S. Agnon - Shira

After Herbst took leave of Bachlam, he stopped in the hall and looked all around, as though searching for something. Then he turned to see if anyone had noticed. A nurse appeared. She was young, her uniform was new, her shiny new kerchief seemed to retain the heat of the iron. She herself was new: her flesh was new, without wrinkles or signs of fatigue, and her thick blonde hair exulted in its freshness. She glanced up at him, her kind eyes aglow with fresh joy, and inquired pleasantly, “Are you looking for something, sir?” It took a minute for Herbst to realize she was asking him a question. Her manner was so correct that he missed the intonation. Herbst bowed ever so slightly and said, “I’m not looking for anything. I was visiting Professor Bachlam, and I’m on my way home. But since you ask, it occurs to me to ask if you happen to know where the nurse Shira is.” She lowered her head in sad confusion. She didn’t know the answer, since this was her first day at that hospital and she hadn’t met all the nurses. She looked at him apologetically and said, “If you will wait a minute, I’ll go and ask.” Herbst bowed again and said, “Many thanks, but there’s no need to bother. I can ask myself. Or I may leave the matter to my wife. She’ll be here any day now, and she’ll see the nurse I was asking about.”

Herbst left the hospital without seeing Shira. He had mixed feelings. He didn’t know whether he was pleased not to have seen Shira or whether he was displeased not to have seen Shira. Once again, a quality common not only to Herbst but to most people was manifest. When he decided he was pleased not to have seen Shira, an alternate view asserted itself: You could have seen her here. If you had searched, you would have found her. Because you asked that mere child, whose kerchief is still unwrinkled, who hasn’t dealt with patients yet, you assume you’ve done what you could. But, having said you are leaving it to your wife, it would be best to get out of here. Young nurses tend to be curious, and, if you hang around, she’ll ask about you, and who knows what that will lead to. Herbst adjusted his tie, imagining it had slipped out of place. Since he didn’t have a mirror and couldn’t see if the tie was in place, he adjusted it again. Since he wasn’t sure he had adjusted it properly, he pulled at the edges of his collar. By now, he was at the foot of the hospital steps, near the gate. At the gate, he saw Axelrod the clerk. He was hurrying. He was wrinkled; his skin looked old beyond its years. Unless his skin was created before he was born, I don’t know how to explain this fact. Axelrod raised his glasses all the way to his bald spot and eyed him in alarm. Whether or not you believe it, the glasses eyed him in alarm too. Herbst nodded and greeted him. He greeted him rather submissively. Axelrod looked back over his shoulder, as though a crowd were standing behind him, and said, “Did you want to have a word with me? Be brief and tell me what you want. You can see I’m busy.” Herbst said, “I don’t want anything.” Axelrod said, “It’s good you don’t want anything. I’m busy, and I don’t even have the time to chase a mosquito.” Herbst said, “There was a nurse here. If I’m not mistaken, her name was Shura.” Axelrod said, “You mean Shira. You are asking about the nurse Shira. Then why did you say ‘Shura’? The nurse Shira isn’t here. She isn’t here, as I said.” Herbst said, “Where is she?” Axelrod said, “If I knew, I would tell you.” Herbst looked around. He looked at Axelrod and whispered, “Allow me, sir, to ask: Shira works in this hospital, isn’t that right, Mr. Axelrod?” Axelrod said, “Who’s denying that she used to work in the hospital? On the contrary, everyone agrees that she performed well.” Herbst said, “But what?” Axelrod said, “But she quit.” “She quit?” “Yes, my dear sir. She quit and went off somewhere. These things happen. I don’t get excited over a nurse who quits her job.” “She didn’t say where she was going?” Axelrod said, “Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. In any case, she didn’t say anything to me. Of course, I’m too busy to pay attention to everything people say. Come, I’ll see if she left an address.”

Herbst trailed after Axelrod, following him to the office. Axelrod took out a notebook and began to leaf through it. He finally took his head out of the book, turned to look over his shoulder, and said, “What did you want to know? Whether she left us her address? She didn’t leave us her address.” Herbst said, “And what if I need to speak with her?” Axelrod said, “If you have something to tell her, I can write it in this book. But make it brief, just a few words. You can see I’m busy and don’t have time for long speeches. I don’t see the point of endless words anyway.” Axelrod stuck his head back in his book and didn’t look up again, making it clear that the conversation was over and he had nothing more to say. Herbst posted himself in front of Axelrod and risked another question. “She left no clue as to her plans?” Axelrod turned his head toward Herbst again, stared at him in alarm, and asked, “Who left no clues?” Herbst answered in a whisper, “The nurse Shira.” “The nurse Shira? We already forgot she ever existed, and he is still talking about her. She left absolutely no clues. Who needs clues anyway? I like things to be clear. Clear facts, not clues.” Herbst said, “Then there is nothing more to do.” Axelrod said, “What do you mean, ‘nothing more to do’? There is a lot to do, but we never have a chance to do it.” Again, he stuck his head in the book, conveying the impression that, if the whole world were to come and say, “Lift up your head,” he would not lift it.

Herbst left the hospital and stood around for a time. He glanced in all four directions, looking this way and that. Then he followed his feet to the bus stop. When he was sitting in the bus, on the way home, the road became two roads, one leading home, the other leading elsewhere. In all the time since Herbst’s return from Kfar Ahinoam, it hadn’t occurred to him to visit Shira. At that moment, he was convinced that he had to see Shira, in order to find out why she had left the hospital she had worked in for several years and gone elsewhere — also, where had she gone?

He took out his notebook to look for her address. He knew it wasn’t there. When Shira had said to him, “Write down my new address,” he hadn’t written it down. Nevertheless, he looked for her address in his book. The bus stopped suddenly. A large group of Arabs were gathered for a funeral. An Arab dignitary, a rival of the Jerusalem mufti, had been murdered by the mufti’s supporters. The victim’s entire clan — his mother’s whole family and his father’s whole family — as well as many of the mufti’s enemies, came to escort him to his eternal rest. It’s true, Herbst reflected, that Shira has moved. In fact, she told me she has moved. When I was first getting to know her, she told me she was thinking about moving, and now she has succeeded and has made the move. Too bad I didn’t write down where she is. He looked in his notebook again and found nothing. He shrugged his shoulders and made a face, for he hadn’t behaved properly. If not for his own purposes, then in the name of good manners, he ought to have taken her address when Shira said to him, “You can write down my new address.”

The funeral cortege grew longer and longer. Some of the mourners were in cars and buses; others rode donkeys and horses. There were also those who came on foot. “Too bad he was killed,” a fellow passenger remarked. “He was a good goy . Last Passover, as soon as the holiday was over, he sent me a loaf of fresh bread.” Another passenger retorted, “Let them kill each other rather than us. Still, it’s puzzling that the best of them get killed, while the worst villains are spared. Are you by any chance a journalist, my friend?” “Why?” “Because I saw you take out a notebook. You probably want to write about the funeral.” “Is that so?” Herbst said, putting the notebook back in his pocket.