Shira (25 page)

Having mentioned Wechsler, let me mention a few things about his history. His father was from Bessarabia. He was employed by the baron and ought to have educated his son in Paris, as everyone else did, but Leonid was educated in Germany. His mother came into an inheritance in Germany and went to collect it, taking her small son along to present him to her family.

When she came to Germany, she learned that her father’s will, which favored her – a stepdaughter born to his second wife during her first marriage – was being contested by his sons and daughters. She saw that the court was not likely to reach a swift verdict and enrolled Leonid in a German school, so he wouldn’t be idle.

The case dragged on. She hired other consultants and lawyers whose conduct was like that of their predecessors, which is to say that, except for a slight shift in reasoning and argument, the later round behaved much like the earlier one. Every month her husband sent money for living expenses, as well as legal fees, and once a year, during vacation, she would visit her husband briefly, taking her son along, so he wouldn’t forget his father.

Back to the subject I began in the preceding paragraph. The case dragged on. Leonid did well. He advanced from class to class, from elementary school to secondary school, from secondary school to the university. Too bad about his father, who died in the meantime and didn’t live to see his son grow up. And too bad about the mother, whose resources dwindled, for, after her husband’s death, she no longer had an income.

As her income declined, so did her appearance. She was no longer the Zenia Wechsler who wore a different outfit every day, with a thin chain of precious jewels adorning her graceful neck, which was without a trace of a wrinkle. Now the wrinkles were everywhere. Her face was prematurely wrinkled, her soul even more so, because of the anguish of the lawsuit. And, if not for her son, who was about to receive his degree, she would have been lost in grief.

Not many relatives remained. Some had left the land of the living; some had left the land of Germany to seek a life in those countries where it was still possible for Jews to live. She had only one relative in Germany, and he, too, was planning to leave.

When he parted from her, he said, “Go back to your home while you can still afford the trip. Your stepfather’s children are obstinate. You’re worn out and no longer have the strength to fight. It’s not only love of money but hostility to the woman who took their mother’s place that drives them to prevent you, at all costs, from getting a cent of their father’s. The lawyers will extract your last penny, and you’ll find yourself in an alien land, alone, without support.”

She took these words to heart, having suffered from the case, and settled with her stepfather’s legal heirs. She got what she got and didn’t listen to the lawyers, who said, “Be patient and see what we do to your adversaries.” At this point she went to the Land of Israel, and Leonid stayed in Germany to finish his doctoral work.

When he received his doctorate, he too went to the Land of Israel. The country did well by him, and he was appointed a research member or lecturer at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem. Shortly thereafter, he was promoted to associate professor. When his name became known in the world on account of the amulet he discovered, he was made a full professor. A country whose gifts are carefully calculated can also be generous. So it was in the case of Wechsler and the amulet. Were it not for this amulet, he would still be low-level professor, with only his name, rank, and salary to speak for him.

I have referred to the amulet. Now let me tell you about it.

