Two Tales: Betrothed & Edo and Enam (7 page)

Shoshanah halted suddenly. “Do you remember how you and I used to play in our garden?”

He answered in a whisper, “I remember.”

“Good,” said Shoshanah. “Let’s go on.”

Then again she stopped. “Do you remember what games we played?”

Jacob began to recount them to her as he walked. She nodded her head at every detail, saying, “That’s right, that’s right. I thought you had forgotten.”

He laid his hand over his heart, as if to say, “How could anyone forget such things?”

Shoshanah fell silent, but continued to walk, and Jacob followed at her side.

“Aren’t you tired?” he asked.

Shoshanah replied, “No, no. What’s over there?”

“An old Moslem cemetery.”

“Do they still bury their dead there?”

“I have heard that they don’t anymore.”

“Let’s go there,” said Shoshanah.

When they reached the cemetery, Shoshanah stopped. “Do you remember that vow we made together?”

“I remember,” said Jacob.

She looked at him steadily for a moment. “Do you remember the words of the vow?”

“I remember them,” said Jacob.

“Word for word?”

“Yes, word for word.”

“If you remember the vow, repeat it.”

Jacob repeated the substance of what they had sworn.

“But you told me,” said Shoshanah, “that you remember it word for word. Say it to me, then, word for word.”

He hesitated, sighed, and at last said: “We swear by fire and by water, by the hair of our heads, by the blood of our hearts, that we shall marry one another and be husband and wife, and no power on earth can cancel our vow, forever and ever.”

Shoshanah nodded her head in silence. After a while she said, “Now we can go.”

They walked on; then she stopped again. “And what do you think, Jacob? Are we now exempt from that vow?”

His heart pounded so that he was unable to speak.

“Jacob,” she said to him, “do you stand by your word?”

Still he stared at her without speaking.

“Are you prepared to keep your vow?” said Shoshanah.

Jacob cried out loudly, “Yes, I am, I am!”

“Good,” said Shoshanah. “Let us go back to the hotel.”

On the way she stretched out her hand to him, saying goodbye.

“Don’t you want me to see you back?” said Jacob.

“It’s not necessary.”

“You may lose your way.”

“I shall never lose my way,” said Shoshanah. “I never forget any place I have been; not even in my sleep.”

A slight shudder ran through Rechnitz; the roots of his hair tingled. He whispered, “But still…”

“If you really want to come, then do so. But don’t speak on the way. I want to do some thinking.”

When they came to the hotel, she offered her hand to her betrothed and said goodbye.

XVI

Rechnitz shook himself out of a deep sleep. If you are told that people have a way of turning in their beds, you must not believe that this applied to Rechnitz, at least not that particular night. From the time he went to bed until the time he got up, he lay still as a post.

This fine sleep was the result of his afternoon walk with Shoshanah along the beach. Now he put out his hand, picked up his watch and looked at it as if he were gazing through a soft curtain. “God above,” he cried, “if my watch isn’t playing tricks, I’ll have to run all the way to school just as I am!”

But to run to school without dressing is impossible, and a man also has to wash himself. Accordingly, when Rechnitz had jumped out of bed he filled a basin with cold water, plunged his head into it, and after washing, shaved himself too. Asclepius the god of health protected him, so that he escaped from slashes on the chin or cuts on the cheek. Finally, he put his wet shaving kit down on the bed, threw on his clothes and raced off toward the school.

The pupils were all gathered in the yard and the corridor. Some were munching at the snacks they had brought, some were improvising comic rhymes to set each other laughing. With all the noise, they overlooked the caretaker who was standing in the doorway ready to ring the bell. When they caught sight of him at last, they crowded around, taking hold of his arm, some to hinder and some to help in the ringing. In the meantime Rechnitz arrived and they followed him into the classroom.

Soon they were seated in their places. Rechnitz mounted the platform and took all in with a glance. Everyone was present. Rechnitz was in good spirits, as he always was when surrounded by his pupils. He began teaching in that resonant, cheerful voice which the boys and girls of his class liked so much, speaking or reading with a restrained ardor that awakened their enthusiasm, listing on the blackboard any words whose spelling might give them trouble. Had the bell not rung for the second time that day, he would have continued his teaching, and the class would have continued to listen attentively. After the lesson he ran the eraser over the board and went out. Only now did he notice his hunger, remembering that he had not had anything to eat either that morning or on the previous evening.

Rechnitz went into the staff room. The teachers were sitting together, drinking tea or eating the rolls which the caretaker’s wife baked for them daily. They dipped the ring-shaped rolls into their tea, sucking away as they read the books set in front of them. Rechnitz drew up his chair alongside them and hummed the tune of the Hapsburg anthem, beating out the rhythm with his knuckles on the table. This fetched Yehia, who greeted him with “What would you like, Rabbi?” The caretaker always called him “Rabbi,” because he knew that Rechnitz was a great scholar in secular science; therefore, needless to say, he must also be greatly learned in the Torah; perhaps also because when he first came to Jaffa he had worn a beard.

