Henrietta was silent, and Manfred was silent too. I don’t know what this silence was about. It wasn’t that he was tired of listening or that she was tired of talking. In any case, Manfred didn’t move away from Henrietta, and Henrietta didn’t move away from Manfred. After a while, she continued, “Since you mentioned Ludwig Richter, I was reminded of the walks I used to take with my father. At the time, he had been asked by Ullstein Verlag to do some drawings of the countryside around Berlin. Father, who loved Berlin and its environs more than any other piece of land in the world, didn’t linger to negotiate the fee or any other details. As soon as he left the publisher’s office, he filled his pack with paint and brushes, and set out to work. Father was wearing a hunting jacket; he had a small pipe in his mouth, like the one he gave you, perhaps the very same one; his eyes were fixed on his favorite landscapes. It was obvious to me at the time that Father was unaware of my existence, that he didn’t see me and didn’t know I was there, that I was superfluous. Just when I was convinced I was superfluous, Father took my arm and said, ‘Look, Henrietta, look at that drooping tree, that carcass of a tree. That particular tree is the one I mean to paint.’ He noticed that I was surprised by his words, by his emphasis on ‘that particular tree.’ So he began to elaborate: ‘I know the arbiters of taste will disapprove, but I will do what I like, and, if they don’t like it, they can…’ At this point, Father used one of those words that fathers don’t usually use in a daughter’s presence. I myself was delighted with that word, with the sense that Father was treating me as he would treat a friend. You remember Father, of course. At home he was very conventional, but I was told that he was totally transformed when with friends, that he became a different person. What do you want, Sarah? Why are you crying? Who put dirty water in your eyes? Let me wipe them, and tell me why you’re crying.” Sarah forgot she was crying and said, “That lady says Sarah is Sarini’s child, Sarah isn’t Mama’s child. Gabi is Sarini’s child too. Gabi isn’t Mama’s child. If she wants to, Sarini will put Gabi back inside her, and there won’t be any Gabi.” Henrietta smoothed Sarah’s cheek, kissed her, and said, “Go tell that lady, ‘Mama says Sarah is her best, best girl, and Gabi belongs to Mama too.’ Go call Firadeus to come here, so I can tell her to tell that lady never to say such things again. Sarah is definitely Mama’s own girl. Of course she is her Mama’s girl.” Sarah began to cry again, crying harder than at first. I don’t know what made her cry now. When she began talking to her mother, she had stopped crying. Her mother’s words may have made her aware of every possible sadness, which made her feel sorry for herself and brought on another round of tears. Henrietta picked her up, caressed her cheek, kissed and comforted her. “Why are you crying?” she asked. Sarah answered tearfully, “That lady, she took Gabi back inside her, into her heart.” Henrietta said, “Gabi is tough. Gabi took one leap, and out he came. Ask your father. He’ll tell you. Tell her, Father.” Father Manfred said, “You believe that other lady, but you don’t believe your own mother? If your mother says something to me, I listen and believe it. Isn’t that so, Mother?” Henrietta laughed and said, “Now you’ll see, Sarah, that what Father says is true. Tell Father this: ‘Mother says, “Go for a walk, Father,”‘ and, in a minute, Sarah, you’ll see Father going for a walk. Sarah, surely you’ve seen Father go for walks? What’s going on here? I say, ‘Go tell Father,’ and you don’t tell him.” Manfred asked Sarah, “Tell me, Sarah, what did Mother say?” Sarah said, “Mother said that Sarah should tell Father that Father should go for a walk.” Henrietta said, “Very good, Sarah. I see that I can count on you, that I can give you messages and you’ll deliver them. Now, Sarah, ask Father when he plans to take his walk.” Sarah said, “What do you mean, ‘when’?”
