Two Scholars Who Were in Our Town and Other Novellas (33 page)

I was surprised that both Mintshi and my father spoke circumspectly. Still, my happiness did not leave me. While I was absorbed in my own thoughts Mrs. Gottlieb said, “My task is an odd one, my dear friend. I must play the bad aunt. But what can I do? I thought your folly was that of a young girl, but…” Mintshi did not complete her thought, nor did I ask her the meaning of the word “but.” She sat by my side for another half hour and upon leaving kissed my forehead. And I savored in that kiss the tang of a new flavor. I embraced her. “Ah, little monster,” she cried, “you’ve messed up my hair. Let go of me, I must tidy my hair.” And picking up the mirror Mintshi laughed loudly. “Why are you laughing?” I asked, affronted. Mintshi gave me the mirror. And I saw that every inch of its surface was scratched, for I had etched into the silver the name Akaviah Mazal over and over.

A week passed and Mazal did not come to inquire about my health. At times I reproached him for fearing my father and acting in a cowardly fashion, and at times I feared that he too was ill. But I did not ask my father, nor did I have any desire to talk of the matter. Then I remembered the legend of the Baron’s daughter who had loved a man from among the poor of the land. “It shall not come to pass,” her father had decreed. Hearing her father’s words the girl took ill and nearly died. And seeing how ill she was the doctors had said, “The wound is grievous, there is no healing of the fracture, for she is stricken by love.” Her father had then gone forth to her suitor and implored him to marry his daughter. So I remained confined to my bed as sundry visions washed over me. And whenever the door turned on its hinges I asked, “Who’s there?” My heart beat feebly and my voice was like my mother’s voice at the time of her illness.

One day my father said, “The doctor tells me you have regained your strength.” “Tomorrow I will go out,” I replied. “Tomorrow,” my father said, frowning. “Please wait another two or three days before going out, for who knows if the open air will, heaven forbid, not harm you. Three days hence and ours will be a different road. Stay here until the Memorial Day for your mother’s death and we will visit her grave together. You will also find Mr. Mazal there.” My father turned to go.

His words puzzled me, how did he know Mazal would come? Had they met? And if so, was it out of good will? And why had Akaviah not come to see me? And what was to happen? I was so excited that my teeth chattered and I feared I would fall ill again. Why had Akaviah not answered my letters? I cried out. And suddenly my heart was silenced, I ceased mulling over my thoughts, and I drew the covers over my hot flesh and shut my eyes. The day is still far off, I told myself, now I will sleep and the Lord will do what is good in His eyes.

What then happened to me I shall never know, for I lay on my sickbed for a great many days. And when I opened my eyes I beheld Akaviah seated in a chair, and his face lit up the room. I laughed in embarrassment and he too laughed, and it was the laugh of a good man. Just then my father entered and cried out, “Praised be God!” He then strode towards me and kissed my brow. I stretched my arms out and embraced and kissed him, “Oh father, father, my dear father,” I exclaimed. My father, however, forbade me to utter another word. “Calm down, my joy of joys, calm down, Tirtza, be patient for a few more days and then you will talk to your heart’s content.” Later that afternoon the old doctor arrived. And after examining me he stroked my cheek and said, “You are a courageous girl. This time you’ve come round, and now all the medicines in the world won’t do you any harm either.” “Blessed be the name of the Lord!” Kaila cried out from the doorway. Winter drew to an end and I was saved.

I was married on the eve of
Shabbat Nahamu
. A mere ten people were called to the bridal canopy. A mere ten and the entire town buzzed, for until that day such a simple wedding had never been witnessed in our town. And after the Sabbath we left our town for a summer resort and found lodgings in the home of a widow. The woman served us breakfast and dinner, but we lunched at the dairyman’s house in the village. Three times a week a letter arrived from my father, and I too wrote regularly. Wherever I chanced upon a postcard I sent it to my father. Akaviah did not write other than enclosing his regards. And yet he gave a different shade of meaning to each of his greetings. And a letter arrived from Mintshi Gottlieb telling us that she had found us a place to live. And she drew a ground plan of the house and its rooms on a sheet of paper. Mintshi wished to know whether to rent the lodgings, thereby assuring us of a home on our return. Two days elapsed and we did not answer Mintshi’s letter, and on the third day there were peals of thunder and flashes of lightning and all morning a hard rain poured down. The landlady came to ask whether to light the stove. “But it is not winter yet,” I said laughing. And Akaviah told the woman, “If the sun has drawn in its flames then the heat from the stove will be sweeter sevenfold.”

