Two Scholars Who Were in Our Town and Other Novellas (27 page)

Only then did I fathom Kaila’s thoughts and the meaning of her insinuations in the mirror: if I stayed with the Gottliebs my father would feel obliged to come and see me and would no longer visit the cemetery. I gathered my dresses and folded them in my trunk. And I filled the iron with coals to press two or three blouses before leaving for the Gottliebs. The following day, my father sent my clothes ahead with the young servant, and at noon we ate together, and then rose and departed.

The Gottliebs’ home is on the edge of town, a short distance from the road leading to the train station. A large tract of land lies between it and the rest of the town. The building is a cosmetics factory and its rooms are large and empty. For in constructing the plant, Gottlieb had told himself, I will build my factory large enough to house all my employees, and my factory will be renowned throughout the country. We crossed the town and arrived at the Gottliebs. Mintshi emerged from the garden where she had been picking cherries, and hurried toward us and welcomed us and led us back into the garden. Partchi then came at her summons, carrying two bowls of cherries and Mintshi invited us to sample the freshly-picked fruit.

The day waned and Gottlieb returned from the factory. Partchi set a table out in the garden. The pale blue night cloaked us in its pleasing warmth. The moon stood in a heaven swarming with stars. A songbird fluted its purest song and the train’s whistle sounded from the station. After the meal Gottlieb asked my father, “Would you care for a smoke?” “In the dark?” I interjected in astonishment. “And why shouldn’t he smoke in the dark?” Gottlieb asked. “I once read that every smoker longs to gaze at the red ashes and the plume of incense rising from his cigarette,” I replied and added, “That is why the blind do not smoke, for being blind they see neither ash nor smoke” “Haven’t you learned yet that books and all their profundities are of little use?” Gottlieb said, laughing. “In my case I first learned to smoke in the dark. Lying on my bed at night, I treated myself to a cigarette as soon as my father fell asleep. You see, I chose to smoke at night because I feared doing so in front of my father during the day. Partchi, bring the cigarettes and cigars, and don’t forget the matches and ashtray.” “If my husband smokes today then it is indeed a good sign,” Mrs. Gottlieb said to my father. Mr. Gottlieb, however, pretended not to hear her words. “Now I will tell you what I have read. In bygone days, if a man smoked a pipe they hung it from his nose, for they said that there was death in the tobacco, and the government dealt harshly with anyone who sold tobacco in the country. Even now, my friends, a worker from my own factory was put behind bars for importing tobacco from a foreign land, for our government, you see, has monopolized the tobacco industry.” Gottlieb was always grumbling about the actions of the government and he had little patience for government employees of any kind.

That night my father did not prolong his visit, for he said, “Tirtza must learn to stay in your company without me.” Mrs. Gottlieb then led me to a small room and kissed me on the forehead and left. The room contained an iron bed, a table, a closet and mirror. I lay on the bed by the window and as a breeze blew through the trees, I fancied I was being cradled in a hammock in the garden. At daybreak fresh rays of light lit up my window. The sun graced the wings of birds trilling from their heights. I jumped out of bed and ran outside to the well, where I splashed my face with spring water. Partchi then called me to the table.

There was no joy in the Gottliebs’ home; he would criticize his wife after each meal she prepared. “What’s this I’m eating – straw?” he would exclaim. Since her husband dealt in perfumes, Mrs. Gottlieb went to pains to preserve his sense of smell and avoided cooking anything too spicy. Moreover Partchi, the daughter of Gottlieb’s deceased sister, was not made welcome in their home. Mrs. Gottlieb gave the girl no peace. Mintshi and the girl’s mother had quarreled, and now the daughter was being punished for her mother’s iniquities. And Gottlieb was cross with her, lest it be said his sister’s daughter walked barefoot. Few visitors called on the Gottliebs. Mr. Gottlieb met with his business associates in his office at the factory, and Mintshi refrained from befriending other women from town. In this she resembled my mother, may she rest in peace. When together they had been like the two Austrians who meet outside of town and one says to the other, “Where are you going?” and the other replies, “I’m off to the forest to be alone.” “Why, I also want to be alone,” exclaims the first. “Let’s go together.” Thus I sat by Mrs. Gottlieb’s side, her only companion.

