Manfred put his head on the table and smoothed the cloth with his chin. He continued the gesture for a while. Then he lifted his head and stared at Henrietta for a long time. Henrietta felt his eyes on her and returned the stare, waiting for him to speak. Manfred said, “Do you remember the day I brought you to the hospital when Sarah was about to be born?” Henrietta smiled and said, “Now, Father, no woman is likely to forget such a day. Why do you ask if I remember it?” Manfred said, “You may remember the nurse who brought you flowers.” Henrietta said, “Her name was Shira, wasn’t it?” Manfred said, “If you say her name was Shira, let’s assume it was Shira. I want to tell you something now. No one knows where she is.” Henrietta said, “What do you mean, ‘no one knows where she is’?” Manfred said, “If I say so, you can believe me. She left the hospital three months ago. She didn’t say where she was going. She left no trace.” Mrs. Herbst shuddered. After a brief pause, she said, “She probably went away and doesn’t want anyone to know her whereabouts.” Manfred said, “I know what you’re thinking. You think she got pregnant and is hiding until after the birth.” Henrietta said, “I really didn’t think of that, but what you say is logical.” Manfred said, “Actually not, Mother. There is reason to suspect she was killed or kidnapped by Bedouins.” “And what is the government doing? Is it searching for her?” Manfred said, “The government! What an inspired idea! People are disappearing, and the government doesn’t lift a finger to find them.” Henrietta said, “Why did you push away the dish? Try some meat. It’s very good, Father.” Manfred said, “So, in your opinion, she is pregnant, and she’ll suddenly reappear on the scene. I am of the opinion that someone like Shira, if she were pregnant, wouldn’t be ashamed and wouldn’t go into hiding.” Henrietta said, “You know, Father, there are women who are daring in theory but timid in practice.” Manfred lowered his head, fixed his eyes on Henrietta’s feet, and said, “Mother, I must tell you something. I’m not pleased that you wear sandals all the time. True, sandals are comfortable. But, in your condition, there is reason to worry about flat feet, or, to use a more respectful term, fallen arches. When did you buy those sandals?” “When? If I’m not mistaken, I bought them before Tamara was born.” Manfred said, “We calculate time by births, don’t we, Mother. By now, even Tamara has left home. She is on her own and doesn’t need us. In a few years, Sarah won’t be dependent on us either. Where is the pipe? Where did it go?” Henrietta said, “Do you want to smoke the pipe?” “I don’t want to smoke the pipe, but I don’t like it when things disappear.” Henrietta said, “We’ll find it, we’ll find it.” Manfred said, “I already told you, the government doesn’t lift a finger.” Henrietta said, “I thought you were referring to the pipe, but I see you were referring to the nurse Shira.” Manfred said, “I wasn’t really thinking about her, but, now that you mention her, I remember.” Henrietta said, “If we were to think about everything there is to think about, we wouldn’t manage at all. Have some pudding. I made it from a recipe in the WIZO cookbook.” Manfred said, “You yourself are quite a whizz-o.” Henrietta smiled and said, “There are other women who are whizzes too.” Manfred said, “I shouldn’t have had wine, certainly not a whole glass, and on an empty stomach.” Henrietta was amazed. “You had a whole glass?” Manfred nodded. “A whole glass, to the last drop. I was thirsty from my walk.” Henrietta said, “You didn’t tell me where you walked today.” Manfred cried out in surprise, “I didn’t tell you? I told you, and you forgot. I definitely told you that I went up to Mount Zion, circled the entire wall, and came down at the Dung Gate. Then I made my way back via the shelters, which is where I met the old printer, the one who printed my article and made the offprints for me. You might have a dress or a blouse you have no use for, Mother. I promised the printer’s wife I would find something for one of her acquaintances, a Polish aristocrat who has nothing to wear. I think the wine is wearing off. At any rate, I learned my lesson. A man tries to snatch some pleasure, and it retaliates for hours on end. After dinner, I’ll lie down and sober up. Why didn’t I loosen my tie before dinner? I’ve been sitting here feeling this burden on me, as if there were a noose around my neck, as if I were going to be hung from the gallows. Remember the night we spent in Ahinoam, Mother? When Zahara was waiting to give birth?”
Henrietta smiled contentedly and said, “No woman is likely to forget such a night.” Manfred said, “I haven’t forgotten it either. I didn’t tell you the dream I had, nor did you urge me to tell it. If you like, I’ll tell it to you now.” A tremor passed through his flesh; a similar tremor passed through her flesh as well. Manfred took his wife’s hand, caressed it, and said to her, “There aren’t many women like you. You don’t burden me with questions, for which I am always very grateful.” Henrietta said, “Didn’t you want to tell me your dream?” Manfred caressed her again and said, “Yes, I did. I will tell it now. That night, I was being led to the gallows.” “My God, how awful,” Henrietta cried, burying her face in her hands. “Yes, it was awful; it was dreadful,” Manfred echoed. “But not for your reason, Mother. For another reason. I knew there was one person who could have saved me. But that person didn’t lift a finger on my behalf.” Henrietta asked Manfred, “Do you remember who that person was?” Manfred said, “Don’t ask, Mother. Don’t ask.” Henrietta said, “I’m not asking, and I don’t want to know.” Manfred said, “I don’t actually remember who it was. But that night, at that moment, I knew who it was.” “That’s odd.” “Even more odd is the fact that, in my dream, I was upset by the idea that if you — meaning you and our daughters — should hear this news, you would also be upset.” Henrietta looked at him in astonishment and said, “Did you doubt that — “ Manfred interrupted her and said, “That’s not what seemed odd to me. What seemed odd was that I thought I wouldn’t be upset if I were to vanish from the face of the earth, though I was aware of the pain it would cause the rest of you. Don’t be angry with me, Mother. It’s not that you taught me at all times, to be truthful with you, Mother. But your proper life and your upright opinions lead me to tell you the truth, whether I want to or not.”
Henrietta took Manfred’s hand, placed it on her heart, and said, “Life is so hard for you, Manfred.” “Hard for me?” Manfred exclaimed in surprise, as if he had been addressed by a name other than his own. Henrietta said, “What brings on these sad thoughts?” Manfred answered, laughing, “The sad thoughts bring themselves on. It’s not a paradox, Mother. That’s really how it is. You may think I am sad because I failed to finish my book. Believe me, even if I had finished two arm-lengths worth of books, nothing would change for me. Do you remember what Goethe said about writing Werther? I don’t remember the precise words, but I do remember the message. Even if I had a tenured professorship, that wouldn’t change anything. My daughters don’t need me. You, Mother, don’t need me either. I myself have no need of me. So…” “So …?” “Now, Mother, don’t worry that I’ll put a bullet through my heart. People like me don’t take their own life. They go on living, even when their strength gives out and they don’t have what it takes to live. They live on, to the point of total decay, through all sorts of situations, by any means.”