Two Tales: Betrothed & Edo and Enam

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I

JAFFA IS THE DARLING OF THE WATERS: THE WAVES of the Great Sea kiss her shores, a blue sky is her daily cover, she brims with every kind of people, Jews and Ishmaelites and Christians, busy at trade, at shipping and labor. But there are others in Jaffa who take no part in any of these: teachers, for instance, and such a one was Jacob Rechnitz, something of whose story we are about to tell.

When Jacob Rechnitz had completed his term of study and been crowned with a doctorate, he joined a group of travelers going up to the Holy Land. He saw the land and it was good, and those that dwelt within it, they were tranquil and serene. And he said to himself, If only I could earn my bread here, I should settle in this land. Jaffa was his dearest love, for she lay at the lips of the sea, and Rechnitz had always devoted himself to all that grows in the sea. He happened to visit a school, and that school needed a teacher of Latin and German. The authorities saw him, deliberated on him; they offered him a post as teacher, and he accepted.

Now Rechnitz was a botanist by profession and expert in the natural sciences. But as the natural sciences were already in the hands of another teacher, while the post of Latin and German was vacant, it was this post that was assigned him. For sometimes it is not the position that makes the man, but the man who makes the position, though it must also be said that Rechnitz was a suitable choice.

So Rechnitz set to work. He met his duties faithfully. He chose the right books and did not weigh his students down with tedious topics. He was never bitter with his students; never too proud with his fellow teachers, most of whom were self-taught. His students loved him, his colleagues accepted him. His students, because he treated them as friends; his colleagues, because he allowed them to treat him as one. And, too, his tall bearing and deep voice, his manners and his chestnut eyes that looked with affection on everyone, gained him the love of all. Not more than a month or two had passed before he had won a good name in the town. Not more than a month or two before he had become a favorite guest of fathers whose daughters had come to know him before the fathers themselves.

The fever of land speculation had already passed. The money-chasers, who had sought to profit from the soil of Israel, had gone bankrupt and cleared out. Jaffa now belonged to those who knew that this land is unlike all others; she yields herself only to those honest workers who labor with her. Some engaged in trade and some in the skills of which the land had need; others lived on the funds they had brought from abroad. Nor one nor the other asked too much of life. They left the Turk to his seat of power and sought protection in the shade of the foreign consulates, which looked on them more kindly than had the lands of their birth. The dreamers awoke from their dreams, and men of deeds began to dream dreams of a spiritual center and a land of Israel belonging to Israel. From time to time they would gather and argue about the country and its community, and send reports of their proceedings to the Council of the Lovers of Zion in Odessa. And all the while, each man was father to his sons and daughters, and husband to his wife, and friend to his friends.

Life was unexacting, very little happened. The days slipped by quietly, people were undemanding. Their needs were limited and easily satisfied. The well-to-do were content to live in small dwellings, to wear simple clothes and to eat modestly. A man would rise early in the morning, drink his glass of tea and take a few olives or some vegetables with his bread, work until lunch time and come home before dusk. By then the samovar was steaming, neighbors paid calls, tea and preserves were handed round. If some learned man were present, he would make fun of the hotel-keeper who had misunderstood a Talmudic word, and called fruit preserves “jam.” Or if a farmer were in the company, his conversation would be about the uprooting of vines and the planting of almonds, about officials and bribes. Or if a visitor from Jerusalem happened to be there, he would tell them what was going on in the City: if he were a cheerful type, he might amuse the company with a Jerusalem joke. If there were only local Jaffa folk present, they would discuss the news from abroad, even though it was already stale by the time the foreign newspapers arrived.

Jacob Rechnitz was welcome and warmly received in every house. He appreciated people’s efforts to speak German for his benefit, and pleased them in return with the smattering of Russian he had picked up. (Russian and Yiddish were still used rather than Hebrew; as for Rechnitz, he came from central Europe, where German was the common tongue.) Like most bachelors, he was glad to be brought into company; he fell in with his hosts’ ways of thinking so completely that it seemed to him that their views were indeed his own. Every now and then he would be invited to an evening meal; and afterwards, when the head of the family settled down to reading the latest journal, whether it was Hashilo’ah in Hebrew or Razsvyet in Russian, he would take a stroll with the daughters of the house. There was always light for such walks: if there were no moon, the stars would be shining; and if there were no stars, the girls’ eyes did well enough. Another young man would ask for no more than such a life; but as for Rechnitz, another world lay in his heart: love of the sea and of research into her plants. Even at the season when Jaffa’s hot air saps the marrow and the spirit of most men, he remained vigorous. From this same sea that brought profit to shipowners, carried vessels weighted with wares for merchants and yielded up fish for the fishermen; from these waters, Jacob Rechnitz drew forth his plants. Under the sea’s surface he had already discovered certain kinds of vegetation that no scientist had ever seen. He had written about them to his professor; and his professor, glad to have a capable scholar stationed in such a region, had published his reports in the Vienna periodical brought out by the Imperial and Royal Society for Botanical and Zoological Studies. Besides this, he urged his favorite pupil to persevere in his research, since no investigation into the marine plants off that coast had been undertaken so far.

Rechnitz needed no urging. He belonged to the sea as a bay belongs to its shore. Each day he would go out to take whatever the sea offered him; and if the hour was right, he would hire a fishing boat. Yehia, the Yemenite Jew who served as the school’s caretaker, would haggle for him with the Arab fishermen; and off he would sail to where, as he told himself, the earliest ancestors of man had had their dwelling. Plying his net and his iron implements, drawing up specimens of seaweed not found along the beach, his heart beat like a hunter’s at the chase. Rechnitz was never seasick; no, these mysteries beneath the waters, these marvels of creation, gave him fortitude. There they grew like gardens, like thickets, like shadowed woods among the waters, their appearance varying from the yellow of sulphur to Tyrian purple to flesh tints; they were like clear pearls, like olives, like coral, like a peacock’s feathers, clinging to the reefs and the jutting rocks. “My orchard, my vineyard,” he would say lovingly. And when he came back from the sea, he would wash his specimens in fresh water, which removes the salt that puffs them out, before laying them in a flat dish. (Anyone watching him might suppose that he was preparing a salad for himself, but he would forget his food for the sake of his plants.) Then he would take them from the dish and spread them out on sheets of thick paper; their slime was enough to make them adhere. Only a few of the world’s botanists are concerned with marine plants, and of these few Rechnitz alone was at work on the seaweed off the coast of the Land of Israel, investigating its qualities and means of growth and reproduction. Most scientists can only conduct marine research intermittently, on days when they are free from university duties; but Rechnitz was out every day of the year, in sunshine and rain, by day or by night, when the sea was warmed by the sun and when it was cold, in calm or storm, when other folk slept or when they were busy with their affairs. Had his concern been with the study and classification of plants on dry land, he would have become a celebrity, been made a member of learned societies and spent his time at discussions, meetings and conferences. But since his activities were in a sphere remote from the interests of the Jewish settlement, his name was unknown in the land and his time was his own. He carried on with his investigations and collected many plants. If he found a specimen he could not identify, he would send it abroad, hoping his teachers might know more about it. So it came about that they named a certain seaweed after him, the Caulerpa Rechnitzia. It was not long before he was invited to contribute an account of the larger seaweeds for Professor Horst’s famous work Cryptogams of the Mediterranean.

II

This is how Rechnitz’s interest in his field began. When he first entered the university he chose no special subject but applied himself to all the sciences, and particularly the natural sciences, for these had drawn his heart. He already thought of himself as an eternal student, one who would never leave the walls of the academy. But one night he was reading Homer. He heard a voice like the voice of the waves, though he had never yet set eyes on the sea. He shut his book and raised his ears to listen. And the voice exploded, leaping like the sound of many waters. He stood up and looked outside. The moon hung in the middle air, between the clouds and stars; the earth was still. He went back to his book and read. Again he heard the same voice. He put down the book and lay on his bed. The voices died away, but that sea whose call he had heard spread itself out before him, endlessly, while the moon hovered over the face of the waters, cool and sweet and terrible. Next day Rechnitz felt as lost as a man whom the waves have cast up on a desolate island, and so it was for all the days that followed. He began to study less and read books about sea voyages; and all that he read only added to his longing, he might as well have drunk seawater to relieve a thirst. The next step was to cast about for a profession connected with the sea: he took up medicine, with the idea of becoming a ship’s doctor. But as soon as he entered the anatomy hall he fainted; he knew then that this could never be his calling. Once, however, Rechnitz happened to visit a friend who was doing research on seaweed. This man, who had just come back from a voyage, showed him the specimens he had brought. Rechnitz saw and was amazed at how much grows in the sea and how little we know about it all. He had scarcely parted from his friend before he realized what he was seeking.

Perhaps this story about Rechnitz reading Homer, with all that followed in its wake, is little more than a legend. But after all it would seem to be less unlikely than other explanations of how he began his career. In any case, when he had finished his studies he left for the Land of Israel; a prize received from the university and a gift bestowed on him by Herr Gotthold Ehrlich defrayed his expenses.

III

This Herr Ehrlich who assisted Jacob Rechnitz on his journey, and who had previously helped him to enter high school, was a wealthy merchant and the honorary consul of a small country which does not take up much space on the map. The garden of his villa adjoined the house of Rechnitz’s father, and when Jacob was small he used to play with Shoshanah, the Consul’s only daughter. She was a capricious child, who took a special fancy to the boy and would not allow any of the other little girls to join in their games. “Jacob is all mine,” she used to say, “and when I’m grown up I am going to marry him.” To confirm this, she cut off one of her curls, as well as one of his, and mingled them together. She burned them and they ate the ashes and took a solemn vow to be faithful to each other.

Jacob was treated kindly by Shoshanah’s parents. She was an only child, so that whoever won her affections won theirs as well; besides which, the boy’s own intelligence and good manners made him a favorite. Frau Gertrude Ehrlich, a lady whose health was delicate, took to him especially. She would give him presents that suited the occasion and so did not cause embarrassment; as for the Consul, he helped Jacob’s father to meet the cost of his son’s schooling, Rechnitz’s income not being enough to educate the boy according to his talents. With the Consul’s aid Jacob entered high school, and later on, the university.

In his first school year, Jacob spent a good deal of time with Shoshanah. On summer days they made flower chains for one another, which they fitted out with butterflies’ wings. In winter they went sliding on the ice-covered pond in the garden. Jacob helped Shoshanah with her lessons, and she taught him to walk on tiptoe and similar accomplishments. In the second year they grew rather more distant.

This was chiefly because Jacob’s father had sold his house to satisfy his creditors and rented an apartment in another neighborhood. All that year Jacob was much occupied with his studies, while Shoshanah turned to the more usual pursuits of the daughters of the rich, to music and painting and outdoor sport. Even so, they were not truly separated, for the Consul’s wife would invite Jacob to lunch on the first Sunday of every month, as well as on Shoshanah’s birthday. This continued until Frau Ehrlich fell sick, and the house was closed to guests, and Shoshanah was sent to a boarding school for girls in another city.

After that, the Consul would invite Jacob twice a year to visit his office. The walls were covered with silk hangings, to which were attached two large portraits, one of his wife and the other of his daughter. Frau Ehrlich wore a long dress whose hem swirled all around the base of the picture. The color of the dress was sky blue, and it fell to the frame fold on fold, so that she seemed to move in a mist. On her head was a small bonnet made up like a kerchief, whose laces lay along the back of her neck. Shoshanah’s dress, however, reached only to her knees and her legs seemed to tremble lightly. When the sun lit up the picture she appeared to be on the point of running. Besides these pictures on the wall, two more stood on the table, again of mother and daughter, and before them was set a moist rose in a glass of clear water. The Consul was a man of tidy habits; before receiving visitors he would clear away all papers and ledgers not needed for the occasion, so that it seemed to Jacob, on entering, that the office was built solely in order to house the pictures, with the Consul like an old attendant seated constantly on guard. This impression was confirmed when, after Jacob had sat down, the Consul stood up from his chair and added water to the glass. The boy was always reluctant to raise his eyes above the level of his host’s head, as if he had no right to look at the portraits. All the same, they imprinted themselves on his mind, and took on a life of their own: sometimes, he saw Frau Ehrlich vanishing into the mists, and Shoshanah running on and on with a wet rose in her mouth. As for the Consul, he would greet Jacob kindly, remark how he had grown, and address him as if he were another adult.

In winter he would take Jacob to a coffee house where the tableware was of silver and the seats were soft. As soon as the waiter saw the Consul enter, he brought him his coffee, for the Consul was known there and everyone could anticipate his requests. “What shall we order for our young friend?” asked the Consul, beaming at Jacob; he would then call for cocoa with whipped cream and a tray of cakes. They would sit together until dark, and when they parted the Consul would bid him convey greetings to his father and mother.

In summer he took him riding in a jaunting-car with rubber wheels. They drove out of the city for an hour or so till they reached Katharinenhof, which was fenced round with thick hedges whose fresh green shoots were beginning to darken. They entered a great park with circular flower beds and a statue of the Emperor. Somewhere about there were cows and cattle sheds, but you could neither see them nor smell them; behind the park was a view of mountain peaks, with the odor of pine trees drifting down, and the whole park seemed on holiday. They would sit down with the new-mown grass like mats at their feet and drink the excellent coffee for which this place was famous. The cream stood on it like a dollop of snow just ready to melt; and with the coffee there were little cakes to eat, made with cheese and poppy seeds and raisins; or else there was rye bread whose very smell made you hungry, and whose taste made you strong. They served it with fresh, creamy butter glistening with drops of water. Afterwards, the Consul lit a cigar and talked to Jacob about his studies; then, when the cigar was smoked, he lit a fresh one, rose from the table and said “Let’s go,” in a tone implying that enough time had been spent on pleasure, and now business called. Jacob got up hurriedly, watched the proprietor help the Consul on with his coat and blushed with embarrassment as the man came over to assist him too. He looked down at the ground, asking after the health of Frau Ehrlich. The Consul removed the cigar from his lips and was silent for a moment; then he said, “I wish I could tell you that she is well.” Since he could not quite say that, yet did not wish to leave Jacob sad, he added, “Shoshanah, though, as I see from her letters, does very well.” And Jacob, duly inclining his head, replied, “Please convey my best wishes to the gentle Fräulein.” — “I shall do that,” Shoshanah’s father replied, in a tone suggesting that this was a task not lightly performed, but one which he would see carried out.

IV

In time Jacob left high school for the university. His father’s financial affairs had improved, and he himself could now earn his keep by tutoring. He no longer needed the Consul’s aid, but his affection for the older man still kept the twice-yearly meeting a fixture. When they parted the Consul would take out his pocket book, note down the next date and time, and remark, ‘So, in another six months! However, you must telephone my office beforehand.” Lest that should sound like a veiled intention to put Jacob off, he would pause, add the months up, and conclude, “Well, in another half-year!”

Once, when Rechnitz telephoned on the prearranged day, he was told that the Consul was engaged and would not be available. Instead, he was asked to call a day or two later. Next day, when he was teaching one of his pupils, the boy’s father asked Jacob to repeat the name of the consul he had once mentioned in conversation, and then showed Jacob a newspaper, pointing to an obituary notice. “Tomorrow,” he added, “you will be going to the funeral of the Consul’s wife.”

All that night Jacob Rechnitz lay awake. Days that had gone now stood before him, days in and out of the Consul’s house, when the Consul’s wife had shown him so much kindness, in her ways and in her words. Jacob’s mother, too, had loved him as a mother should love her son, and he had returned her love in a son’s normal way; but his affection for Frau Gertrude Ehrlich was something apart. It was a love that could be accounted for by no natural cause, though there was reason for it, no doubt, as there is reason for all things; yet the reason was forgotten, the cause was lost and only the effect remained. He had known, indeed, that Frau Ehrlich was an invalid, and this had troubled and saddened him; but never had he been so grieved as on that night, in his awareness of her death. Shoshanah was now orphaned of her mother. That Shoshanah’s mother was dead, that she herself was an orphan, did not evoke in him any feeling of pity; it was rather like a new motion of the soul, when the soul attaches itself at once to one who is absent and another who is present, and is taken up into both as one.

Before daybreak Jacob Rechnitz had risen and made his way to the cemetery. In the press of his nighttime thoughts Jacob was sure that he had missed the funeral, though if he hurried he might yet arrive in time to see the last of the actual burial. The cemetery gates were open and he could hear the sound of digging among the graves. He ran forward between the trees and the tombstones in the direction of the sound. Two men were at work, standing up to their waists in the earth; a third was pacing out the length of the grave. When the diggers noticed Rechnitz, they looked up. “Do you want to see if it fits you?” they asked, indicating with their spades that he was free to step into the grave. Rechnitz did not understand them and did not move. The man pacing out the grave asked him what he had come for. Rechnitz looked at him in amazement: how could he ask such a question! When at last he realized that Frau Ehrlich’s body still lay in the house, it was almost as if he had heard good news. Though she was dead, she was at least above ground.

Before the entrance to the Ehrlichs’ villa men and women stood in silence. There are times and places when the tongue is tied even in company. Jacob’s mother stroked his cheek and wiped away a tear; his father pressed his foot into the ground as though testing for a foundation. Suddenly the gates opened and men in black mourning clothes brought out the bier, laying it in a black hearse to which four black horses were harnessed. The scent of flowers floated across from the wreaths on and about the bier. The sound of muffled weeping mingled with the scent; an old servant had covered her mouth with a handkerchief so as not to be heard. While the hearse was being made ready for the journey, Shoshanah and her father came out. Shoshanah wore black, with a black veil over her face, her arm in her father’s arm. Both walked as if set apart from this world. Involuntarily, Jacob took a step forward that she might see him, but then as quickly stepped back. Along that funeral way Shoshanah did not once raise her eyes from her mother’s bier. And since the bereaved had requested in newspaper notices that there should be no condolence visits, Jacob sent a letter of condolence instead.

V

As we have said, Jacob Rechnitz set out for the Land of Israel, financed in part by the prize he had won from the university, in part by the Consul’s aid; for when his course was completed and his doctorate granted, Ehrlich invited him to dine out in celebration, and presented him with a sum of money which saved him from the immediate necessity of seeking a post. The gift was made to seem not a matter of financial aid but rather a token of affection and esteem. It was in keeping with all that the Consul had done for him, and touched him so deeply that a refusal was out of the question. Rechnitz put the two sums together, and joined a party traveling to the Land of Israel; there he found work as a schoolteacher, and settled in Jaffa.

He did not forget his benefactor. Twice a year, at the Jewish and the Christian New Year, Rechnitz sent greetings to the Consul. And when his first article was published, he sent him a reprint. But he never wrote to Shoshanah, for the things that had bound them in childhood no longer counted, now that they were grown.

In brief, Jacob Rechnitz was now teaching at his Jaffa school, shaping the minds of many pupils and playing his part in meetings of teachers and parents. For there were already a few schools which encouraged parents to join in their deliberations, while the teachers in turn were given a chance to have their say in communal affairs. Indeed, when it came to public meetings and discussions, there was not a man in Jaffa who neglected his duty. And yet Rechnitz found time to keep up his special study of marine vegetation, and occasionally to write an article on the subject. There is a time for all, and a season for every desire. All the more so in the days before the Great War, and all the more so in the Land of Israel; for then the days were many times longer than ours, and a man was able to do much more, with hours left over in which to take stock of his world. Ordinary people were tolerably contented, and since they were not obliged to give too much thought to themselves, they had time to spare for other matters.

