Herbst scorned public figures and orators because the country was so full of them. Still, he was surprised that Shira had plucked the fellow from her heart. Like all people who tend not to become much involved with others, Herbst considered everyone who ever crossed his path an essential part of his world. He was therefore surprised that it was so easy for her to pluck a childhood friend from her heart. He wondered about her, but he was even more curious about that man, beyond what she was willing to tell.
As minds wander, so did his mind wander once again to Lisbet Neu. There really wasn’t anything between them, nor was it possible that there ever would be anything between them. But thoughts are thoughts; they take their own course, and you can’t tell them, “Please, don’t be childish.”
Lisbet Neu is still working in the same place, which she sometimes calls a store, sometimes an office. In either case, her salary is meager and hardly adequate to provide for her and her sick mother. How do they manage? They manage because the Torah instructs them to live. Lisbet Neu has tried to find a job in a government office, but a young woman’s prospects are limited there. Her monthly salary would be ten lirot, with no possibility of advancement. One would think that ten lirot a month is a decent salary for a young woman who now earns only six lirot. But, as was already noted, government offices offer a young woman no opportunity for advancement, whereas here, in this store, the owner is considerate and allows her to earn money on the side. What does this mean? There are certain products he is not allowed to handle, because he is the agent for other companies. He is reluctant to forgo the profit, so he orders these products in Lisbet Neu’s name, giving her two percent of the profit. Two other young women work for him, but he doesn’t treat them as he does Lisbet Neu, who is his right hand. Herbst doesn’t know Lisbet Neu’s employer and has no reason to know him. He is aware of one thing: the man is an elderly bachelor. Why doesn’t he marry Lisbet? She is lovely, of good family, gracious, and skilled in business. He probably doesn’t need a wife. Some women are available to men without the marriage ceremony.
The gentleman is rich. Surely he has an elegant apartment with fine furnishings, and, when he invites a girl to his home, it goes to her head. The first time, she comes feeling honored to have been invited; the second time, hoping he finds her appealing and may even want to marry her. The third time — the devil knows her thoughts. It goes without saying that none of the above applies to Lisbet Neu. I doubt that she was ever in any man’s home without her mother or her elderly uncle, Professor Neu.
Having mentioned young girls here, let me say something further about them. There are young girls in Jerusalem who used to live with their families in other countries, where they wore silk and ate fine food. They lived in splendid houses surrounded by maids who waited on them and gallant young men — intelligent, loving, and eager to please — as well as the finest teachers and educators, whose job it was to develop their sensibilities. Now these girls are up at dawn to earn the price of a crust of bread and a patch of roof. Some of them work in cafés, putting in an eleven hour day, for which they are paid eight lirot a month. Some work in army canteens, where drink, revelry, and lewdness are the rule. There are other young women who came to Jerusalem to study at the Hebrew University with their parents’ support, but, now that their parents are locked in ghettoes, the daughters spend half the day studying and the other half working for meager wages, barely able to support themselves and pay tuition. More than two years ago, the day Sarah was born, Dr. Herbst went to a restaurant for dinner, where he met a lovely and charming waitress, who gave him paper and envelopes so he could write to his daughters and inform them that their sister was born. Some time later he went there again, and, when he asked about her, he was told she had gone elsewhere and was working in a café frequented by Australian soldiers. The Australians are a good lot, easy with money and generous. They’re not pompous like the English. They’re friendly to us, so it’s nice to work in the places they frequent.
As things happen, Herbst happened to see that waitress again. Much later, Herbst went on a trip to the Dead Sea with his wife and Tamara. They stopped at the main hotel for tea. Herbst saw a waitress whom he recognized, though she didn’t recognize him. She saw so many people each day that new faces displaced the old ones. She came over and asked, “What would you like?” Her face was burned, her skin parched; her eyes had lost their luster. But she was gracious to the guests, like all waitresses in big hotels. Herbst identified himself to her, and she was pleased, as a lonely child who finds someone she knows in a crowd of strangers. For those who came to the hotel were strangers to her, while she knew him from the good days. What was better about those days? In those days, she was still endowed with the freshness of youth.
Manfred said to Henrietta, “Remember, Henrietta, the day Sarah was born I brought you a bottle of perfume with a scent you admired. I didn’t tell you how I found that delicate perfume, but now I’ll tell you. This woman gave me paper so I could write letters to our daughters, and the scent of the paper was so pleasant that I went to the pharmacy and asked for a bottle of perfume with that same scent. See, Henriett, I have secrets too. Secrets with young women. But in time every secret is discovered.”
Manfred continued, “Would you guess that this girl was actually pretty, in addition to her charming, youthful ways?” Henrietta said, “She’s still pretty.” Manfred said, “If you hadn’t said those words, I would have invited her to join us for a while.” Henrietta laughed and said, “You can invite her.” Manfred said, “You think it’s all right to ask her to sit with us?” Tamara said, “If anyone were listening, he would think you’re hammering out a program for the Zionist Congress. Comrade, come join us. This intellectual couple wishes to converse with you.” The young woman laughed and came over. Henrietta said, “Won’t you join us for a while, if you’re free.” Herbst was quick to offer her a chair, as if he were the host and she the guest, inviting her to sit down, moving his chair close to hers, asking questions for the sole purpose of making conversation — about the hotel and its guests, the British, the Australians. From there, he turned to questions about fortifications and road work the British were doing. Tamara sat there, inwardly scornful of these Zionists who see without knowing what they see and babble without understanding their own babble. Finally, she got up and left.
As soon as Tamara left, Herbst was relieved. He began asking questions and apologizing for each one. The young woman answered without hesitation and even volunteered information about herself and her family. The essence of her words was that her father had been rich and had provided her with excellent tutors. They taught her whatever one teaches the daughters of the rich, with the exception of Jewish subjects, which she was never taught. When disaster struck, German Jews didn’t believe Hitler would remain in power. Her mother and father stayed in Berlin and sent her to the Land of Israel. Though their hearts did not instruct them to save themselves, they did instruct them to save the girl. She knew nothing about this country except what she had heard in speeches. She would have been better off without those speeches, for she would have tried to find out the things one needs to know when going to a new place. She came here and didn’t know what to do. She worked as a waitress. When she lived in Berlin, she knew what to do. She wrote poems, some of which were published. In fact, one of her poems appeared in the Frankfurter Zeitung. Even here she continued to write, and she sent a story about a little girl in Jerusalem to the Jüdische Rundschau. Robert Weltsch sent the payment to her father.