S. Agnon - Shira

Henrietta sat holding a slice of buttered bread with white cheese on it. She gazed at Manfred and, adding a dollop of honey as thick as a coin to her bread, remarked, “Fred, I’m also convinced that our new baby will be a boy.” Manfred answered, “You’re telling me something new? I already know that, but what is your source?” Henrietta said, “This appetite of mine informs me that there’s a male child inside.” Manfred said, “How can you consider such a small slice of bread a sign of appetite?” Henrietta said, “Small, but brimming over. Have a bite. Here, from this end.” She handed him the bread, and he bit into it, but not where his wife had suggested. She said to him, “It’s sweet and good, isn’t it?” Manfred said, “I meant to ask you before: did you notice the song Sarah’s been singing? At first there were no words. Then I thought I heard some sort of refrain, the words ‘graves, graves.’ Isn’t it odd to hear such a song from a child?” Henrietta laughed and said, “She’s been singing ‘graves, graves’ all day. I suppose you want to know where she got that song from. She got it from Firadeus. One day I heard Firadeus singing a song. At first I thought it was a love song. Doesn’t this sound like a love song: ‘Sweet as a mountain goat’s were his eyes / Now covered with earth in the grave he lies’?” Manfred said, “How lovely it is, and how sad.” Henrietta said, “It’s a woman’s dirge for her slain husband.” Manfred said, “A eulogy for a hero.” Henrietta said, “A eulogy for the garbage collector of Talpiot, who was killed by an Arab on his way from Talpiot to the city, right at the railroad station. And who composed the song? The victim’s wife composed it. This is what Firadeus told me: every night my mother gets up from her bed, paces back and forth, and laments our murdered father. She sometimes repeats the same verses and sometimes recites new ones.” Manfred said to Henrietta, “Do you happen to remember another verse or two?” Henrietta said, “I knew you would ask that, so I asked Firadeus to tell me some other verses. Before she had a chance to say anything further, we were interrupted by a guest. See if you can guess, my dear. Who do you think it was? You can ask ten questions, then you’ll be able to figure out for yourself who was here. Now, begin with question one.” “A man or a woman?” “A woman.” “A woman?” “That’s another question.” “Where is the question?” Henrietta laughed and said, “That’s a question too.” “Young or old?” “Ummm. What shall I say? Not young, not old.” A middle-aged woman?” “Ummm. Middle-aged.” “A woman, right?” Henrietta said, “How can you be so devoid of intelligence — you just gave up one entire question!” “How? I hope the word how doesn’t count.” Henrietta said, “If I were being strict with you, I would count it as a question.” “Which question are you thinking of?” “Another question.” Herbst let his head droop to the left, extended his hands, and sighed, saying, “I’m not good for anything, Henriett. I give up. I’m a birdbrain.” Henrietta laughed and said, “You have no brains, but you do have intuition. Where did you learn that word?” “Which word?” “Another question.” “What question?” “All right, now it’s my turn. Where did you hear the word birdbrain ?” “Where did I hear it? I don’t mind admitting that I haven’t applied myself to the question.” Henrietta said, “Then I’ll tell you where you first heard it.” “Where?” “Wasn’t it our Sarini?” “Sarini? Sarini visited you? Why did she come all of a sudden?” Henrietta said, “First, I should inform you that she has a wetnurse in mind for our son.” “What son?” Henrietta laughed and said, “You’re the one who’s so confident, who says, ‘I’m certain that you’re going to have a boy.’“ “Ah…Ah …,” said Manfred. “And who is the wetnurse?” Henrietta said, “Guess. Five or six questions, and you’ll be able to guess.” Manfred said, “Haven’t you learned from experience that I’m no good at this game? If you don’t tell me, Henrietta, I’m likely to go to my grave in ignorance. Graves, graves. I want to tell you something. I myself heard Firadeus’s mother singing ‘Sweet as a mountain goat’s were his eyes / Now covered with earth in the grave he lies.’