Rechnitz would frequent the homes of the town intelligentsia, where he was given a warm welcome. If there was a pleasing daughter, that was good; if there were two, better still. There were in fact girls of breath-taking beauty who did not belong to such homes. These, who had come to the country by themselves, without their parents, had set their caps at poets and writers, whereas the daughters of the middle class preferred teachers and scholars, who could make a living by their occupations.

Jacob Rechnitz, as a teacher and scholar, thus came to be acquainted mainly with girls of this type; girls who, like most true daughters of Israel, were graced with good looks and comely bearing and winning ways. Jacob never spoke to them about his work. But he would tell them about other lands and seas, about strange peoples and tribes, their customs and habits, their poetry and myths. So it came to pass that if you heard a girl in Jaffa speaking of Greece and Rome, of Sappho and Medea, you could be sure that she had learned all this from Jacob Rechnitz. Until his arrival, no Jaffa girl had ever heard things of this sort, even though the town was full of men with university degrees who had learned of such matters in their time; for their minds had let it all slip, just as their minds had turned away from what they had studied before that in the yeshivas. But Rechnitz had gained his knowledge in childhood, when the things of the imagination and the works of nature go hand in hand, so that even with the passing of time and the growth of the mind they do not come into conflict. Furthermore, Jacob Rechnitz was a native of Austria, where one is less conscious of the Exile and where one’s thoughts are drawn to happier things; and it is the way of these happier thoughts that they give pleasure not only to oneself but to others.

Many girls felt affection for Jacob, just as he felt affection for them. It may well be that some of them had marriage in mind, and Jacob perhaps thought of finding himself a wife, though he could not yet picture himself a married man, or decide who would suit him best. Meanwhile, he would call upon Rachel Heilperin, or take Leah Luria for a stroll, or visit Asnat Magargot, or gossip with Raya Zablodovsky, or chat with Mira Vorbzhitsky, or now and then see Tamara Levi. Sometimes they would all walk out along the beach at night, when the waves kiss the sands and the sky caresses the earth. Because they were seven, that is, Rechnitz and the six girls, and because they walked together at night, the people of the town called them the “Seven Planets.”

Their little circle had come into being in the way of all circles. At first, Rechnitz had formed the habit of taking Leah Luria for walks. She had intended to go to Berlin on a visit to her relatives, and was therefore learning German from Jacob. Since conversational practice was all that she needed, they would take their lessons as they strolled by the shore. When her visit to Berlin was canceled, however, they continued their walks; and now Rachel Heilperin began to join them, for Rachel was Leah’s friend, and her father was one of the trustees of Jacob’s school, who would bring Rechnitz over to his home for “an olive or two.” After that, Asnat Magargot attached herself, and then Raya Zablodovsky and her cousin from St. Petersburg. But when the cousin began writing verses to her, she broke with him and brought Mira Vorbzhitsky instead, and Mira brought along Tamara Levi, who was previously acquainted with Rechnitz because when he first came to the country, he had lived next door. Thus the “Seven Planets” were constituted; and as seven planets they admitted no others, lest they lose claim to the title.

VI

One day before Hanukah a letter from Africa came for Jacob Rechnitz. It was from Herr Gotthold Ehrlich. For a year now the Consul and his daughter had been on their travels, and since they were returning by way of Egypt, they wished to visit the Holy Land, and Jerusalem the Holy City.

Rechnitz was delighted at the news. First, because he would see the Consul again. Secondly, because this would give him a chance to make some small return for much kindness. He did not want a great deal for himself, but one thing he desired was to show gratitude to his benefactor. Now, with the Consul’s coming visit, Jacob could assume the role of a host and be of service to his guest.

He began to make all sorts of plans. First, he told himself, he would take a leave from school, so as to be free to show the Consul his country — Sharon, Galilee, the Jewish people tilling their soil. In his excitement, he forgot that the Consul had written expressly of his intention to spend only five or six days in Palestine; in five or six days one could scarcely take in more than the view a bird has of the sea.

In this time of waiting Rechnitz kept calling up memories of the Consul and his wife, their home and their hospitality. Again he saw himself walking with Shoshanah, picking flowers in the garden and plaiting them together, or sliding on the ice of the garden pond. In his thoughts all the seasons merged, and all the goodness and grace in them became one. How many summers and winters had passed since then? Now the villa was locked up, the table was deserted, and the fruit and flowers of the garden were for no one to see. Frau Ehrlich was dead, and Shoshanah was traveling about the world with her father, who since his bereavement had found no rest, but sought distraction in the very things that leave a man no peace, in constant journeys and wanderings from land to land. Rechnitz remembered the day of the funeral, the black hearse piled high with flowers, swaying slightly as it moved, and Shoshanah following with the black veil over her face. Now, however hard he tried, he could not picture her as a grown woman. But sometimes the veil would lift to reveal her again as a child, running on tiptoe, chasing butterflies in the garden, and threading them into a chain of flowers around her head. How many years had gone, how many years had come, but Jacob still recalled her unforgettable whimsy.

VII

The Consul did not disappoint Rechnitz. He came just when he was expected. One day as Jacob entered the school staff-room he saw awaiting him there a well-dressed, elderly man, accompanied by a tall and attractive girl. After Jacob had greeted his benefactor, or perhaps even before, Shoshanah offered him her warm, finely-shaped hand and spoke to him as an old friend, using the intimate du and looking at him as if she still saw before her the boy he had once been. And yet in her glance there was inquiry as well as remembrance, as of a person seeking to compare present and past. He found himself embarrassed. It had never occurred to him that Shoshanah might address him in terms of easy intimacy. With the beating of his heart and this sense of embarrassment he could not return her gaze. He too thought back to the past, yet without comparing the Shoshanah of those days to the Shoshanah who stood before him now.

Rechnitz had made so many plans for the day of the Consul’s arrival; he had seen himself planning everything for the Consul’s benefit and pleasure, informing the Consul of arrangements for this day and the next. But now, as he stood facing his benefactor, the plans were all gone from his head, and it was he who waited for directions. The Consul took his watch from his pocket, remarked that it was lunch time and asked Jacob if he were free to join them at their meal. So Jacob followed their lead, sometimes walking to the left of the Consul and sometimes behind Shoshanah, until they reached the hotel.

This was situated in the German Quarter, not far from Rechnitz’s school, where it stood in a wide, pleasant garden. There were shrubs and flowers and well grown trees as well as two large citrus groves that extended from the school to the edge of the quarter. Rechnitz had often walked in the garden, alone or with one of his female companions.

Once again, Jacob was a guest at the Consul’s table. And although this was not the old home, nor was Frau Gertrude Ehrlich there to preside, he behaved much as he had in the past. He took good care of his manners, and did not rush to speak until he was spoken to. When Herr Ehrlich asked how he was doing he raised his head, and, looking him in the eyes, replied, “I am an instructor in one of the Jewish schools, where I teach a little German and Latin. The salary isn’t high, but it’s as much as I need since rent is low, food is cheap, and there’s no need to spend much on dress: not even the rich do that. This country teaches people to be satisfied with very little and I am satisfied too. What is more, I have found a few intelligent people who, though not scientists themselves, have respect for a man of science.” At this point Rechnitz blushed, for he had included himself among “men of science.”

“And what of your research work?” asked Ehrlich. Rechnitz replied, “Here there is time for everything; even for useless things, such as my research.”

Herr Ehrlich seemed pleased with his answer, which showed at once some knowledge of the world’s attitude and a readiness to carry on with his work, and after all somebody ought to have a look into such matters, for Rechnitz’s work might have its uses. Shoshanah sat wrapped up in herself. She may or may not have been listening. At least her eyes did not question the value of Rechnitz’s work.

Ehrlich poured a glass of wine for Rechnitz and took one himself, saying, “We happened to meet an old scholar on our travels, a professor with a lot of abstruse knowledge. Once I picked up a strange-looking plant from the sea and showed it to him. He said, ‘This plant was unknown until a young Austrian research worker stationed in Jaffa discovered it. It’s called after him Caulerpa Rechnitzia.’ Now you are an Austrian, you live in Jaffa, and Rechnitz is your name. Could you be that very man? — Herr Doktor, I am very happy that your reputation leads you to be mentioned in out-of-the-way places. Take up your glass, let’s drink to your good health and the success of your research!”

Jacob lowered his head and fumbled for the glass, which Shoshanah took up and placed in his hand. Again she sat back in her place. Apart from passing him some dish from time to time, she paid no attention to him. Jacob thought to himself, Evidently she is sorry that she greeted me so warmly at first.

The waiter came up and set before each of them a small cup of black coffee. The aroma mounted. It reminded him of his room, where he would read alone over his drink with nobody’s eyes upon him. He looked down at the coffee. A pale, brownish foam bubbled up on its surface. The foam was full of little eyes that flickered like sparks.

“Don’t you take sugar?” asked the Consul.

“Oh yes,” Jacob answered, but still forgot to take any.

Shoshanah picked up the silver tongs, secured a lump and dropped it into his cup. “Another?” she asked, and caught a second lump.

“Thank you,” he said, and began to wonder whether the instinct to recoil from what harms us would not hold Shoshanah back; for if the sugar fell into the full cup, the coffee would spill over. Then again it seemed to him that this was the first lump after all, there was no need to fear, for when the coffee was poured allowance must surely have been made for the sugar.

The Consul took out his cigar case, offered a cigar to Jacob and chose one for himself. Taking Rechnitz’s arm he strolled up and down with him, while the smoke rose up until their cigars were half burnt out, though ash still stood on the tips. The Consul halted in the middle of the lounge, removed his ash, and said, “So here we are, seated together again.” Suiting action to word, he walked across to the sofa and sat down opposite Shoshanah, settling Jacob beside him on his right.

He looked across at his daughter, then turned to Jacob, saying, “I’m sure you are busy in the afternoon, so come around this evening and we’ll dine together. Wouldn’t that be nice, Shoshanah?”

Shoshanah inclined her head in agreement. Evidently her mind was not on what she was doing, but all the same the gesture, however unaware, was pleasant to see.

Actually Rechnitz was free that afternoon, but since the Consul had declared him to be busy he could hardly contradict him. He recalled something he had read in some book of philosophy: how those motions of the soul that urge us on cannot bring us to act without the help of other, external factors. And if these external factors do not collaborate, all the motions of our soul are vain, and lead only to inner confusion. Rechnitz could indeed have consoled himself in the knowledge that he would be returning for supper; but he found no comfort in this, for the barren hours seemed to stretch on endlessly till evening.

Stripped of all cheer, he walked away from the hotel. He said to himself: Since they are here, I will do everything I can. But if they go, let them go. I will have a clear mind again. Why give myself needless cares? What is needless is not needed. I shall try to do what is right, and that is enough. Don’t blame me, Shoshanah, if you were mistaken in me, if you thought I still deserved the love you had for me once. We aren’t children at play anymore, but grown persons who have known the years. What a pity we aren’t happy now!

VIII

A free afternoon. On free days, or at least on free afternoons, Rechnitz would stay in his room, make coffee for himself and read a book. When he had had enough of reading, he would get up to sort out his specimens, or take a walk by the shore in search of new ones. But today he felt no inclination to go home. He had already had coffee, and that deprived him of half his satisfaction, which lay in the pleasure of preparation. He would put the pot on to heat, watch the flames rise through the perforations in the burner and envelop the pot, while the water bubbled and boiled, rose and fell, and he would shake the coffee grounds down on the water and smell the aroma that filled his room. The only alternative was to walk by the sea. Yet a walk by the sea did not appeal to him much. He had overeaten at the hotel; perhaps, too, he felt weighted down by the wine he had drunk. Some of the things he had said in the Consul’s presence came back to his mind, and although he didn’t exactly find fault with them, an unaccountable sadness took hold of him. His fancy wandered and returned, but he lacked the power to center his thoughts on one subject.

Leah Luria came by and saw Rechnitz alone. “Sir, you stand in the markets of Jaffa as if the world were yours,” she said.

Rechnitz buttoned up his coat and replied, “I feel more as if there were no place for me in the world.”

Leah stared at him with her two fine eyes. “I hope to God that nothing has gone wrong, Doctor.” Her voice was full of distress and concern, and a will to hit upon some good advice or suggestion. Her face, too, spoke of a longing to advise him, to save him from trouble.

Rechnitz shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong at all, but when a man finds himself idle in the middle of the day, then he surely doesn’t know what to do.”

Leah said, “If a walk is something to do, we can walk for a while; only I promised to call on Rachel Heilperin. Let’s go over to her place, perhaps she will come too.” She looked at the watch on her wrist. “She must be waiting for me now. Would you come with me?”

Rechnitz answered with a little singsong, “And why not?”

She laughed. “Let’s go, then.”

“Come on.” It hardly mattered whether he walked with one or with both of them, so long as it made his heart a little lighter.

Even though Leah Luria had given up studying German conversation when she gave up her trip to Berlin the year before, she and Jacob still kept to their walks. Anyone who saw them together would say that there went a perfect couple. And perhaps Jacob and Leah thought the same, each in his own way; except that Jacob thought similarly, or not very differently, about himself and Rachel Heilperin, and perhaps about himself and another, as we shall soon see. And perhaps these others, too, were of the same opinion, each in her own fashion.

Leah was not very young; she was already twenty-three or four. Her features were full, her face was neither too long nor too round, her forehead was smooth. She had ash-blonde hair and a full body, which she carried with such dignity as to impress everyone she met. She herself could never understand the attentions she received, and her manner suggested surprise; while, out of fear that she might bore her companions, she spoke little. Yet this very reticence added to her charm; for she gave the impression that if only she were to speak, one would hear words of wisdom. Her complexion was on the dark side; she wore a bright turquoise dress with a light chain round her neck, and thick-soled country shoes which added to her height and loosened her stride. Her arms were round and warm, her eyes seemed pleased at all you did. And even though these eyes might at first appear to be astonished, it was clear in the end that they approved of whatever you did. Why, you may ask, had Leah not found her partner in life? Because Rachel was the more beautiful girl. Tall and slender as a palm tree, to use the biblical image, without an ounce of fat on her flesh. Her eyes would light up occasionally, though for the most part they expressed chill indifference, and her lips would smile in such a way that you would gladly give her your heart, even before she took it for herself. Why then had Rachel not found her partner? Perhaps because of Leah, who demanded nothing of you, and in demanding nothing, led you to want to give her all. The reason for this is not as clear as it might be, but despite the confusion, it works strangely on the soul.

IX

Rachel and Leah were girls of good family, whose fathers had their place in the history of the Zionist Return. One of them was a correspondent of the great Ahad Ha’Am, who addressed him as “My esteemed friend.” The other’s opinions carried weight with the Odessa Council, and even with Lilienblum and Ussishkin.

Much had happened in the lives of both men. Yehiel Luria, the father of Leah, had begun as a yeshiva student, devoting himself to the Torah in the traditional fashion; at times for its own sake, at times for the security afforded by a rabbi’s life, at times for the prestige it carried, and at times because he could imagine no possible way of life without the Torah. But winds of change began to blow through the yeshiva walls; among them, a purifying wind that brought new promise of national revival. The students of the yeshiva began to speak of God’s prophecies, of the return to Zion and the sprouting of the horn of salvation for the house of Israel in the Holy Land. Some of them were later to betray their own words; others had the privilege of fulfilling in their lives what they sought after in their hearts. And when Yehiel heard that in the Land of Israel there were Jews who lived upon the soil, he resolved to go there and fulfill the Torah through working the land. He saw himself joining a settlement and becoming a farmer, sowing seed with one hand and holding his Talmud in the other; or following the plough with his copy of the Jerusalem Talmud resting upon it, thus at once fulfilling the Torah of the Land of Israel and the working of its soil. When his time came to be drafted into the Tsar’s army, he fled for the Land of Israel and entered one of the yeshivas in Jerusalem. He had thus achieved the merit of following the Torah; but not of fulfilling it through toil, for the yeshivas were remote from the pioneer community in spirit, and work on the land was considered profane by the people of Jerusalem. He went on with his studies, much as he had done outside the country, except that there he had had great hopes for his life in the Land of Israel, whereas in the Holy Land itself half his hopes were gone. And now he was a married man and father of a daughter; he began to think hard of the practical future. He took what remained of his wife’s dowry and went into business. The result was that he lost her money and was left with nothing but the Torah he had learned, and even that was not all it should have been. Once, however, he happened to accompany a collector of donations and tithes who was making his rounds of the settlements. He saw the Jewish people at work in the fields and vineyards, and although in those days the settlers were held in ill repute among the people of Jerusalem, Yehiel ignored all this and hired himself out to one of the farmers. He turned himself into a working man, and suffered what had to be suffered, and rejoiced that at last he had been privileged to till the holy soil. But not long afterwards, the farmers of the settlements assigned their land to Baron Rothschild’s officials, and all the joy was gone from their work. Yehiel went away to another place, and then to yet another, until his wanderings brought him to upper Galilee, where he became a teacher. He spent himself in that effort, but received no satisfaction from it, for his pupils did not respond to what he tried to teach. So he left his school and went down to Jaffa, and with the help of his wife’s relatives in Berlin started a shop for spades, pruning hooks and other tools needed on the land. Anyone coming from the villages found in him a friend and comrade and a good counselor.

Very different was the story of Boris Heilperin, Rachel’s father. From early childhood he had received a modern education, and when he finished his studies, he became manager of a brickyard. His home was a meeting place for the Lovers of Zion, and later, for the “Political Zionists.”

In the great Uganda schism, Heilperin suddenly resigned from his post in the brick works and left behind him both groups, the “Zionists” and the “Zionists of Zion.” With his family he emigrated to the Land of Israel and joined a pioneer settlement that had a number of members of the Bilu group, with whom he had exchanged cordial letters. But not long passed before a dispute flared up among them. Heilperin said to himself, If I cannot live in harmony among these comrades, to whom I am bound in heart and soul, how much less so will I be able to live with the rest of my countrymen? So he went and rented fields from an Arab, and he and his household worked the land as ordinary farmers, until his children were grown to school age. Now there was no school within the village or anywhere near it; so he left his farm land and came to Jaffa, and opened a shop there for lime, cement and construction materials. There was no blessing on his business for the same reason that Luria had none: neither was accustomed to commerce, and it was a time of recession. Also, they gave their attention to the affairs of the Jewish Settlement rather than to their own. All the same they were content with their lot, and offered thanks, one to God, the other to Fate, that they were privileged to live in the Land of Israel. Though their views differed, they respected one another. Luria held Heilperin in esteem for his determination, and Heilperin esteemed Luria for his integrity, while the newer generation respected them both, not only for these virtues but just because they were “respected.” Their homes were open to all, teachers and writers were warmly welcomed. From four o’clock until ten at night the samovar was lit and tea awaited you. Both men had a liking for Dr. Rechnitz. Rachel’s father forgave him for coming from the Austro-Hungarian Empire and for not speaking Russian. Leah’s father was even glad of this; he would not have minded, in fact, had Rechnitz come from Galicia, since he had married a Galician woman himself. Like the enlightened people they were, they did not try to rush Rechnitz into declaring his intentions, but waited patiently for that moment on which the fathers of daughters set all their hopes.