Once, at sunset, Wechsler was browsing in some Jerusalem shops that dealt in antiquities. He was both happy and sad. Happy that even skilled counterfeiters didn’t try to cheat him, knowing he was an expert; sad that, because of his known expertise, nothing interesting enough to attract the attention of scholars to him was likely to come his way. Confused by this mix of joy and sadness, he noticed another man’s shadow extending over his own. He turned around and asked, “What do you want?” The shadowy figure said to him, “In the Monastery of the Outstretched Hand, there is a young monk who has a leather amulet, found in a cave near Ashkelon, with an inscription in ancient Hebrew letters. It is for sale, because the monk would like to help a young woman who is here on pilgrimage and about to give birth.” Wechsler did not procrastinate. He undertook the climb to the monastery and looked at the amulet. He did not succeed in buying it, because the seller was asking more than Wechsler could afford. Wechsler left, in a depressed and agitated mood. Several days later, he met someone who said, “So you want to buy the Ashkelon piece, and you can’t afford it because the seller is asking such a high price. Then let me whisper that he must sell it now, because it’s time for that woman to leave the country and go back to her husband. But she can’t go back, because she has given birth in the meanwhile and can’t take her child. When she left her husband over a year ago to come to Jerusalem, there was no sign of a pregnancy. Now that she has given birth, she has to hire a wetnurse for the child, and that monk, who offered to help her in her distress, has no choice but to convert the amulet into cash.” Once more Wechsler climbed up to see the monk. He met the one who first informed him about the amulet, who now said to him, “So you are going to buy the amulet, and you think you will succeed because the woman has to hire a nurse and can’t ask her husband for the money, and the monk wants to help her by selling the amulet. In that case, you might as well know that she no longer has to worry about a nurse. She found a woman doctor, one of your doctors, who took the child and put it in a Jewish foundling home free of charge. So she no longer has to pay a nurse and doesn’t need the monk’s money. The amulet is, nonetheless, for sale. Now that the monk has sniffed the scent of money, he would like to convert the amulet into cash. An American tourist has turned up and made a good offer, but something he said will work in your favor. The tourist said he would make the monk and his monastery famous, but the monk is concerned about the evil eye. He has no choice but to favor the scholar over the millionaire, since scholars tend to be discreet and to avoid publicity.” At night, a Syrian girl came to Professor Wechsler’s house, carrying a letter with this message: “The one I spoke of won’t sell the amulet to the American, but you must buy it quickly, before someone else does.” In less than twenty-four hours, the amulet passed from the monk’s hands into the hands of Professor Wechsler.

As soon as the amulet was in Wechsler’s hands, he – unlike those who find something rare and disclose it only when it is worth their while, who collect many opinions and finally publish them, prefaced by “in our opinion” – immediately photographed it and circulated the photograph. The amulet acquired renown; Jews and non-Jews were busy decoding it. And, whenever they mentioned the amulet, they mentioned Wechsler. Wechsler’s name became known around the world and all the way back to Jerusalem.

Mrs. Herbst returned and was bewildered. When she regained her bearings, she asked, “Wasn’t Wechsler here? Did he disappear? I never saw him go. I may have no choice but to believe in magic. I’ll bring supper in a minute. Don’t go, Taglicht. Stay, your supper is ready. Boiled eggs and a glass of tea.”

Chapter twenty-seven

A
s they ate, the conversation turned to the amulet and from the amulet to Wechsler, who was transformed by the amulet. This lazy fellow, whose laziness exceeded his ambition, was suddenly the darling of the scholarly world because of a snip of an amulet that fell into his hands. Most Orientalists became preoccupied with it and credited it to him.

Let us present their views first, followed by Wechsler’s. Some of them wrote, “Traces of three Aramaic letters can be discerned on the amulet. If we identify the middle one as
t
and the final one as
n
, we have two letters of
Satan
, from which we conclude that the amulet was related to Satan and that both the person who made it and the person for whom it was made were Satan worshipers. Inasmuch as there are no other indications of Satan worship in Ashkelon and its environs, it is more likely that it was invoked to counter Satan’s power. There are grounds for the assumption that this small object is part of a larger one with a more extended inscription. Which is cause for regret. If the amulet had been preserved in its entirety, we would have the formula for a spell against Satan.”

Other scholars maintained that the symbols on the amulet were not letters, and certainly not Aramaic letters; that, if they were letters, they were related to proto-Sinaitic script; that the word had to be read from left to right and was one of many words we cannot as yet attach to a particular language group with total certainty. In any case, three letters can now be added to the proto-Sinaitic alphabet, whose letters have not as yet all been discovered.

Other scholars regarded it as a transitional sort of script, a bridge between Semitic and ancient Greek, though they weren’t sure how it should be read, since it leaned in both directions, toward the Semitic and toward the Greek as well.

