Suddenly, Love

19

THE NEXT DAY, ON HER WAY TO ERNST’S HOUSE, THE pleasant image from the day before comes back to Irena. Then she imagines Ernst sitting in the armchair, reading the Bible. Of late, this book hasn’t left his hands. Sometimes it seems to her that he is not reading it so much as being thrilled by every line; so great is his amazement, he doesn’t advance very far in his reading.

Irena is surprised to find Ernst in bed. “What’s the matter?” she asks. She sees right away that once again he has been attacked by depression. The weakness is visible not only in his face but also in his arms. They are inert on the blanket.

Irena goes to the kitchen to make breakfast. In the past she would announce, “I’m making breakfast.” Now she knows that there is nothing like the fragrance of coffee to draw Ernst from his bed. Before long Ernst is sitting at the table, drinking the coffee. “Too late,” he says to himself.

Irena guesses his meaning and says, “There’s no such thing as early and late.”

“What do you mean?” Ernst embarrasses her.

Irena laughs as though she has been caught in an error, but she immediately adds, “I don’t know where I heard that saying.”

Ernst shaves, dresses, and leaves for the café. Near the stairway he turns and says, “What did I want to tell you?” Irena is frightened when she hears that because it’s likely to be followed by, “My manuscripts are in the two upper drawers. If something happens to me, please burn them.” He had said that only once, but she is still frightened. This time he forgets what he had wanted to say to her.

The walk from Ernst’s house to Café Rimon takes twenty minutes. When rain falls and the wind blows, it takes longer. Not too many years ago there were study groups in literature, philosophy, and Jewish mysticism in his Rehavia neighborhood, and in the Yeshurun Synagogue there was a regular Talmud class. The 1950s and 1960s were years of great activity in Rehavia. Ernst was one of the regular participants in the literary circle. There was also a time when it appeared that a new Jewish culture, different from the culture of the kibbutzim, was in the making. Martin Buber and Gershom Scholem would lead it. Most of the study groups were held in German, but among the participants there were those like Ernst who knew Hebrew and Yiddish as well.

Back then Ernst wrote a lot and crossed out a lot. Sometimes he did have the feeling that he was digging in the correct place. Though the excavation was slow, he sensed that if he persevered he would reach the living water. There were also days of despair, of feeling distant from the goal, of fear of the future. When he divorced Sylvia and took early retirement, Ernst felt great relief. He felt as though he was setting out on a journey and that what had been hidden and blocked would return to him.

As long as the literary circle continued according to form and he was immersed in his writing, reading a chapter or passage at meetings every month, hearing comments and compliments, Ernst’s life had meaning. But when the circle disintegrated and the participants scattered in every direction, Ernst felt that his life in this world had shortened considerably.