“What would I like?” repeated Rechnitz. “I should like a full stomach for myself and happiness for you and all Israel.”

“God willing,” answered the caretaker.

Rechnitz looked up at Yehia’s swarthy face and great black eyes. “Make it black coffee in a tall glass.”

The caretaker brought it. Rechnitz clasped the sides of the glass in both hands and lowered his head as if he were trying to conceal his expression. He took a sip, added sugar to the coffee, and sipped again, while trying to think of what he had told the Consul about Yehia. Then he drained his glass. The teachers got up and went off to their classrooms, and he too made his way out.

Now my dear fellow, he said to himself, we can take a stroll in the school yard, or perhaps we ought to go over to the secretary’s office and see if there’s a letter addressed to the
Herr Doktor
.

Rechnitz went to the office. He had not been there on the previous day, or indeed on the day before that, for he was not a great letter-hunter like some teachers, who were constantly in and out of the secretary’s room, rummaging and staring through all the mail for an answer to the crucial question of whether or not a letter had come for them. Even now he would not have entered had he not been at a loss for something to do between lessons.

The secretary sat at his little desk, his nose buried in a ledger, a pen in his hand, pretending to ignore the not inconsiderable presence of Rechnitz. And Rechnitz, having time to spare, and having also forgotten what he had come for, forgot the secretary’s existence, too. He looked at the pictures on the wall, and at the space between the pictures. The secretary glanced up, then down again at his ledger, where he continued with his writing. Doubtless, thought Rechnitz, the celebrity whose portrait hangs on the wall believed a stern unbending expression suited him best. If not, he wouldn’t have pulled such a face. – As for you, sir, you whose name I’m afraid I’ve forgotten, what exactly was the impression you were trying to make?

The secretary raised his nose like a divining rod, and their eyes met.

“Is there a letter for me?” asked Rechnitz.

The secretary stared at him contemptuously. “When do letters come from the post office? In the morning or afternoon? Since letters come in the afternoon, what is the sense in asking for them before people have properly digested their breakfasts?”

“I rather thought there might have been a letter for me from yesterday.”

“From
yesterday
?” exclaimed the secretary in a tone of amazement. “Do you mean to tell me that a ship put in yesterday? Let me tell you there was no ship, or at any rate, no ship that brought any mail. But perhaps, Dr. Rechnitz, you mean
inland
mail? If it was inland mail, that is of course another matter.”

“Yes, yes,” said Rechnitz, grateful that this pedantic master of logic had put the subject on a reasonable basis. “Yes, indeed, I meant a letter from within the country; for example, from Jaffa itself.”

The secretary laid his hand on a pile of letters and said, “The inland mail has indeed arrived, but I must inform you, Dr. Rechnitz, that no letter has come for you. That is to say, no letter from within the country and none from Jaffa, which, as you may know, forms part of that country.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Rechnitz replied.

Why do you keep yessing at me? thought the secretary to himself. If there’s no letter for you, what’s the sense in saying yes? A queer lot, these Germans. You can never get them out of the habit of conforming. And yesterday he took out some new girl from Austria, a Viennese she might well be, besides all the others. Now where did they go walking? By the sea. And what time did they choose to go walking? Just at the time when the sea turns cold and gives you a chill. A teacher with a cold! –
Well!
The secretary sneezed.

XVII

The school bell rang again. Rechnitz stirred. It was the break between lessons and he was still free; he walked over to the book room, known as the “nature room” because it contained a number of minerals, plants, and taxidermied animals and birds of the country.

The books were in a locked cabinet. He had no great desire to read, and certainly no desire to ask the secretary for the keys, so he stood and surveyed the stuffed creatures, which had been acquired from Ilyushin the taxidermist. These specimens are always a witness to Ilyushin’s love for all living things; it was this love of his which gave them life even after their death. How beautiful, thought Rechnitz, is that swallow. She sits on her perch as if she were only dozing. When he went out he closed the door softly, as if he feared to wake the bird.

Finally he went back to the staff room. It was empty and the table was clear of rolls and cakes. Instead there were notebooks on it, and pamphlets and textbooks, including a new arithmetic manual. He picked this up and put it down, picked it up again and took a look inside, checked the figures given and wrote: “Duly checked and proved correct.”

Again the bell rang, and Rechnitz murmured to himself that it was time to go. He passed a hand over his brow, as though to stimulate his memory. What do I want? he asked himself. But he had not found the reply by the time he was up on the platform facing the class.