Mrs. Gottlieb was a diligent woman. Yet she never appeared to be busy, whether working at home or in the garden. And even when she paused in the midst of her chores it seemed as though she had just arrived to admire the job done. I sought her out at least seven times a day, yet I never felt I was intruding upon her affairs. During my stay with the Gottliebs we evoked the memory of my mother, may she rest in peace. And at that time Mintshi told me how Mazal had loved my mother, may she rest in peace, and how she had loved him in return, but her father had opposed their union for he had already promised her hand in marriage to my father.

I lay on my bed at night, asking myself, What if my mother had married Mazal? What would have become of me? I knew such speculations to be fruitless, and yet I did not abandon them. When the trembling that accompanied my musings finally ceased, I said: Mazal has been wronged. He seemed to me to be like a man bereft of his wife and yet she was not his wife.

Summer dragged on. All day long I lounged under the oak and birch trees and stared into the blue sky. Sometimes I strolled to the factory and chatted with the herb gatherers. They were as carefree as the birds of the field and their spirits never seemed to dip even for a single day. I will wander in the woods with them and forget my sorrows, I told myself. But I did not join them, nor did I escape into the woods, and I lay idle for hours on end. “Look, our friend is boring a hole through the heavens,” Mr. Gottlieb said laughing as he saw me staring up at the sky. And I laughed along with him, though with a heavy heart.

How I loathed myself. I burned with shame without knowing why. At times I pitied my father and at times I secretly grew angry at him. And I poured my wrath upon Mazal as well. I recalled the fluttering blows of the grasshopper against the walls of our home at the onset of spring, but death no longer frightened me. Sometimes I asked myself: Why did Mintshi Gottlieb upset me by telling me of bygone memories? A father and mother, are they not man and woman, and one flesh? Why then should I brood over secrets from before my time? Yet I thirsted to know more. I could not calm myself down, nor could I sit still for a moment. And so I told myself, If Mintshi knows what happened, surely she will tell me the truth. But how will I open my mouth to ask? For my face turns crimson at the mere thought of speaking. I gave up all hope—I would never know the rest.

One day, however, Gottlieb left for an long journey and Mintshi asked me to sleep in her room. And again she began to speak of my mother and Mazal. And what I had least expected was told to me.

“Mazal was still a young man when he arrived here. He had left Vienna to travel around the rural townships and he came here as well. He came to see the town, and since coming to our town some seventeen years ago, he has never left.” Mintshi spoke in a low voice and a cold gust of air rose from her words. It was the very chill I had felt upon touching my brow against the marble slab of my mother’s headstone, may she rest in peace. Mintshi swept her left hand across her brow and exclaimed, “What more can I tell you that I haven’t already said?” She then shut her eyes as though in a dream. Mintshi suddenly started awake and fetched a bound diary that was popular among educated girls a generation ago. “Read this,” she said, “for I have copied Mazal’s journals. I have copied all that he wrote in those days.” I took the notebook that Mrs. Gottlieb had copied and slipped it into my bag. I never read in Mintshi’s room at night since the light of a candle prevented her from falling asleep. And the following morning I read all that was written in the book:

How I love the rural townships during the summer months. The market is hushed, a town and its inhabitants, a pot with flowers that peer out and no one to admire them. Her sons are in hiding, the sun has driven them into their homes, and I walk solitary in a peaceful land. I am a student at the university and God has led me forth to one of the towns. As I stood in the street I saw a woman standing by a window and she placed a bowl of millet on its sunlit sill. I bowed to her and said, “Won’t the birds feast on your millet?” I had barely finished my sentence when a young girl appeared at the window and she stared at me and mocked my words. I was nearly put to shame and lest the young girl sense my confusion I said to her, “May I have some water please?” The young girl then offered me a glass of water from the window. “Why have you not asked the man in to take a rest?” the woman said to the girl. “Does he not live in foreign parts?” And she said, “Come in, sir, come in.” And I turned and entered the house.

