Henrietta stood like a victim, as if she had been abused, as if words she had never said were being attributed to her, as if these words were vile and despicable. She looked gloomy, and one of her blonde curls, which had begun to turn gray, slipped down to her forehead, trailing across her handsome eyebrows. She barely managed to keep from speaking sharply to her husband. She didn’t know what was bothering her, but it seemed that every word Manfred uttered was designed to provoke her. Her peace of mind was disrupted by this anger, as were her thoughts of work, of all the things she had to do. Suddenly her face became youthful, and she took on the indignant look of a young woman whose words are being distorted. Manfred’s love was aroused by her face and by her rage, but she remained remote because of what he had said, his fragmented conversation, and his plaintive tone, which was particularly grotesque in this light, on this morning, in this land, on this day when a blazing sun ruled the world and she had to stand in the heat of the kitchen preparing food for Shabbat. At that moment Manfred was thinking to himself: Who would imagine that this woman has borne me three daughters, that this woman and I were intimate, physically and spiritually? He studied her clothes and her face, and said, “Mother, why are you so angry? Did I say something to make you angry? If so, was it my intention to make you angry?” Henrietta said, “You didn’t make me angry. I’m not angry.” Manfred said, “Then let’s change the subject. What does Madame Herbst intend to wear when we visit Professor Bachlam?” Henrietta said, “Leave that to me. You can be sure my clothes won’t disgrace you.” Manfred said, “Mother, did anyone say any such thing? Still, I’m annoyed with you for not taking care of yourself. I don’t expect you to paint your face like Mrs. Lemner. But there’s nothing wrong with lending nature a hand. There are women who grow old and don’t merely neglect themselves but go so far as to emphasize their wrinkles.” Henrietta laughed and said, “As for age, I’m old. As for wrinkles, even if I camouflage them, they show.” Manfred said, “Mother, if I tell you I wasn’t referring to you, will you believe me?” Henrietta said, “Why not? Have I ever questioned anything you told me?” Manfred said, “That’s true. I’ve never said anything you saw fit to doubt. I used to think you accepted whatever I said because you didn’t care whether I said one thing or another. Now I know that the faith you have in me has to do with what I say. Let’s get back to our subject. Not to Bachlam, but to women who have wrinkles and ignore them. Do you remember that nurse, the nurse who brought you flowers the day our Sarah was born? If I’m not mistaken, her name is Shura.” Henrietta said, “It’s not Shura, it’s Shira. I’m surprised she’s never come to visit. When I was in the hospital, she took so much trouble with me. She was especially affectionate and promised to visit. What were you going to say about her?” Manfred asked in alarm, “What was I going to say about whom?” Henrietta said, “Fred, you make me laugh. If I say I don’t know anything about a young girl brought here by Professor Neu, you insist I know her and I’ve seen her. If I say you were about to tell me something about the nurse Shira, you look bewildered.” Manfred said, “Actually, I was going to tell you about her. I saw that nurse walking down the street, wearing old clothes, her hair half-white, looking altogether like an old hag. Couldn’t she dye her hair? There are dyes that restore the original color.” Henrietta said, “She’s a natural woman who doesn’t want to dye her hair. You didn’t avoid her, my darling? You asked how she was? She did so much for me, showed such kindness, I wish she would come over, so I could reciprocate.” Manfred said, “If not for me, you would open your house to all the women in the world. Let’s talk about something else. What sort of lunch do you have simmering in your pot?” Henrietta laughed and said, “You want to know everything. Relax, Fred. It’s a meal worthy of Shabbat.” Fred said, “If I hadn’t written my review today, I would have forgotten all about Shabbat. Mother, we ought to make special plans for Shabbat. It’s not right that every day is the same for us.” Henrietta said, “How could we make it special?” Manfred said, “I haven’t studied the question, but we should honor the day. I had an old uncle who was born in Rawicz. All week he smoked cigarettes; in honor of Shabbat, he smoked a cigar.” Henrietta asked her husband, “Are you allowed to smoke cigars on Shabbat?” Manfred laughed and said, “For that matter, are you allowed to smoke cigarettes on Shabbat? My uncle wasn’t observant, but he enjoyed tradition. Before making his fortune as a manufacturer, he taught religion in the local school. He was unique. In the end, though he detested rabbis, he left half his wealth to a rabbinical seminary. I’m glad I remembered him. Now I have something to talk about with Professor Bachlam.” Henrietta said, “You’re an optimist, my friend, if you think Bachlam will give you a chance to talk. Before you can say anything, Bachlam will drown you in a flood of words.” Manfred said, “Then I won’t have to make any effort. I just mean to pay my respects.