The driver succeeded in doing what the road failed to do: distracting Herbst, so that all thoughts of Shira slipped away. When the driver fell silent, the sounds of the Emek — its vegetation and wildlife — took over. Herbst’s mind was flooded with memories of events that preceded Shira. How wonderful those days were. If he was occasionally disturbed by fantasies about women, they were short-lived, because it was clear to him that he had no interest in any other woman. Manfred took Henrietta’s hand, pressed it fondly, and said nothing. Henrietta sat, her hand in his, choosing not to intrude on him with conversation. Manfred remained rapt in thought. His thoughts were a muddle, but all of them were about Henrietta: how they got to know one another, how they confided their feelings to each other, how they happened to marry, how they were before coming to this country, and how they are now, here in the Land of Israel.
Chapter twenty-one
It was an hour before dark when they arrived at the gate. Those who worked in the fields were not back yet. There was no one in sight, not a voice to be heard. The entire village was still, the stillness broken only by a murmur from the water tower. Bright greenish light glowed, and a warm blue, contained in the light and held together by air, floated through the atmosphere. The scent of thistle infused with sunshine radiated from the bushes at the gate. Here I would find the leisure to write my book, Herbst thought, and, at the same time, he was happy that here he would not be burdened by his book or required to do any work. He turned to his wife and said, “So, Henrietta, here we are at Zahara’s.” “Yes,” Henrietta said, “here we are at Zahara’s.” Though the entire trip was because of Zahara, Henrietta was surprised to have arrived at Zahara’s home. She felt she ought to do something — sit up straight, for example; something, the nature of which was unclear to her. She made herself small and stammered, “Yes, here we are at Zahara’s.”
The gate was closed. In front of the gate, on a crooked pole, a warning was posted: because of hoof-and-mouth disease, no guests will be admitted and all strangers are absolutely forbidden to enter. This was the announcement posted by all the communal settlements before a holiday, to discourage an onslaught of guests. Though the holiday was over and there were no others anytime soon, the announcement was still posted. Herbst, who was a disciplined person, accepted the decree regretfully and resigned himself to the fact that, despite the long trip, he wouldn’t see his daughter. Henrietta was also law-abiding, but it was clear to her that no power in the world was going to prevent her from seeing her daughter, especially now that she had given birth. The driver sounded his horn, a long drawn out blast, to get someone to open the gate. The Herbsts stared at him, bewildered. Didn’t he see the warning; couldn’t he read? They had noticed a book resting on the driver’s seat. It was a detective story; still, he must know how to read. The driver blew his horn again. The Herbsts stared at him again, not perplexed, but openly pleased and approving.
A tall, thin young man, with a splendid shock of blond hair poking out from under a battered hat, made his way to the gate and opened it lazily, asking the bus driver in a whisper, “Which hotel garden are these two turnips from?” The driver laughed to himself and didn’t answer.
Feigning graciousness, the young man asked, “How can I help you?” The driver answered, “You could, for example, tell Zahara’s son to run to his grandpa and grandma.” The young man studied the guests and said, “Perhaps you are Zahara’s parents?” Henrietta said, “Why ‘perhaps’?” The driver added, “If you don’t believe them, I can testify that I found them in the Herbst castle.” The young man lowered his head, brushed away the lock of hair that dangled over his eyes, and said, “Come to the dining room. You can have some tea while I go and tell Zahara.” Henrietta was puzzled. Why to the dining room rather than to Zahara’s? Before she had a chance to say anything, she and Manfred were in the dining room. Before they had a chance to catch their breath, a drink was set before them.
Still in their travel clothes, the Herbsts sat at a long table on which there were a tray with a kettle, two glasses, bread, and jam. A plump and jolly girl stood by, with smiling eyes and black curls dancing around her rosy cheeks. She looked at both of the Herbsts and said, in a tone at once coquettish and absolute, “This jam is good in tea, as well as on bread. We make it ourselves. The fruit is grown here in Ahinoam. Please, try some. I’ve already poured your tea.”
The Herbsts sat, tea in hand, their eyes on the door. Henrietta’s glass was already half-empty, and Zahara still hadn’t come. Other people came. But not Zahara, not Avraham-and-a-half, her husband, not the person who went to call Zahara. Some other young man came in, accompanied by a young woman. He was the driver who had brought the Herbsts to Ahinoam, and she was one of the kvutza members. Zahara, however, didn’t come. Henrietta looked around, nervous and irritated. She looked at Manfred, who was sitting there indifferently. Fred was odd; from the moment he set out on this trip, nothing seemed to matter to him except the pleasure of travel. The whole point of the trip was Zahara, yet, now that they had arrived, it didn’t matter to him whether Zahara appeared or not. Henrietta put down her tepid tea. The driver discarded what was left, took the kettle, and poured her fresh tea. Henrietta thought: I should offer the driver some tea. She also thought: I’m not even a tea drinker. It’s Fred who drinks tea. He quotes Goethe, who said he preferred a delicate drink such as tea to poisonous coffee; still, when it’s time for a drink, he asks for coffee. Henrietta was engrossed in her thoughts when Zahara came. She came running. She came suddenly. Henrietta didn’t see her coming, yet there she was. Avraham-and-a-half was with her — Avraham-and-a-half, who was Zahara’s husband and the father of Zahara’s son. In a flash, mother and daughter were embracing one another, entwined in each other’s arms, the daughter’s arms wrapped around her mother, the mother’s arms wrapped around her daughter. As they embraced, they kissed and kissed again, holding on to each other and kissing all over again. They clung and were so tightly entangled that it was hard to tell them apart. If this was not a manifestation of the wish to merge, to be one body again, I don’t know what it was. Zahara suddenly let go of her mother and flung herself on her father’s neck, hugging him and giving him a protracted kiss. After a time, she kissed him again and said, “Father, you’re here.” Manfred was enveloped in his daughter’s arms, unsure whether he had kissed her or not. After a moment’s reflection, he kissed her on the forehead. Then he offered his hand to Avraham-and-a-half. Taking his son-in-law’s hand, he felt weary, a weariness that irked him. He heard Zahara’s voice. She seemed to be saying something. He looked up at her, noting that her face glowed and her mouth was bright with happiness. She was saying, “Now, my dears, now come and I’ll show you my son.”