Go; at the end of a long life.

Seeing my surprise, he added: You must live. But that saint has now left us.

I parted from him and went on alone. As I walked, I thought again and again: Tehilla has left us, she has gone on alone: she has left us, and gone on alone. I found that my feet had carried me to the house of Tehilla, and I opened her door and entered.