S. Agnon - Shira

Herbst has already left Shira’s street. He is winding his way through the alleys that serve as shortcuts. Alley bites alley, lane is joined to lane, yard to yard. And from alley to alley, from lane to yard, you imagine you are back where you started, that you will have to retrace your steps and find another way out. But we are fortunate, for, along with the earth under us, we have sky, moon, stars above, so that, when we look up, we are never lost. Herbst looked up at the sky, oriented himself, and found the intersection from which a broad street led to the upper valley and to his house.

By now, other winds were blowing, cool winds from Talpiot, where the good winds gather to give life to the entire region. On such a night, at such an hour, when Herbst happened to come home and find restful quiet pervading every rock, every mound, every hill, breezes blowing and bringing with them the fragrance of cypresses, pine, garden flowers, wild grasses, desert plants, cool earth, his heart was tranquil and his soul soared. Now his mind was distracted, his heart impassive, his soul in turmoil. When Herbst happened to be coming home from an academic meeting or lecture on such a night and at such an hour, he would take short steps, enjoying every breath. Now he was running, though there was no one waiting for him at home, no one to ask where he had been and why he was late. Earlier would have been better. Why, he didn’t know.

His thoughts suddenly shifting to his wife, he speculated: While I was with Shira, my wife could have given me a son or a daughter. “No!” Herbst shouted. “The good Lord wouldn’t do such a thing!” Herbst lifted his head toward the sky, as if to probe God’s mysterious ways. The skies were pure; the stars were in place, showing no trace of evil design. But Herbst’s mood was foul, more so than at first, for it occurred to him that, while he was with Shira, his wife could have had a difficult delivery and died. He pulled off his hat and crumpled it angrily. Among his numerous thoughts, not one was of sorrow, grief, sympathy for his wife. His were thoughts of revenge, retribution, recompense for his malice and villainy. All of a sudden he laughed derisively and said to himself, still laughing: Now, Manfredchen, all you need is for that freckled one to come and say, “Now that your wife is dead and you are without a wife, take me as your wife.” Where is my hat? My God, I left it at Shira’s. He didn’t realize he was holding it. When he realized his hat was in his hand, he recovered, and his thoughts were once more with Henrietta. You are a good woman, Henriett, you’re a good woman, Henriett, he singsonged sadly. You were with me, and you are with me now. You raised the girls, you made me a home, looked after my interests, seeing that I did my work, not letting me be distracted by these troubled times. And when we began to be discouraged about my academic prospects, you never came to me with recriminations or complaints. You gave me support and kept me from joining that thwarted lot that degrades itself through gossip and slander. After all this, that woman could come and say, “Take me as your wife.” But the choice is mine, and what Miss Shira wants is not what I want. An evil spirit responded, saying: If so, if the choice is yours, where were you an hour ago, when Henrietta was in the throes of labor? And what will you do when Shira informs you that she is carrying your child? No need to worry about that. Women like Shira protect themselves. If she was careless, there are ways to terminate a pregnancy. And if she wants to have the child, there are places in the world where no one asks the mother if she is properly married. In any case, Shira is not one of those who attach themselves to a man against his will. And, in any case, from now on I will never again darken her doorstep.

Herbst was already at his house. When he saw he was there, he lunged toward the gate to the garden that surrounded the house and found it was locked, just as he had left it when he took Henrietta to the hospital. But there was a break in the fence. When Arab shepherds notice there is no one home, they poke a stick through the wiring and make a hole, a bit yesterday, a bit today, until the fence is destroyed and their sheep have the run of the garden. I see, Herbst said, that, first thing in the morning, I must fix the fence, or not a single bush or flower will survive. Now I’ll go and see if there are any letters.

There were no letters in the box. Only notices, announcements, invitations, and other printed matter that comes our way, to which we pay no attention, except for a reprint that would have interested him at any other time, as there were arguments in it challenging Alfred Neu’s theories. His eyes skimmed the article, but his mind was elsewhere. He was in a hurry to get to bed, for he had to be at the hospital early to see Henrietta. By and by, his mind lighted on Lisbet Neu.

If I were to speak to you today, Lisbet Neu, I would not choose my words so carefully, and you, my dear, would not be such a sheltered rose. When he left Shira, he was not aware of any change in himself, but he now had the air of a youth, confident of success.

Enough about Lisbet Neu, who is only an accessory to the story, and enough about Shira, who is not yet at its core. I will merely take what comes, event by event, and set it in its place.

The next morning, he was up early, shaved with a new blade, changed his clothes, and put on the tie Henrietta had bought him for his birthday. It was the color of dark Bordeaux, woven of silk thread that popped up in balls between the rows like berries between the furrows of a garden. Then he rinsed the kettle to make coffee. While waiting for the water to boil, he picked up that fool’s article and, with a single glance, skimmed his misguided version of Professor Neu’s theories. Herbst laughed, ranted, laughed again, threw it on the floor, flung it in the air, drew donkey’s ears on it. Then he made his snack, which he ate and drank. He looked in the mirror, adjusted his tie, locked the door, and jumped down the three steps in front of the house.

He noticed that the hole in the garden fence was higher than it had been the previous night. A large creature could shove its way in. As he was in a hurry to get to Henrietta, time was precious. He looked around for a neighbor he could ask to keep the Arabs from sending their animals into his garden. There was no one in sight. Just as well, he thought. Since there’s no one around, I don’t have to account for myself.

“A most felicitous morning, sir!” A voice was heard, hoarse as an old parakeet, and an odd creature appeared, perhaps male, perhaps female, perhaps priest, perhaps actor. Herbst pretended not to hear. The greeting was repeated: “Good morning, professor! Good morning, professor! I see you are already up tending your garden. Morgenstund hat Gold im Mund — he who makes the early rounds will reap success beyond all bounds.” Herbst answered curtly, “Good morning.” And that creature Sacharson, that convert, that priest of Jewish Christians, ignoring his neighbor’s grudging tone, leaped over to join him, walking and talking like those agitators who speak when no one listens and are nevertheless paid for their words. Herbst pointed to an approaching bus, jumped on, pushed his way in, and adjusted his tie. A child on her way to school got up to give him a seat. Someone else grabbed the seat, so Herbst and the child both had to stand. Like a man whose senses are impaired, he took no notice. She was offended and enraged — enraged at the Arab policeman who took the seat she had given up for Dr. Herbst and offended that Herbst did not acknowledge the seat. Herbst suddenly recognized her, asked about her parents, how she was doing, all the other questions one asks a friend’s daughter. The child was appeased and answered all his questions. When they arrived in town, she took another bus to the high school, and he went on to the hospital.