Rechnitz raised his eyes and tried to keep them on his students. But his lids felt heavy and his knees were shaking. He crossed his legs, rubbed his eyes, and looked over the class again. The boys and girls sat in their usual rows; but above their heads a cloud seemed to hang, turning the class into something solid and opaque. Rechnitz began, “Boys and girls, yesterday we stopped at…” But he felt weak and wanted to cry. He closed his eyes and began again, “So yesterday…” The class could tell that their teacher’s mind was far away, and everyone began to follow his or her private concerns. Rachel’s brother took a novel out of his pocket, laid it on his knees and began to read. His neighbors to the right and left busied themselves drawing pictures. The girls were behaving even worse. Raya’s sister folded a paper plane and sent it flying at the nose of Asnat’s sister, while Asnat’s sister in turn held a little mirror up toward the sun and blinded her companions with the reflected rays. Rechnitz could see what was going on and his eyes ached with sorrow. How could these pupils, whom he treated as friends, disgrace him so?

“What are you reading over there?” he called out sharply.

Heilperin calmly exhibited his book and answered,
Sanin.

“What’s that?”

“A novel.”

“And what’s it about?”

“I don’t know, sir. I haven’t read it yet.”

“You don’t know! You don’t know anything, do you? – And you, what are
you
up to there?”

The boy trembled and pushed his notebook away.

“What’s your opinion?” said Rechnitz. “Would you say it’s worth my while to see what you have been drawing? Not worth my while? If so, why waste time on a thing that’s not worth doing? As for you, my little friend, my dear Miss Magargot, if I had such a delightful mirror as yours, I should hold it up to your face and see two hard-working students instead of one. Yes, my friends, I suppose I
am
being sarcastic, and that’s not what I am here for. But my dear friends, you’re not here either just to read novels. Very soon Yehia will be ringing his bell and we shall be going home. What we shall do at home is a problem; because once a person doesn’t do what he has to do, he doesn’t know anymore what to do instead. And now Yehia, God bless him, is sounding the bell. So goodbye, boys and girls. Goodbye.”

XVIII

What shall I do now? Rechnitz wondered. I can’t go to the Consul’s, because lunch time is near and I haven’t been invited to lunch. If I went, Shoshanah would think I was behaving as if I owned her and had the right to turn up whenever I liked. No, it’s no good, he thought. It was half past twelve. In half an hour the restaurant would be full of regular customers; if he didn’t hurry there would be no lunch left. He had not eaten there for two days and the proprietress would assume he was not coming.

Suddenly he remembered what he had been trying to recall in the break before his second lesson. Tonight, or last night, or even the night before, he had been invited to Shoshanah’s for dinner. Her room was small and pleasant. The table was set for a meal with bread and
matzah
, butter and milk, tomatoes and cucumbers, eggs and cheese. In the middle of the table stood a bowl of strawberries and on the strawberries was a red dusting of sugar. The room had a pleasant scent, and not only because of the strawberries: when Shoshanah went out to bring in the tea, he looked at the wardrobe where she kept her clothes and saw a bunch of roses on top. He counted twelve roses, and was pleased, although he was not superstitious, to find that they did not add up to thirteen. What did they talk about, he and Shoshanah? They talked about all sorts of people, including her father, the Consul. Oddly enough, Shoshanah referred to him as if he were Jacob’s father and not her own. And when she mentioned him she said, “Of course, I don’t know him well, but I would suppose…” whatever it was she attributed to him. Jacob ate very little, and for that reason Shoshanah refrained from taking much. Although he knew that she ought to eat more, still he did not force his appetite. After they had eaten and drunk, she went and sat down on the sofa and he sat on a chair facing her. She showed him a more comfortable place, saying, “Sit here,” but he did not leave his chair, although he was feeling a pain in his shoulders from sitting where he was. In order not to tire Shoshanah, he resolved to leave at nine o’clock. The time came, but he still stayed. They sat talking about Rachel and Leah, and about Frau Ehrlich, Shoshanah’s mother. And this too was strange, that Shoshanah did not know where her mother was born until he told her. He glanced at his watch and found it was nearly ten. Time to leave, he told her; but Shoshanah answered that it wasn’t yet nine o’clock. “It’s already ten,” he said. “Is it really?” said Shoshanah in surprise, and she adjusted her watch. After a while he got up to leave and Shoshanah went out to accompany him. When they had gone halfway, he wanted to turn back and see her home, but she would not allow this. She made her way home, while he waited for his streetcar. He bought a ticket and climbed in. The streetcar filled up and started to move. On its way it kept stopping to take on more and more passengers. Two young fellows got in and one sat on the other’s knees. He heard them talking to one another about Otto Weininger and his book
Sex and Character.
The journey continued for an hour. And then, oddly enough, Jacob had found himself again sitting with Shoshanah; and it was not yet eleven o’clock, although he had left Shoshanah’s house at ten, and she had accompanied him halfway, and he had even traveled for an hour on the streetcar, and spent an hour at home. How could it be, then, that he was with Shoshanah at nearly eleven o’clock?