S. Agnon - Shira

Henrietta’s eyes were closed, her tongue weary. She spoke fitfully. If I were to put the words together and interpret her allusions, this is roughly what they would add up to: When a woman is young, in full bloom, capable of filling the earth with sons and daughters, she isn’t always pleased to be producing children. When she ages, when her energies diminish and her sons and daughters leave home, her lot is bitter, ever so bitter. Because she is lonely, she would love to bear a child, but this is something she no longer has the strength to do.

I am omitting the rest of Henrietta’s remarks, censuring those women who make no use of what the Creator granted them and giving credit to the Oriental communities: “If they didn’t behave like human beings, increasing and multiplying in a natural fashion, the land would soon be empty. But,” Henrietta added, “even they have begun to act like Ashkenazim.” At this point, Henrietta told about a pretty young Sephardic woman, about twenty-four years old, who had given her husband four handsome sons. After weaning the fourth one, she became pregnant. Her neighbor said, “If you keep up at this rate, you won’t have room for all your children.” They deliberated and went to a certain woman doctor. The doctor did what she did, and the woman aborted. After a while, she began to yearn for an infant to clasp in her arms. She was consumed with longing, but she was no longer able to become pregnant, and she was not fit to give birth again.

The very same doctor has set up a clinic, and her pace is tireless. The country is full of British soldiers, as well as impoverished young girls. Feeling confined by the narrow walls of their homes, these girls go out for a little while, seeking escape. The soldiers who see them are struck by their beauty and entice them to go to a café or a movie. Some are intrigued and respond, at first to scold the soldiers for their impudence, then because of curiosity, then because there’s no harm in talking, then because of habit. In the end, some of the girls are seduced by them, and, when they become pregnant, they go to this doctor to get rid of their unborn babies.

So much for those evils and the troubles they bring on. Now let’s get back to the Herbst household. Manfred and Henrietta finished their supper, and it was already Henrietta’s bedtime. But, like most women at leisure, she didn’t tend to look ahead. Henrietta remained seated, though Manfred stood beside her, taking her hand and attempting to get her out of the chair and lead her to her room. Henrietta, who was comfortable where she was, didn’t stir. She was thinking about her daughters. Zahara and Tamara are not here. One lives with Avraham and Dani in the country; the other has gone to see about the teaching position she was promised; Sarah is lying asleep in her little bed. Yet another child is inside his mother, Henrietta, who didn’t prevent the Creator from creating a person in her womb. Should the Creator of man alter His ways ever so slightly, He would give her a male child, now that she has produced three females. The world needs daughters too, but it would be nice for this mother of daughters to produce a son.

Henrietta’s eyes remained closed, and her hand was in Manfred’s. He held his wife’s hand and gazed at her. Her eyes were still closed, her face was bloated, and her nose cast its shadow all around. Now I’ll say something it would be nicer not to say, but truth goes beyond the niceties. Manfred noted her wrinkled cheeks, flushed and lined with bluish veins, and her body, bloated and slovenly. He also noted how she luxuriated before him, like a bride during the seven-day marriage feast, and he turned his eyes away, commenting to himself: How grotesque. He said nothing, except in his heart, and, like a man who respects his wife, he smoothed her cheek and tried to help her up.

After taking Henrietta to her bed, he sneaked back to the dining room, cleared the dishes, took them to the kitchen, and washed them thoroughly, examining each piece inside and out to be sure it was clean, so as not to give Henrietta reason to reject his work. Then he set the dishes on the slatted shelf to drain, moving about stealthily, so as not to disturb Henrietta and arouse her anger at him for intruding on her territory. Even though she had already allowed him to take on some of the chores, she would, no doubt, scold him. Having finished all the kitchen work, he inverted the dishpans and scanned the room, to be sure he hadn’t left anything undone. When he saw everything was in place, he turned out the light. When the light was off, he saw that one burner was still lit. Henrietta had forgotten about it, but it was serving no purpose. He turned it off and went to Henrietta, thinking: If I had left it on, Henrietta would surely complain. But when she does it, it’s all right.

Henrietta was lying in bed in her clothes. He began coaxing her to undress. When she was ready to comply, he helped her take off her clothes, just as he used to do when she was pregnant with Zahara.

I have something to say about Shira. That was a good question Shira had asked: “Do you help your wife, too?” Yes, Shira. Dr. Herbst helps his wife take off her clothes, and he does it expertly. His hands don’t tremble at all. But Shira is far away. In fact, she has moved. But we won’t be looking for you. Not today. It’s enough, Shira, that Herbst asked about you in the hospital. He also asked Anita Brik about you. Tomorrow afternoon, we might perhaps go and see where you live. If we find you, good. If we don’t find you, it’s your fault for not sitting and waiting for us.

After arranging his wife’s clothes, he embraced her and kissed her on the mouth. She kissed him too, if not on his mouth, then on his forehead. Manfred’s forehead is an integral part of him, you might say his finest part, with all his great thoughts plainly written on it. Henrietta assumes that these thoughts derive from the major essay he is working on. We will allow her this error, rather than divulge one or two of the schemes he is considering. Henrietta asked Manfred to go and see if Sarah was asleep and if she was perspiring. After he had done so, he took leave of his wife, with a kiss, and went to his room to read some papal history and find out just when Damasus became pope. This wasn’t actually why he went back to his room. He wanted to be alone for a while. He was worn out by the day’s concerns. He hadn’t had a moment’s rest. In the morning, he had lectured on the earliest known Byzantine coins with Greek inscriptions, as well as on the coins associated with Heraclius, which we assume were minted so they could be used by soldiers during the war against Persia. After the lecture, a guest, who had come to hear a Hebrew lecture at the Hebrew University, arrived and offered a somewhat dated insight. He stated that, even after Constantine became Christian, he continued to be attracted to idolatry, which is evident from the motifs on many artifacts from the Constantine period. Herbst wore himself out conveying to this genius, without being disrespectful, that, with coins, as in various other areas, such motifs are not always conclusive, because they often continue to appear even after they have lost their significance. When he got rid of the guest, he was joined by two of his students, who needed books they couldn’t find in the National Library. If I’m not mistaken, they were looking for the works of G. Finelli and W. Schultze. They went home with Herbst, and, like all bright students who are full of their own wisdom, they were eager to impart it to their teacher and enhance his wisdom. In the end, after they came home with him and he gave them the books, they found that the wording was ambiguous and Herbst had to confirm whether or not what they said was right. He was left with only a small portion of the afternoon break, time for lunch but not for a rest. Because he was so tired, he was afraid Henrietta would be talkative, which made him unable to rest. We would imagine that he did try resting right after lunch, but what use is such an attempt? As soon as he stretched out on his bed, he heard a sound at the door. He hurried to open it, so no one would ring the bell and wake Henrietta. He found a man at the door, a leather briefcase on his arm, his face like the face of a thousand other solicitors from national institutions. He began to barrage him with words about a particular individual who had just reached the age of fifty and in whose honor a grove of trees was being planted. Dr. Herbst was asked to contribute a tree. After the solicitor left, Herbst went back to bed, but he found no rest. He got up and went into town, to the French Library, hoping to find comfort in a new book. On the way, he met Anita Brik and went with her to Zichel’s, where they had a long chat. After leaving her, he took the bus home and heard news about some of the unfortunate events that had occurred that day. When he was finally home, he sat down to eat and had a long chat with his wife. If his mouth and mind had been with his wife, all would have been well. But his mouth was in one place, and his mind was elsewhere. This is why he was exhausted and eager to be alone.