X

Rachel had already heard from her brother, who was a pupil at the school where Rechnitz taught, that important visitors had called on his teacher. An old gentleman and a grown girl. The old gentleman stooped, like all men of his age from abroad. But the girl was tall and lovely. The clothes she wore were not to be seen anywhere in the Land of Israel.

Rachel said to Rechnitz, “I hear you have guests.” He nodded.

“Who are they?” she asked.

“People from my city.”

“And who is the girl?”

“She’s the daughter of the old gentleman.”

“Is she beautiful?”

“That depends on one’s taste.”

“My brother has told me about her.”

Rechnitz looked up. “What did he say?”

“Why don’t you tell us a little yourself? You’re very silent.”

“There’s not much to tell. When I was a boy, our house was next to that of Herr Ehrlich, and I used to be in and out of his home, as happens with neighbors. When Frau Ehrlich died, and even before then, when my parents moved elsewhere, I gave up visiting, because of the distance and because we weren’t on the same neighborly terms. Now it happens that the Consul and his daughter are traveling around the world, and on their way back from Africa they are spending four or five days in the Land of Israel.”

“And what about her?” asked Rachel. “I mean, the Consul’s daughter?”

“She’s with her father; and on their way home they have come to see the Holy Land.”

Rachel smiled rather mysteriously; her eyes resumed their usual look of indifference. Rechnitz blushed. He thought of the many favors the Consul had done him; yet he had shown little gratitude by this offhand way of referring to him. He looked across at Leah.

“Leave him alone, Rachel,” said Leah. “Can’t you see that Dr. Rechnitz has nothing to say?”

“He may have nothing on his tongue,” said Rachel, “but I think he has something on his mind. Tell us about it, Doctor.”

“She is the daughter of my benefactor.”

His tone of voice startled Rachel. She began to make some remark, reconsidered, and said instead, “If I may ask, how long have you been acquainted with her? You were neighbors, weren’t you?”

Rechnitz answered, “We were neighbors when we were children, but I haven’t seen her since I started high school.”

“Interesting, most interesting,” said Rachel.

“What’s so interesting?” asked Leah.

“It is, don’t you agree, Doctor?”

Leah said, “We’d do better to go for our walk. It’s a shame to waste time indoors. Are you ready, Rachel?”

“Yes, ready.”—”And so?”—”So, let’s go.”— “Where to?”—”Oh, wherever our feet take us. Doctor, what do you say? Shall we go to Mikveh? Or to Sarona?”

Rechnitz said, “I’m invited to dinner, so I can’t go very far.”

Rachel laughed. “It’s not an hour since he left her, and he already wants to be back.”

Rechnitz looked at the clock. “Anyway,” he said, “I have time for a short walk.”

“I’ll take it upon myself,” said Leah, “to bring you back to the place you have to be at the time you have to be there.”

They turned and took their way along the sea, as people in Jaffa do when they have no special destination.

XI

The sand, neither too loose nor too hard-packed, gave off a good smell. And above the sand, though not too far from earth, the sky was full of fresh clouds, half of them lead tinged with silver, and half, red gold. Over these were smaller clouds; some the shape of beasts or birds, and some rising like the rays of sunrise. Mists of sulphur veiled them, mists that were torn, then opened, that wheeled and then moved on. The noise of the waves mounted, the sea was full, casting up numberless new conches and shells on the margin of the beach, like some being that lacked peace in its depths.

Rachel picked up a hollow shell and held it to her ear. Leah was about to make some remark but thought better of it and said nothing. She stooped to lift up a shell, whispered into it and threw it into the sea. Rechnitz picked up a plant that the waves had left, inspected it, and remarked, “I forgot to ask what time dinner is served.”

Rachel looked at him as if she didn’t know where things were heading. “Are you so hungry?”

“No, but…”

She laughed. “Well, let’s ask.”

He nodded. “Yes, of course; we had better go.”

Leah gazed at the sea. “How lovely it is. It’s a pity we have to leave.”

“I can promise you,” smiled Rachel, “that the sea won’t run away between now and tomorrow.”

“I suppose so,” Leah answered, still looking out to sea.

“Don’t you believe me?”

Leah laughed. “All right, let’s go.”

They walked back and reached the hotel. Shoshanah was taking a walk on the grounds. Rachel halted suddenly and stared straight in front of her. Finally she pressed a hand to her brow and exclaimed, “How lovely that girl is! Who is she?”

Rechnitz silenced her and whispered, “That’s she; that’s the Consul’s daughter.”

“Oh indeed,” answered Rachel in a different tone. “It’s clear that she’s haughty!”

“How do you know that?” said Leah.

“How do I know that she’s haughty? Didn’t you see that motion of her head when she returned Dr. Rechnitz’s greeting?”

Jacob, however, recognized the gesture; she had inclined her head similarly when the Consul invited him to dinner. Such movements are unwilled: they do not come from our awareness, nor from the soul, which normally govern our gestures.

Leah glanced down at Jacob’s hands. “You are going to your meeting empty-handed. Where can we get you some flowers to bring to your guests?”

Jacob was dismayed. He should indeed have thought of this, but he had made no preparations for his visitors. He looked hopefully at Leah, who gazed at the flower beds in front of the hotel entrance and commiserated with him.

Rachel suggested, “Mira lives only a few steps away; and if she’s not at home, we can try Raya. Her Petersburg cousin just smothers her in flowers. Don’t worry, Dr. Rechnitz; we shan’t send you along empty-handed.”

Rechnitz glanced at her imploringly, took off his hat in gratitude, and cried, “Thank you!”

Rachel continued, “If it weren’t for that fine lady in the garden, I might have fetched some flowers from the porter. There’s nothing lovelier than white narcissus in the hands of a black African. Why are you silent, Dr. Rechnitz? Tell us a story, like that one about the African queen who used to come to her council of state riding on the back of one of her ministers.”

Leah hugged her, exclaiming, “You are a good little girl, Rachel!”

“Aren’t I? Taking the flowers that Raya’s cousin brings her and sending them to that fine lady by means of Dr. Rechnitz! It would be still better if they were Mira’s flowers originally, which she had given first to the cousin! Forgive me, Dr. Rechnitz, I really don’t mean any harm. Shake hands and let’s make up. Aren’t you feeling cold, Leah?” Rachel slipped an arm around her friend’s shoulder and kissed her on the neck. “Your neck tastes salty, Leah.”

In return Leah embraced Rachel, kissed her warmly and said, “I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I can’t say that I am happy, but I can say that things seem good.”

“If they seem good they are good,” said Rachel. “For my part, I really don’t know what’s good and what isn’t.”

With her eyes on the ground, Leah pondered what her friend had said.

XII

Rechnitz arrived about half an hour before the meal. Shoshanah was standing near the entrance, examining the picture postcards which the hotel clerk had set out before her. Seeing Jacob, she greeted him with a nod and returned to her postcards, laying some down for a second inspection. The Consul was below in the reading room, looking over a newspaper. He caught sight of Rechnitz, removed the cigar from his lips, put his paper down on the table, and extended his hand.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your reading,” Rechnitz remarked.

The Consul took off his spectacles. “There’s no news. The world carries on as usual, the newspapers likewise. They make us participate in the world’s affairs according to their own notions. These newspapers unite mankind; they make opinions uniform. True, they may disagree among themselves, but their very disagreements prove that their outlook is basically the same and that they only differ on details. In the future, all human beings will be alike, except perhaps the savages in Africa — they may keep some of the individuality that God planted in the hearts of His creatures. Well, well! I’m philosophizing. All the same, there’s a grain of truth in what I say, even if it sounds like armchair philosophy. But you, I am sure, have found interesting people here!”

At this point the Consul called over a waiter and told him to reserve a special table for them at dinner, adding that if this were not feasible, they would wait until all the guests had finished their meal. Turning back to Rechnitz, he said, “That is to say, if you are not hungry. What were we talking about before? The press, was it? No, it was about people. Have you found interesting people here?”

“Where are people not interesting? It seems to me that every man has his appeal. Perhaps this is because I am not well acquainted with human nature and don’t know many people. And perhaps it is because most of the people in Jaffa are Russian Jews. And most of the Russians are lively — in mind and in body: they never get involved in one all-absorbing interest, with the exception of arguments; in that respect, of course, they are all alike.”

The Consul flicked his cigar ash into the tray before him. “If you live another year among these Russians, you’ll see that they, too, are like everyone else. What do they argue about? What is there that’s worth arguing about?”

“It’s enough for one of them to make a remark, and the other starts an argument at once. And even if they’re both on the same side, there won’t be a thing said without a grand debate.”

“Most interesting,” said the Consul.

Rechnitz watched him concentrate on trying to drop the unconsumed ash, and went on, “The facts in themselves may not be of special interest, but the process is interesting, since it repeats itself no matter what the circumstances may be, and one knows from the start that whatever Mr. Greenberg says will be contradicted by Mr. Berggreen.”

Ehrlich smiled. “You made up those names, my dear fellow.”

“Well,” said Rechnitz, “it’s true that nobody here is called Greenberg or Berggreen, but a number of people have names that are the reverse of one another.”

“And what about the Sefardim?” the Consul asked.

“I’m not acquainted with them. They stay in their own homes and don’t mix with the Ashkenazim. Perhaps they lack a social sense. Besides, they regard themselves as kings who have been deposed and are angry at us Ashkenazim for presuming to reign in their place. But I know the Yemenite Jews a little. They’re a nimble, quick-witted tribe, who love work and are very studious and pious too. We have a Yemenite caretaker at our school. He has the face of a prince, and everything he sees sets his mind working. Once he asked me, ‘Why is it that King David says: Thou hast set a boundary, they shall not cross it, they shall not return to cover the earth? God has set a boundary to the waters of the sea, that they shall not go up on the dry land. And yet we see that the waters of the sea do go up on the dry land.’”

“And how did you answer the Yemenite?”

“What could I reply?” said Rechnitz. “I didn’t give him any answer, but I sighed deeply, as one does when regretting that things are not as they should be.”

“That’s the best answer of all,” the Consul said. “But here I’m smoking, and I haven’t offered you a cigar. Actually it’s a sin to smoke tobacco in this wonderful fragrant air. But what can I do? It’s my addiction. If I’m reading a newspaper or talking to someone, of course I smoke. And if I’m neither reading nor talking, I smoke out of sheer boredom.” He laughed in the way people do who make fun of their own weaknesses and yet are quite contented with them. “Well, if you don’t want a cigar, let’s have a sip of brandy.”

The Consul tasted some brandy. “Not bad, really,” he commented. After a second glass he gave it fuller praise.

“This brandy,” said Rechnitz, “comes from Rishon LeZion. How about our going there, sir? You will see a great wine press that has no equal in Europe.”

The Consul smiled a little patronizingly. “I doubt if I shall have time. After all, one can’t visit the Holy Land and not go to Jerusalem, and we’ve only another four days. You must have been there already. Some tourists I met on the way were not impressed with Jerusalem, you know. Dirt and beggars, they said; nothing but beggars and dirt.”

“Were they Christian or Jewish tourists?”

“What does that matter? It’s a holy land for Christians, too.”

The conversation then took a strange turn. Rechnitz blushed and said nothing.

“If the air of Jerusalem is as fine as that of Jaffa,” said the Consul, “that will be good enough. I’ve not found the like of it anywhere. And the old Baron says so too. Do you know him? He was a general in Africa, or a governor for his king, or some such dignitary. What do you think, Jacob? Shall I settle down here? My late father’s grandfather came to Jerusalem an old man, and passed away there at the end of a ripe old age. I remember when I was a child, a charity collector from Jerusalem came to the house and my father gave him money. And every year printed matter used to come from there, and every Rosh Hashanah eve my father would send a contribution. I was approached, too, on behalf of the Land of Israel; they tried to get me to buy shares in the Settlement Bank. I said to them, ‘If it’s charity you want, I’m ready to give you something; but what have “settlement shares” to do with the Holy Land? Old men go there to die, but what have young men to go for?’ — I’m not referring to you, my friend; you came for the sake of your research, and science has its place everywhere!”

As Rechnitz was about to reply, the waiter came up to announce that their table was ready. The Consul nodded, and said, “We have been talking for a good while now, and all the guests should have had time to finish their meal. Waiter, see if my daughter is ready for dinner.”

XIII

When the three of them were seated at dinner, the Consul turned to Shoshanah and asked, “Well daughter, how did you spend your day? I don’t think I’ve seen you since we finished lunch.”

Shoshanah replied, “Ask our guest that question: he will tell you.”

“How should Dr. Rechnitz know?”

Jacob lowered his head as his host asked, “Well Doctor, how did our friend Fräulein Shoshanah Ehrlich spend her day?”

What did Rechnitz know about Shoshanah’s doings? For a brief moment he had caught a glimpse of her in the garden while he was walking with Rachel and Leah, before she disappeared, leaving him nothing to remember but her nod. He looked at her in perplexity.

The Consul smiled. “Evidently you have a secret between you. Well now, let’s ask Dr. Rechnitz how his day was spent.”

Now, thought Rechnitz to himself, I suppose Shoshanah will say, “Ask me.” But Shoshanah said nothing.

The Consul filled their glasses and drank to their health. As Rechnitz drank, he reflected on how tomorrow they would be traveling on to Jerusalem and he would return to his own affairs. And how they would come back to Jaffa, and leave again.

Shoshanah was seated on the Consul’s left, facing Jacob. Her spirit seemed to have sunk deep down into her being, or to have fled her body entirely. A light breeze was blowing in; the scent of lemon and orange trees filled the dining room. The lamp on the table shone with double brightness, and the sides of its white base grew red. From the gardens and the citrus groves came the cry of jackals, and the parrot in its cage stirred itself to echo their high-pitched screams. Suddenly the sea awoke; its waves pounded and a pleasant sea smell mingled with the fragrance from the gardens and groves that girdle Jaffa.

The Consul raised his glass: “Go tell my countrymen that while they’re sitting over their cabbage with their blood congealing from the cold, we here take dinner by the open window! Are you cold, Shoshanah? What are you bringing us now, waiter — black coffee? If I drink coffee at night, I can’t sleep. Every age has its own customs: our forefathers used to take drinks that put them to sleep, but now we try to keep ourselves awake. After all, is there anything in the world worth staying awake for? Those scents from the garden are most exhilarating: a mixture of jasmine and orange blossom, isn’t it?”

Shoshanah sat in silence. Those exhilarating scents were putting her to sleep. Without a word, she stood up from the table and kissed her father’s brow.

“Are you going up to your room, my daughter?” he asked.

“Yes, Papa.”

Herr Ehrlich kissed her on the cheek and said good night. Shoshanah gave her hand to Jacob, then left.

The Consul watched her leave and said, “Shoshanah is rather tired; I don’t think we shall go to Jerusalem tomorrow. What will you be doing?”

Rechnitz consulted his diary. “I am free tomorrow after midday.”

“Then come and take lunch with us,” said the Consul. “Shoshanah and I are always glad of your company.”

“How about our going to Mikveh Israel tomorrow?”

“Where is that?”

“About an hour’s walk from here.”

“Walk?” echoed the Consul in dismay.

“It’s possible to go by carriage. And from there it’s an hour’s journey to Rishon LeZion.”

“And what is Sarona?” asked the Consul.

“Sarona is a small village of Christian Germans.”

“Where is it?”

“Very near here.”

“I’ve heard,” said the Consul, “that they are very good farmers and God-fearing people. Let’s decide tomorrow where we shall go. We’ll lunch at half-past twelve. Bring a good appetite with you, it will encourage us to eat, too!”

XIV

When Rechnitz came at noon, Shoshanah was not there. She had spent most of the night looking over the pictures she had bought and had not gone to bed; in the morning she had been seen dozing at her window. Reluctantly she had let her father persuade her to lie down and take a short rest. “Shoshanah won’t join us for lunch today,” the Consul said.

The meal passed in silence, the Consul eating little and showing no appetite. Evidently, thought Rechnitz, he is feeling out of sorts. All the plans to show his visitors around Mikveh Israel and Rishon LeZion came to nothing because of Shoshanah’s fatigue.

Over coffee the Consul looked up and said, “Were you about to say something?”

Rechnitz had had no such intention, but since he was called on to speak, he considered for a moment and then said, “Would you like to go, sir, to Mikveh Israel, or to Rishon LeZion?”

“To Mikveh Israel or Rishon LeZion?” the Consul repeated. “After all the places we have been to, a little village like Rishon LeZion, or an agricultural school like Mikveh Israel, doesn’t amount to much. Tell me, incidentally, why on earth do you give your settlements such long, double-barreled names? Our forefathers, who lived to a good old age, chose short, agreeable place-names, like Jaffa, Haifa, Acre, Gaza; and you people, who know that your time is brief, do just the opposite.”

When Jacob was about to go, Shoshanah appeared. Her face was flushed, her movements sluggish. For seven whole hours, from eight in the morning until now, she had slept without a break, until the maid had brought lunch to her in bed.

“Are you leaving?” she said to Jacob.

“Yes,” he replied in a whisper, as if afraid he would wake her.

Shoshanah said, “Come back in an hour, perhaps we’ll take a walk.”

Jacob looked at the clock, took note of the time, and promised to come.

Within an hour he was back. Shoshanah was seated downstairs in the hotel, dressed in warm clothes, gazing at a lithograph on the wall. When Jacob arrived she looked at him with the same gaze, as if he were part of the picture, or the wall itself on which the picture hung.

He bowed to her. “You wished to go for a walk, did you not?”

“For a walk?” she repeated, as if surprised.

“But surely you said you would like to take a walk?”

Shoshanah stared at him as if he were trying to trick her, then stood up and said, “Very well, let’s go.”

XV

Shoshanah walked in silence, and Jacob at her side was silent too. Words would not come for all the things he wanted to tell her. It seemed impossible, though, to go on walking in this fashion, and he searched for a subject to draw her attention. At that moment an Arab crossed their path. A member of some ascetic sect, he was barefooted and naked from the waist up. Two lances were embedded in his loins; his hair was long and unkempt; his eyes blazed with zeal. As he walked, he twisted the lances in his flesh, crying out Allah kareem; while a great company followed him, repeating, Allah kareem! Rechnitz halted and translated the words for Shoshanah. She did not look at the ascetic and paid no attention to his cry. Soon they came to the “Nine Palm Trees,” planted by Japheth, the son of Noah, when he founded Jaffa: one for himself, one for his wife, and seven for his seven sons. When Nebuchadnezzar laid the country waste he uprooted these trees and planted them in his own garden; but when the Jews returned from their Babylonian exile they brought them back and replanted them on the original site. This grove of nine palms, whose fresh green arch seemed to support the silvery clouds, made a crown of green and silver fronds that rustled and glistened, their colors alternating as the light breeze stirred them in their airy cavern, while the fibers of the fronds quivered like raindrops in a sunshower. The sight never failed to move Rechnitz, and especially now when he had the opportunity of pointing it out to Shoshanah. He stretched out his arm, crying, “Look, Shoshanah!” Shoshanah nodded, without a glance either at him or at the palms.

