Herbst was pacing around the room in an agitated state. He didn’t look at Shira, but her evil presence was palpable wherever he turned. He encircled his left thumb with his right hand and pressed it hard. After a while, he went over to Shira, looked down at the magazine she was holding, and took her glasses. Shira said, “What are you doing? Give me my glasses and I’ll read you something nice.” Herbst said, “If that’s the verdict, I’ll sit and listen.” After she had read awhile, he got up and said, “There are people who write such nonsense, and there are people who read such nonsense. For the life of me, I can’t understand it.” Shira said, “Tell me, please, what’s so bad about this article?” Herbst said, “Tell me, please, what’s so good about it?” He recognized from these words that such an argument would not lead to a meeting of hearts. He shut his mouth and thought to himself: If I hadn’t lingered this long, we wouldn’t be arguing.
Shira saw that his face was becoming more and more gloomy. She looked up at him and asked, “What’s wrong, dear? Did something happen?” There was a trace of pity in her voice. Herbst answered, “It’s nothing.” Shira said, “Then why so sad?” Running her hand through his hair, she said, “A fine head of hair, no doubt about it. And a fine forehead, the forehead of a scholar. I suppose there are fine thoughts rumbling around in your head when you are at work. Manfred, will I ever see you at work?” Herbst stretched out his arms to embrace her. Shira said, “I’m making meaningful conversation, and you want to be silly.” He caught her and sat her on his lap. But he wasn’t happy. Although she seemed to be in his hands, she could slip away. And what was in his mind she acted upon. She slipped off his lap, stood up, arranged her blouse, and said, “I’ll go and make you tea. I could even make you supper. When did you leave home? Aren’t you hungry? You could sit and read the magazine while I go to the kitchen.”
Shira went off to the kitchen, while Herbst sat browsing through the magazine. What he read didn’t add up to anything of interest, nor did his thoughts add up to anything. Only one thing interested him: when would Shira be back, and how would she behave with him?
Shira has already been gone longer than it takes to put a kettle on the fire, boil water, and brew tea. What is taking so long? She must be preparing supper. Yes, Shira is preparing supper. She invited him to eat with her. All day she works with patients; when she gets home, she has household chores to do. In this respect, she is no different from most single people in Jerusalem and throughout the land. Some of these women are her betters, yet their fate is in no way better than Shira’s. Before looking to them, let’s look to Lisbet Neu. But Herbst was not faring so well either: when he took the time to come to Shira, she went off to the kitchen, leaving him all alone.
Chapter twenty
Shira returned and set the dishes on the table, along with butter, cheese, tomatoes, cocoa, grapes, and berries. She moved slowly, singing some inane song. Her voice was not pleasant, and the words were banal. Herbst was irritated by the voice, the words, and most of all her pace. Such a leisurely pace would provoke even the most easygoing person, such as myself, to murder. In the interests of peace, he shut his mouth, rather than risk saying a harsh word.
When the dishes and food were arranged, Shira went to bring a jar of pickled olives. She sniffed them and said, “You don’t have to worry about garlic. I’ll bring us some cognac. I’ll have mine with the meal, and you can drink yours before, during, after — however you like, my dear. There’s no rule.” Then, with a start, she tapped her forehead and said, “What a fool I am. I have gin, and I didn’t bring it. Do you like gin?”
Herbst sat silently, thinking to himself: The devil take you, gin and all. He remembered that night when he was in her room for the first time; he remembered suggesting that she change her clothes, and he remembered everything that followed. He wouldn’t offer such a suggestion now — if she went to change her clothes, she would be sure to linger, and his chief desire was to be with her.
By now, the many kinds of food and drink that Shira had were arranged on the table. Nothing was missing, not a fork, a knife, a bowl, a glass. By all reason, it was time for her to sit down. What did Nadia do? She went behind the curtain to the sink and washed her hands, singing that same song. Her voice, like the song, was not pleasant, not lovely. When she had dried her hands, she came to Herbst and said, “There’s water, soap, a towel. Wash your hands and we’ll eat.” Herbst answered, “I don’t want to wash my hands.” Shira said, “You don’t want to wash your hands? One should wash before eating.” Herbst said, “I don’t want to eat.” Shira said, “As a nurse, an expert in health, I tell you that a person must eat. If he doesn’t eat, he’ll be hungry; if he’s hungry, he’ll have no strength; and if he has no strength, he’ll end up sick. Hurry up, sweetheart, and wash your hands. I’m hungry, and I want to eat.” As she spoke, she sliced some bread, buttered it, and began to eat. Then she put down her bread and asked, “Why aren’t you eating?” He said, “Because I don’t want to.” She said, “You’re acting like a baby — not a good baby, but an obstinate one. Do you know how we handle obstinate children? We make them eat.” She took the bread, stuffed it into his mouth, and said in a singsong, in baby talk, “A bite for Mommy, a bite for Daddy, and a bite for little Fredchen. Chew it well, my little one, or an ogre will come to put you in his sack and carry you off to a place where they make you eat porridge every day. Be good, my sweet. Eat up, and don’t make Mommy sad. You’re angry, my child. A good boy shouldn’t be angry. Now you’re smiling. Smile, my boy, smile. A smile is good for the heart. Tomorrow, my boy, we’ll take you to the barber and ask him to make a part in your hair. But first, eat well.” She brushed his head with her hand, took a pinch of hair, leaned over his head, and sniffed. As she stood there, he encircled her hips with his arms. She didn’t make a move, nor did she seem to object to his gesture. Suddenly she slipped away and fled. He muttered under his breath, “Damn!” Shira put her hand to her nose and said, “Didn’t they teach you not to swear, my child?” She moved close to him again, brushed her hand over his head, and said, “Eat, my friend. The cocoa will get cold.” Herbst said, “The light is blinding.” Shira said, “Which light?” He pointed to the lamp. “What do you mean, doctor? Should we sit in the dark?” Herbst said, “I didn’t mean the lamp. I meant the light from the neighbors’ houses. Please, Shira, lower the blinds.” Shira said, “The more light, the more joy.” Herbst made a wry face and said, “The light of your eyes is enough for me.” Shira said, “I beg you, don’t talk nonsense. I know my own eyes, and I know they don’t glow. Unless you’re referring to my glasses.” Herbst went to the window and rattled the blind. Shira said, “Easy, easy, you’re breaking it.” Herbst said, “Then you lower it.” She went to the window, singing that same song, stood looking outside, and said, “Enlightened professor, all the houses are dark. You’ve wrecked the pulley, and I can’t lower the blind. What a schlemiel! Everything he touches breaks.” She tugged at it, this way and that, over and over again. Then, turning her head, she said, “It’s hopeless.” Just then, the blind lowered itself. She went to the other window and lowered the blind in one move, turned her head again, and said, “Are you satisfied, my friend?” He nodded and closed his eyes. She said, “Do you have a headache?” He looked at her and said, “Why do you ask?” Shira said, “I saw you squinting, as if you were in pain.” He said, “No, it’s nothing.” She said, “Good.” He said: “Not good.” She said, “Not good?” He said, “Good, good.” She said, “When someone feels good, he doesn’t yell, ‘Good, good.’“He said, “Good, good.” Shira laughed and said, “There you go again. Please tell me, just who is feeling good?”