Henrietta carried herself like a woman who has thrived and been successful most of her life, who knows through whom she has achieved this success and that she deserves whatever she has achieved. For she has labored over him, looked after him, made it possible for him to concentrate on his work, and protected him from other business. Even when she was involved with matters it was hard for her to handle alone, she didn’t intrude on his work.
Considering his age, he was healthy and sound, young and vigorous. She gazed at him with pride and pleasure. Compared to his friends, he was a youth. True, she had lost her own spark along the way, but Manfred made it worthwhile. Besides, all she required or wanted was some peace of mind, her daughters’ happiness, and Fred’s success.
Henrietta sat curled up, as she used to sit sometimes when she was young, in the old days. When something pleasurable came her way, her shoulders contracted with pleasure and contentment. In those days, she would stretch out gracefully, whereas now she didn’t have the strength to straighten up, so her shoulders simply sagged. Her mind began to wander and rove in many directions — what was, as well as what she had hoped for that never came to be. How wonderful everything was, even now, after so many years, undisturbed by time. Henrietta extricated herself from a tangled thicket, like the night’s brightness shining through its murky darkness. She saw herself and Manfred as they were in Berlin.
Manfred is standing at the clock in front of the train station at the zoo. Countless men and women come and go, but he doesn’t notice, as if none of them exist. Henrietta is the one he wants to see, and he doesn’t see her. But he yearns to see her. His patience gives out, and his eyes, eager for her, begin to speak, to shout: Come, Henrietta, come. She is there, but he doesn’t see her. There are so many people separating them. He closes his eyes for an instant, so that when he opens them he’ll see her standing before him or at his side. Henrietta observes all his moves and knows how to interpret them. Henrietta smiles. And she’s right to smile, for, just when she is close enough so he could see her, he turns away to look at his watch. What does she do? She puts her hand on the watch. He looks up and sees her. He grabs her hand and wants to say something to her but can’t find the words. He leads the way, walking with her in silence. They find their train and go together to one of those lovely spots outside of Berlin where woods, streams, lakes, and rivers exist side by side, and, in these streams, rivers and lakes, boats of all sizes skim the water, carrying men and women, boys and girls, the sun shining down on them from above and love shining from their hearts. The two of them, Henriett and Fred, are doubly warmed — by sunshine and by love. At last, they get out of the boat and hike through the woods. They come to a river, and, since there is no one else there, they take off their clothes and jump in, floating and frolicking like fish. Later on, later on they rent a boat and row down the river. They are alone on the water, far from anyone else and closer to each other than ever before.
These events were at the edge of Henrietta’s memory. God in heaven, when did such things happen? Unless we say that we had an existence before this one, it’s not possible to imagine that such things happened to us. A salty tear fell from her weary eyes onto her wrinkled face. She brushed it away with her little finger, gazing out at the ravines gleaming in the darkness of the salty desert. Manfred’s heart was stirred, and he directed his eyes to the landscape Henrietta was gazing at. He took her hand again and clasped the finger with which she had brushed away her tear.
They sat without saying a word; they sat in silence. After a while he lifted her hand, put it down, lifted it again, and put it down with a smile, saying, “So, Henrietta, we saw the Dead Sea today, and now we are traveling though the Jericho Valley.” Henrietta nodded. Her shoulders contracted as she whispered, “Yes, Fred. Yes, Fred.” He began explaining how the Dead Sea was created, how the Jericho Valley was formed, where the palm trees come from. Henrietta sat listening as Manfred continued his discourse. “And now,” Manfred said, “now, Henriett, I’ll tell you something worth knowing. I was hiking in the Dead Sea Valley with a group that included heads of institutions and various scholars, among them Warburg. When we approached Masada, I wanted to climb up, but Warburg said to me, ‘You’ve already been to Masada, and you’ll have other opportunities to go there. Now come and help me collect some local plants.’ I didn’t turn the old man down. I went with him. While we were collecting grasses, he straightened up and, pointing his finger, said, ‘This little country has twice as many plants as Germany. In Germany we can identify thirty thousand plants, and in this country we can identify sixty thousand, though we still haven’t explored it all and there are undoubtedly more varieties to be discovered.’ Warburg also told me that the palm tree originated here. Warburg never mentioned this in his books. He was always careful not to write anything until it was thoroughly researched and well documented. Since he didn’t get around to validating this hypothesis, he never wrote about it. But he believed that the Jericho Valley was the birthplace of the palm tree, and I may be the only one to have heard this from him.”
The universe cast off its shape and assumed it again, at first rapidly, then with restraint; with restraint, then rapidly. In between, it was permeated with brown, yellow, blue, and something more, which the eye couldn’t grasp. Its margins were filled with silence that sounded like something audible and looked like something visible. If the eye managed to grasp a bit of that something, it was lost instantly in the endless multitude of colors, shifting in the twinkling of an eye, yet leaving their wondrous trace in the memory of those who saw them. Henrietta sat in a hush, marveling at everything she heard and everything she saw. It was clear to her that whatever she saw, she heard, and whatever she heard, she saw. Manfred was still talking. He told legends about the Dead Sea and the palms of Jericho that added substance to what she saw. Henrietta listened, stroking her husband’s hand; Tamara listened and marveled; the other passengers listened and welcomed this family and this scholar, who imparted facts in a manner that was both informative and pleasurable. Before they knew it, they were in Jerusalem.
Tamara leaped off the bus, followed by Manfred, who helped Henrietta down. Henrietta was astonished to see her husband jump so easily, like a youngster. He was astonished too, feeling taller and lighter than usual, the weight of his pack having firmed up his bones, straightened his spine, and stretched his body to its full height. He thought to himself: If I didn’t have to take my wife and daughter home, I would go into town and stop at Shira’s to show her how lithe I am. Shira would be amazed. Even though she pretends not to notice that sort of thing, her eyes are sharp, and she notes every change. He glanced at his wife, who was standing with him, waiting for the bus to Baka. Their eyes met, and he saw a serene smile on her lips. He was stirred by this smile and smiled back, knowing that he had to go with his wife, thinking in his heart: Too bad Shira can’t see me now, lithe, erect, tall. Never in all the time she’s known me has she seen me like this.
Waiting for the bus, they were overcome with the fatigue that often follows a trip. In Manfred’s case, it was accompanied by fatigue of another sort, the fatigue that takes over when you are in one place but your thoughts have drifted elsewhere. Where had they drifted, and why did they taunt him? He was tired and in no position to follow them. Even if he were to go to Shira’s, she probably wouldn’t be in, as she often worked at night. While he searched for a reason not to go to Shira’s, the bus appeared. Tamara leaped onto the bus and gave her mother a hand. Tamara helped her from above, Manfred from below. He boarded and sat beside her.