Why am I showing her all this? he asked himself, distressed that he had taken her walking when she was so tired. Aloud he said, “Perhaps you would like to go back to the hotel?”

She nodded her head in agreement. “Yes. But first let’s walk by the sea. It’s quite near, isn’t it?”

She raised her long skirt a little as they made their way.

The sea was still and very blue; the waves broke over one another, raising their crests as if held back from mingling with the waters beneath. Yesterday, the tide was full; now the sea withdrew from the shore, leaving a wide beach. No one was there, except for a single fisherman. Jacob would have given the world in return for something that might draw Shoshanah’s attention. But nothing in the world could awaken this sleeping princess who walked by his side, insensible to his presence. Jacob called to mind the times when he had played with Shoshanah in her father’s garden, and they had fed the goldfish in the pool. But as he watched the sea and the lonely fisherman standing up to his waist in water, he could not bring himself to speak of things past.

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?

XIX

After his meal Rechnitz didn’t linger in the little restaurant and didn’t go back to his room. His habits had changed since the day of the Consul’s arrival in Jaffa; the times when he used to relax over lunch, make his own coffee and read a book, seemed part of prehistory. He said to himself: The Consul will be taking his afternoon nap now. Shoshanah will be sitting in her room arranging her photographs. If that’s where she is, I can take a walk in front of the hotel; and if she is out in the garden, I can walk there, as I did the day before yesterday. But the day before yesterday I was with others, and today I shall be walking alone. That stroll with Rachel and Leah on the day of Shoshanah’s arrival had given him a certain self-confidence in her presence, not because the stroll had made her jealous but for another reason, which was actually the same reason; it showed that Jacob Rechnitz was not isolated from the world and also that she, Shoshanah Ehrlich, was by no means the only woman in that world. In fact he had not intended to take a walk that day, either with Rachel or with Leah, still less with both of them at once; it just happened that Leah had come across him. And so on, and so on. Yet if one looked more deeply into the matter, it seemed that there was another truth here; namely, that Rechnitz was quite in the habit of taking some girl out for a walk, whether her name were Rachel or Leah, or indeed Asnat or Raya or Mira or Tamara.

It is the way of people who have grown up in a beautiful place to take its charms for granted. But when they visit another lovely town, they not only note the new charms, but first become aware of the beauty they have always lived with. So for Rechnitz, the arrival of Shoshanah in Jaffa served also to reveal the beauty of the girls with whom he was already familiar.

We have spoken of Leah Luria and Rachel Heil-perin. Friends as they were, Rachel was the more sharp-witted and Leah the more sympathetic. Leah was older than any of her friends and yet her eyes shone with youth and good nature, as if they were the dwelling place of angels. If her talk was not too solid, still it gladdened the heart. When they were out on an excursion and sat down to rest, it was Leah who would arrange a meal for the whole group, seeing that everyone got his share and forgetting to look after her own needs in her concern for the welfare of others. As for Rachel, she was not to be measured by any standards of good or evil. If she did something wrong, you could not be angry with her; if she did a good deed, she did not think well of herself for it. She was also the kind of person you could speak to without any pretense. Yet this merit was also a defect, for nothing you did could help you, since all depended on her and nothing on you yourself.

And now let us consider Asnat Magargot. She came from Kirov, and it was said that her father had gone bankrupt and absconded to the Land of Israel, much as most persons in that condition abscond to America. Bankruptcy and embezzlement are great transgressions, which cannot be atoned for until the ill-gotten gains are restored to their rightful owners, and even then it is doubtful if one is completely absolved. Magargot, however, was not very guilt-stricken; rather, he behaved as if he had done a great favor to the Land of Israel, proving by his action that the Settlement was a practical proposition, and that sudden departures from Europe need not have America for their destination.

Asnat, like Leah Luria and Rachel Heilperin, was a tall girl. She wore a greenish brown dress of fine smooth weave, with a silver belt whose roped ends fell below her knees. Though her dress was like the habit of a monk, Asnat’s lips were eager — but not for kisses. You might be sitting beside her for two or three hours, my dear friend, almost crazy with the desire to take her in your arms; and she too might share something of the same idea. But that was all. You would merely pick up the two tassels that fell from her belt and go on talking about Ibsen’s plays or something of the sort. The world has its set ways, and if it occurred to you to deviate from them, you would find this impossible with Asnat. Her steel-blue eyes cut your soul into little pieces. This was the more surprising because the kind of topics Asnat discussed — all those “problems of modern life” — were just the kind that create the greatest intimacy; and yet you could not so much as touch her with your little finger. What then did Asnat really want? She wanted much, and she wanted nothing; she wanted nothing, and she wanted much. On a summer night she would take a fancy to walking as far as Rishon LeZion and ask you to escort her. And you would walk along with her by the sand dunes for three hours in the darkness, going by night and coming back by night, without her letting you touch even the tassels of her belt, either on the way out or on the way back.

Raya Zablodovsky was a relative of Asnat, though you could hardly find two girls so unlike, either in stature or feature. Asnat was tall and her face bore witness to a quick wit; Raya was no taller than a child and her face testified neither to a quick wit, nor even to a slow-paced one. She had sandy hair and her lips pouted as if she had just tasted an unripe fruit. In disposition she was withdrawn, like a bird that covers its head with its wings. Some of her friends declared her too egotistical, others even thought her malicious. Yet they could not help being drawn to her, since both qualities, that is to say both the self-love and the malice, were cloaked in a humor that never failed to surprise. Thus, she might decide to seat herself on a boulder after spreading some fine silk scarf over it; if you remarked that this was strange behavior, she would say, “Not at all. It isn’t my scarf, you see.” Never in her life had Raya read a book cover to cover, neither in Russian nor in Hebrew, not even the books that everyone was talking about. She failed her examinations twice and left school before finishing, without any regrets. “In the end,” she would say, “you forget everything you have learned. As for me, I forget without bothering to learn it first.” How, then, did she come to be one of the girls in Rechnitz’s group? Simply because this is life’s way: once you belong to a certain group, you belong, however different you are.

Raya’s neighbor was Mira Vorbzhitsky, the daughter of Niuma Vorbzhitsky, who had been a guard of the Sharon settlements. He was the terror of bandits, and if he found any within his beat he was capable of picking a man up and using him as a flail against his companions like someone beating a garment with a stick. Mira had more agility than any girl in Jaffa, not excepting even Rachel Heilperin, for when she was little her father used to make her ride an unsaddled horse which he would set galloping over the hills, paying no heed to her frightened cries. She was still accustomed to riding bareback, and on occasion she would take a horse from between the shafts of a carriage and mount it and ride as far as Sarona. Although she had the graceful figure of a girl, she resembled a handsome youth. When she was a child and her father was still a guard, they had lived on the outskirts of the village away from other settlers, where her mother used to dress her in boys’ clothes as a precaution against the Arabs. Her bearing still had something boyish about it, though her manners were those of a girl, and she was dear to her companions of both sexes.

Something has yet to be said about Tamara Levi. Her father had been a doctor. Once in the rainy season, on a dark overcast night, he was out riding on his donkey to visit a patient in the settlements. The donkey stumbled into a flooded wadi, and the doctor drowned. Tamara lived with her mother in a single room in a large courtyard of many apartments. The mother was a rabbi’s daughter and well aware of her standing, but she found it difficult to earn a livelihood. She would care for the sick, sometimes sitting with them all night. Her husband had left her nothing when he died; and now she had to make a living for herself and Tamara and to see that her daughter had the same education as other girls of good family. Mother and daughter loved each other much, but this involved them in serious conflict. For it happened that a certain school Secretary, with quite a good income, was courting Tamara and her mother approved of the match. As for Tamara herself, she said that she had no objection to marriage but that she did not see why it should be with this man in particular, even though he did have a good position at the school where Rechnitz taught.

Tamara’s hair, one supposes, was ash-grey; her eyes, it may be assumed, were blue; but the blue-tinted radiance that lit up her features and dazzled the eyes made these two colors seem interchangeable. At first sight she might have escaped your notice. Later, if not for the narcissus or carnation pinned on her breast, you might miss the presence of a heart underneath. Her real name was Tamar but she liked to be called Tamara, and since she was such a dear child, let us call her by the name she preferred. Her conversation was not notably wise; if one cared to say so, it even tended to silliness; but her lips caressed your heart much as the red flower on her own heart was caressed by the tip of her nose. One time Rechnitz had set his lips to hers; they had quivered slightly and just touched his in return. A touch that was hardly a touch at all. Heavens above, if that was the shadow of a kiss, what would a true kiss be like? No girl in the world had such lips as hers, and, besides this, every touch of her hand was like a kiss. But was there any man in Jaffa who knew it?

Tamara had this virtue too: she never used to complain or seem angry. She would look up at you admiringly and accept whatever you said as a gift of grace. So you would sit contentedly surveying the tip of her nose and letting the radiance of her face wrap you in a sweet blue mist. Only once had Rechnitz kissed Tamara and he did not repeat the performance; he was, after all, her teacher, and it was not proper for teachers to kiss their pupils. This applied even though there were teachers who permitted themselves such conduct and even though Tamara had now left school and belonged to his group of friends. At times Rechnitz regretted the kiss; at other times he regretted not having made a second attempt. However that may be, it was a good thing that he had no occasion to be alone with her, for more reasons than one. Since the school Secretary had his eye on her with a view to marriage, it would not have been decent to spoil someone’s life for the sake of a fleeting pleasure. That was a sufficient reason, but there was still another one which Jacob buried in his heart.

XX

A strange shriek interrupted the train of Rechnitz’s thoughts. The parrot, which on the evening before last had perched in his cage at the hotel imitating the jackals’ screams, was now in the garden answering the sound of the striking clock. Before him stood the old Baron, dressed in white, with a tropical sun-helmet on his head. The Baron was holding out an apple and the parrot, standing on one leg, extended the other, snatched the apple and pecked at it. “Schmeckt’s, Herrchen? — Tasty for you sir?” the Baron asked. The parrot shook his hooked beak and cried, “Schmeckt, Herrchen!”

“A fine bird,” said the Baron to Rechnitz. “I bought it from a hunter who had caught it to eat. There are places, you know, where they eat parrot meat. “Verflucht! Dammit!” he called to the parrot.

“Verflucht!” it answered back.

The Baron laughed and wagged his finger at the bird.

“Verflucht,” he said to it, “Dammit, bird, you mustn’t curse!”

The parrot replied with a shriek, “Verflucht! Verflucht! Dammit! Dammit!”

When Rechnitz had disengaged himself from the Baron, he went on to the hotel. By now, he reflected, the Consul will have awakened from his nap and lit the cigar he smokes out of boredom. I shall go across to him, perhaps he will be grateful to me for rescuing him from his boredom. And what will Shoshanah have to say? She will say nothing be-cause that is her way. There are some people whose silences are awesome; we imagine their minds to be full of great thoughts beyond our ken, thoughts which keep them from communicating, and this makes us shrink in their presence, believing that they hold in their hands the keys of all wisdom. Yet if we consider the matter well, we shall find that their silence grows out of overweening pride and that they don’t surpass us by so much as the breadth of a parrot’s claw. It is only because we shrink that they tower above us. And why do we thus belittle ourselves before them? This calls for investigation but I have no time for it. It is after four o’clock, the Consul is already up and having his boredom. I have extended my reflections too far and extended monologues are to be avoided in modern drama. Verflucht! I like the smell of baking in butter over there. Yehia’s wife does all her baking in oil because the Jews here don’t have any butter and because people in the East prefer olive oil to dairy products anyhow. It isn’t a thing you can reason about but simply a matter of taste, just as the Sefardi teacher will say “a quarter-hour” instead of “a quarter of an hour.” And now a quarter of an hour has gone by and I am still standing outside, delivering long monologues.

Rechnitz entered the hotel. Nobody was in the lobby, except the waiters setting the tables and brewing coffee. He walked through, glancing from side to side. The absent guests, he thought, the honored guests, are still sitting in their private rooms waiting patiently until the mere nobodies have prepared their food and drink. As for me, I’m one of the nobodies; and if I haven’t the ability to prepare meals and drinks, at least the gods have given me the power to save somebody from boredom. “Schmeckt’s, Herrchen?” he asked himself and looked around again. The hotel clerk saw Rechnitz and said, “There’s a letter for you, sir.”

“A letter?” Rechnitz stammered, and his heart began to pound. The clerk brought the letter; Rechnitz took it and went outside. He walked through the garden, stopped under a tree, and leaned against it with the letter in his hand. A letter from Shoshanah? Let’s see what Shoshanah has to tell me. Let’s open the letter and see. But when he opened it he saw it was not from Shoshanah but from her father. Again his heart began to beat fast, not the rapid heartbeat of a man awaiting some happy event, but such as one feels when expecting disaster.

Again he looked round. Seeing that no one was about, he reflected: Shoshanah has told her father all that happened by the sea and he must be punishing me with a reprimand. Rechnitz was filled with rage. Does that old man think because he has thrown me a few crumbs from his table that he has the right to abuse me? Keep your crumbs, old man, for the dogs. I can provide for myself and, as for my name in the world of science, I don’t owe it to you. Verflucht, these people with money! If you have taken the least scrap from them, they think they have bought you. I don’t mind thanking you, Consul, for all you have done on my behalf, but you have not bought my soul. And if your daughter should be pleased to follow me, I shall take her from under your nose.

While he was saying this to himself, he looked at the words of the letter, and as he looked his eyes lit up. Here was no rebuke but instead a kind of apology. The Consul and his daughter had departed for Jerusalem without managing to take leave of him in advance. He saw too that the Consul sent his best greetings, as well as his regards, and added: “As soon as we are back in Jaffa, we shall be delighted to see you.”

It was a good thing that Rechnitz read that letter. Even as he did so he put all the bitterness out of his heart. His soul returned and he reflected: All my life I never aspired to Shoshanah. When I used to speak about her to her father it was with humility, and suddenly I’ve grown bold. If I were now to go to him and demand his daughter, he would be shocked. No, I shall not argue or pick a quarrel or talk big, but act modestly until he sees and understands for himself how much I love Shoshanah. And if she is indeed to be my partner for life, as she pledged to be, I shall wait patiently for good angels to spread their wings over us and make our wedding canopy.

As he reflected, Rechnitz felt a lighter, calmer spirit. It is best for a man to act in character. What nonsense to think I had it in me to carry off Shoshanah against her father’s will — as if I had the power to do any such thing! At that moment Rechnitz saw himself as a man who has gone after an enemy, only to find that very enemy his friend. His humility gave him strength. He looked into himself and said, That is how I have been all my days and that is how I have come through. And so I shall be all my days and so continue to come through.

XXI

Herr Ehrlich stayed in Jerusalem longer than he had intended. The anniversary of his wife’s death came around while he was there and he wanted to commemorate it in the Holy City. The day passed fittingly: he said Kaddish at the Western Wall, gave alms to the poor and visited various houses of charity. Certain things he saw met with his approval and he took due note of them. As for the rest, he looked the other way and ignored shortcomings, being mindful of the city and the occasion. He also paid a visit to the Sha’arei Zedek Hospital, where he made the acquaintance of a certain doctor who sacrificed his sleep for the sake of his patients, not laying his head upon a pillow unless it were on a Sabbath or festival night and taking no payment beyond his simple needs. When Herr Ehrlich saw plaques affixed to the walls of the hospital and on each plaque the name of some benefactor who had contributed to the cost of the building or the care of the sick, he too made a contribution for the upkeep of a bed, to grace his wife’s soul and serve as a lasting memorial in Jerusalem.

The Consul was very pleased with the city. True, what he had seen with his own eyes was unlike the Jerusalem of legend or the Jerusalem of his imagination. There were many things that could well have been dispensed with and also many things lacking that might well have been there. But since one did not really know where to make a start, or how to proceed in the way of reform, it was best to leave Jerusalem as she was.

Once again, Rechnitz is seated facing the Consul in the Jaffa hotel. The weather is chilly, the air damp; hot embers glow in the copper tray before them. The Consul has a thick cigar in his mouth and a woolen rug rests on his knees. He warms his hands alternately with the cigar and over the hot coals. Shoshanah is some distance away, wrapped in her beaver coat. The coals whisper to themselves and the tray, reflecting their red glow, whispers back. The room grows warmer, the air more heated; a sweet languor seeps into the spoken word, like the languor that surrounds the body. From the sea outside the sound of waves mounts like the distant roaring of beasts of prey. The Consul shakes the ash from his cigar and remarks, “Today it’s impossible to take a walk on the beach.” And Rechnitz blushes; can the Consul be alluding to the walk he had taken with Shoshanah?

But in fact the Consul was only referring to the stormy weather that had delayed his departure. What is more, he was glad that he did not have to travel, after wandering from country to country for over a year. He had seen so many lands: more than he could number, more names than he could remember. If he had not listed in his notebook the name of each place visited he would never have known where he had or had not been. Shoshanah too was glad of the delay. She had taken many photographs and collected many souvenirs and now she needed time to arrange them.

On the day of her return from Jerusalem Shoshanah had been very fatigued. Without finishing her meal she had left for her room and gone to bed. But on the next night she lingered over dinner. Unasked, quite of her own accord, she brought an album of her photographs and souvenirs to show to Jacob. She was astonished at the way he recognized each object and gave it its proper name, and even happier at the serious interest he took in her collection. And because she was grateful, she wanted to repay him by recounting various stories. That night, Shoshanah told Jacob many tales. This was one of them: “Once upon a time there was a king who wished to marry me. This king had a fine palace made of palm fronds, and he also had two wives. One of these wives wore sardine tins in her earlobes to enhance her beauty; the other one looked just like the girl you were walking with on the day I arrived in Jaffa. But,” added Shoshanah, “you were out with two girls together and as I don’t know which is which, I can’t tell you which one looks like the king’s wife.”

The Consul laughed and cried in surprise, “What? Do you take girls out for walks? I thought scientists were completely wrapped up in their work! It looks as though science is a complacent mistress who doesn’t object to rivals. Tell me, Shoshanah, are they pretty, these two girls?”

Shoshanah looked at Jacob and answered, “That is for you to say.”

“If,” said her father, “he is thinking of his own reputation, he will answer that they are extremely beautiful; if he is thinking of yours, he will say they are not at all attractive. And so, my dear daughter, you tell me — are they good-looking?”

Shoshanah replied, “Whatever I may say, Dr. Rechnitz thinks they are.”

“How do you know that?” asked the Consul.

“If it were not so, he would not have brought them along to exhibit to me.”

“I did not bring them along to exhibit to you,” Rechnitz protested.

“No?”

“No! It was like this, really. That afternoon after leaving here, I just happened to see them on my way and we took a walk together. And since I was invited to dinner and didn’t know when it would be served, I went to ask the waiter, and they were good enough to come along with me.”

“And the flowers you presented to me,” said Shoshanah, “were they given to you by one of them, or by both?”

