But every strategy has its limits. Basileios took sick. He was stricken with leprosy, for which there is no cure, and quarantined. He couldn’t come into the city, nor was he allowed into the royal court. He wished to warn the girl, his mistress, that it would be very risky to meet with Yohanan the nobleman. The emperor would seek to avenge his lust, not merely through Yohanan the nobleman, but, should he discover that the girl had given her heart to someone else, even as he, the emperor, lusted after her, his powerful hand would strike out at her as well. So Basileios, the faithful servant, sat in solitude, thinking only of his mistress and how to save her from the misfortune in store for her should the emperor discover her connection with the nobleman Yohanan.
Basileios devised many schemes to enable him to sneak into the city and into the emperor’s court, so he could see either his mistress or the nobleman Yohanan and warn them that, should their love be discovered, the emperor would have them killed because of his own love for the girl.
One day, Basileios heard about a holy man who lived in the desert, in a home he had made for himself in a broom plant. He was a great and holy man, whose name was celebrated throughout the land. Long before he settled in the desert, making himself a nest in a hollow broom plant, he had served the emperor. He had been a leading general and one of the emperor’s favorites. But then he began to disdain the ways of the world and to reject temporal life, in order to secure a place for his soul in a world that is totally good — the afterworld. He traded this world and all its goods for the afterworld, for the infinite bliss it offered to those who fear God and choose to trade this fleeting existence for a timeless one. He left the emperor’s court, the city and all its diversions, and all those who loved him — friends and intimates — for the desert wastes. There, he sustained his body with wild grasses and swamp water, so he would be able to sustain his soul with eternal pleasure, for the sake of the Redeemer who saves the souls of those Christians who are true to Him.
Basileios devised many plans in an effort to contact this man of God, to tell him about the emperor’s designs on the girl, so that the man of God could rescue her and the nobleman Yohanan, who loved the girl but didn’t know what was in store for him because of his love. Basileios had many fine plans. But what use are such plans when a man isn’t free and is forbidden to leave his quarters? Basilieos, the faithful servant, was not like all the other lepers, who were permitted to come as far as the city limits to collect bread thrown to them by individuals with compassion for those stricken by God. This was not the case with Basilieos, the girl’s servant. For this gracious girl, wishing to be kind to her servant Basileios, had bought a house for him to live in and arranged for him to be taken care of and provided for. Those who were in charge of him assumed the girl wouldn’t want him to leave the house and guarded him so vigilantly that what was meant to serve his interests became a hindrance. Now, it happened, just by chance, that the Arians in the state became more and more powerful, and the Christians were afraid they would win the emperor’s support and take over. The bishops and other leading clerics decided to approach him (the man of God) and to urge him to have a word with the king. He (the holy man) had seen no other human being in twenty years. He had received no one in all this time. Whenever he heard footsteps approaching his shelter, he quickly hid himself away, so he wouldn’t be found. Now that the bishops had decided to turn to the holy man, they didn’t know how to approach him, for he had isolated himself from human society and allowed no one an audience. When Basileios found out about this from the servants who looked after him, he decided to undertake to convey the bishops’ request to the holy man. He was certain that, when he saw his affliction, the holy man would pity him and allow him to approach.
Chapter seventeen
What had happened to Anita Brik happened to Manfred Herbst. When he arrived at Shira’s, he found the door locked. The door was locked, and there was no sound from inside. Where is she? She isn’t at the hospital. Then where is she? His question recurred like a gnawing refrain. He didn’t realize that he had asked the same question many times. He had certainly knocked on the door, but he probably hadn’t knocked hard enough, which explains why she didn’t open it. Perhaps she was asleep and didn’t hear, and, if he were to knock again, she would hear and get out of bed to open the door, as she had done that Shabbat when they went to visit Anita Brik. Until that day, Herbst wasn’t aware that Anita Brik knew Shira. That day, he discovered that she knew Shira, and today that information was very useful, for it was she who had told him where Shira lived, at a time when no one knew Shira’s whereabouts. But what use is it to us to know where Shira lives if we don’t find her in. Still, though we didn’t succeed today, we will surely succeed tomorrow. Was it excessive optimism or fear of the truth, was it the suspicion that even tomorrow we wouldn’t really know where Shira is, that led Herbst to say what he said? In either case, we must take our mind off Shira, so we will be free to attend to our real concerns, our work and our book, which we have so frivolously postponed. Now that something has come up, reminding us of our work, let us put Shira out of mind and get back to it.
What was it that led Herbst to turn his thoughts to his work once again? It was Ernst Weltfremdt’s book that led Herbst’s mind back to his work and his book. There are many books one can read and emerge from with nothing; then there are books whose very name stirs the heart. Not because we find something in them that engages us. There are certainly many books that occupy the mind but leave a vacuum in the heart. This is a secret that remains concealed from us. Since it can’t be revealed, let us return to our story, which both conceals and reveals.
Herbst tried to put Shira out of mind, along with her new apartment and locked door, as he muttered to himself, “It’s good that I didn’t leave a note. The witch will never know I came knocking at her door. She has the capacity to observe a person and know what is in his heart. Since she hasn’t seen me, since she hasn’t observed me, since she doesn’t know I was looking for her, she can’t see or know what is in my heart. In fact, if I were to analyze the matter, I was merely curious to know where she is.”
Herbst left that alley, which was nameless, like most alleys in Jerusalem in those days. In order to give it an identity, we’ll refer to it as Shira’s Alley. In those days, most alleys in Jerusalem were known by the name of a man or woman who lived there.
And so, Herbst left Shira’s Alley, whispering, “I called her a witch. She is truly a witch, seeing how tormented I am because of her and not lifting a finger to relieve me. She’s not a coquette or a sadist. She’s not one of those women who torture their lovers, only to cast them aside. I’m no expert when it comes to women, but, judging by the ones I know, whether from history, fiction, or at first hand, I see that Shira is different. I say this not to praise Shira nor to disparage her, but because her character makes her different from the rest of her sex.”