Herbst opened his arms and said, “Come, Shira, come.” Shira said, “But I’m here.” He said, “Come, sit on my lap.” She said, “He can barely hold himself up, and he wants to hold this heavy load — freckles, eyeglasses, and all. Eat first. It might make you stronger.” Herbst said, “I don’t need food.” “You don’t need food, but you do need this dismal load on your lap. You’re swaying like a windmill. I wonder if you have a fever. Give me your hand; I’ll check your pulse. The pulse is all right, but Fredchen isn’t. Let me listen to your heart.” After she listened to his heart, he said, “Now let me listen to yours.” Shira said, “I, my friend, am normal. I don’t need to be examined.” Meanwhile, he reached out and put his hand on her heart. She shouted at him, “You’re out of your mind! Anyone could peek in and see.” Alarmed, he looked around and then began to shout, “That’s a lie, Shira! A lie! No one is looking.” Shira said, “But someone could look.” Herbst said, “You pulled down the blinds, so no one can see.” Shira said, “But they can guess what you’re doing.” Herbst said, “If they can guess, let them guess.” Shira said, “It doesn’t matter at all to you, my friend, but it matters to me.” Herbst said, “Don’t be — “ Shira said, “What is my Manfredchen asking me not to be?” Herbst said, “I’m not asking anything.” Shira laughed and said, “If you were asking nothing, you’d be doing nothing.” Herbst said, “So what am I doing?” As he spoke, he put his arm around her hips. She loosened his grip. His head drooped, and he was silent.
Shira said, “You’re tired. Lie down for a while, then you can get up and go home.” Herbst stretched out on her bed, closed his eyes, and waited, expecting Shira to come and sit near him. When she didn’t come, he opened his eyes and discovered she was nowhere in sight. He muttered, “The hell with her, where did she go?” He looked around and saw that the table was bare: Damn; she went to do the dishes. She has to do them now, when I feel as if I was flung into a blazing furnace.
And, in truth, the fire had already taken hold. He was like fire within fire, flaming and enflaming; he was overwhelmed by a sweetness that melts the whole body. He no longer existed; nor did any part of him exist, other than that mounting sweetness. When he stirred and realized he was alone, he pricked up his ears but heard nothing. He began to wonder. When some time had passed and she wasn’t back, he began to worry: What if she doesn’t come back? If she didn’t come back and he were found stretched out on her bed, he’d be in trouble. Anyway, she certainly hadn’t gone far. If she had, she wouldn’t have left her purse and her powder. Then he saw his shadow on the wall, and his blood froze. Shira returned.
Shira came back, dressed in light clothes, giving off the good scent of lavender. Herbst reached out to her and whispered, “Come, Shira, come.” She sat beside him, her body quivering. He thought to himself: If I had any sense, I would lie here and let her quiver, let her know what it’s like. But he had no sense, and he didn’t lie calmly. Shira said gently, “You’re in such a frenzy, so stormy and wild. Take off your jacket and cool off.” She got off the bed to make room. As he struggled to get his jacket off, with her standing by, there was an uproar outside and the sound of running. Shira opened a window, stuck her head out, then turned back toward Herbst, saying, “It’s the curfew. They’ve announced another curfew until six in the morning.” Herbst was in a panic. He didn’t know what he would do, but he knew he had to get back immediately, that he couldn’t not go home.
“When does it start?” he asked in alarm. Shira said, “It starts now and is in effect until morning. You want to go? Do you have a pass?” Herbst said, “I don’t have any such thing.” Shira said, “Then how will you go? The police will stop you.” Herbst said, “But I must get home.” Shira said, “You must get home, but how? If you go out, a policeman will stop you immediately and take you to the station. You’ll have to spend the night there.” Herbst said, “I’m sure you understand, Shira, that I have to go. Think of something, Shira. I’m dying, I’m going crazy.” Shira looked at him irately and said, “No need to go crazy. I’ll talk to Axelrod, my neighbor. He may agree to take you home.” Herbst said, “Go on, Shira. Ask Axelrod to take me home. Who’s Axelrod?” Shira said, “Axelrod is Axelrod’s son.” Herbst said, “You’re teasing me.” Shira said, “It’s as I said. This Axelrod is the son of the Axelrod you met at the hospital when you brought Mrs. Herbst to the maternity section. Papa Axelrod is a pest of the first water, but the son is a daring young man who drives a bus for Hamekasher. I’ll see if he’s in.” Herbst looked at her imploringly and said, “Go on, Shira, go. But can you allow yourself to be seen in those clothes?” A few minutes later, he heard the sound of a car. A broad-shouldered young man came in and said, “Hop in, professor. Don’t worry, I’ll take you home.”
Herbst parted from Shira on the run. He got into the car and sat on the edge of the seat, compressing himself into his body, his mouth agape with wonder that, at an hour when no one was allowed to be out, a driver had agreed to take him home. He watched the driver, who held the steering wheel in his hand and made the car move. Herbst realized what a great favor the driver was doing for him and wanted to thank him, but he couldn’t find the words. He sat gaping, his lips on fire, dismayed to find himself in a car in the heart of the dark night. He sank into the cushions, listening to the wheels of the car turning and rolling onward. He began to reflect: It’s good that I’m going home, but the essence of the matter isn’t good. He covered his eyes with both hands and reviewed what had happened to him with Shira. Actually, nothing at all had happened, so why the embarrassment and regret? After a while, he uncovered his eyes. He looked at his hands and was surprised to find that the darkness had not clung to them.
Again he buried himself in the cushions, alerting his ears to the sound of the car wheels clattering through the silent city, the silence receding before them as he approached his home.
Near the Allenby Barracks, two armed Syrian policemen popped out and stopped the car. They were so short that their rifles overshadowed them. They rattled their weapons to intimidate the passengers, made menacing faces, and spoke menacingly — like warriors seizing captives. Axelrod eyed them calmly, like a customer examining toy soldiers to see whether they are made of lead or tin. He said to them, “The man I am driving is a great professor, one of our great university professors, and he can’t be detained.” Whether or not the policemen knew what a professor was, they understood from the driver’s tone that his passenger was important and to be treated with respect. They signaled with their rifles and cleared the road for him. Shortly thereafter, Herbst found himself at home.
Chapter twenty-one
On the twenty-first of Heshvan, Herbst went up to Mount Scopus for the opening ceremonies of the academic year. It was his habit to go to these ceremonies without his wife, as Henrietta had trained him to go alone whenever he could manage without her.
The main hall of the Rosenblum Building was full. In addition to professors, lecturers, advisers, students, and university officials, there were guests from Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, Haifa, and the rest of the country’s towns and settlements — invited guests who were guaranteed a seat, as well as uninvited guests, the sort who push their way into every public place and grab the reserved seats.