His soul was alarmed, but he recovered quickly. Zahara had already left Jerusalem and was not known by her family name. There were two factors in his favor: first, that they wouldn’t run into each other at the lectures, and, second, that he hadn’t mentioned Zahara’s name. His apprehensions were groundless.
Shira returned with a kettle and glasses. Temina jumped out of bed, fully dressed, leaped toward her bag, and pulled out a yellow tin filled with baked goods, saying, “They’re from our village, homemade with our own flour and butter. Dr. Herbst, try some and tell me if they’re not better than all the cakes and pastries in town. I know that scholars don’t tend to have opinions on food, drink, and the like. Still, you ought to know the difference between our baked goods and what one gets in the city. Here, one dough takes many forms. While we don’t bother about the form, we fuss over the contents, and each cake has a different flavor.
Herbst took one of the cakes, thinking: If I hadn’t given Lisbet Neu the chocolate, I could have added it to this feast. He reached for a glass of tea. Temima said, “So your daughter came for the workshops.” Herbst nodded, thinking to himself: What will Zahara say when she hears where this nurse met her father? Shira peered at him and said, “You look as if you’re pondering the seven wonders of the world.” Temima said, “We can list more than seven wonders. What does the doctor think about our cakes? They say no one can cook or bake on the kvutza, which is outright slander. Try another. No, take this kind. It’s even better than the first.” Herbst said, “It’s time for me to go.” Shira said, “Even before you came, it was time for you to go, but since you are here, sit down.” Temima said, “So, my friends, you live in Jerusalem. I admit that our Jerusalem is a truly glorious city. The view from Mount Scopus can’t be matched anywhere in the valley. Altogether, I must say that…But what can I say, when you already know?”
Herbst lowered his head and lifted a finger toward the left side of his brow while holding on to his cup. After a while, he put down the cup and studied Böcklin’s skull. Did Böcklin paint from a model or from his imagination? Why do I ask? Herbst wondered.
Temima continued, “Most of the cultural institutions, headed by the university — which truly belongs here — are in Jerusalem. The National Library and the Bezalel Museum, for example. So naturally there are many cultured people, more than anywhere else in the country, and every new book, as well as every new idea, comes here before it comes to our kvutza. Still, I can say that, when I come from my kvutza to Jerusalem, I don’t feel inadequate. To borrow a term from Freud, I don’t have an inferiority complex. After all, we in our villages are also promoting the country’s interests. A few days ago, I happened on a book of philosophical essays and I found something on this subject that I can quote word for word. If the capital is the head of the country, then the villages are its limbs. To which I add: Just as a body can’t live without a head, a head can’t exist without limbs.” Shira said, “I see, Temima, that you’re looking for an excuse for living in the country rather than the city.” Temima said, “What makes you think I’m looking for excuses? Besides, what difference can one person make in times such as these? I don’t mean myself and those like me. What I have in mind is the world at large. You have to consider whatever is going on in the era it is your fate to be living in and account for every single action. We have no right to let actions go by without examining them and concerning ourselves with them.” Shira said, “And if you and I don’t concern ourselves with whatever is going on in the world, will anything be different?” Temima said, “Really, I don’t understand what you mean.” Shira said, “I think I’m making myself clear.” Temima said, “I’m surprised at you, Shira. After all, a person is a person. Isn’t it a primary duty to reflect about and consider whatever is going on in the world, all the more so here in this country, since we came here for a specific purpose?” Shira said, “Well spoken, Temima. We came for a purpose. The question is: For what purpose?” Temima said, “Really, I don’t understand what you are saying. What did we come for? For…for…” Shira laughed and said, “Temima, your name means ‘innocence,’ and you are as innocent as your name. Don’t wear yourself out looking for sublime words. I’m satisfied with what you said. We came for a purpose.” Temima said, “Really, I must repeat, I don’t understand you.” Shira said, “If I were ten years younger, I would envy you. Imagine, you are still looking for reasons to be where you are. We’re here because we’re here and nowhere else. And, if my view is too simple for you, that doesn’t change a thing. I don’t presume to phrase my ideas the way you do in the kvutza, but they are sincere.”
Herbst sat thinking many thoughts, having to do with another place and another time. If we look for a reason, only one comes to mind. Dr. Herbst wished to withdraw from his present company, if not in person, then in thought. Herbst asked himself: This skull of Böcklin’s — how was it drawn? From a model or from the imagination? Actually, Böcklin himself has answered my question. Where do we find his answer? He complained that he never had the chance to draw a woman from life, because his wife, who was Italian, was jealous and wouldn’t allow him to have a model in his studio. But why am I thinking about Böcklin’s skull painting? Is it because that nurse mentioned Bezalel? No, I thought of the question even before she mentioned Bezalel. Yes, Zahara went back and won’t be at the workshops. So, obviously, the nurse won’t see her and say where she met her father. Herbst looked at his watch and said, “Time to go. What’s this? My watch has stopped.” He took off his watch and set it, guessing at the time, not bothering to look at the numbers, and thinking to himself: I’m leaving this place, calm and confident, as if there were no reason to worry about the nurse telling Zahara that she met her father. Even if she were to tell her, she wouldn’t necessarily say where and when she saw me. Even if she did say when and where she saw me, Zahara, in the innocence of her heart and purity of her mind, would think nothing of it. And, if she were to wonder, her wonder wouldn’t last. Many things happen. Before you have a chance to attend to one thing, there is another on the horizon. We, too, rather than dwell on the past, should attend to what’s ahead.
Herbst took leave of Shira and Temima. He was on his way, restating to himself what he had said before: I’ll put the past behind me and attend to what’s ahead.
I’m going home to my wife, who urged me to take a walk before going to bed so my sleep would be sweeter. I went out for a bit, and the time stretched to several hours. What did I find in that time? I found Lisbet Neu. When I left her, I went to the bus stop, meaning to go home. I didn’t find the bus. I waited, and it didn’t come. Meanwhile, I heard the day’s news. If one were to be precise, I doubt it could be called news, since there is nothing new about it. Events that recur every day can hardly be called new. What do we consider new? A story with danger and with Arabs. Two Arabs come to an old woman and ask for water. They shoot her, though she has provided them with water. She falls in a pool of blood and dies. How naive that old woman was. Innocent blood is being spilled in this country, and it didn’t occur to her that what happens to others could happen to her. What happened in the end? In the end, they killed her.