Sarah came into the room and stood there in dismay. After a moment or two, she backed up and knocked on the door from the inside, like someone who knocks before entering, and said, “Come in.” She went over to Zahara, wrapped her little arms around her big sister’s knees, and said, “Sarah loves Zahara.” Zahara bent down, placed her lips on Sarah’s, and said, “Zahara loves Sarah very, very, very much.” Sarah said, “No, no, no. Sarah loves very, very, very much.” Mother Henrietta bestirred herself and said, “Sarah, Zahara is leaving us.” Sarah looked at Zahara and said, “Zahara is leaving us?” This was not so much a question as a matter of words that were inconsistent with reality. Zahara kissed her sister again and said gravely, “I have to go home.” Sarah’s eyes scanned the room as she wondered: What did Zahara mean, ‘I have to go home’? Isn’t this home? And why did she say ‘I have to’? Mother Henrietta said to Sarah, “Tell her there’s no need to hurry.” Sarah said to Zahara, “Mother says — “ She stopped in the middle, turned to her mother, and said, “You tell her.” All of a sudden, she turned away from both of them. “What’s this?” she asked. “This…this here, this?” Zahara said, “I don’t know what you mean.” The child pointed with her thumb, repeating, “This.” Zahara turned to her mother. “Maybe you know what she means? Sarah, show me with your finger.” Sarah was annoyed at Zahara. “What I’m pointing with is a finger, isn’t it?” Mother Henrietta said, “She means the grasshopper playing on the window. It’s a grasshopper, Sarah.” Sarah repeated the word with a mixture of agreement and doubt. She said, “A grasshopper. Can I step on it?” Zahara responded with alarm, “Why step on it? Such a fine grasshopper — see how nice his wings are, what long legs he has.” Sarah said, “You don’t understand anything.” Mother Henrietta laughed and said to Zahara, “She doesn’t mean to step on it with her feet. She means to catch it.” Zahara said, “Then why did she say ‘step on it’?” While they talked, Sarah chased the grasshopper with her fingers. Zahara repeated, “Why did she say it that way?” Mother Henrietta said, “This is what happened: the first time Sarah saw a caterpillar in the garden, she was fascinated by it and finally stretched out her leg to trap it, so she could pick it up. Since then, whenever she tries to catch a butterfly, she says ‘to step on it.” Zahara said, “To think that I suspected she would crush it. Come, sweetheart, let me give you a kiss. Who’s that coming? Why, it’s Avraham.”
Avraham arrived, his eyelashes casting bars of gold on his wife and her mother and sister. He picked up Sarah, sat her on his shoulders, and began to prance around with her. Zahara shouted, “Careful! You’ll bang her head on the ceiling.” He bent down and began to crawl on his knees, holding on to Sarah, who was perched on his neck, clapping her hands and chanting the words of a song she had learned from Firadeus. Then she began tapping her feet to the music. Henrietta called, “You’re hurting him.” The child leaned over his ear and asked, “Does it hurt?” Avraham flung the golden bars from his eyes to the child and said, “It hurts, it hurts as much as eating chocolate. Do you like chocolate? Oh, dear, we forgot to bring you chocolate. Next time we come, we’ll bring some chocolate. Take my handkerchief, Sarah, and tie a knot in it to remind me to bring Sarah chocolate. What else should we bring you? We’ll bring you a baby girl, and then you’ll be an aunt. Aunt Sarah. How would you like to be an aunt? To someone real, not just a doll. What do you think of Zahara? She knows that sort of trick; she knows how to make you an aunt. Now, honey, I’ll put you on the grasshopper’s back. He’ll carry you to Ahinoam. All the young women will see you and wish for a little girl just like you.”
After Henrietta finished wrapping everything, she handed the packages to Zahara, who handed them to Avraham, then kissed her mother and her little sister, Sarah, and said goodbye to her father. Henrietta said, “You’ll come back to Jerusalem soon, right?” Zahara said, “What do you mean, ‘soon’?” Henrietta said, “‘Soon’ means when it’s time to have the baby. The setup for childbirth is better in Jerusalem than anywhere else in the country.” Zahara laughed and said, “What are you saying, Mother? You want me to give birth in the city? Do you expect me to have a city child? I’m a country girl now. I belong to a kvutza, and I’ll give birth in the hospital in Afula, like everyone else.”
Avraham and Zahara left, loaded down with all sorts of paraphernalia. After Henrietta had finished packing a large box, she remembered other things it would be good for Zahara to have. So she filled Avraham’s arms, warning him not to lose anything, for it would all be needed by Zahara and the infant she was about to bring forth.
A contented smile spreads over Zahara’s face, the smile of a woman who has found her mate and is going off with him to his home. Avraham-and-a-half is taller than anyone. He is twice as tall as Zahara. Unless you’ve seen those two together, you have no concept of large and small. Now, imagine this small creature, this mere girl, with a baby inside. Isn’t that a truly moving sight? It’s no wonder that Father Manfred is more and more moved, and has no further complaints about her, that he accepts everything, whatever his daughter has done.
Zahara and her young man left, and the house was as it had been before. Well, not really. As long as Zahara was single, Henrietta felt that she still lived there. Even when Zahara went to the kvutza, Henrietta regarded the move as temporary. Now that she had left with her mate, there was a void in the house. All that day, Henrietta couldn’t get her bearings. Wherever she turned, there was something missing. The things Zahara took from the house were not what was missing; something that eludes and at the same time occupies every sensibility was missing. Henrietta told herself again and again: Nothing has actually changed. To which her heart’s response was: No change? Things have changed. Yes, they’ve changed.
When she went to bed, she was confronted by all these voids, which were accompanied by concern for her daughter. Zahara might not find anyone to guide her during pregnancy, since all the women in Ahinoam are young, except for the nurse, and, having never been pregnant, they have no concept of caution. They undertake every kind of work, pay no attention to their own needs, and are totally ignorant about pregnancy and childbirth. She was suddenly overcome with joy on account of her daughter, who had found a mate, and on account of this mate, who was so delightful. In the midst of her joy, Henrietta forgot about Avraham and thought again about Zahara, who was about to become a mother. First she scolded herself for having said so little to Zahara about what she should and shouldn’t do. Actually, she had talked to her a great deal, but she should have told her more, for Zahara is young and doesn’t know anything. Before she had fully explored her thoughts about her daughter, she was reliving the days when she was pregnant with Zahara. The two feelings mixed together — those pertaining to Zahara, who was pregnant now, and those about herself when she was about to give birth to Zahara. Twin joys were born in her heart. With them came sleep, the sort that doesn’t seem like sleep but is in fact the sweetest and most exquisite of sleeps.
At the same time, Herbst was lying on the couch in his study, lying there and thinking about Empress Theodora, about the women of her court, about his two friends the Weltfremdts, about Professor Bachlam and Professor Lemner, about Axelrod and his son, and various other things — a blend of thoughts that have no connection with the heart, yet grip it and induce vacant emotions. From there, he arrived at the strip of leather, the amulet Professor Wechsler had identified as a fragment of an ancient garment. From there, to the elderly nurse who showed Sarah to him the day she was born. In the midst of all these things, something unfolded, sort of a cake on which mazeltov was written. Although a lot of time had passed since he had heard the tale of the waitress and the Histadrut official, Herbst realized that the reference was to the cake the café owner had sent them for their wedding.