Shira (67 page)

Chapter seven

A
s I noted, Herbst put Shira out of mind and didn’t feel compelled to see her; indeed, when she wanted to give him her new address, he didn’t even take his notebook from his pocket to write it down.

As it happens, it happened that what he could have gotten with no effort he could not get later even with considerable effort. But I won’t jump ahead; I’ll relate things in their proper order.

At about that time, Professor Bachlam became sick and was taken to the hospital. Herbst went to visit him there. As he sat with his sick friend, it occurred to Herbst that he might see Shira. He felt not a trace of joy, only some curiosity about her. When he left Bachlam without seeing Shira, he decided it must be her day off. Some days later, he went back to visit Professor Bachlam and spent a long time with him. He sat there thinking: I’ll see her today, I’ll surely see her today. I’ll see her soon. In just a little while, I’ll see her. There’s no doubt that I’ll see her. I hear her footsteps now. As time passed and she didn’t appear, he began to wonder: This is the hospital she works in, so why doesn’t she come? Why doesn’t she come to look after the patient?

He had already stayed too long, and he began to imagine: Now Shira will come and suggest that I leave, so the patient can rest. But Shira didn’t come, and he didn’t leave, because, when Bachlam has someone to talk to, he doesn’t let him get away. Herbst sat with Bachlam, annoyed at the hospital for ignoring the patient, for not coming to ask if he needed anything. Since his arrival, no nurse had been in to see to the patient. Once again, his thoughts were of Shira. It made no sense: he had been here twice, and he hadn’t seen her. He finally concluded that she must work on a ward, whereas Bachlam was in a private room. He was annoyed at Bachlam for being in a private room rather than with the ward patients. He pictured the various sections of the hospital, the different halls and rooms, with special attention to the general ward where most of the patients were, where the beds were lined up in row upon row. He searched the vast room in his mind’s eye, looking for Shira. But he did not find her. He concluded that she was working elsewhere, perhaps in the maternity section, which explained why she never came to Bachlam’s room.

Herbst’s thoughts were interrupted by noise from outside. But they resumed their flow. He mused: A patient is lying here in need of rest, and he gets no rest, because the hospital isn’t strict about resting. The noise stopped suddenly, and another sound was heard, the sound of footsteps in the hall on the other side of the door. Herbst bent his ears toward the sound, saying to himself: If those aren’t Shira’s footsteps, I don’t know whose they are. She’s about to come in. Here she comes. I’m about to see her. Shira won’t show her delight, but her eyes will reveal some of what is in her heart. She’s already knocking on the door. Her hand is on the doorknob. She has opened the door. Here she comes.

As it happened, it wasn’t Shira who came in, but an elderly nurse, the one who showed Sarah to him the day she was born. Herbst was encouraged. If this woman is here, Shira is here too. The two of them attended Henrietta when Sarah was born. This old woman, who worked in Obstetrics at the time, works here now, so Shira must be here too. On the other hand, could it be that, because the old woman works here, Shira does not?

The old woman saw and recognized him. With her sugary tongue, she asked after Mrs. Herbst and the darling baby, born with her assistance, with her hands, her very own hands, though that baby deserved to be carried into the world by golden hands bedecked in jewels. As she spoke, she displayed her little hands. Whether or not you believe it, her irritation at Herbst – for not appreciating how darling his daughter was the instant she showed her to him – had vanished, leaving no trace. She asked about the little one again. Herbst behaved appropriately, responding to every question. He even added comments of his own and reported several clever things the child had said. The old woman was thrilled, despite the fact that the child’s cleverness was not news to her. The minute the baby was born, it was obvious that she was extremely clever – so much so that one could say without exaggeration that nowhere in the world was there anyone as clever.

Luckily, none of the grumblers was present. If one of them had been there, he would have jested later that Bachlam was so jealous of the baby that he interrupted the old woman and began recounting his own clever remarks. This is what Herbst was thinking, and what unfolded before his eyes was not very different from what was in his mind. He could see that Bachlam was not very pleased by the old woman’s conversation, which was how he reacted whenever he heard someone else being praised. Herbst tried to avert his eyes, so as not to see what he saw. But he failed, for Bachlam’s eyes glared disapprovingly, the tip of his nose was flushed, and his thin lips trembled. His entire being seemed to proclaim: So they found someone to praise, so they found someone to praise. As if I don’t know what they mean, as if I don’t see what they mean. They do what they do to avoid praising the one who is truly praiseworthy. Herbst turned toward the old woman and gazed at her, like a person in pain seeking relief. Looking at her, he realized how very old she was, how very small, and he was surprised to have mistaken her footsteps for Shira’s. What could he have been thinking? But, because his mind was totally occupied with Shira, every rustle sounded to him like Shira’s footsteps.

