S. Agnon - Shira

The conversation with the café owner rescued Herbst from a whirlpool of imagination. When he left the café with Shira, his mood was light. When he went to the hospital with Henrietta, his mood had not been so light. To add to the lightness, he took off his cap, turned to Shira, and said, “What a splendidly grotesque performance.” Shira said, “It’s hard for those yekkes to adjust.” Herbst smiled and said, “I’m a yekke too.” Shira said, “A yekke , but one who came willingly, unlike that lout who never considered leaving Germany and coming here. Such a person could not possibly be comfortable here, apart from the absence of an organ or the presence of the Histadrut. There are other forces undermining him.” Herbst said, “If I had permission, I would ask: What about Miss Shira? Is she comfortable here?” Shira said, “Comfortable or not, wherever I am there are sick people, and what difference does it make if I am with them here or somewhere else? I wear the same white kittel, the same white uniform , here as there.” “And apart from the white kittel , is there nothing else?” “Apart from the kittel , there are the sick, who are sick whether they speak Russian, Yiddish, or Hebrew.” Herbst said, “In that case, I’ll ask no more questions.” Shira said, “I have nothing more to add. Jerusalem is already asleep. There’s not a soul on the streets. Anyone who happens to be out has one thing in mind: to find refuge in his doorway and then inside his home.” Herbst said, “A perfect definition of night in Jerusalem…. Night in Jerusalem, just as it is.” Now what? Herbst pondered. I’ll see Shira to her door, go to my empty house, get into bed, wake up early, and in the morning I’ll go to see Henrietta. When I knock at the hospital gate, they’ll open it and call a clerk, who will talk to me over his shoulder and ask in alarm, “What do you want?” To which I will say, “My name is Herbst — Herbbbst — husband of Mrs. Herbst.” To which the clerk will answer, “You mean Mrs. Herbst who came with you for, for — “ I will grab his notebook and show him what she came for. What if I had called Lisbet? Before Herbst could pursue this train of thought, Shira stopped and said, “This is my house.” “This one here?” Herbst asked, somewhat dismayed. When he saw that she was dismayed by his dismay, he added, “Since the walk was short and the company pleasant, I am sorry to be here already.” Shira said simply, “Would Dr. Herbst like to come in?” Herbst looked at his wrist, as if he were consulting the time, and said, “I’ll come in, but I won’t stay long.” He stared at the house in wonder, amazed that such a structure existed. It had been there for several generations. One could tell from the style of the structure. But Shira’s words gave it new vitality, deriving not from the stone, wood, mortar, plaster of which it was constructed, but from its own power, imbued with life and will which, at will, gives life. Vivid thoughts took over, though not yet in full color, showing Herbst more than his eyes could see. In just a few minutes, he might enter that house, for Shira had explicitly said, “Come in, sir,” and he had answered, “With your permission, madam, I will come in.” His legs were suddenly heavy, his knees began to quiver, his entire body was inert, and he was afraid he would be too weak to move. Still, with heavy heart and in high anticipation, he stood peering in and looking to see whether the house had a door and whether it was a door one could enter.

Shira took a bunch of keys from her purse. In the light from the window of the house across the way, she chose a key and opened the door for Herbst. Standing at the entry, she said, “Wait a minute. I’ll go in and turn on a light. Or would it be better to go in while it’s dark and close the door before turning on the light, to keep out mosquitoes and sand flies?” Herbst nodded and said, “Let’s close the door first and then turn on the light.”

They entered the room in darkness. Shira dropped her purse on the bed, along with the keys, and said, “I opened the door with the wrong key.” She groped for a match, then turned on the lamp. “Success! Three cheers for success!” Herbst said — as if it were remarkable to succeed with the first match.

Herbst was now in Shira’s room. There was a bed, a table, a chair, a closet, a chest with five or six books on it, and above it the Böcklin painting with the skull. Two windows overlooked the street and the neighboring houses. There was also a door, covered with a curtain, that led to the kitchen. The scent of coffee mixed with burnt alcohol wafted through the room. Everything was in perfect order, though it didn’t seem as if a guest was expected. Nor did Shira seem to be paying attention to the guest she had brought.

Shira lowered the blinds on both windows, taking her time, as if no one else were there. Finally, she turned toward Herbst and said, “My room is small, but it’s mine.” She sat on the edge of her bed, still wearing the turban, and said to herself: What was I going to do? Try the key and see if it fits the lock…. I’ll leave that for tomorrow. She suddenly looked up at Herbst, gave him a long, searching look, reached out wearily, and pointed to the chair without telling him to sit down. Though she sat down and took off her turban, Herbst remained standing. She waved the turban at him and said, “Why not sit down. Here’s a chair.” Herbst said, “Should the lady wish to change her clothes, I can turn the other way.” Shira said, “That’s a fine idea. If the professor doesn’t mind, I will go and change my clothes.”

She got up from the bed, went to the closet, and stood behind the open door, lingering as long as she lingered, then appeared in dark blue slacks and a thin shirt. Herbst looked at her and was astonished: now that she was in male attaire, her masculine quality seemed to fade. She sat down on the bed again, and he sat on the chair between the table and the bed. His mind remained fixed on this miracle, this miraculous reversal: when she took off her dress, which was womanly attire, her masculinity was dispelled. As that thought became more and more dim and as his mind became vacant, once again everything was concrete and once again he saw Shira as she was, namely, in those particular dark blue slacks and in that particular thin shirt. He saw her, not face to face, but in a vision. He remained in this state of mind but started when he heard Shira say, “One can assume the professor would not like tea, having just had some in the café. If so, I’ll pour us some cognac.” She got up and bent down to get the cognac from the chest. Then, straightening up, she said, “Dr. Herbst is a smoker, right? Here are cigarettes, matches, an ashtray.” She took a box from the table, opened it, and said: “I haven’t tried these yet, but the company that makes them wouldn’t turn out inferior cigarettes. Most important, I trust the source.”

Herbst asked himself: Who is it that gives this woman cigarettes she is so confident about? The question exploded in his mind. He, no doubt, brought the cigarettes to her room. Yes, to her room. And when he brought them to her room, he was obviously in the room, as I am now. And when he was in her room, she sat on the bed as she did a few minutes ago. And he too may have suggested that she change her clothes. And when she changed, she changed into those slacks and that shirt, those blue slacks and that thin shirt. His heart was suddenly heavy, his shoulders drooped, his eyes began to sweat, and he felt as if his head had been hit with a metal pole. He was caught in a muddle of hate and envy, hating the shade of dark blue that enclosed her hips and belly, the shirt that pressed against her heart, and envying the cigarette giver, who had been here in this room in this place with this woman while she changed into those slacks and that shirt. But his envy and hatred were short-lived. They had appeared suddenly and vanished just as suddenly, leaving panic in his heart.