Before she could explain, there was a knock at the door. Before she could say, “Come in,” a man entered, dressed like an elder of the Sephardic community, an elder’s turban on his head and an elder’s staff in his hand. Manfred looked at him, bewildered. All sorts of odd creatures had appeared in his home, but never one like this. Henrietta peered suspiciously at the sage. She finally said, “You’re Sarini’s husband, aren’t you?” Sarini’s husband said, “I’m here not because of the woman called Sarini. I’m here because of something more wonderful than a thousand women.”
I will try to explain about this. The night of the day his son was circumcised (the son born to him of the woman Sarini), a year before Mr. Herberist’s son was born (the one Sarini was supposed to nurse), it was revealed to him that he had been appointed emissary to the Ten Tribes and to Bnei Moshe. At first he was reluctant and replied, “Who am I, et cetera …,” but his excuses were not accepted, and he was told not to be obstinate. He has been entrusted with spells against wild animals, highwaymen, and desert sands, for there are crazy sands in the desert that can swallow up an entire caravan, camels, riders, and all. But he will not be harmed, because of the spell he possesses. He is equipped with a spell to disarm those birds of prey that aren’t listed in the Torah on account of their wickedness — birds that emit fiery sparks when they encounter a human being, consuming him and turning him to dust. These are the very birds that destroyed some of Alexander’s armies. But they can’t harm him, because he has a spell that counteracts their power. When they open their mouths to spew their fire at him, the sparks will backfire and burn up their innards. They will be destroyed by this spell. He is protected against the perils of the road, savage animals, highwaymen, desert sands, birds that spit fire. So why has he come to Herbst? He isn’t asking for help in financing the trip, for, in addition to all sorts of trades by which he can support himself wherever he goes, he has learned to repair stoves and, in a pinch, can also repair a sewing machine. So what does he want? He wants a letter from the Jewish Agency, which is why he is here. He wants a letter from Mr. Herberist to the officials of the Agency, asking them to write a letter on his behalf, addressed to the Ten Tribes and to Bnei Moshe. If, for political reasons, it is necessary to conceal this matter from the English — either some or all of it — they can be assured that no information will be extracted from him, not with tongs of fire, not with tongs of gold. If Jewish Agency officials are afraid that he may get lost, leaving them answerable for the loss of a Jewish soul, he is willing to reveal parts of his route to Herberist Samuel or to one of the Ashkenazi elders — Rabbi Kook, for example. If the Jewish Agency insists on testing him to see whether he is familiar with the route from the Land of Israel to where the Ten Tribes are, he is willing to divulge all the roads, as long as they vow not to divulge the information to anyone else until he returns safely from the Ten Tribes and Bnei Moshe. If they are afraid he may, God forbid, partake of those magical grasses and roots that allow a man to see anything he wants to in his dream, he can swear on our teacher Moses, on the Holy Tablets, on the Ten Commandments that he won’t even touch any such roots or grasses. He received travel directions from an old Turk, who served in the Turkish army and was told by a high-ranking officer that it was good to befriend the Ten Tribes: they were fond of the Turks because Turks hated Arabs, and Arabs persecuted Jews.
In this period, while he was being pursued by Sarini’s husband, who was pressing him to write a letter to the Jewish Agency, Herbst received a letter from abroad inviting him to contribute to an anniversary volume in honor of Professor Neu, who was going to turn seventy the following year. Even before he was invited to contribute to this book, he himself had been thinking of putting out a slim volume for Neu’s birthday, and he had begun working on it. Because of Gabriel’s birth, he had put it aside. Now that the invitation had arrived, he had in mind to prepare a chapter from his own book for this volume. To this end, he planned to skim through various books and journals to see what was new in the field. These books and journals could be found in two places: in the National Library at the Hebrew University on Mount Scopus or at Ernst Weltfremdt’s. Normally, Herbst would go to Mount Scopus. Now he chose to go to Ernst Weltfremdt, though they had drifted apart, and he hadn’t even come to his son’s brit. But he had sent him a copy of his new book as a gift.