From the dead to the living. Herbst puts down the letters of the dead. His mind turns to those who still are hovering between the living and the dead, and from there to those who have found a temporary haven in the Land of Israel. Having failed to grasp that the doors of Germany were closed to Jews forever and ever, and that they would never return to Germany, they reassured themselves, maintaining that the ignominious regime would be overturned and the exiles would return to hear the rustle of Germany’s forests and the roar of her waters once again, delighting in the culture they had helped create. For the moment, they are here temporarily — as foreigners, strangers, guests, sojourners — until the anticipated day when Germany’s cultural elite roots out the heinous government and the exiled children come home. Many were already helped by Henrietta, and just as many are being helped by her now. Even Dr. Krautmeir, who is the busiest doctor in Jerusalem, was helped by Henrietta. If not for Henrietta, she would have been lost. She came here emptyhanded and unknown; she had never had any contact with Jews and had associated only with Germans all her life. One day, soon after she arrived, she left her hotel, pondering to herself: How long can I tolerate this? Henrietta appeared, and they recognized each other, having lived on the same street in Charlottenburg and taken the bus together regularly. Though in all those years they hadn’t talked to one another, when they met again here in the Land of Israel, they considered each other a friend. Krautmeir said to Henrietta, “We lived in Charlottenburg for almost a whole generation and never engaged in the most casual conversation, and now I consider you a childhood friend.” Henrietta invited her over, provided her with room and board in her home, and found her work with an elderly doctor who needed an assistant. Krautmeir took an apartment, paid the import tax due on her furnishings, and began adjusting to life in Jerusalem. After a while she bought the old man’s practice and, since most of the patients were by now accustomed to her, they continued to come. She acquired some new patients too: young women in trouble as a result of their involvement with British soldiers, who made contact with the lady doctor, knowing she would see them through.
As the number of immigrants grew, Henrietta could no longer deal with all of them, and already there were those who didn’t know Mrs. Herbst at all, as well as those who knew her but didn’t have the opportunity to enjoy her hospitality. Anita Brik, for example. Why do I mention Anita Brik? Because Manfred believed that, had Henrietta invited Anita Brik, Anita would have been helpful to her. Henrietta complained that work was piling up that neither she nor Firadeus had the time to do. If Anita Brik had been in the house with them, she could have been helpful to him too, copying texts. Often, he would stop in the middle and say, “I’ll copy it tomorrow”; then, “day after tomorrow.” And sometimes he would think to himself: Is it really necessary for me to sit and copy? Couldn’t I just mark the passage and give it to someone else to copy for me, as many renowned and prominent scholars do? Some of them don’t even read through a text before instructing a secretary or assistant to seek out certain material, which they locate in books and copy out, presenting the finished product to their employer. It wasn’t arrogance that made Herbst think he deserved to have others do his work, but fatigue and weariness.
Remembering Anita Brik, the idea that she might be helpful to him, and that he might help her too, was appealing. Several mounds of books cluttered his desk, and he didn’t get to copy what he needed from them, so let her come and copy. Most of all, he needed help with books he sometimes borrowed from Ernst Weltfremdt. Weltfremdt was a fussy person who lent books only to those who promised to return them in three weeks, saying, “If I leave my books with you indefinitely, you’ll put off reading them from day to day and from week to week, and, in the end, you won’t even glance at them. That won’t be the case if I limit the time, forcing you to read, find, and copy what you need.” In the past, it was simple for Manfred to say, “Henrietta, invite such-and-such a young woman.” Now it is hard for him to mention any woman to Henrietta. He even hesitates to mention Lisbet Neu, Professor Neu’s relative, to Henrietta, despite all the favors Neu had done for him. He had been a student of his and become a lecturer through his efforts, and Neu would surely be consulted about his promotion. All this notwithstanding, not only does he not invite Neu’s relative to his home, but he avoids mentioning her name. That woman — that Shira — has made him tongue-tied.
Chapter eighteen
Now that I have mentioned Shira, I will get back to Shira, who is the core of the book Shira, and whatever doesn’t pertain to Shira doesn’t pertain to the story. Again, Herbst’s thoughts were of Shira; some to her credit, others to her discredit. Herbst was thinking: If only Shira would say, “Go away and let me be.” Herbst was assuming that if Shira were to say “Scram,” he would take off and leave her. But Shira says no such thing and he, therefore, continues to come. Whenever he comes, she receives him warmly, so that, if we didn’t know what we know, we would imagine she was sitting and waiting for him. Herbst, seeing he is welcome, reaches out to caress her. Shira takes his hand and bends his fingers, like a hunter who catches a bird and clips its wings to keep it from flying. Herbst nurses his fingers and wonders: What does she have in mind? Her face is welcoming; her hands are rejecting. He takes a chair and sits down, or he paces around the room. He takes a cigarette and fills the room with smoke, his face registering rage. Shira is surrounded by clouds of smoke, enveloped by them. She too takes a cigarette, smoking and talking from within the clouds of smoke, telling him everything that has happened to her since his last visit. One day, she sprained her leg. Dr. Zahzam came. She describes the examination, how his hand glided over her leg. Herbst has a dim vision of Shira’s legs, which he recalls in all their intense loveliness as soon as they are mentioned. Herbst is perplexed: Why is Shira telling me about Zahzam? If she means to arouse my jealousy, I’m not the slightest bit jealous. Is it true that he’s not jealous? Yes and no. In Shira’s case, he’s not jealous; in other cases, he is. He once ran into Lisbet Neu and saw that the hairs above her lip had been removed. He was upset, as if she had taken something away from him. What did she take away? Was he expecting to kiss her lips? His entire relationship with her was quite straightforward. But any knowledgeable person knows — and it is true — that a woman who does such a thing does it because of a man. Which is to say that there is a man who is so close to her that he can say, “Those hairs are unbecoming,” or he may have said, “You would look better without them.” And, hearing this, she has the hair removed.