“Today,” Akaviah said to me, “we will answer Mrs. Gottlieb’s letter.” “But what shall we say?” I asked. “I will teach you how to put reason to good use,” my husband said, “and you will know what to answer. Mrs. Gottlieb has written us a letter to say she has found us lodgings, and this did not come as a surprise, for we are indeed in need of lodgings, and the rooms are agreeable and the woman is a woman of good taste as well as a friend, which gives us all the more reason to trust her words.” “In that case I will write and say that the lodgings please us.” “Wait,” Akaviah said, “someone is knocking. The landlady is here to light the stove.” And the woman kindled the fire with the wood she had brought. She then told us how she and her forefathers and her fathers’ forefathers were born in this very village. She would never leave the village; here she was born, grew up and would die. It was beyond her why people left their birthplace and wandered to the far corners of the world. You have a home? Honor it and dwell in it. And if you say, ‘I like my friend’s garden,’ well, why don’t you plant a garden yourself? Why should the air stink in your own neighborhood, while it smells good in another part of town where your friend lives?” My husband laughed at her words and said, “Her words ring true.”

The rain had stopped, but the soil hadn’t dried yet. The fire blazed in the stove and we sat in our room and warmed ourselves. My husband said, “We have had such a good time that we nearly forgot about our future lodgings. But listen to what I propose and tell me whether it seems right in your eyes. You are familiar with my house, if it is too small we could add a room and live in it. Now we must write to Mintshi Gottlieb to thank her for her labors.” We wrote Mintshi a letter of gratitude, and to my father we announced our decision to move into Akaviah’s home. Our plans did not please my father, for Akaviah lived in a peasant’s house. Yet my father did repairs on the house and he also built us a new room. A month passed and we returned. My home won over my heart. Although it was no different from the other farmhouses, a different spirit dwelled within it. And as we entered we were greeted by the sweet fragrance of potted flowers and a freshly baked cake prepared by Mintshi for our homecoming. The rooms were attractive and cozy, for the hands of a wise woman had adorned them. An adjoining servant’s room had also been built. But there was no maidservant to serve the house. My father sent Kaila but I promptly sent her back, preferring to eat at my father’s until we should find a young maidservant. And we would arrive at noon and return in the evening.

At the end of the holiday my father left for Germany to conclude his business affairs and consult with doctors. And the doctors directed my father to the city of Wiesbaden. Kaila then came to our home to help me with the household chores.

We soon found a young maidservant and Kaila returned to my father’s home. The girl came for only two, three hours a day at the most. I then said, How will I manage all the housework by myself? But soon enough I realized it was far better to have the servant come for a few hours than for the entire day, for she would leave after completing her duties and then there was no one to keep me from talking to my husband as much as I pleased.

Winter came. Wood and potatoes were stored indoors. My husband labored over his book chronicling the history of the Jews in our town and I cooked fine and savory dishes. After the meal we would go out for a walk, or else we would stay at home and read. And Mrs. Gottlieb gave me an apron she had sewn for me. Akaviah caught sight of me in the large apron and called me mistress of the household. And I was happy being mistress of the house.

But times will change. I began to resent cooking. At night I would spread a thin layer of butter on a slice of bread and hand it to my husband. And if the maidservant did not cook lunch then we did not eat. Even preparing a light meal burdened me. One Sunday the servant did not come and I sat in my husband’s room, for that day we had only one stove going. I was motionless as a stone. I knew my husband could not work if I sat with him in the room, as he was accustomed to working without anyone else present. But I did not rise and leave, nor did I stir from my place. I could not rise. I undressed in his room and bid him to arrange my clothes. And I shuddered in fear lest he approach me, for I was deeply ashamed. And Mrs. Gottlieb said, “The first three months will pass and you will be yourself again.” My husband’s misfortune shocked me and gave me no rest. Was he not born to be a bachelor? Why then had I robbed him of his peace? I longed to die, for I was a snare unto Akaviah. Night and day I prayed to God that I should give birth to a girl who would tend to all his needs after my death.