“ “You heard and you didn’t tell me?” Manfred said, “If I didn’t tell you before, I’m telling you now. On the day of the big rally, I met Firadeus on her way back from the pharmacy. I walked her home, thinking that, if she was stopped by the police, I could tell them she had to get medicine for her sick mother. When I approached her house, I heard her mother singing as she paced back and forth in her room. Now, Henriett, tell me who the wetnurse is.” Henrietta said, “In any case, you must admit that the whole thing is strange.” “What thing?” Henrietta said, “You have so little regard for me that you forget what we were talking about.” Manfred said, “Either I didn’t consider the entire subject worthwhile, or I wanted to tell you but I forgot. Now, Henriett, you tell me. About that wetnurse, who is she?” Henrietta looked at him with suspicious eyes but answered affectionately, “So you won’t wear out your mind, I’ll tell you.” “So?” “Summon up all your patience, my dearest, and don’t let your curiosity show.” Manfred said, “It’s not curiosity.” Henrietta said, “Then let’s forget the whole thing.” “What thing?” “That very thing.” Manfred said, “You keep saying the same thing in different words. If our Avraham were to hear you talking like that, he would say, ‘Too bad she didn’t become an orator.’ Is there any news from Zahara’s household?” Henrietta said, “The vegetables you ate are from their gardens.” Manfred said, “Instead of letters, they send us lettuce. They have become real farmers; they would rather dig herbs than verbs. And Tamara? Tamara is idle, as usual. She’s not even looking for work.” Henrietta said, “You always complain about Tamara. First of all, she isn’t idle. She still goes to Mekor Hayim every day. But if what you have in mind is salaried work, what can she do? She’s waiting for word from the Education Department. The officials there treat her the way her mother was treated when she was clamoring for certificates.” Manfred said, “All officials are alike. But I have reason to suspect Tamara has been telling us tales — outright fictions. From the very beginning, we should have understood the mysterious saga of Mekor Hayim, the tubercular girls, and all the rest. But not now. Not now, my dear, when your eyes are drooping. It’s time to lay your head on the pillow, to put the rest of you in your bed. Listen, Henrietta, I have one request. I know that if I say I’ll do the dishes, you won’t let me, so I won’t ask anything that major. All I ask is that you leave them for tomorrow. When Firadeus comes, she can wash them. That verse is not bad. I didn’t know goats’ eyes were sweet. It would be interesting to investigate that image. Is it common among the Persians, or is it original? I’ll look it up tomorrow in the poetry of Rückert.” “Rückert? I forgot he existed.” Manfred said, “A few months ago, I came upon a biography of Moses Lazarus, written by his wife. She reports what he said about Rückert: that if the world were destroyed by a flood and only Rückert’s poems survived, they would make it possible to reconstruct the world.” “He was that great? And you, Fred, remember everything. Whatever you read sticks in your mind.” Manfred said, “I could have remembered that statement, or I could have forgotten it. But that very day I heard it again, not about Rückert and not from Lazarus, but from a Hebrew writer who was referring to a Hebrew storyteller. I have a student, part clerk and part critic, who enjoys enlightening me with his remarks. That day I was applauding Neu for having restored so many forgotten worlds to us. To which my student said, ‘If we applaud those who restore forgotten worlds, we should applaud the storytellers.’ And he proceeded to quote a Hebrew writer who wrote about a Hebrew storyteller, ‘If there should be a flood that restores the world to chaos, with only Mendele Mocher Sforim’s stories surviving, it would be possible to reconstruct Jewish life.’ These Hebrews, in their excessive narcissism, don’t notice that there are countries outside of Poland, Lithuania, and Russia where Jews have lived and endured, that they too are a vital force.” Henrietta laughed and said, “Which is an offense to your German patriotism, Fred.” Manfred laughed and said, “No offense to my German patriotism, but an offense to the truth. Even someone like me is sometimes moved to protest against truisms that are grounded in nothing. Now, my dearest, rise up, come along. Let me lead you to the bedroom. I’ll settle you in your cradle, and you can close your weary eyes and sleep until Firadeus brings you breakfast.”