“What you say is partly true,” Jacob answered. “They both put themselves out to bring you flowers, but those I actually brought to you came from the gardener.”

“They assumed,” said Shoshanah, “that I would be here today and gone tomorrow?”

“Quite possibly.”

“But if so, they were wrong.”

“Wrong indeed,” answered Jacob, and he did not know whether to be glad or not.

Shoshanah added, “Father intends to spend the whole winter here — don’t you, Papa?”

The Consul, questioning, looked at his daughter, then nodded his head in agreement.

“Yes, daughter, I’ve been weighing whether it isn’t worth my while to spend the winter here. You people don’t realize how hard the European winter is, and all the harder now that I’m used to warm countries.”

Shoshanah stood up from the table, took her father’s head in both hands and kissed his forehead. “Good Papa!” There were tears in her father’s eyes.

XXII

That afternoon Rechnitz went to the post office and came across Shoshanah walking about the market place. Her arms were filled with pottery. It was Shoshanah’s way to buy local wares at every place she visited, and here in Jaffa she had purchased various pitchers and clay vessels. What would she do with them? She might take a few with her or she might leave them all behind at the hotel, for next day, no doubt, she would find something more pleasing.

“May I help you?” Jacob asked her.

Shoshanah glanced at him for a moment and held out two pitchers. “Don’t worry about them too much; if they get broken, they get broken — the market’s full of them.”

“If that’s the case, then give me more,” said Jacob. “I’ll be careful not to break them.”

They left the market together by carriage. Shoshanah said, “I always believed carriages were only invented to get in my way when walking, but all of a sudden you have put me into one and I find I am no longer afraid of horses and vehicles. Why do you look surprised?”

“I certainly am surprised. You are so used to traveling, yet you talk of carriages getting in your way.”

Shoshanah said, “I’m used to long journeys and forget that even short distances can be made easier with conveyances.”

“Yet you seem more tired by these short distances than by long journeys.”

“Great things add greatly to one’s strength,” she said. “Oh, how beautiful those palms are! How many are there? Eight, nine?”

“Yes, nine,” Jacob answered.

“I have never in my life seen such beautiful palm trees.”

He wanted to say that he himself had already shown them to her but thought better of it and remarked, “Surely you have seen finer ones in the tropics?”

“Finer ones? Never in my life,” she repeated. “Driver, stop a moment. I don’t know what has come over me, I could swear I have seen them before! No, not in a dream, Jacob, but awake!”

She blushed as she spoke; then, telling the driver to proceed, she said no more until they arrived at the hotel.

When the carriage came to a stop, she said to Jacob, “If you don’t mind, let’s go into the garden. Tell the driver he can leave the pots in the hotel. What language were you speaking to him? Hebrew, was it? And isn’t Hebrew the language of the prayer book? So this driver speaks like the prayers; and you too, Jacob. How wonderful you all are here! Let’s sit on this bench. I knew, Jacob, that you would agree with me. What a lot of good turns you have done me today. You have carried my pottery for me, and put me in a carriage, and brought me all the way back. It’s good for a person to be good. We too ought to be good, not wicked. Do you think I am a wicked person? Sometimes I think so myself but it’s not really true, I’m just too lazy to get people out of the notion of my wickedness.”

Jacob said, “It would never occur to anyone to call you wicked.”

“It may never have occurred to you, but how do you know what others think?”

“I judge the rest of the world by myself.”

“But isn’t it a kind of sinful pride to measure all mankind by your own standard?”

“On the contrary,” said Jacob, “it’s a virtue, because by so doing I can correct any mistaken ideas of yours.”

“Please tell me, Jacob, what have human beings to be proud about?”

“You speak just like your father. He asks what have human beings to dispute about.”

“I have never disputed with anybody in my life,” said Shoshanah.

“You have no need to, since everyone rushes to do your bidding.”

“Everyone, that is, except myself. I sometimes think I have no will at all and whatever I do is done without any good reason. I am more frivolous than a child who makes his decisions by flipping a coin. What does a girl like me want?”

The waitress set up a little table and asked, “What would the lady like me to bring?”

“I don’t want anything,” said Shoshanah.

“You see, Shoshanah,” Jacob remarked, “you have a very strong will. Since you didn’t want anything, you said just that.”

Shoshanah blushed. “I really deserve to be scolded; it didn’t occur to me that you might like something. But you don’t? Well then, let’s just sit and talk.”

This was the most delightful meeting Jacob had known with Shoshanah since the day she came to Jaffa. It had about it something new and something old and familiar; new, because she had not previously sat with him in this garden, and old, too, because it was thus in their childhood that they had sat together in that other garden of her father. The good gods give us more than we deserve. Here are Jacob and Shoshanah among green boughs, and in winter time, when the garden of their childhood is covered with snow and the pond overlaid with ice. They talk about themselves and the world outside, which is no more than a small part of their own. At times, the good gods deal well with mortals, allowing them to see eternity in an hour. Let us then ask the gods to prolong this hour without end or limit.

Shoshanah had laid her fine, delicate hands before her on the table. Jacob gazed at them, as he used to gaze at her mother’s hands when she would place them on the table and his lips would long to touch them. We are so made that our memories lead from one thing to another; sometimes these lie close together, sometimes far apart. Jacob now recalled a time when he happened to be at Ein Rogel, at Ilyushin’s, when he was stretching an animal skin on a board; he had spread his hands out like that, or almost like that, in the course of his work. As Jacob sat there, surprised at the direction his thoughts had taken, the parrot suddenly made himself heard, crying out, “Verflucht!”

Shoshanah shuddered and looked around her. Jacob laughed. “It’s only the parrot,” he said.

“Just this very moment,” he went on, “I was thinking about a taxidermist I know called Ilyushin. I wouldn’t say that bird is a mind reader, but all the same it’s very queer — just at the moment when I thought of Ilyushin, the parrot called Verflucht.

“Illusion?”

“Yes, Ilyushin.”

Shoshanah said, “Yesterday evening you remarked that you changed the flowers your girlfriends gave you to bring me. What was the point in changing them?”

Jacob’s cheeks flushed but Shoshanah did not notice.

She had closed her eyes, as she had a way of doing sometimes in the course of conversation.

“What was the point?” he repeated.

Shoshanah nodded, her eyes still closed.

“I changed them because I’d found nicer ones.”

“That sounds plausible,” said Shoshanah. “Now tell me the real reason. Oh, I can see that just now you don’t know; perhaps another time you will. What was the name of the taxidermist at Ein Rogel?”

“His name was Ilyushin.”

Shoshanah opened her eyes. “That’s it — Illusion.”

“And what has Ilyushin to do with us?” asked Jacob.

“Since you mentioned him, I wanted to know what he was called. Now that I know, you don’t have to say any more about him. Cattle and wild beasts may enjoy a privilege granted to no man except the mummies in Egypt. Don’t you smoke? I’ll call a waiter to bring you some cigarettes. Let’s honor the wisdom of Egypt, the land that gave eternal life to her sons, by ordering Egyptian cigarettes.”

Then, forgetting all about the cigarettes, Shoshanah went on, “Our days on earth are like a shadow, and the time of our affliction is the length of our days. How fortunate are those mummies, laid in the ground and freed from all trouble and toil. If I could only be like one of them!” Shoshanah opened her eyes and looked up as if longing for release from the afflictions of the world.

“From the day of your mother’s funeral, I have not seen you,” Jacob said. “And even on that day I didn’t really see you. You seemed so distant from this world, Shoshanah.”

“No, Jacob, I felt as if the world were distant from me. And now, here I am, still not part of the world.”

“And in all those years, have you really had no happiness?”

Shoshanah neither spoke nor moved. Looking across at her, Rechnitz took in her sadness. He wanted to speak but could not find words. Hesitantly, he said, “You are so troubled, Shoshanah. What is it?”

She stirred a little. “What were you asking, Jacob?”

“I was asking what is it that makes you so sad?”

Shoshanah smiled. “You ask, ‘What is it?’ as if there were one reason alone. There are many, and each is enough to make one sad, very sad indeed.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know—” she stopped short and remained very still.

“And yet you are, both of us are, young enough, with all our life before us.”

“But that life before us, do you think it’s going to be any better than the life that lies behind?”

“I haven’t thought much about that,” said Jacob.

“Neither have I,” said Shoshanah.

“Then what grounds have you for saying what you did?”

“What did I say?”

“You know what you said.”

“Just idle talk,” said Shoshanah.

And Jacob too felt melancholy. This is the girl who wants to be my wife, he reflected. He felt restive as he considered her. This girl wants me to marry her, he thought again. And even while he pondered, he realized that without her the whole world would be lost to him.

The sound of voices startled Jacob. “People are coming!” Shoshanah nodded and replied, “It’s Papa with the old Baron.” As they approached, the Consul broke into a ribald laugh. Apparently the old man had just told him an off-color story. The laughter struck Jacob’s ears unpleasantly; he had always known the Consul as a serious-minded man, yet here he was behaving frivolously. Shoshanah stood up and said, “Let’s go.”

They walked away together. A little girl came by with a basket in her hand. Jacob turned to her. “What are you doing here?” he said. The little girl answered, “My Mommy sent me to get some lemons.” He bent down and swung her in the air. “Sweetheart, I’d love to carry you off. You and your basket together. Tell me, what would your Mommy say if I carried you away?” The child answered solemnly, “Mommy wouldn’t like it.” Jacob laughed. “Tell your mother that you’re a clever little girl.” “Yes, I’ll tell her,” she replied.

“Whose charming child is that?” asked Shoshanah.

“She’s the sister of a girl I teach.”

“One of those you were walking with here in the garden?”

Jacob hesitated a little. “You saw those two girls; how did they strike you?”

“They’re very lovely,” said Shoshanah.

“Does that mean that you approve of them?”

“If you think well of them,” replied Shoshanah, “so do I.”

“I don’t know how to take that.”

“I mean just what I said. But you have other friends besides, haven’t you? Tell me about them.”

Jacob began to tell her. When he had got round to describing Tamara, Shoshanah looked at him rather closely.

The two old men were coming back, the Baron laughing raucously. This time, it would seem, the Consul had capped his story with a spicier one.

“So you’re here, you two?” said the Consul.

“Yes,” answered Shoshanah, and went on to praise Jacob for his kindness in calling a carriage and bringing her back to the hotel.

“Happy is he who finds a good escort,” said the Baron, and he cast a benevolent glance on Jacob.

“But aren’t you cold, Shoshanah?” asked the Consul.

“No, I’m neither too cold nor too warm. I’m quite happy, Papa.”

The Consul looked at his daughter for a moment and went off with the Baron. At Shoshanah’s suggestion, she and Jacob sat down again together.

“Once,” said Shoshanah, “I dreamed that I was dead. I wasn’t happy, I wasn’t sad, but my body felt such rest as no one knows in the land of the living. And this was the best of it, that I wanted nothing, I asked for nothing, it just felt as if I were disappearing into blue distances that would never end. Next morning I opened a book and read in it that nobody dreams of himself as dead. If that’s so, perhaps it was not a dream but wide-awake reality. But then, how can I be alive after my death? It’s a puzzle to me, Jacob. Do you believe in the resurrection of the dead?”

“No, certainly not,” Jacob said.

“Don’t say ‘certainly.’ These certainties of yours bring me to tears.” As she spoke, she closed her eyes.

At that moment, Shoshanah seemed to hover over those blue distances she had spoken of. Then suddenly she answered Jacob’s gaze. She took out her handkerchief, wiped her eyes, opened them and looked at him with absolute love. After a while, she said, “I am going to close my eyes and you, Jacob, are to kiss me on the eyelids.”

Jacob’s own eyes filled with tears. With the tears still there, he placed his lips on her wet lashes.

XXIII

Everything good happens when your attention is turned the other way. So it was with Rechnitz. An elderly scholar in New York, with whom Rechnitz had exchanged specimens of seaweed, had suggested the creation of an academic chair for him; the suggestion had been taken up and now Rechnitz received a written offer. Even though he had already won himself a high reputation, Rechnitz had not expected anything like this, for he was still a young man and aware that he had many superiors in the field.

He was lying on his couch that morning mid-way between sleep and waking. His thoughts went off in various directions without his knowing where they were heading. There are times when a man’s limbs are still and his mind is at rest, and there are times when his mind goes wandering and carries back many thoughts. There are times when the limbs are still but find no rest or the mind goes wandering but carries back no thought and no idea. Yet again, both states may exist together: the mind goes wandering and the limbs are still, and a man finds neither rest in his limbs nor thought in his mind. Rechnitz wanted to get up from his couch but knew it would be useless. And so he had yielded to this kind of lethargy that brings no benefit, when he heard someone knocking on his door. He jumped up, opened the door, and there was the postman with a letter. Rechnitz received it with a groan, as if he had been interrupted in some important undertaking. The postman slung his bag over his shoulder and went away; Rechnitz opened his letter and read it. Certainly this was good news, and would have been so even if he had been expecting the appointment. All the more so when it came as a surprise.

Rechnitz always offered thanks for any benefits that came his way, sometimes to the good gods, sometimes to the Only One. Now he was silent and said no prayer, but whatever it was that had dulled his mind before now passed away completely.

He dressed and went to call on someone whose English was better than his. Actually there was no need, since he already knew what the letter was about. Nor did this man tell him anything new. But his eyes widened with surprise and he reached out his hand to Rechnitz, saying, “Congratulations, Professor!”

Perhaps Rechnitz was more moved by this response than he had been by the occasion for it. Possibly, too, the man he consulted was more excited about the news than Rechnitz himself. Before the day was out all Jaffa knew that a young fellow who taught at the school had gained an unheard of distinction. For in those days honor paid to learning still counted among ordinary people; all the more so when the honor carried with it a good salary. How many scholars were there who didn’t even get as far as a university post, and here was an ordinary young teacher promoted to be a full professor!

In Rechnitz’s time, a number of scholars had already settled in the Land of Israel. Of these, some were engaged in research in Palestinology, others in biblical studies. They had this in common: they made their studies an adjunct to interests outside the field of pure scientific learning, such as national, religious or social causes. Some of them were internationally famous and their opinions were generally accepted until the intellectual climate changed and new scholars came to the fore. As for Rechnitz, he subordinated his work to no other consideration. He took trouble and pains solely in the cause of pure knowledge. All seasons were the same to him. A storm outside or blazing sunshine never kept him back. Besides collecting marine plants from the sea off Jaffa, he collected them, too, off the coasts of Haifa, off Acre, Hadera and Caesarea, since the plants in the sea around Jaffa differ from those in other regions. And here we must remember that Rechnitz had found no professional colleague in the country and did his work in solitude. This isolation, which may lead to slackness, can prove a blessing to the true scholar, for if he makes some new discovery he clarifies its meaning all to himself and does not waste his time in superfluous discussions. With the vigor of youth, with keen intellect and a discriminating eye, Rechnitz studied, investigated and assembled minute details as well as general principles, constructing from these a complete system. This ability to see and observe was matched by his ability to set out his observations in writing. His “Remarks on the Nature of Cyrenean Seaweeds,” and even more so, those on Cerulean Seaweeds, made his reputation. And at the conference of zoologists and botanists, most of the lecturers referred to him; even those who disagreed with his views accorded him high praise.

Jaffa was getting more and more excited over the affair. People who had nothing to do with universities were talking about this young Ph.D. who had been appointed a professor. Everyone who came across Rechnitz, whether an acquaintance of his or not, would stop to congratulate him. His actual acquaintances invited him to take a drink in honor of the occasion, and wherever he went he found a holiday spread awaiting him. Here too we should remark that whatever people did was done in honor of science, for the parents of daughters knew well that now Rechnitz was a professor the Consul would never let go of him.

What is more, the daughters themselves knew that from the day of Shoshanah Ehrlich’s arrival in Jaffa, Rechnitz had made himself scarce, especially now that he was getting ready to leave. Nevertheless, they retained their affection for him. Leah sent him more flowers of the kind she had given him for the Ehrlich girl on that first day. Tamara baked a cake for him in the shape of a boat and set on it a little American flag made of sugar. Even Rachel Heilperin put herself out so far as to write him a letter of congratulation; and this was no small matter, for although she could speak with much fluency, when she sat down to write she got stuck on the very first phrase. Should one write “My dear sir,” or “Dear Dr. Rechnitz,” or “My very dear friend Mr. Rechnitz”?

As for Rechnitz, the expression of people’s good wishes moved him deeply. Imagine, even the school Secretary, who had seemed to bear a grudge against him, was as pleased at this success as if it had been his own. Needless to say, Rechnitz’s colleagues at school were delighted. In a sense they were happy for his sake, in a sense for their own; for here was one of their number, a fellow-teacher, who had gained this honor, so that it became theirs as well. And what an honor! From the time of Nietzsche until the time of Rechnitz, no young man in such a position had been appointed professor.

For the most part, Rechnitz left matters concerning his new appointment for time to settle. He returned to his normal life as though nothing had happened, except that now he began to learn English and to occupy himself with some matters which previously would not have received much attention.

XXIV

Rechnitz could see that Shoshanah’s father knew what had passed between the two of them. A girl like Shoshanah was not used to concealing her actions. But it was doubtful whether her father knew just how things stood, since Shoshanah’s outlook was different from his own and she would certainly see the situation not as it was but as her heart pictured it. Even if she had told her father all, it was unlikely that he grasped the root of the matter. However that may have been, Jacob did not find a suitable pretext for speaking to him about what had happened, and he regretted this and yet was somewhat glad of it, since he feared that the Consul might call him to account. Just as he found no pretext for talking things over with the Consul, so he found no words to address to Shoshanah. It was not that she avoided him, but that she showed him no overt sign of good will. Or if she indeed wished him well, she gave him no opportunity for speaking out. How was it that Shoshanah managed to put him off; how was it that he could not bring himself to speak? Only because when they were together their conversation never led up to that principle point; when he parted from her, there he was in just the same position as the day before and the day before that. What should I do? he would think. What should I do? But since no answer was forthcoming, he would leave this for time to decide. It should be said that Rechnitz was not particularly passive, but since he knew the decision was not his alone, he left it for the moment when Shoshanah would play her part.

The Consul and his daughter did not continue with their travels. It was clear that they meant to settle down, and now there was a coming and going of house agents carrying plans of apartments and houses. When Rechnitz saw these people he felt ashamed. He had boasted about the kind of person the Consul would find in the Land of Israel and now he had to admit that there were some Jews there who did not belong to the “spiritual center.” But the Consul found no fault with them. A man had to live and what else could these poor devils do in a poverty-stricken country? When a bit of profit was coming their way, they would twist their words and tell lies whether they wanted to or not.

Meanwhile the Consul and his daughter stayed on in the hotel. Two or three times a week Rechnitz was invited to join them for a meal, sometimes for lunch, sometimes for dinner. When Shoshanah was not present, her father would say to Jacob, “The child is tired, she has a headache.” And his tone was sadder than the words suggested.