My father returned from Wiesbaden. He retired from his business, though not wanting to remain idle he would spend two or three hours a day with the man who bought his shop. And he comes to visit us at night, not counting those nights when it rains, for on such nights the doctor has forbidden him to venture out of the house. He arrives bearing apples or a bottle of wine or a book from his bookshelf—a gift for my husband. Then, being fond of reading the papers, he relates to us the news of the day. Sometimes he asks my husband about his work and grows confused as he speaks to him. Other times my father talks of the great cities he has seen while traveling on business. Akaviah listens like a village boy. Is this the student who came from Vienna and spoke to my mother and her parents about the wonders of the capital? How happy I am that they have something to talk about. Whenever they speak together I recall the exchange between Job and his friends, for they speak in a similar manner. One speaks and the other answers. Such is their way every night. And I stand vigilant, lest my father and my husband quarrel. The child within me grows from day to day. All day I think of nothing but him. I knit my child a shirt and have bought him a cradle. And the midwife comes every so often to see how I am faring. I am almost a mother.

A night chill envelopes the countryside. We sit in our rooms and our rooms are suffused with warmth and light. Akaviah sets his notebooks aside and comes up to me and embraces me. And he sings a lullaby. Suddenly his face clouds over and he falls silent. I do not ask what causes this, but am glad when my father comes home. My father takes out a pair of slippers and a red cap—presents for the child. “Thank you, grandfather,” I say in a child’s piping voice. At supper even my father agrees to eat from the dishes I prepared today. We speak of the child about to be born. Now I glance at my father’s face and now at my husband’s. I behold the two men and long to cry, to cry in my mother’s bosom. Has my husband’s sullen mood brought this about, or does a spirit dwell in womankind? My father and my husband sit at the table, their faces shining upon me. By dint of their love and compassion, each resembles the other. Evil has seventy faces and love has but one face.

I then thought of the son of Gottlieb’s brother on the day Gottlieb came to his brother’s home and his brother’s wife sat with her son. Gottlieb lifted the boy up in the air and danced, but his brother entered and the boy glanced now at Gottlieb and now at his brother, and he turned his face away from them both and in a fit of tears he flung his arms out to his mother.

So end the chronicles of Tirtza.

In my room at night, as my husband bent over his work and I was afraid of disturbing him, I sat alone and wrote down all I had treasured up in memory. Sometimes I would ask myself, Why have I set my memories down, what new things have I seen and what do I wish to leave behind? Then I would say: It is to find solace in writing, and so I wrote all that is written in this book.

Translated by Gabriel Levin
Revised and Annotated by Jeffrey Saks

Annotations to “In the Prime of Her Life”

In the Prime of Her Life / Heb.
Bidmi Yamehah
, an adaptation of Isaiah 38:10, describing King Hezekiah’s nearly being stricken down by illness in the prime of his life. The reference is doubly resonant with our story when we consider the Talmud’s suggestion (Berakhot 10a) that the cause of his illness was an initial refusal to marry and father children; i.e., trampling upon a normal structure of family life
.

Kaddish / Mourner’s prayer, recited during the year of morning following the death of a close relative
.

Melamed / Heb. teacher; a tutor hired to teach Jewish studies
.

Bedingungs-Buchstaben
and
Sprach-Werkzeuge
/ “conditional phrases and linguistic methods”; i.e. German grammatical terms
.

Sash / According to custom to wrap a ritual belt around the waist prior to prayer
.

Minhah / Afternoon prayer
.

Mizrah / Decorative sign indicating East and the direction toward Jerusalem in which prayers are recited; often embroidered with Biblical verses and the like
.