The old woman was still there, singing Sarah’s praises. In addition to being clever, she was the most perfect child in the world. Beauty and wit have been linked together since the world was created, though beauty sometimes supersedes wit and wit sometimes supersedes beauty. In the case of that sweet baby, however, these two qualities were evenly matched, and this was the source of her rare and incomparable charm.

In deference to Bachlam, Herbst wanted to interrupt the old woman, but he couldn’t figure out how. All of a sudden, without forethought, without having any idea what his lips were about to utter, he whispered, “I’ll reveal something to you, something you will find very interesting. Mrs. Herbst will be coming to you, because she is soon going to have another baby.” The old woman clapped her small but vigorous hands. Her face was illuminated with joy, from her forehead to the roots of her hair, to the white kerchief on her head. As if to support an argument, she said, “I can tell you this, sir, doctor, you ought to be very happy. I have no doubt – in fact, it is clear to me – that the boy who is going to be born will be even more handsome and clever than his sister, since the world becomes more and more splendid, and each successive child outdoes its predecessors. This is what I tell all the mothers, most of whom are not pleased to be pregnant and bear children. ‘What are you after?’ I say to them. ‘Do you want to be like the dolls in a toy shop, dressed up in fine clothes, entertaining but producing nothing?’ My dear sir, you understand what I mean when I say ‘producing nothing.’ I mean that the dolls they sell in stores don’t even produce dolls like themselves. ‘Or,’ I say to them, ‘you might want to compare yourself to…’ Excuse me, professor. What would you like, sir, professor? If you would like lunch, I will bring lunch right away. But, before lunch, I would like to arrange the pillow. Only this pillow, the one on top. Excuse me, please, sir, professor, for daring to trouble you to raise your head just a bit. Head high! That’s a basic principle in life. Isn’t that so, professor? You are wise, you have written many wise books, and I don’t doubt – in fact, it is clear to me – that you have discovered this for yourself. Head high. Never let it droop. I commend Professor Bachlam. He obeys the doctors in every respect. I never saw such a wise patient, one who knows and understands that good health is based on hearing and following what the doctors say, for their sole aim is to cure the patient. I usually tell patients this, and it’s true: ‘If you listen to the doctor, then you don’t need a doctor.’ What I mean to say is that those who listen to the doctor and follow all his instructions will have no further need of a doctor. They’ll already be cured. Goodbye, goodbye, sir, Dr. Herbst. Goodbye to you, doctor. And please be so kind as to convey my good wishes to the sweet baby. And say to her, ‘My little sweetheart, try and guess who asked after you. The old nurse who had the privilege of showing you to your father right after you were born – she’s the one who asked after you.’ And if I may add a further request to that request, I would request that you convey my good wishes to that dear lady Mrs. Herbst. Tell her that a bed awaits her, a good bed with a rubber mattress, that lying on it is like – what shall I say? – it’s like…like floating on an ocean wave on a bright summer day. I’m already looking forward to having Mrs. Herbst with us anytime soon. Such a talent for childbirth! I never saw anything like it. If she would listen to me, I’d tell her that she ought to give birth every year. No, not once a year, but twice. The babies she produces have no equals anywhere in the world. If I weren’t so busy, with patients depending on me, I would take the time to draw them, so they could be in the Bezalel Museum. I once said to a famous woman painter, known throughout the world, ‘Why struggle to find subjects for your paintings? Wouldn’t you be better off having children of your own, so you would have live models?’ It seems to me that the professor wished to say something. I think the professor has something to say. Forgive me, sir, professor, for not hearing. Actually, I did hear, for I am totally intent on hearing what you have to say. But sometimes I am like a fish, immersed in the sea, who sticks out his head to catch a drop of rainwater as it falls from the sky, because it is only natural to be drawn to what comes from far away. I wouldn’t presume to interpret this to you, my dear professor, since no one is as wise as you, and you yourself know whatever anyone might say or want to say. Now, my dear professor, I will go and bring your lunch, and, in the meanwhile, I will say goodbye to dear Dr. Herbst. Goodbye, dear doctor. Say hello to Mrs. Herbst, and a special hello to the little princess. So, goodbye, dear Dr. Herbst, and once again goodbye. Now I’ll go and bring the dear professor his lunch. I’ll let you in on a secret: it’s not merely lunch but a symphony of treats.”