One day a strange thing happened. The three of them were seated together talking; Shoshanah suddenly fell silent and dropped off to sleep in the middle of what she was saying. At first Rechnitz thought she had merely closed her eyes, as she sometimes did in the course of conversation. The next day Jacob saw old Dr. Hofmann walking out of the hotel together with Herr Ehrlich. After the doctor had taken his leave, the Consul noticed Rechnitz. “So you’re here?” he said, and then, “Sit down Jacob, sit down,” and then, “Today we shall take our meal without Shoshanah. She has a headache.” Many times before, the Consul had sat down to his meal without his daughter; now he behaved as if this were something new, and as distressing as it was new.

Over their meal, the Consul made a special effort to entertain his guest, as if Shoshanah’s absence imposed upon him a double duty of hospitality. When they had finished, he drew Jacob over to the sofa at the end of the lounge and talked to him about the United States and New York and the chair which awaited him there, as well as about Kaiser Wilhelm’s project for teacher-exchanges between universities.

“I have never asked you,” said the Consul, “what led you to your special field of interest?”

Jacob answered, “I was doing botanical studies and from botany I came to work on water plants; that’s to say, I turned from higher to lower species of plants, and so to marine vegetation.” As he spoke Jacob forgot that there had been another reason besides this.

“And do these plants,” said the Consul, “also have their characteristic diseases?”

Rechnitz replied, “There isn’t a single thing in creation that is not liable to disease.”

Suddenly Jacob’s eyes grew round with wonder. A new perspective opened up beyond the one he saw before him, like the vision of a painter struggling to apprehend what his eyes have never seen. The pond in the Consul’s garden, whose water plants used to fascinate and amaze him, came back into his memory. Perhaps, after all, his heart had been drawn to these plants since those very days? Twenty years and more had passed since he had first gone down with Shoshanah to the pond and drawn up the wet vegetation; the strange thing about it was that in all those years the thought had never come back into his mind. At that moment he saw before his eyes the same circular pond set in the garden among the shrubs and flowers, with Shoshanah picking flowers and braiding garlands; now Shoshanah jumped into the pond and disappeared; and now she rose again, covered with wet seaweed like a mermaid, the water streaming from her hair. As he thought of her hair, he thought, too, of how on that same day Shoshanah had taken a curl from her curls and, with it, a lock of his forelock, and mingled them and burned them together and they had eaten the ashes and sworn to be faithful to each other. Like the ashes of her hair and of his own which Shoshanah had intermingled, so the day of their vow was blended with the day by the sea when she had reminded him of it. As Jacob sat reflecting, the Consul took out his watch and said, “You look tired. No need to be ashamed of it. A young man like you needs plenty of sleep.”

When Jacob got up to leave, the Consul said, “I can see that I shall not be staying here long. Perhaps we shall soon be leaving for Vienna. But as long as we are here we shall be happy to have your company any time at all.”

Jacob asked in a low voice, “How is Shoshanah’s health?”

The Consul looked at him hard and answered, “If I only knew!” And again he looked at him as if he knew more than he would say.

XXV

What Shoshanah’s father did not tell him, others did. A grave affliction had overtaken her, a sickness which had not been heard of before in the Land of Israel. Her head was dizzy and she had lost full control of her legs, which tottered as she moved about. When she spoke, her voice was indistinct and sounded like someone talking in his sleep; indeed, her only desire was for sleep. She would doze off at any time, on any occasion, in the midst of conversation, while walking or while taking a meal. Sometimes she would sleep for days on end, and after waking up would fall asleep again. Zablodovsky the doctor, Raya’s father, said, “This disease seems so suspicious to me that I hesitate to call it by its name. The Ehrlich girl has come from a geographical region which leads me to fear that we have here a case of sleeping sickness. I could bring evidence to support what I say by means of a blood test, but from the symptoms themselves I should say that she has been bitten by a poisonous insect. The patient, I hear, sleeps a great deal, even for days on end; she eats and drinks after awakening, and there is a marked change in her disposition, for she was always full of life and is now apathetic. Perhaps you will say, ‘But her appearance has not changed and she is no less beautiful than before.’ But when I was a medical student didn’t I see sufferers from this disease in its early stages who kept their normal appearance for several months without change? If we waste no time in treating the disease at its outset, we can still control it and cure her. There are certain mineral salts, derived from precious metals, which we can inject into the body until the poison is exhausted and the patient’s health restored.”

Shoshanah’s sickness caused no public alarm and her nursing gave rise to no difficulty, but she was in need of careful supervision. She was put to bed in her room with a nurse to watch over her, and everyone who passed by the room moved very softly, so as not to disturb the invalid and so as to catch something of her slumbering presence.

As for Rechnitz, he pays his calls on Shoshanah’s father, as he did years ago, except that then he would visit him twice yearly and now he comes twice a week. The Consul treats him even more cordially now and talks away on any topic that his mind prompts into words, or that words call up in his mind. So he describes his travels and the various kinds of people he has encountered. What extraordinary things he has seen. Even at the doorstep of his house, a man may behold such things as sometimes lead him to doubt his own eyes; how much more so when he travels into strange and far-off lands. At times the Consul repeats the same story, or confuses persons and places; for having known and seen so much, he is liable to substitute one person for another or this place for that. And when he says, “Now I am going to tell you something I have never talked about before,” you may be sure that he will go over the same story he has related a hundred and one times already. Or he will stop in mid-course, look up alertly, and say, “Haven’t I already told you this? It’s hard on me, Rechnitz, the way you let me run on about things you’ve already heard.” Then Jacob will answer, “Not at all, it’s quite new to me.” So the Consul returns to his story without misgivings. But even if he remembers having told it before, he continues just the same. It is like those songs we sing all our lives; they stir our spirits and remind us of the time we sang them first. The hotel servants come up and remove the loaded ash tray in front of him, replacing it with an empty one. In a deferential whisper they ask, “Would the Consul care for anything?” and withdraw as silently as they came.

Sometimes the Consul would call back the old days when Frau Ehrlich was still alive. When he spoke of those times his description was accurate in every detail, there were no slips; the miracle happened and the past was present once again. Jacob asked no questions about Shoshanah and her father made no mention of her. But now and then he would clutch his head and say, “Any pain’s better than a pain in the head,” as if he had become a partner in Shoshanah’s suffering.

Once before Purim, Rechnitz was about to leave for one of those field trips in which teachers and their students take part together at this time of year. There is no better time for them; mountains and valleys, hills and groves are covered with green and all the country blossoms like God’s own garden. Before going away, Rechnitz came to say goodbye. The Consul gazed at him with admiration. “You look as fresh and blooming as a young god,” he exclaimed. He took Jacob by the arm and led him out into the garden. The young man seemed to him a personification of spring, when the entire world is made new. He, too, would gladly renew himself; if not in the mountains and the valleys, at least in the garden of his hotel.

The flowers were all in blossom, the lemon trees gave off their scent, the spikes of the palm trees reached up to the blue sky, and the sky itself seemed to blossom over every tree and bush. So deeply moved was the Consul that he could hardly find words to speak, beyond exclaiming at the beauty of this tree or that bush. Suddenly he reached out his hand in a gesture of helplessness, saying, “And there Shoshanah lies, unable to see all the things that we can.” A sigh broke from Jacob as he asked, “How is Shoshanah now?”

The Consul took Jacob’s hand in his. “Never,” he said, “have I wished for a better husband for my daughter. But…”

Jacob lowered his eyes and waited. There was a pause, the pause continued, and still Shoshanah’s father did not speak. Jacob raised his head again and looked up. Shoshanah’s father became aware of him and said with a sigh, “Soon we are going to Vienna to see Nothnagel. Let’s pray that he can find a cure for her disease. And you, my son,” he went on, “here you are…” But the words failed him. He remembered a letter that Jacob’s parents had written to him and tried to recall its contents, but could not bring them to mind. To Jacob he said, “Let me put it to you in this way. Suppose I am holding on to some valuable object, which I am about to return to its rightful owner. Suddenly the object slips from my hands before it has reached the owner and there we are, both left empty-handed; I who had it in my grasp and he who reached out to take it.” While he spoke he looked down at his hands as if puzzling over how they had let it slip. Finally he extended his right hand to Rechnitz by way of farewell, and said, “Let’s go now.” Yet he held on to Rechnitz’s hand, as old people do, clinging to the warmth that has come their way. And Rechnitz perceived this and was glad that he had this warmth to offer.

The Consul for his part became aware that Rechnitz still stood expectant. He saw in Rechnitz a healthy, fresh-cheeked young man in all his vigor, at a time when Shoshanah was perhaps more seriously ill than the doctor would admit. His expression changed suddenly to resentment. What does he want of me? he thought. He let his hand fall and said briefly, “Goodbye.”

Rechnitz parted from the old man feeling dejected, for never before had he been treated in this way. As he was going he heard the Consul call after him. Conflicting thoughts entered his mind; hope and expectation, and against this, anxiety and grief, which told him that if he turned back he would hear what was better left unheard. “Oh God,” he prayed under his breath, “save me in your great mercy.”

The Consul said, “I meant to tell you that when you are back from your walking tour you must not forget to come to us.”

Rechnitz laid a hand to his heart and replied, “I shall come.”

The Consul shook hands with him again, wished him a successful trip and showed by his expression that all his former affection had returned. Rechnitz, too, was calm again. Now, he thought, I must set about making the arrangements for my journey. He began reckoning up all the articles he must take with him. At first they came to mind in a confused jumble, but in the end they sorted themselves out of their own accord and there was no need to make a second reckoning.

XXVI

No change, no alteration in Shoshanah’s condition. She would sleep for days on end, or if she awoke, it was only to fall asleep again. Good God, what harm had Shoshanah done that You punish her so? If it was for her haughty bearing, wasn’t this an effect of the disease itself, which makes it harder to behave with normal friendliness towards others? Who would suppose that this charming girl, whose lids close over eyes so beautiful that no man seems worthy to behold them, whose figure has the stateliness of a solitary palm tree, is fated to sleep out her days?

Thus Shoshanah lies in her bed and everyone who passes her room walks softly. Many days have gone by since Jacob last saw her; meanwhile her father has aged beyond his years. Although he has not been visited with the sickness of his daughter, he has lost his capacity for staying awake. When most men are fully alert, he is liable to drop off to sleep, even in the middle of speaking. Bestirring himself, he will sigh and say, “At night when I want to sleep I lie awake, and in the daytime when I want to talk to people I can’t resist the desire for sleep.”

Rechnitz saw his embarrassment and began to keep away from the hotel. Yet when he called to inquire about him, the Consul refrained from asking why he had not been round in the last day or two. There was no change in their relationship; in fact, the Consul felt a new kind of affection for Jacob, but the old age which had so suddenly fallen upon him inevitably left its mark.

When the university appointment was first made public, everybody showed even more friendliness towards Jacob than before, and this without any designs for themselves or their daughters. They recognized that Dr. Rechnitz was intended for Shoshanah Ehrlich and there was nothing to be done about it. But when Shoshanah fell sick, they again began to regard him in the old light. Sometimes the expectations of parents have a solid basis, sometimes not, and new hopes grow out of their very despair. The sleep into which Shoshanah Ehrlich had fallen served to awaken such parental hopes. For their daughters, however, it was different. Of all their expectations nothing remained in their hearts but a sense of loss as they looked ahead to Rechnitz’s departure.

Rechnitz now made his arrangements for the journey to America. On the way, he planned a stopover in Europe to visit his father and mother. Three years had gone by since he had seen them, for any holiday trips he had made were to the marine biology station in Naples, and not to his home. From the day he first hinted to his mother that he might be arriving, she had taken to sitting at her window reading his letters, one after another, or rereading the letter which the Consul had sent her from Jaffa. At this same time, Jacob in Jaffa was picturing himself as a child again with Shoshanah. In her short frock, she chased butterflies, picked flowers and made a crown of them for her head. Actually, the Consul’s house now stood desolate and empty and Rechnitz’s parents had long since moved out of that neighborhood. But whenever his father’s home came to his mind, he saw it still as standing next to the Consul’s.

Meanwhile, Rechnitz turned back to his work. He was busy at his microscope, and happy, for sometimes small things give us great happiness, especially when they link together into something large. The humble sea plants with their tints of green, red, brown and blue, which have neither taste nor scent, and are without any counterpart on land, were dearer to Rechnitz than all the trees, bushes and shrubs of the earth. Out of the strength of his love, and his capacity to take unqualified delight in the smallest of things, his own soul grew and perfected itself ever more. And with this wholeness of spirit came tranquility. Once again he surveyed, examined and tested, with an undistracted love, objects which he had set aside for many days, perhaps since the day when Shoshanah Ehrlich came to Jaffa. Science is a complacent mistress who is not jealous of others; when you return to her you find what is not to be found in a thousand rivals. How many days and weeks had these sea plants lain, floating in salt water within their oblong trays of clear glass, exuding their salt water like tears! But now that Rechnitz had returned and wiped their tears away, they looked up at him so lovingly that in their presence he forgot any other concern.

Jaffa, darling of the waters, is crowded with men of all communities, busy at trade and labor, at shipping and forwarding, each pursuing his own ends, absorbed in his own task. There are others who take no part in any of these activities: such is Jacob Rechnitz. Yet even he is not idle; you might even say that he is busier than all the rest. What need is there for those plants he is so concerned with? The stars adorn the sky and provide light for the world and those who dwell in it, the flowers adorn the earth and give off their good scent; for this the stars and the flowers were created. But those weeds of the sea, which have neither scent nor taste, what good is to be found in them? Yet far away from Jaffa, from the Land of Israel, there are men who make a study of seaweed, just as Rechnitz does, men who value his activities and pay him honor and esteem.

XXVII

In honor of Rechnitz, all his colleagues, as well as the school trustees, got together and arranged a farewell party. At first they meant to hold it in the Hotel Semiramis, but finally they settled on the schoolhouse where Rechnitz had taught.

They seated Rechnitz at the head of the table with the two principals to his left and right and all the other teachers and trustees in order of precedence. The table was spread with an array of wines and cakes, oranges, almonds, pistachio nuts and various fruits of the season.

The first principal rose to his feet and said, “Gentlemen, we all know the reason why we are assembled here. One of our number, who has spent the last three years with us, is now leaving us. There is no need for me to say how much we regret this, but our joy is equal to our regret for we know that he is going to a great and honored position. We too gain credit from his advance, so I raise my glass and drink a toast to him, to us all, and to our school — a school where we have such teachers as Rechnitz!”

After the toast had been drunk, the second principal began as follows: “My colleague has said that our joy is as great as our regret, since our friend here has been advanced to a great and honored position, namely, to a certain university abroad. But for my part, I admit to feeling sad. Why is Rechnitz departing? Because we have no university here. If there were one, he would not have to leave us; he would join our own university and teach there. My dear colleagues, I am raising an issue which, after all, needs to be frankly discussed. Why have we no university? Because we are content with too little and therefore get nothing at all. I know that people make fun of me for wanting a university. Why do they laugh? Is there any enterprise of ours which they don’t deride? When we founded our school here, did they not laugh at us? Did they not call us charlatans? Now those who mocked us come begging for posts. I am not saying, of course, that a university is the same as a high school. No two things in the world are completely alike — except for the smart-alecks and scoffers, who are the same in all places and times. Today they laugh, tomorrow they are dumb-founded, the day after tomorrow they see what they can get out of it for themselves. Finally, they boast that it was they who suggested the whole idea. Let me say in conclusion that I hope we, too, will achieve a university before long to which we can invite our friend Rechnitz to come and lecture. What a great university that will be, when all the scholars of Israel, from all the universities of the world, gather in Jerusalem, on the Temple Mount, to teach wisdom and knowledge! Such a university, my dear friends, the eye has not beheld. But it follows of necessity that I mean no mere seminary for religious studies. We have enough already of this ‘religious study’ stuffed into us morning, noon and night. When I say university, I mean a real one, where all the forms of knowledge to be found in other centers of learning will be taught. And at this point let me turn to our colleague Rechnitz. My dear Rechnitz, just as we regret that you are leaving us, so shall we rejoice on the day you return here to our own university. ‘Blessed be your going out and your coming in.’ To your health!”

After this speech the hall rang with cheers. At last there was silence again, the toast was drunk, and speech followed speech until, when midnight had passed, the company went home quietly.

XXVIII

Ever since the Consul’s coming to Jaffa, Rechnitz had given up visiting the homes he used to frequent. He had started by being available to the Consul at all hours; now he neglected him, too, and stayed in his room devoting himself entirely to his work. He would take up some piece of seaweed, cut it and examine it under the microscope, then attach it to a sheet of paper, fold the sheet, place it in his great album and note down its name, its habitat, and the date when he had drawn it out of the sea. Nearly two hundred separate species had been taken by Rechnitz from the sea near Jaffa, Haifa, Acre, Caesarea, Hadera and elsewhere. It would hardly be an exaggeration to say that no one in the entire world possessed as many sea plants of the Mediterranean as Jacob Rechnitz. Nowadays we are familiar with more than two hundred kinds of Mediterranean seaweed, and the specialists know of still more. But in his time, no one had a collection to match that of Rechnitz. There they were, dried, attached to their sheets, placed in the album. At first glance you would think you were looking into an artist’s sketch book, each line was drawn with such exquisite care and beauty; for the way of seaweeds is to adhere to paper, become absorbed in it, and not protrude from the surface. But once you drop a little water on them, they grow soft and you see before you living plants, the work of the Creator who cares as much for each humble object as He does for what is high and mighty. There were times when Rechnitz shed a tear in his rapture, which fell on the plant and brought it to life again.

The sea gave forth its daily harvest, and at night, under the moon, the daughters of Jaffa took their walks by the shore. The waves kissed their footprints and tossed up an abundance of plants such as Rechnitz had been used to gather. But you will not find Rechnitz there; he is well content with what he has taken to his room and laid out upon his table. Happy, at ease among his glass trays of saltwater, he sits with the great album before him, its pages full. That album is the bliss of his eye and soul.

This was all that Rechnitz did; he sat in his room and devoted himself to his work. At times he was so preoccupied that he would forget to light the little burner to make his coffee or, if he lit it, to put coffee in the pot before the water boiled over and put out the flame. Needless to say, he no longer took tea with the parents of his pupils and girl friends; thus, he made himself a stranger in all those households and with all those good people who, though they seemed unimportant then, were to count for much in the days to come. For they dwelt in the Land of Israel and were among the first of its founders. The reasons for their coming were many and varied, but it may well be that the very people whose motives were most obscure will be remembered and inscribed for all time, while those who came specifically for their country’s sake will be forgotten and ignored.

Rechnitz turned his thoughts away from these people, and from their daughters too. This time was perhaps the best he ever knew. In his great desire for Shoshanah he had put out of mind all lesser desires; now even that desire fell away. He knew that he must prepare for his journey, whether it be to America or to Europe, for now the Consul was about to leave and it was better to travel with him and Shoshanah than to go alone. And yet work took his mind away from the journeys that lay ahead. People in Jaffa knew that he must get his lectures ready and took care not to disturb him. And Rechnitz too did not trouble himself with fancied needs. If he had found the time for it, he would have given praise and thanks to the gods for dealing with him so well.

