The conversation with the café owner rescued Herbst from a whirlpool of imagination. When he left the café with Shira, his mood was light. When he went to the hospital with Henrietta, his mood had not been so light. To add to the lightness, he took off his cap, turned to Shira, and said, “What a splendidly grotesque performance.” Shira said, “It’s hard for those yekkes to adjust.” Herbst smiled and said, “I’m a yekke too.” Shira said, “A yekke, but one who came willingly, unlike that lout who never considered leaving Germany and coming here. Such a person could not possibly be comfortable here, apart from the absence of an organ or the presence of the Histadrut. There are other forces undermining him.” Herbst said, “If I had permission, I would ask: What about Miss Shira? Is she comfortable here?” Shira said, “Comfortable or not, wherever I am there are sick people, and what difference does it make if I am with them here or somewhere else? I wear the same white kittel, the same white uniform, here as there.” “And apart from the white kittel, is there nothing else?” “Apart from the kittel, there are the sick, who are sick whether they speak Russian, Yiddish, or Hebrew.” Herbst said, “In that case, I’ll ask no more questions.” Shira said, “I have nothing more to add. Jerusalem is already asleep. There’s not a soul on the streets. Anyone who happens to be out has one thing in mind: to find refuge in his doorway and then inside his home.” Herbst said, “A perfect definition of night in Jerusalem…. Night in Jerusalem, just as it is.” Now what? Herbst pondered. I’ll see Shira to her door, go to my empty house, get into bed, wake up early, and in the morning I’ll go to see Henrietta. When I knock at the hospital gate, they’ll open it and call a clerk, who will talk to me over his shoulder and ask in alarm, “What do you want?” To which I will say, “My name is Herbst —
Herbbbst — husband of Mrs. Herbst.” To which the clerk will answer, “You mean Mrs. Herbst who came with you for, for — “ I will grab his notebook and show him what she came for. What if I had called Lisbet? Before Herbst could pursue this train of thought, Shira stopped and said, “This is my house.” “This one here?” Herbst asked, somewhat dismayed. When he saw that she was dismayed by his dismay, he added, “Since the walk was short and the company pleasant, I am sorry to be here already.” Shira said simply, “Would Dr. Herbst like to come in?” Herbst looked at his wrist, as if he were consulting the time, and said, “I’ll come in, but I won’t stay long.” He stared at the house in wonder, amazed that such a structure existed. It had been there for several generations. One could tell from the style of the structure. But Shira’s words gave it new vitality, deriving not from the stone, wood, mortar, plaster of which it was constructed, but from its own power, imbued with life and will which, at will, gives life. Vivid thoughts took over, though not yet in full color, showing Herbst more than his eyes could see. In just a few minutes, he might enter that house, for Shira had explicitly said, “Come in, sir,” and he had answered, “With your permission, madam, I will come in.” His legs were suddenly heavy, his knees began to quiver, his entire body was inert, and he was afraid he would be too weak to move. Still, with heavy heart and in high anticipation, he stood peering in and looking to see whether the house had a door and whether it was a door one could enter.