Herbst paid one more visit to Professor Bachlam. Professor Bachlam was feeling better, and he was about to leave the hospital. The room was filled with books, manuscripts, bundles of proofs to be read, and several kinds of flowers, because, of all the professors in Jerusalem, no one was as popular with students as Bachlam. Several of his female students had denied themselves food to buy flowers for their favorite professor.

Bachlam had no other visitors that day. His friends had received word that he was better and would soon be out of the hospital. Since there weren’t many visitors, Bachlam was glad to see Herbst, but he complained that all his limbs were defective and declared that there was no one in the entire world as sick as he, that all the known maladies had converged in him. Nonetheless, he wasn’t lying in bed idle; he wasn’t pampering himself. Sick as he was, he had managed to write more than a dozen pages, apart from reading the proofs of his latest book, which was about to go to press; preparing another manuscript for the printer; and reading dissertations by several of his students, including a comprehensive five-hundred-page work – yes, five hundred pages – on Nahum Sokolow. Not that Sokolow deserved it. But the student’s work on Sokolow was first rate. Then, for Herbst’s benefit, Bachlam listed the names of all the prominent individuals who had come to visit him, not to mention the ordinary people, for all who dwell in Zion were concerned about him. Bachlam showed Herbst the flowers he had received, referring to each by name. One of Bachlam’s many accomplishments was the naming of countless varieties of local flowers. He had found names for some of them in the Mishnah, forgotten names that he discovered and revived. Other flowers had never had a Hebrew name, and, if not for the names he assigned them, they would still be nameless. Then Bachlam began to talk about his illnesses again, how all the maladies of the world converged in his body, so one might say there was no one in the world as sick as he was. But he has overcome all these ills and recovered. When he looks at himself, he can’t help wondering: How could such a feeble body overcome so much sickness? It must be that his great spiritual power prevails over physical weakness. He must overcome it, because there is so much for him to do. If he doesn’t do it all, who will? Professor Weltfremdt, perhaps? Or Professor Lemner? Professor Kleiner? Or maybe Professor Wechsler? They are interested only in themselves, and they don’t respond to the people’s needs. If their advice had been heeded, there would be no Hebrew University. When Professor Wechsler was invited to teach for the English, wasn’t he willing to accept their offer? Is Lemner any different? Not to mention Weltfremdt. As far as Weltfremdt is concerned, the university could just as well be German. Such traitors. They would sell Israel’s birthright for a mess of pottage. If not for Bachlam, who stands in the breach, this would still be Palestine, not the Land of Israel, which is why those Germans hate him. But the people are not ungrateful. The people, with their healthy instinct, are aware, sensitive, and grateful. All these flowers, brought by those dear young women, provide ample evidence. No other nation can boast of souls as precious as these. Who gave them life and nurtured them? When he considers these students of his, he knows it’s worthwhile for him to struggle, to struggle and work.

After Herbst took leave of Bachlam, he stopped in the hall and looked all around, as though searching for something. Then he turned to see if anyone had noticed. A nurse appeared. She was young, her uniform was new, her shiny new kerchief seemed to retain the heat of the iron. She herself was new: her flesh was new, without wrinkles or signs of fatigue, and her thick blonde hair exulted in its freshness. She glanced up at him, her kind eyes aglow with fresh joy, and inquired pleasantly, “Are you looking for something, sir?” It took a minute for Herbst to realize she was asking him a question. Her manner was so correct that he missed the intonation. Herbst bowed ever so slightly and said, “I’m not looking for anything. I was visiting Professor Bachlam, and I’m on my way home. But since you ask, it occurs to me to ask if you happen to know where the nurse Shira is.” She lowered her head in sad confusion. She didn’t know the answer, since this was her first day at that hospital and she hadn’t met all the nurses. She looked at him apologetically and said, “If you will wait a minute, I’ll go and ask.” Herbst bowed again and said, “Many thanks, but there’s no need to bother. I can ask myself. Or I may leave the matter to my wife. She’ll be here any day now, and she’ll see the nurse I was asking about.”