XXIX

One night Rechnitz was alone in his room. The doors were closed and the blinds drawn, and the lamp lit up the table and the plants of the sea laid out upon it. This room had once been full of flowers and their scents; now he had in front of him only these odorless plants, together with the material for his course of lectures in America, which he was preparing in advance. This night, apparently so ordinary, was for Rechnitz singled out from all others, for in it he was experiencing what a man knows but once or twice in a lifetime. Having yielded his will to a single desire, the desire itself at last quits him and he is left free from any and all concerns. Never in his life had Rechnitz been so free a man as now; he had separated himself from Rachel and Leah, from Asnat, Raya and the rest, on account of Shoshanah Ehrlich; he had come to despair of Shoshanah because of her disease; his journey lay before him, and yet even this was put out of his thoughts in order that work might be his sole object and end.

We have intimated that Rechnitz was a modest young man and no woman-hunter; still, man is a social being and he may feel more affection for a group of charming girls than for the rest of the world. Sometimes his hidden thoughts may drive him beyond all reason; were he to consider them dispassionately he would be appalled. With the Consul’s arrival reason resumed its proper place for Rechnitz, but at the cost of his tranquility, which was only restored when he returned to his work. Were one to ask how it was possible for Rechnitz not to grieve at Shoshanah’s distress, the answer would be this: many factors for which language, however precise, has no name were operating to silence such thoughts.

So Rechnitz sat in his room, at peace with himself and free from all distraction, for he had come to accept the fact of Shoshanah’s sickness and distress. The good gods had favored Rechnitz, granting him peace and calm, together with joy in his work. But these favors were not to last long. The gods are envious, and when they see us prosper too much, they send their agents to change our lives. Every man learns this for himself; let those who have not yet done so now witness the case of Rechnitz. Enough, then, of the beauty of this night and the benefits of a tranquil mind; let us tell instead how Rechnitz lost his tranquility.

As Rechnitz sat alone, he heard the sound of a light tap at the door; after the tap, the door opened and Tamara entered. Entered and stood still. Never before had she called upon Rechnitz; never, perhaps, had she been inside a young man’s lodgings. One could tell this from her whole stance and from the dim glow that hung like a mist over her features.

Tamara paused on the threshold, waiting to be asked in. Her lips trembled like petals touched with morning dew. Rechnitz did not take her into his arms but he took her by the hands and seated her on the couch. Tamara was a girl of some humility. Never had she dared to think that people took notice of her, certainly not a great scholar like Dr. Rechnitz. No, the only reason for her coming was that she was planning to go abroad, and since he was also leaving, she had gathered up courage and come to visit him.

Tamara had been graduated from the Jaffa high school and was preparing to go to Europe, where she intended to study medicine, an interest she had inherited from her father the doctor. Meanwhile, she had taken up sculpture and clay modeling and now she was finding it hard to decide where her true inclination lay. The body contained so many secrets and her fingers were itching to create shapes; sometimes she dreamed of figures of flesh and blood, sometimes of figures in stone. Rechnitz found Tamara’s conversation exciting, even though it contained no exceptional wisdom. He felt a sudden longing to grasp in his arms this body which was so uncertain about what it wanted, and to kiss Tamara full on the lips. It is quite possible that he would have done so, had he not heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

Again there was a sound at the door; this door, which had not opened to visitors for many days and nights, tonight opened twice.

XXX

Rechnitz pulled himself together and behaved as if there were no little Tamara seated in his room. Rachel and Leah came in. They had not intended to pay a call until, passing the house, they heard the sound of conversation and assumed that Rechnitz was not too busy with his work. In this they were certainly correct.

Tamara sat on the edge of the couch. She looked up at Rachel and Leah without animosity or envy; or if there were a trace of envy, it was only what a young girl would feel towards those older than herself who could talk to Jacob without being overawed. Now she lowered her head to sniff at the carnation on her blouse, pleased enough to take her place with Rachel and Leah, her seniors.

Rechnitz moved his basins and seaweed out of the way and transferred his microscope elsewhere. Only a few dry specimens remained on the table, which he did not need, as there were duplicates already mounted in his album. Now that his work was set aside and he had only his guests to attend to, he would gladly have offered them something, as was his usual way, but he could find nothing: no chocolate, no fruit — in fact, since the Consul’s arrival he had felt no need for such things. But Zeus, who watches over guests, now intimated to the host that tea might be prepared, for tea is welcome on all occasions. So Rechnitz took out his little burner and set it going. The flame lit up as it used to in the old days when Rachel Heilperin would drop in. Now Rachel sat and gazed, sometimes at the flame which flickered and mounted through the perforations, sometimes at its reflection in the looking-glass opposite, thinking to herself, Rechnitz is going to America and I shall not see him again. Probably he will put me out of his mind and not think of me anymore, just as he never thought of me before he knew me. And probably this is the last time I shall ever sit in this room. She looked up towards Rechnitz but saw only his back, since he was occupied with getting out the tea and sugar. Pursing her lips, which had a way of pouting disdainfully, she picked up two or three of the seaweeds that Rechnitz had left on the table because he could not bring himself to throw them away. Holding them in her hands, she began to plait them together. At the same moment, or even a moment before, Leah Luria got up and took over the entire operation of tea-making, just as she always took every task upon herself.

The little burner stands between the door and the table; the water bubbles and rises, but when it reaches full boil there isn’t enough for all the girls, as the kettle is too small. Let us leave the tea, then, and turn to other concerns. There is the burner with the water gradually heating. Opposite, Tamara sits on the edge of the couch. Rachel is at the table, plaiting herself a kind of garland. A song comes into her mind —

Beside the brook the boy reclined,

And wove his flowery wreath.

Then again she wonders at herself for bothering with such plants, whose smell is like that of iodine on a wound.

Leah said, “Here am I standing about as if I had nothing to do and I promised to go and see Asnat!”

Rachel answered, “You are nothing but a parcel of promises, Leah,” and went on plaiting her garland.

“But since I promised her, what shall I do? How can I let her wait for nothing?”

“Oh, let Asnat wait until she’s tired of waiting. Where are you off to, Tamara?”

Tamara answered, “I am going to call Miss Mag-argot. That is, if Dr. Rechnitz has no objections.”

“On the contrary,” said Rechnitz.

Rachel laughed and said, “I knew that Leah and I would not be enough for you! Whom else shall we invite?”

But just as Tamara was about to leave, in came Asnat, and with her, her relative Raya. For Asnat, deciding not to wait any more, had gone for a walk with Raya Zablodovsky and while they were out they had passed by Rechnitz’s house, heard the sound of conversation and decided to come in.

Asnat had not really intended to visit Rechnitz but she was glad now that she had come. And the same was true of Raya, who was not paying a visit for the sake of Rechnitz but to please herself; it was her own personality that guided her movements and so she made herself at home everywhere. Thus it came about that five girls were all met in the lodgings of Rechnitz, each for a reason of her own and all well pleased to be there.

“Is anyone still missing?” asked Rachel.

“If Mira were here,” said Leah, “that would make a full session.”

“Yes, but there wouldn’t be a spare cup for her,” said Rachel.

“I don’t take tea,” Tamara put in.

“My dear child,” said Rachel, “yours is not the only mouth.”

Tamara lowered her head and took another sniff at the carnation on her blouse.

“I didn’t mean to mock you,” Rachel added.

Tamara said, “I know that, Miss Heilperin, and of course I’m not hurt.”

After tea, Asnat said, “How about going for a walk? All in favor, raise their hands.”

“Better their feet,” said Rachel, “so that we can get started.”

“Let me first make our host’s bed,” said Leah, “so that when he comes back he’ll find it ready for him. Where shall we go?”

“Where?” said Asnat. “By the sea, of course.”

“And when we pass Mira’s house,” added another of the girls, “we’ll call her out too. Who votes for that?”

So Rechnitz found himself again in the company of the six. Not long ago he had been glad that he had given them up, now he was pleased that they had returned. The envy of the gods works in devious ways, so that we ourselves cannot know what is for our good and what is not.

XXXI

The sea lay stretched on a bed as wide as the world, its nightshirt the moon-whitened waves. The shores had grown long, moonlight lay on the sands and the sea. A beneficent spirit brooded over Rechnitz and the six maidens, for on the way they had called for Mira, who hurried to make up the quorum of the Seven Planets. When such a night as this and such a spirit are in conjunction, their power is complete, their blessing great.

Rachel, Leah and Asnat walked to the right of Rechnitz; Raya, Mira and Tamara to his left. Sometimes they changed places, those on the left wheeling over to the right, or those on the right passing over to the left, but they always took care to leave Rechnitz in the middle. And Rechnitz among his maidens was carried beyond himself, as he had been on those fine nights a year ago, and two years, and three years ago. At that moment, he put Shoshanah entirely from his mind. But her memory formed a circle around his heart, like the golden lashes around her eyes as she slept.

Rachel Heilperin wore the appearance of being happy, while Leah Luria was happy indeed. “On a night like this…” she cried excitedly, and great untellable longings trembled in that lovely voice. Since she knew no way to sing the praises of the night, she stretched out her delicate arms and stared into the hollow of the universe. And night assigned that hollow its own starlit mightiness. “On a night like this…” she cried again, and again stopped short. But since she could not still the tumult within her, she called to the others, “Girls, girls, just look! Look!”

Sea and sky, heaven and earth, and all the space between were grown into a single living being; a luminous calm enveloped by azure, or an azure transparent as air. Up above, and under the surface of the sea, the moon raced like a frenzied girl. Even the sands were moonstruck and seemed to move perpetually. Like the sands, like all the surrounding air, the girls, and with them Rechnitz, were taken up into the dream. If they looked overhead, there was the moon running her race, and if they looked out to sea, there she was again hovering upon the face of the waters. Heaven and earth, land and sea, had become a single whole; and this was contained in yet another, greater whole that no eye could see.

Rachel took Leah’s hand, Leah the hand of Asnat and Asnat that of Raya, and Raya took Mira’s, and Mira Tamara’s and Tamara took Rachel’s; they encircled Rechnitz and danced around him, danced until Rachel broke from their ring and knelt down facing the sea with her eyes uplifted to the moon. Asnat stood still, stretched out her hands in the air and played inaudible notes on an unseen keyboard. “Listen, Tamara,” said Mira, “if I had a horse, I would go galloping from one end of the world to the other!”

“Good people all,” said Raya, “has anybody a horse in her pocket for Mira? Oh Mira, Mira, I’ve no horse in my pocket either, so what can I do for you, my dear? Could you possibly do without the horse and go on foot?”

“For your sake, Raya, I shall go on foot,” Mira answered, laughing and putting her arms around Tamara. Tamara laid her head on Mira’s breast and said, “You’re a good friend.” “Wait, little one, wait,” Raya called to Tamara, “my shoe’s full of sand.” She leaned against her, took off her shoe and shook it empty.

Suddenly Leah called, “Look, good people all, just look! What’s that out to sea? I swear there’s a light burning on the water!”

They looked out to sea and at the light, which came from a passing ship. Only those aboard knew whether it was sailing to or from the Land of Israel, but to Jacob Rechnitz and his companions it made no difference where the ship was headed. They stood in silence watching the light floating on the surface of the sea. The spread of waters girdled both the ship and the light. Now the light sank, now it rose, again it sank and floated. On such a ship Jacob would soon be sailing over endless distances, and they, perhaps, would stand on the shore as now and see the light far off, while Jacob would not see them or be aware of their presence, even as the passengers on this ship were unaware of being observed. So the girls stood silent, looking out and clasping each other by the waist. At last they turned their thoughts from the ship and grieved for themselves, as if they had suffered some loss.

Once thoughts have entered the mind, words come to the lips, and Leah spoke aloud what they were all thinking. “I’ve been wanting to ask you, Dr. Rechnitz,” she said, “when will you be leaving for America?”

Rachel said, “How could our doctor make such a long journey just as he is?”

“What do you mean by ‘just as he is’?”

“I mean, all alone,” said Rachel.

“And what does ‘all alone’ mean?”

“It means without a wife,” said Rachel.

Leah took Jacob’s hand and clasped it as a conciliatory gesture.

Rachel added, “What a pity it is we didn’t settle among ourselves that whoever first took Rechnitz’s hand won the privilege of going to America with him.”

Leah withdrew her hand, remarking, “You’re a wicked girl, Rachel!”

Asnat said, “But, Leah, doesn’t taking his hand make you a wicked girl?”

Then Tamara came up and took hold of Jacob’s hand.

“It will do you no good, Tamara,” said Rachel. “We were talking about whoever first took his hand, which does not apply to you.”

Tamara gave the hand a little squeeze and sniffed at the carnation on her blouse.

“I don’t know why,” said Mira, “but I feel as if I want to run. To run from one end of the world to the other.”

“To run? What put that into your head?”

Mira said, “If I were to run, no horse and no rider would ever catch me.” Even as she spoke, she started off on her light feet. Leah called after her, “Mira, Mira, don’t go too far!” But Mira did not hear her; she was already some distance away and still running.

Said Raya to Tamara, “And you, my little Tamara, stand about like a hobbled bird. Don’t you want to try your legs?”

Tamara raised her eyes and gazed up at Jacob to see if her running would please him. Even as she looked, her feet lifted themselves of their own accord and she was off.

Asnat played with the tassels of her belt, swinging them back and forth as she said, “If Dr. Rechnitz doesn’t take one of these mighty runners for a wife, I don’t know whom he will take.” As she spoke, the tassels slipped out of her hands and her legs began to quiver.

“Do you want to run, too?” said Rachel, taunting her.

“If you run, I will!” she answered.

“No,” said Rachel, “you run. What’s this I am holding, a circle of thorns? Dr. Rechnitz, I forgot I had your plants in my hand and I’ve brought them out with me. Now listen to me, girls, listen. Whoever beats the others in the race will be crowned with this garland.” She raised overhead the seaweeds she had plaited, repeating, “Whoever beats the rest takes this as her crown. What do you want to say, Leah?”

“That’s not how the Greeks did it,” said Leah. “What they did was this. The young men ran and whoever won the race received the crown from the most beautiful girl present. Isn’t that so, Dr. Rechnitz?” And as she spoke she, too, felt her knees quiver. To Rachel she said, “Will you run with me?”

“Run, Leah, run!” said Rachel. “Perhaps you’ll win the garland.”

At this point the other girls returned. “Girls,” said Leah, “if you’d been here a moment ago, you’d have heard a splendid thing.”

“And what is this splendid thing we’ve missed?” asked Asnat.

“Do you see this garland?” said Leah. “We’ve all agreed that the fastest runner will win and wear this wreath, made of Dr. Rechnitz’s weeds. Do you agree, Dr. Rechnitz?”

Rechnitz nodded, saying, “Yes.” But his face grew pale and his heart began to quake.

Leah insisted, “The Greeks had the men run, not the girls.”

Asnat answered, “But since all those young men are dead and we are alive, let’s do their running ourselves. Do you agree, Dr. Rechnitz? Yes or no? Why don’t you speak?”

Rechnitz answered, “I agree,” and his heart quaked all the more.

“Very well,” said Asnat. “Stand in a line, girls. Now, where do we start from and where do we run to?”

She looked up in the direction of the Hotel Semiramis and said, “Let’s start from the Semiramis.”

“And where do we finish?”

“At the old Moslem cemetery. Dr. Rechnitz, you stand in line with us and call ‘one, two, three.’ At ‘three,’ we’ll start. Raya, don’t step out of line. Tamara, until Rechnitz gives the call you mustn’t lift a foot, do you hear?”

“I hear,” said Tamara.

“Stay in your place, then, and don’t stretch your neck out like a camel’s.”

All the girls now stood together where the balconies of the Hotel Semiramis overlooked the sea. They faced the old cemetery, which they had taken as their finishing point. Each looked down at her feet as they made room for Rechnitz. And Rechnitz, standing in the middle, looked from side to side at the girls poised for the race, at the garland on Rachel’s arm, and again at the girls, wondering which of them would wear it as her crown. His hands trembled and his heart beat so fast that he could hardly speak.

The sand was damp and firmly packed; the moon lay on the dim beach, and the dim beach was its mirror. Like drawn bows to which the arrows had not yet been fitted stood the six girls, each waiting for the word that would set her off. But the word was still unspoken; it seemed that Rechnitz had forgotten all about their agreement of a moment ago, or perhaps he had not forgotten and that was the cause of his delay. One girl asked, “Why is he taking so long?” And another said, “Come on, Dr. Rechnitz, say the word!”

Then Jacob, in fear and trembling, called, “One!” To left and right of him the girls quivered with excitement, so that the very sands beneath their feet quivered too. As for Rechnitz, he too was trembling, and perhaps more than they. Suddenly Rachel cried, “Wait, Jacob, wait!” She left her place, knelt down in front of Rechnitz, took the wreath from her arm and passed it to him before going back to stand with her comrades. “Now, Doctor,” she said, “you can say, ‘two, three.’ ” Rechnitz heard her but did not heed, or heeded her but did not hear. Then abruptly the words broke from his lips of their own accord and a voice was heard saying, “One, two, three!” and the girls shot off on their run.

XXXII

Jacob held the garland that Rachel Heilperin had plaited from the dried seaweeds she had found on his table. He looked about him, uncertainly. The six girls raced side by side until one went twisting ahead, like a ball of twine that has dropped from the hands of the knitter. Then she was caught up and returned to the cluster of her companions. Again the rank was broken, by one here and one there, until one girl outpaced all the rest for a time, only to be overtaken; and again the group came together and again broke up. His eyes began to burn painfully; still he watched the running girls. He pricked up his ears to hear the sound of their feet, though this was difficult to catch, for now the tide was rising and the noise of the waves kept breaking through.

At the sound of the waves, at the sight of the limitless expanse of sea, Rechnitz closed his eyes. And now he saw his mother kneeling down before him. He was a small boy; she was threading a new tie round his collar, for it was the day Shoshanah was born and he was invited to the Consul’s house. But surely, thought Jacob to himself, she can’t be my mother, and it goes without saying that she isn’t Shoshanah’s mother either, because one is far from here and the other is dead; if I open my eyes I shall see that this is nothing but an optical illusion. The illusion went so far as to present him at once with his own mother and with Shoshanah’s; and since one object could not be two, it followed of necessity that here was neither his own mother nor Shoshanah’s. But if so, who was she? Shoshanah herself, perhaps? Of course not, for Shoshanah was ill in bed.

He opened his eyes and saw that all was but the shadow of an image, what a man compares to what he actually sees. Of course this was neither his mother nor Shoshanah’s mother nor Shoshanah, but Leah and Rachel and Asnat and Raya and Mira and Tamara. Jacob shifted the wreath from one hand to the other and looked across at the girls who were racing side by side, or one close after the other, each trying to outstrip her companion. Rachel was as light-footed as a gazelle; it seemed likely that she would outrun the rest. But Leah, the deliberate one who measured all her movements, now passed Rachel, and Mira overtook Leah, naturally enough, since she was so accustomed to exercise and running. Finally she was left behind Asnat, with Rachel and Raya outstripping them both. Little Tamara vanished into thin air, she was swallowed up in space; but again she appeared, only to be swallowed up again and vanish from sight. Yet apparently she had managed to pass her companions. At first it had made no difference to Jacob who would outrun whom; now he felt some regret as he saw Tamara beating them all. At least there was some comfort in the thought that the old cemetery was far away and that one of her friends would probably get ahead before she could reach it. Indeed, a figure was now to be seen running ahead of Tamara, but since she was a good way off one could not tell quite who she was. Jacob shut his eyes and left it for time to decide. But time waited and did not defer to Jacob.

