Herbst paid one more visit to Professor Bachlam. Professor Bachlam was feeling better, and he was about to leave the hospital. The room was filled with books, manuscripts, bundles of proofs to be read, and several kinds of flowers, because, of all the professors in Jerusalem, no one was as popular with students as Bachlam. Several of his female students had denied themselves food to buy flowers for their favorite professor.
Bachlam had no other visitors that day. His friends had received word that he was better and would soon be out of the hospital. Since there weren’t many visitors, Bachlam was glad to see Herbst, but he complained that all his limbs were defective and declared that there was no one in the entire world as sick as he, that all the known maladies had converged in him. Nonetheless, he wasn’t lying in bed idle; he wasn’t pampering himself. Sick as he was, he had managed to write more than a dozen pages, apart from reading the proofs of his latest book, which was about to go to press; preparing another manuscript for the printer; and reading dissertations by several of his students, including a comprehensive five-hundred-page work — yes, five hundred pages — on Nahum Sokolow. Not that Sokolow deserved it. But the student’s work on Sokolow was first rate. Then, for Herbst’s benefit, Bachlam listed the names of all the prominent individuals who had come to visit him, not to mention the ordinary people, for all who dwell in Zion were concerned about him. Bachlam showed Herbst the flowers he had received, referring to each by name. One of Bachlam’s many accomplishments was the naming of countless varieties of local flowers. He had found names for some of them in the Mishnah, forgotten names that he discovered and revived. Other flowers had never had a Hebrew name, and, if not for the names he assigned them, they would still be nameless. Then Bachlam began to talk about his illnesses again, how all the maladies of the world converged in his body, so one might say there was no one in the world as sick as he was. But he has overcome all these ills and recovered. When he looks at himself, he can’t help wondering: How could such a feeble body overcome so much sickness? It must be that his great spiritual power prevails over physical weakness. He must overcome it, because there is so much for him to do. If he doesn’t do it all, who will? Professor Weltfremdt, perhaps? Or Professor Lemner? Professor Kleiner? Or maybe Professor Wechsler? They are interested only in themselves, and they don’t respond to the people’s needs. If their advice had been heeded, there would be no Hebrew University. When Professor Wechsler was invited to teach for the English, wasn’t he willing to accept their offer? Is Lemner any different? Not to mention Weltfremdt. As far as Weltfremdt is concerned, the university could just as well be German. Such traitors. They would sell Israel’s birthright for a mess of pottage. If not for Bachlam, who stands in the breach, this would still be Palestine, not the Land of Israel, which is why those Germans hate him. But the people are not ungrateful. The people, with their healthy instinct, are aware, sensitive, and grateful. All these flowers, brought by those dear young women, provide ample evidence. No other nation can boast of souls as precious as these. Who gave them life and nurtured them? When he considers these students of his, he knows it’s worthwhile for him to struggle, to struggle and work.
After Herbst took leave of Bachlam, he stopped in the hall and looked all around, as though searching for something. Then he turned to see if anyone had noticed. A nurse appeared. She was young, her uniform was new, her shiny new kerchief seemed to retain the heat of the iron. She herself was new: her flesh was new, without wrinkles or signs of fatigue, and her thick blonde hair exulted in its freshness. She glanced up at him, her kind eyes aglow with fresh joy, and inquired pleasantly, “Are you looking for something, sir?” It took a minute for Herbst to realize she was asking him a question. Her manner was so correct that he missed the intonation. Herbst bowed ever so slightly and said, “I’m not looking for anything. I was visiting Professor Bachlam, and I’m on my way home. But since you ask, it occurs to me to ask if you happen to know where the nurse Shira is.” She lowered her head in sad confusion. She didn’t know the answer, since this was her first day at that hospital and she hadn’t met all the nurses. She looked at him apologetically and said, “If you will wait a minute, I’ll go and ask.” Herbst bowed again and said, “Many thanks, but there’s no need to bother. I can ask myself. Or I may leave the matter to my wife. She’ll be here any day now, and she’ll see the nurse I was asking about.”
