The entire kvutza responded warmly to Zahara’s parents. Some knew the Herbsts, because they had been in their house, enjoyed Mrs. Herbst’s cooking and Dr. Herbst’s conversation, fingered the books on his shelves, and been stimulated by his ideas. Others didn’t know them but had heard about them. Everyone welcomed them, as young people tend to do when company is congenial. There were some guests they were required to welcome: tourists who were ridiculous and whose questions were just as ridiculous; official guests from the national bodies that determined the budget; cultural windbags who assumed they were indispensable. But the Herbsts were welcomed because of Zahara and because of who they were. They were “like us,” and, even if our problems weren’t theirs, when we discussed them, we didn’t run into a stone wall. Furthermore, although Herbst was a scholar, he wrote academic papers in ordinary language.
The two Heinzes — Heinz the Berliner and Heinz from Darmstadt — took charge of the Herbsts. They sat with them and told them what had been happening in the kvutza and what was about to happen. They sat talking until a few members of the Culture Committee came to invite Dr. Herbst to give a lecture. “A lecture?” Herbst asked in dismay. “As I was leaving, I stored all my wisdom in a desk drawer. It didn’t occur to me that anyone here would be interested in my merchandise.” He scrutinized the young people, their amiable charm and lively innocence, and it seemed odd to him to stand up and lecture on his usual topics, which, though important in themselves, were of no consequence here. They pressed him, suggesting all sorts of subjects. He listened and responded, answering with repeated qualifiers that contained not a trace of scorn, only wonder that anyone was still interested in such things.
While the Culture Committee was negotiating with Dr. Herbst, a group of young women were engaged in conversation with Mrs. Herbst on such subjects as cooking, baking, sewing, and weaving. Mrs. Herbst thought in wonderment: When they come to Jerusalem, they pursue everything except domestic activities; here, their interests are exclusively domestic. She had some questions too: Why aren’t the thorns at the gate being destroyed, when do the thistles wither here? In her experience, they wither in July, yet here they are still in bloom. Mrs. Herbst also asked why the olives were preserved in soda, which spoils their taste. She still remembered eating marvelous olives when she first came to the country. The two Heinzes left with the Culture Committee, to give Herbst a chance to prepare his lecture. Herbst watched the Heinzes go, thinking: They’re both more attractive than that beanpole Zahara chose. He turned to Henrietta and asked, “Where is Avraham?”
Chapter twenty-two
When dinner was over, the bell at the top of the water tower rang once again. It was a long time since the bell had sounded so gay, so inviting, so full of promise, saying, “Come everyone, come. You won’t be sorry. You can trust me not to mislead you. Remember, when that windbag was sent to talk to you, I hinted that you wouldn’t miss anything if you stayed away. He accused you of hating culture, not realizing it was because you are cultured that you stayed away. Now I’m telling you to come. You can count on me. It will be worthwhile.”
After the children were put to bed, their parents arrived in the dining room. They had been preceded by the unmarried settlers, who were preceded by those who knew the lecturer. Before long, the room was full. People who weren’t particularly attracted to lectures came too; there was nothing else for them to do, since everyone else was going to the lecture.
The supper dishes were cleared, the floor was swept, the doors and windows were opened, and the fan was turned on to disperse the smells. Only the odor of cigarettes clung to the walls and the window screens. The tables were arranged as if for a holiday: a short table connected two long ones, adorned with a large green bowl full of wildflowers. Everyone found a seat. Those who tended to stay until the very end sat near the lecturer; those who tended to leave midway through sat near the door. The chairs in the middle were empty. After a while, they were occupied by the people who had been hugging the door.
Herbst was still wavering about his subject. He was in the habit of lecturing to students who come because of the subject, who have made a choice; when he lectures to them, he knows what they expect. The intellectual level of this group of youngsters is not clear. Some of them know things most people don’t, yet they don’t know what a beginning student knows. Some of them read a great deal; others never open a book. To whom should he direct his words? In the past, when he gave public lectures, he knew what would be appealing. Now that he hasn’t given one in years, it is hard to decide. He considered several subjects and settled on “The Art of Byzantium.” Lectures on art are always popular. But he had second thoughts. Without illustrations and a slide projector, such a talk would be boring. He considered lecturing on the Crusaders in Byzantium and thought better of that, because he would first have to review what happened along the way, and it would take an hour to arrive at the gates of Byzantium. He considered lecturing on the Crusaders in general, but there was another problem. It is generally assumed that the Crusades had a positive outcome, opening up the mysterious Orient to Europeans, but he is not of this opinion. If he intends to challenge the accepted view, he would have to elaborate, and this is neither the time nor the place. He considered lecturing on contacts between Russia and Byzantium, and the Byzantine influence on Russia. Since these youngsters are sympathetic to Russia, the subject would appeal to them. But he hesitated, lest this lead to political debate. He hates the political debate that ensues from scholarly discourse.
One of the young women brought him a pitcher of water and a glass. She struck him as a model of Byzantine beauty. It occurred to him that he could lecture on images of Byzantine women. However, he would be embarrassed to discuss their behavior in mixed company. He rejected this and thought of lecturing on the poet Romanos. But the poets who influenced him ought to be mentioned, and he didn’t know a single related poem by heart, nor could he expect to find a text here. As he reviewed all these possibilities, they converged, reminding him of Constantinople and bringing to mind the truism “All good things must come to an end.” He decided to begin there, roughly in this vein: Constantinople was greater than any city known in Europe, so much so that it became the standard for everything great and enduring. As he began outlining his talk, he pictured a dead body seated on a throne, wrapped in a magnificent cloak, wearing the headdress of the Greek patriarch on its head and flanked by robed priests holding lighted candles and intoning mournful chants and dirges. He remembered that he once went into town to buy an oil lamp, so it would be possible to sit in the garden at night when it was too windy for a candle, which would please Henrietta. He remembered meeting up with the funeral of the Greek patriarch and being unable to buy the lamp, because the stores were closed. Since then, another patriarch had been appointed, who was subsequently removed and replaced by yet another, but he still hadn’t bought the lamp. Herbst managed to think many thoughts in a short time and to sort them out before contemplating the patriarch’s funeral itself. Now that he was ready to contemplate the funeral, he began to consider lecturing on the prohibition against keeping corpses overnight, which was a rule in the holy cities of Greece. This subject prevailed.