The household appeared prosperous and a man in his prime sat over a volume of Talmud. He had dozed off over his books and he now awoke and greeted me and asked, “Who are you and what brings you to our town?” I returned his greeting and replied, “I am a student and have come to see the countryside during my vacation.” They were struck with wonder at my words. “Look now and see for yourself,” the man said to the girl. “The learned come from afar to admire our town, and all you ask is to leave us and our town. Now you can banish that thought.” The young girl listened and remained silent. Her father asked me, “So you are studying medicine, you wish to become a doctor?” “No, sir,” I replied, “I am studying philosophy.” The man was surprised to hear this and said, “I always said philosophy wasn’t to be learned in school, for the true philosopher is the man who broods over scholarly tomes and fathoms their meaning.”

The day waned and the man told the girl, “Bring me my sash and I will recite the
minhah.
Don’t feel embarrassed at my reciting the afternoon prayer.” “I too will pray,” I exclaimed. “Bring me the prayerbook,” he said. She then hurried to fetch the prayerbook. And he took the prayerbook and showed me the passage we would read. “Sir,” I said, “there is really no need, I know the prayer well.” The man was surprised to hear that I knew the prayer by heart. He gestured toward the east where an embroidery hung on the wall, and I read all that was embroidered on the
mizrah
:

Blessed is he who shall not forsake Thee
And he who shall cleave unto Thee.
For those who seek Thee shall not fail
Nor shall they be put to shame
Those who seek and dwell within Thee.

As soon as I had finished praying I extolled the
mizrah
, for indeed it was splendid. My words, though, were like the sun’s dying rays at dusk, illuminating only the fringes of the east, while the whole is left in darkness, for I could utter but a fraction of the praise that swelled within me.

The woman set the table and bid me share their meal. The dishes were placed before us and we ate. Although the food was not abundant, consisting of just cornmeal with milk, we nevertheless lingered over our food as the man spoke of all that had happened to them, for he had once been wealthy, trading with the landed gentry and investing his money in field crops. Such was his way year after year. But riches are not everlasting. The owner of the estate did not keep to his end of the agreement. Money he took but produce he did not give. A bitter and prolonged quarrel ensued between the two men and what remained of the fruits of his labor was frittered away in legal fees. Though bribing is a criminal offence and it is forbidden to bribe a state judge—and even the gentile is subject to the laws of the land—the overlord offered the judge gifts so that the verdict would not go against him. “Eternity may well come to an end,” he said, “and still I wouldbe far from ending my account of all that came to pass in those days. My adversary slandered me with false accusations and my eldest son, though disabled and exempt from serving the Emperor, was pressed into the army, and the same overlord was a high-ranking officer and my son died under the crush of his iron fist.”

“But a man should not mourn the loss of imaginary possessions, blessed be the Holy Name for He has not taken His merciful eye from us. Even though the Almighty has not blessed me a second time with wealth and happiness, I thank the Lord daily, for we are not lacking in food. And yet whenever I call to mind the inflictions wrought upon my son, I am tempted to choose death over life.”

The members of the household dried their tears and the woman asked her husband, “If he were alive today, how old would he be?” “What sort of woman-talk is this?” he answered. “Do not lay reproach on the Almighty; the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh, blessed be the name of the Lord. How splendid are the words of Malbim, blessed be his memory, concerning the verse, “
he shall shave his head over the loss of property” – for it is forbidden to do so over the dead
.

The oil in the lamp was nearly spent and I rose from the table and asked, “Tell me please, is there an inn in town, for I will not be able to continue on my way tonight.” The man and woman conferred and said, “There are a number of inns but who knows if you will find comfort in any one of them. Ours is a small town and the inns are of the plainest sort, for respectable guests seldom come here and anyone who isn’t accustomed to such conditions will not find such inns very restful.” The man glanced at his wife and said, “A stranger shall not sleep outside. I will open my door to a guest.”