Herbst left the hospital without seeing Shira. He had mixed feelings. He didn’t know whether he was pleased not to have seen Shira or whether he was displeased not to have seen Shira. Once again, a quality common not only to Herbst but to most people was manifest. When he decided he was pleased not to have seen Shira, an alternate view asserted itself: You could have seen her here. If you had searched, you would have found her. Because you asked that mere child, whose kerchief is still unwrinkled, who hasn’t dealt with patients yet, you assume you’ve done what you could. But, having said you are leaving it to your wife, it would be best to get out of here. Young nurses tend to be curious, and, if you hang around, she’ll ask about you, and who knows what that will lead to. Herbst adjusted his tie, imagining it had slipped out of place. Since he didn’t have a mirror and couldn’t see if the tie was in place, he adjusted it again. Since he wasn’t sure he had adjusted it properly, he pulled at the edges of his collar. By now, he was at the foot of the hospital steps, near the gate. At the gate, he saw Axelrod the clerk. He was hurrying. He was wrinkled; his skin looked old beyond its years. Unless his skin was created before he was born, I don’t know how to explain this fact. Axelrod raised his glasses all the way to his bald spot and eyed him in alarm. Whether or not you believe it, the glasses eyed him in alarm too. Herbst nodded and greeted him. He greeted him rather submissively. Axelrod looked back over his shoulder, as though a crowd were standing behind him, and said, “Did you want to have a word with me? Be brief and tell me what you want. You can see I’m busy.” Herbst said, “I don’t want anything.” Axelrod said, “It’s good you don’t want anything. I’m busy, and I don’t even have the time to chase a mosquito.” Herbst said, “There was a nurse here. If I’m not mistaken, her name was Shura.” Axelrod said, “You mean Shira. You are asking about the nurse Shira. Then why did you say ‘Shura’? The nurse Shira isn’t here. She isn’t here, as I said.” Herbst said, “Where is she?” Axelrod said, “If I knew, I would tell you.” Herbst looked around. He looked at Axelrod and whispered, “Allow me, sir, to ask: Shira works in this hospital, isn’t that right, Mr. Axelrod?” Axelrod said, “Who’s denying that she used to work in the hospital? On the contrary, everyone agrees that she performed well.” Herbst said, “But what?” Axelrod said, “But she quit.” “She quit?” “Yes, my dear sir. She quit and went off somewhere. These things happen. I don’t get excited over a nurse who quits her job.” “She didn’t say where she was going?” Axelrod said, “Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. In any case, she didn’t say anything to me. Of course, I’m too busy to pay attention to everything people say. Come, I’ll see if she left an address.”
Herbst trailed after Axelrod, following him to the office. Axelrod took out a notebook and began to leaf through it. He finally took his head out of the book, turned to look over his shoulder, and said, “What did you want to know? Whether she left us her address? She didn’t leave us her address.” Herbst said, “And what if I need to speak with her?” Axelrod said, “If you have something to tell her, I can write it in this book. But make it brief, just a few words. You can see I’m busy and don’t have time for long speeches. I don’t see the point of endless words anyway.” Axelrod stuck his head back in his book and didn’t look up again, making it clear that the conversation was over and he had nothing more to say. Herbst posted himself in front of Axelrod and risked another question. “She left no clue as to her plans?” Axelrod turned his head toward Herbst again, stared at him in alarm, and asked, “Who left no clues?” Herbst answered in a whisper, “The nurse Shira.” “The nurse Shira? We already forgot she ever existed, and he is still talking about her. She left absolutely no clues. Who needs clues anyway? I like things to be clear. Clear facts, not clues.” Herbst said, “Then there is nothing more to do.” Axelrod said, “What do you mean, ‘nothing more to do’? There is a lot to do, but we never have a chance to do it.” Again, he stuck his head in the book, conveying the impression that, if the whole world were to come and say, “Lift up your head,” he would not lift it.