So much for Dr. Krautmeir. Now I might as well get back to our friend from the kvutza. While Henrietta was tormented because she was determined to get to Zahara, although she had no one to leave Sarah with, help appeared from an unanticipated source. The very person who brought news of her grandchild’s birth offered to look after Sarah for however much time Zahara’s mother and father wished to spend with Zahara. She had come to Jerusalem to spend some time in a rest home in Motza, and, if she stayed there three or four days less, it would be no great loss to the Jewish people.
Zahara’s friend stayed to take care of Zahara’s sister so Zahara’s parents could visit Zahara and welcome Zahara’s child. Henrietta hadn’t been out of Jerusalem since the day she went to the Dead Sea with Manfred and Tamara. Now that she was leaving town, she was surprised at how easy it was to go and how easy it was to leave Sarah. She remembered what Manfred had said the day they came back from the Dead Sea: “We should go on a trip such as this once a month.” How many months ago was that? Not only had she not left Jerusalem in all that time, but even in Jerusalem itself she hadn’t been out for a walk, either alone or with Manfred. Now they were going off together for a number of days to see Zahara and her child. Henrietta was comfortable and relaxed, and so was Manfred. He, too, was surprised to be able to detach himself from all his commitments. Herbst was not one of those scholars who believe the world won’t survive without their writings, but he believed he wouldn’t survive without his work. It was suddenly demonstrated to him that he could leave his work in the middle. When they received word that Zahara had given birth, he was in the process of copying notes out of a book. He abandoned this task in the very middle, yet his mind didn’t wander back to it. When he did think about it again, he couldn’t remember where he had stopped. No sooner did he remember than he forgot again, although, when he sat copying, it seemed to him that he was making a great discovery. He put all that out of mind and watched the mountains, hills, and valleys unfurling and changing shape as they unfurled. A single color was smeared across the sky, mixing a variety of hues and altering them continually. Everything is subject to change — earth, sky, people. Henrietta glanced at her husband, wondering about him. He looked so boyish; his face glowed happily, just as it used to when he and she were young. Manfred was vigorous and happy in those days. He carried a heavy stick in his hand, and he sported a Rembrandt-like hat and a small mustache that was something of a joke. His manner was light and easy. She was not unattractive either. Her limbs were light; her entire body was lithe and lovely. Her blonde hair attracted considerable attention. When she walked into the municipal train station, with her briefcase tucked under her arm, more than one young man watched to see which car she went into and followed her. But she had eyes only for Fred, whom she still called Manfred. They were seeing a lot of each other when the war broke out and Manfred had to go to fight. She was convinced that this would be the end for her, because there were already rumors that not everyone who went to war came back alive. Her parents were also convinced that it was time for her to give up Manfred, for, when the sword of war hangs over a man’s head, his attachment to any young woman will surely wither. Manfred was of another mind. Two days before he left for the war, he married her. It was a hasty wedding, because he had to leave. As soon as they got up from their wedding bed, he went off to fight. But his steadfast love earned him the goodwill of guardian angels, and he returned from the front safe and sound. Whenever he had leave, he spent the entire time with her. Have a look at Dr. Herbst: here in the Land of Israel, he has not enrolled in the Haganah, but, there in Germany, he performed heroic deeds for which he earned extra time at home. It was still the custom, there in Germany, to reward such deeds, even in the case of Jews. He has already forgotten most of the feats that earned him extra time with his wife, but Henrietta never forgot. He came home in uniform, a dashing hero. Other soldiers saluted him, and when he saluted a superior, the response was respectful, as though they were equals. Until the revolution, when he discarded his arms and came home a free man. They were sure the trouble was over. Eternal joy was on the horizon. But in fact the end of the war ushered in a series of revolutions, making life even more difficult. Before one ended, a more violent one began. Because of these upheavals, life was disrupted. There was no electricity, no fuel for heat or cooking, no milk and bread deliveries. The baker didn’t respond to those who needed him. Food was scarce, and shopkeepers either closed their doors or opened them and said, “Come in and see the empty shelves.” There wasn’t even water in the faucets. Worst of all, the world was ravaged by many serious epidemics, all of which spread to Germany. Many young women died; Henrietta lost quite a number of relatives and close friends. They say that more people died from disease than from combat. When man is cruel to his kind, nature is cruel to mankind. Henrietta was not affected. Except by the shortages. There was no money shortage. On the contrary, they had millions, even billions. But the millions and billions didn’t buy food. At about this time, Zahara was born. No one who saw her then could believe that little worm would grow limbs and put on flesh. But she grew, exceeding her parents’ expectations. Now that child has borne a child.
Henrietta glanced at her husband, suppressing laughter. It certainly was funny that that child had borne a child and they were on their way to see the child she had borne. Manfred felt he should say something. His mind shifted from birth to birth, from the birth of his daughter’s son to the birth of his own youngest child, the child of his old age; to that day when he found the nurse Shira, who attended Henrietta. And events transpired that couldn’t be explained logically or in any other way, for, though he had never known any woman other than Henrietta, he was drawn to her. Henrietta looked at her husband again and was puzzled. From the moment she received news of the birth of Zahara’s son, she had never stopped thinking of Zahara. Now, all of a sudden, she was thinking about Manfred. She shifted her mind back to Zahara, but her thoughts drifted to Manfred. He appeared again, bent over Zahara’s crib, his shoulders so broad that the baby was hidden and only he was visible. Now that they were on the way to see Zahara and her baby, Manfred was doing exactly what he had done then, when she was a baby.
The car leaped down mountains, making its way through the valley. The mountains that had raised themselves along the way were no longer in sight. They were replaced by broad plains, brown and picturesque, dotted with gleaming red roofs. Over the rooftops, the sun was etched in the sky. Clouds of blue, silver, and a nameless whiteness unmatched on the earth below made shapes in the sky. A rare warmth, tempered by breezes, delicately scented, and embroidered in finely tinted color, encircled the earth. Sound, like a song, rose from the brush and bramble; from the wings of insects; from the branches of a solitary tree, a remnant of onetime abundance; from the bell of the ram leading the flock. Then, suddenly, everything was silent, but for the sound of a car with three passengers: a man, a woman, another man. The man was the Zionist leader who was touring the Emek. The woman was his secretary. Their companion lived in the Emek and was telling them what to report to our brothers-in-exile. The car raced ahead, because of the two events the Zionist leader was scheduled to attend before leaving the country. It vanished in a trail of exhaust, allowing the Herbsts to enjoy the sky above, the earth below, the sun, wind, scent, view, sounds, the tiny houses sprouting up from the midst of these Emek settlements. Their driver, who was from one of the houses in one of those settlements, turned toward the passengers, calling out the name of every cluster of gleaming roofs. He called out the name of the kvutza he had belonged to before becoming a driver and, with a lilt approaching song, told them when that kvutza was founded and by whom, what it had endured, and how many rounds of settlers had passed through. A kvutza is short on years but long on history. It isn’t years that make history, but what one does with them. The driver had a long history too, having spent time in every kvutza in the Emek, either as a member or a long-term guest, and he had earned the right to consider himself a founding father.