A good while passed. Rechnitz stood motionless. What has happened? he wondered. By now they should have returned, but they are not here yet. He looked around him. Heaven and earth, land and sea, were all confounded, and the waves of the sea were raised on high, the waves crashed like thunder, and the sound of the girls’ running feet could not be heard. Why haven’t they come back? he asked himself. The sea grew even vaster, its waves rubbed against the dry land, but there was no sound of the girls’ feet, no sight of the girls themselves. Where had they gone, where had they vanished?

Rechnitz hung the wreath over his arm and began to run. He ran until he reached the place and found them all there, as well as one who had not been with them at the start. She was in her nightgown, like a maiden suddenly alarmed in her sleep. Silent and fearful stood the girls, and with them stood Shoshanah Ehrlich, who had outstripped them all in the race. Neither Leah nor Rachel nor Asnat nor Raya nor Mira nor Tamara had seen her running, yet each of them had been aware in the course of the race that someone was ahead of her, without knowing this someone as Shoshanah Ehrlich, Jacob’s friend, who for many days and weeks had been asleep, never rising from her bed. With fear in their souls they forgot the garland and their agreement with Jacob. And Jacob, too, forgot all this as he stood before Shoshanah.

Suddenly there was a voice calling him by name, a voice that came, as it were, from beneath Shoshanah’s eyelashes. Jacob shut his eyes and replied in a whisper, “Shoshanah, are you here?”

Shoshanah’s eyelashes signaled assent. She put out her hands, took the crown from Jacob’s arm and placed it on her head.

Here, for the time being, we have brought to an end our account of the affairs of Jacob Rechnitz and Shoshanah Ehrlich. These are the same Shoshanah and Jacob who were betrothed to one another through a solemn vow. Because of it, we have called this whole account “Betrothed,” though at first we had thought to call it “The Seven Maidens.”

Annotations to “Betrothed”

3. Jaffa / An ancient port city, and main center of the Second Aliyah and Jewish settlement in the early 20^th century; today the southernmost part of the modern municipality of Tel Aviv-Jaffa. Agnon lived in Jaffa when he first arrived in the Land of Israel in 1908, roughly the same time as the setting of this story.

3. Daily cover / Cf. Deuteronomy 33:12.

3. Ishmaelites / Muslims.

3. Jacob Rechnitz / As with many of Agnon’s characters, it is likely that the author has encoded a form of “midrash” into our protagonist’s name. Jacob is reminiscent of the Biblical forefather, whose name (Ya’akov in Hebrew) carries a meaning of “to circumvent” or to be “crooked” (Genesis 25:26, but also 27:36). Recall that the Biblical Jacob was manipulated to marry a woman against his will (Genesis 29), as is that other scholar in Agnon’s writing, Akavia Mazal — whose first name is etymologically identical with Ya’akov/Jacob — in “In the Prime of her Life” in Two Scholars Who Were in Our Town and Other Novellas (Toby Press, 2014). Rechnitz is a town in Austrian Burgenland, near the Hungarian border, but may evoke “recht” meaning right or proper. If so, Jacob Rechnitz’s name embodies the coincidence of opposites: a crooked uprightness, and may recall Agnon’s early novella of misaligned love, “And the Crooked Shall be Made Straight” (VeHaya He’Akov LeMishor, cf. Isaiah 40:4), forthcoming in translation from Toby Press. Avraham Holtz suggests that Rechnitz might be a Hebrew anagram for nitzrakh — meaning “needy”.

Ze’ev Tiomkin

4. Fever of land speculation / Wave of land speculation in and around 1891, coordinated by Hovevei Zion leader Ze’ev (Vladimir) Tiomkin (1861–1927), leading to the Ottoman Government forbidding land sales in Palestine to Jews, resulting in widespread bankruptcies.

4. Turk / The Ottoman Turks ruled the Land of Israel from 1517 to 1917.

4. Council of the Lovers of Zion in Odessa / The Hovevei Zion (Lovers of Zion) were European Zionist groups, founded in the 1880s to promote Jewish immigration and agricultural settlement in Palestine. The Odessa Committee was the branch of the movement in Russia, recognized as an official charity by the authorities.

HaShilo’ah

5. HaShilo’ah / Monthly Hebrew journal founded by Asher Ginsberg (Ahad Ha’Am) in 1896, covering Jewish life, literature and culture.

5. Razsvyet / “The Dawn”; Russian-language Zionist weekly, published in St. Petersburg between 1907–10.

Caulerpa prolifera

6. My vineyard / Cf. Song of Songs 1:6.

6. Caulerpa / A genus of seaweeds in the family Caulerpaceae, the name means “creeping stem”.

6. Cryptogam / A plant that reproduces by spores, without flowers or seeds.

7. Hovered over the face of the waters / Cf. Genesis 1:2.

7. Ehrlich / German family name meaning “honest” or “honorable” or “upright”; cf. meaning of Jacob Rechnitz’s name, above.

8. Solemn vow / It is from this Hebrew phrase, shevu’at emunim, that the story takes its title; the English title “Betrothed” captures this partially in its etymology “to pledge troth”, to make a vow or oath of faithfulness.

9. Rose / The symbolism of the rose is lost in translation; in Hebrew a rose is shoshanah, the name of our story’s female protagonist.

10. Katharinenhof / A resort outside of Vienna.

Franz Joseph I

10. Emperor / Franz Joseph I (1830–1916), Emperor of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

13. There is a time for all… / Ecclesiastes 3:1.

13. Great War / World War I.

14. Sappho / Greek lyric poetess from the island of Lesbos, c. 630–570 BCE.

14. Medea / In Greek mythology, Medea was the daughter of King Aeëtes of Colchis and granddaughter of the sun god Helios, and later wife to the hero Jason (of Argonaut fame). She is the central character in Euripides’s play Medea.

14. Yeshivas / Traditional Talmudic academies. (Many of the eastern European Jews who arrived in the Land of Israel during the early 20^th century left behind their traditional learning and strict religious lifestyle.)

14. Seven Planets / Classical heavenly bodies visible to the eye and known in the ancient world: Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn, together with the Sun and Moon; cf. Shabbat 156a for Talmudic astrology and mentions of these seven planets.

16. Intimate du / Conversations between Rechnitz and the Ehrlichs would have taken place in German, which differentiates between the informal du for second-person address and the more formal Sie.

Ahad Ha’am

21. Ahad Ha’Am / Pen-name of Asher Ginsberg (1856–1927), journalist, essayist, and preeminent Zionist thinker; founder of “cultural Zionism” aiming toward the establishment of a “Spiritual Center” as opposed to Herzl’s political Zionism. The pen-name Ahad Ha’Am (taken from Genesis 26:10) means “one of the people”.

Moshe Leib Lilienblum

21. Lilienblum / Moshe Leib Lilienblum (1843–1910), writer and figure in the Jewish Enlightenment movement and leader of the Hovevei Zion in Russia.

21. Ussishkin / Menachem Ussishkin (1863–1941), Russian-born Zionist leader and head of the Jewish National Fund which was responsible for land acquisition in Palestine

22. Jerusalem Talmud / Rabbinic commentary on the Mishnah, composed in the 4th–5th centuries in the Land of Israel; counterpart to the later, and more authoritative, Babylonian Talmud.

22. Collector of donations and tithes / Kashrut supervisor who assured that the various agricultural tithes from produce of the Land of Israel were properly separated.

22. Baron Rothschild / Baron Edmond James de Rothschild (1845–1934), French-born member of the Rothschild banking clan, and a strong supporter of Zionism. His charitable support aided the movement and helped establish various settlements and agricultural endeavors in the Land of Israel.

Baron Rothschild

23. Political Zionists / Followers of Theodor Herzl’s platform at the First Zionist Congress (Basel, 1897), which aimed at establishing a politically and legally assured Jewish homeland in Palestine.

23. Uganda schism / 1903 proposal to create a Jewish homeland in a portion of British East Africa. The plan created a major schism within the larger Zionist movement, drawing support from Herzl, and opposition from Ussishkin and others. Ultimately rejected at the 1905 Seventh Zionist Congress.

23. Zionists of Zion / Nickname for the followers of Ussishkin; opponents to the Uganda Plan, who remained loyal to the notion that Zionism could only be fulfilled in the Land of Israel.

23. Bilu / Zionist movement to promote agricultural settlement in the Land of Israel, founded by students in 1882 in Kharkov.

24. Galicia / Geographic region comprising parts of contemporary southern Poland and western Ukraine, historical home to a large Jewish population (including Agnon himself).

25. Mikveh or Sarona / Mikveh Israel was the first Jewish agricultural school in Israel, established on the eastern outskirts of Jaffa in 1870. Sarona was a German Templer colony founded in 1871, about 4 km. northeast of Jaffa; today a neighborhood of Tel Aviv.

26. Rays of sunrise / Cf. Yoma 28b and Rashi s.v. “Timor”.

29. Sefardim / Descendants of the Spanish Jewish community, expelled from Spain in 1492.

29. Ashkenazim / Jews of the central and eastern European tradition.

Jaffa orange logo from Sarona

29. Yemenite Jews / Members or descendents of the ancient Jewish communities of Yemen (which began emigration to the Land of Israel in 1881). The community follows distinct religious traditions which separate their practices from that of the Ashkenazim and Sefardim. Many Yemenite Jews were known for their skills as craftsmen and artisans, a role they played in the early Settlement.

Yemenite Jew, late 19^th c.

29. Thou hast set a boundary… / Psalms 104:9 and cf. Rashi.

30. Rishon LeZion / Coastal farm settlement established to the south of Jaffa in 1882; under Baron Rothschild’s patronage the Carmel-Mizrahi winery was founded there.

30. Old Baron / Apparently this character is a conflation of two historical figures: Moritz Hall (1838–1914) and his son-in-law Baron Plato von Ustinov (1840–1918), a Russian-born German citizen, and grandfather of the actor Peter Ustinov. Ustinov was the owner of the Hôtel du Parc in Jaffa, renowned for its gardens and talking parrots; presumably the setting for “Betrothed”. Hall, a Jew from Cracow, was a cannon-caster of King Negus Tewodros II of E thiopia, where he was converted to Protestantism. He married an Ethiopian court-lady Katharina née Zander (1850–1932), who was of mixed Ethiopian-German origin. The character of the Old Baron in Jaffa also appears in Agnon’s epic novel of the Second Aliyah, Temol Shilshom (translated by Barbara Harshav as Only Yesterday [Princeton University Press, 2000]). For more on the historical background of these characters see the monograph by Avraham Holtz and Toby Berger Holtz, Moritz Hall: The Old Man of Jaffa (University of Haifa, 2003).

Hôtel du Parc

Moritz Hall (courtesy T. Holtz)

31. Settlement Bank / Jewish Colonial Trust, which provided loans to Jewish farmers and helped promote construction and settlement, was established in London by the second Zionist Congress in 1899 as the financial instrument of the Zionist Organization. Later incorporated as the present-day Bank Leumi.

34. Allah kareem / Arabic: God is the most generous.

34. Japheth / Son of the Biblical Noah (Genesis 5:32); according to folkloric tradition he was the founder and eponym of the ancient city of Jaffa.

35. Nebuchadnezzar / Nebuchadnezzar II (c. 634–562 BCE), king of the Babylonian Empire, responsible for the destruction of the First Temple in Jerusalem, and forced exile of the Jewish tribes (also renowned for the construction of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon).

37. Asclepius / Greek god of medicine and healing; son of Apollo.

40. Ilyushin the taxidermist / Walter Lever, this story’s translator, changed this character’s name in order to preserve in English an element of the word-play Ilyushin-Illusion (in chapter 22, p. 57) which is generated from Shoshanah’s misunderstanding or mispronouncing of his name. In Hebrew the character is named Arzef, and appears in a significant, if minor, role in Agnon’s Temol Shilshom — see especially Book II Chapter 7.3 (pp. 241–244 in Only Yesterday) and Book IV Chapter 15.2 (pp. 604–608) — where he is portrayed as a craftsman and scientist fully devoted to his work and research by being fully unencumbered by family life:

Arzef lives alone like the First Adam in the Garden of Eden, with no wife and no sons and no cares and no troubles, among all kinds of livestock and animals and birds and insects and reptiles and snakes and scorpions. He dwells with them in peace, and even when he takes their soul, they don’t demand his blood in exchange, since they enter the great museums of Europe because of him, and professors and scholars flock to his door and give him honorary degrees and money. Arzef doesn’t run after money and doesn’t brag about the honorary degrees. Let those who get all their honor from others brag about them. It’s enough for Arzef to look at his handiwork and know that never in his life has he ruined any creature in the world, on the contrary, he gave a name and remainder to some birds of the Land of Israel who were said to have vanished from the earth” (Only Yesterday, p. 242).

Compare this to the personality of our Dr. Rechnitz and his seaweeds!

It was rumored that Agnon modeled Arzef on Yisrael Aharoni (1882–1946), a Russian-born naturalist, known as the “first Hebrew zoologist”, having discovered and coined Hebrew names for dozens of previously unknown animals, birds, and insects. He emigrated to Jerusalem in 1901, ultimately obtaining an academic post at the Hebrew University. Typically, Agnon neither denied nor confirmed this, see MeAtzmi el Atzmi (Schocken, 2000), p. 468.

Yisrael Aharoni

41. Sanin / 1907 Russian novel by Mikhail Petrovich Artsybashev (1878–1927); censored for its scandalous erotic and revolutionary content, making it particularly popular with young readers.

43. Otto Weininger and his book Sex and Character / Weininger (1880–1903) was a Jewish-born Viennese philosopher. His book Sex and Character, published the same year as his suicide, attempts a scientific argument that all people are composed of both male and the female characteristics. Having converted to Protestantism the year before publication, Weininger analyzes the archetypal Jew as “feminine” — Christianity is described as “the highest expression of the highest faith”, while Judaism is called “the extreme of cowardliness”. Weininger decries the decay of modern times, and attributes much of it to feminine, or “Jewish”, influences.

45. Kirov / City and the administrative center of Kirov Oblast, Russia, located on the Vyatka River, about 950 km. northeast of Moscow.

45. Ibsen / Henrik Ibsen (1828–1906), Norwegian playwright and predominate force in European realism and modernism on the stage and in literature.

46. Sharon settlements / The Sharon region is the northern half of Israel’s coastal plain.

48. Herrchen / German for “My Lord”, but can also mean a pet-owner.

51. Western Wall / Alt. Wailing Wall; remnant of the ancient retaining wall surrounding the Jerusalem Temple, destroyed in 7 °CE.

51. Sha’arei Zedek Hospital / Founded on Jaffa Road in 1902, the first major medical facility in Jerusalem outside the walls of the Old City.

51. A certain doctor / Presumably the founder and long-time director of Sha’arei Zedek, Dr. Moshe (Moritz) Wallach (1866–1957).

Dr. Moshe Wallach (in 1956)

56. Ein Rogel / Natural spring and ancient water source on the southeastern outskirts of the Old City of Jerusalem (see Samuel II 17:17, e.g.).

57. Our days on earth are like a shadow / Cf. Chronicles II 29:15.

60. Opened a book… nobody dreams of himself as dead / Presumably Freud’s 1899 The Interpretation of Dreams, which actually states the opposite of what Shoshanah claims (likely a deliberate “mistake” by Agnon).

63. Nietzsche / Friedrich Nietzsche (1844–1900) was appointed professor of classical philology at the University of Basel at the age of 24, even prior to completing his Ph.D.

65. Kaiser Wilhem / Wilhem II (1859–1941), last German Emperor and King of Prussia (reigned 1888–1918).

66. Sworn to be faithful / It is from this Hebrew phrase, shevu’at emunim, that the story takes its title.

Kaiser Wilhelm II

68. Any pain’s better than a pain in the head / Shabbat 11a.

68. Nothnagel / Dr. Hermann Nothnagel (1841–1905), German-born internist and professor in Vienna. The family name is German for an “emergency nail” or “nail in need” — an iron spike carried by firefighters of old to be used when an escape from an upper floor was blocked. It could be hammered into an outside window so that a rope could be lowered from it allowing the firefighter to rappel down to safety. Agnon may be using the name here to connote such a last-minute resort.

71. Sitting at her window / Cf. Judges 5:28.

72. Hotel Semiramis / An actual Jaffa hotel at the time, named for legendary queen of Assyria. See Robert Alter’s afterword to this volume on the symbolism of the hotel, which becomes a landmark for the final action of the story, bearing the name of “the queen who is a burning image of antiquity’s erotic splendor.”

72. Because we have no university here / The first institute of higher learning in the Land of Israel was Haifa’s Technion — The Israel Institute of Technology, founded in 1912. However the vision of a Jerusalem university mentioned by the school principal is a reference to the Hebrew University, whose cornerstone was laid in 1918 on Mount Scopus (which overlooks the Temple Mount, as hinted at by the principal), and which began operation in 1925.

Balfour speaking at inauguration of Hebrew University (1925)

73. Blessed be your going out… / Inversion of verse in Deuteronomy 28:6.

77. Zeus / In Greek mythology, Zeus, king of the gods, was also titled Philoxenon (lover of guests), patron god of hospitality and guests.

78. Beside the brook… / Opening of a German poem, “The Youth by the Brook” (“Der Jüngling am Bache”), by Friedrich von Schiller (1759–1805).

Dukhifat (Hoopoe)

82. Hobbled bird / The Hebrew text reads dukhifat kfutah, a bound-up dukhifat (bird mentioned in Leviticus 11:19; identified as the hoopoe, a colorful bird with a distinctive crown of feathers). The Talmud mentions this bird, an agent of the mythic Lord of the Sea (Sara de-Yama), having committed suicide upon lacking to fulfill a particular “sworn oath” (Gittin 68b and Rashi s.v. badku, as per Hullin 63a) — all elements resonating with various symbols in the story.

87. Here, for the time being… / A typically Agnonian indeterminate and ambivalent ending (see the conclusion to A Simple Story). There are, however, a number of references to Rechnitz and Shoshanah in other Agnon stories (see for example “Edo and Enam”, p. 115 in this volume). In Agnon’s Temol Shilshom, it’s very clear that all Agnon characters of the various Jaffa stories occupy the same literary universe. See there, Book III Chapter 8:1 (p. 415 in the English translation, Only Yesterday), which opens: “Isaac got out of bed. He washed his face and hands, but he didn’t go to the sea, for it was already noontime, and in those days, we didn’t go walking at the sea in the afternoon on hot days, except for Doctor Rekhnitz [sic], who used to hunt for seaweed, and now that he has left for America, you don’t see a person at the sea in the afternoon.” Jacob, it seems, sets sail for New York after the conclusion of “Betrothed” — whether Shoshanah accompanies him, or what becomes of their life together, is left for the reader to decide.