What did Professor Wechsler say? Wechsler said, “The inscription is not Aramaic. It is not proto-Sinaitic. Nor is it a transition between Semitic and Greek script. Those are Hebrew letters, not three but four of them. They are
t, y, g, y
, which should be read as a segment of
ptygyl
, a word in First Isaiah. Since the word occurs in First Isaiah, this bit of leather is obviously from the time of First Isaiah, one of the earliest and thus most precious disclosures provided by the soil of Palestine. Henceforth, we must dismiss all existing theories about this word. We can no longer say it refers to a silk belt or a fringed buckle – a forced interpretation to begin with – since what we have here is leather, not silk or fringes.”

The saga of Wechsler and the amulet adds nothing to our story, but it was useful to Herbst. It distracted him from what had happened with Shira the night before, so that he seemed to himself much as he had been in the old days, before he met Shira.

Chapter twenty-eight

A
lthough the meal was over, the conversation between Herbst and Taglicht was not. It shifted from the amulet to other objects discovered in the country, from the cave in which it was found to other caves whose mouths remain sealed and, when they are finally dug up, will also yield great rewards. The strip of land known as Palestine, seemingly parched and denuded, is actually a treasure trove with all sorts of riches ensconced in it.

Taglicht said, “If you’re referring to geology, you’re right.” Manfred said, “What about archeology?” Taglicht said, “No one can deny that archeology has expanded our horizons. But, when I see how discoveries are interpreted, I’m reminded of biblical criticism. It seems that the people who deal with these subjects don’t have enough imagination to write historical novels, so they push themselves to make hypotheses. Scholars from other fields use these as a basis for some system of their own, on which they build vacuous structures – like that famous man who published a book proving whatever it was he proved, using an archeologist’s hypothesis that the archeologist had already retracted and declared to be wrong.”

Mrs. Herbst shook her finger menacingly and said, “Because a scholar makes a mistake, his entire field isn’t invalidated.” Herbst laughed and said, “Bravo. But I’m surprised, Henrietta, to hear you champion something you usually scorn.” Henrietta said, “Fred, do you want to argue? I don’t.” Manfred said, “I don’t mean to argue, but, tell me, Henrietta, where did you hide the cognac?” Henrietta said, “Now I’ll be the one to argue. Tell me, what do you see in that drink that consumes the palate, deadens the mind, and confounds the senses?” Herbst said to Taglicht, “You try. Describe the taste of cognac to her. Come on, Henriett, let’s drink to peace.” Henrietta said, “If you want to drink, drink. But I’m not drinking.” Manfred said, “I am given to understand that I have your permission.” Henrietta said, “And without my permission, you won’t drink?” Manfred said, “Tell me, Mother, do I ever make a move without your permission?” Mrs. Herbst said to Taglicht, “After such a speech, particularly when you look at his face, would anyone suspect he might make a move without my permission? Sit down, Taglicht. Sit down. There won’t be any scenes out of Strindberg. I’m bringing the cognac, and you can drink with Fred.” Herbst said, “Taglicht, I renounce all the other women in the world. I love only Henrietta.” Henrietta laughed and said, “Listening to you, one would think you’re involved with other women.” Herbst said, “Taglicht, what’s the hurry?”

Taglicht sat down again and stayed another half-hour. At ten o’clock, he left. Herbst didn’t detain him; even though he hadn’t mentioned the events of the previous night, there was no way of knowing what might still come up. The fact that it hadn’t come up yet didn’t mean it couldn’t.

After accompanying Taglicht to the bus stop and waiting for the bus with him, Herbst went back to Henrietta. He found her tired from the effort of having company, from the day’s work, and from lack of sleep. As usual, just when the lady of the house needed help, there was none at hand. Of all times, on the day when Zahara came with Avraham-and-a-half for the workshops organized by Berl Katznelson, hoping to find some rest at home, just then the Kurdish woman asked for the day off, because she was invited to an important event. What sort of event? It was in this connection, I believe, that Sarini referred to the university, to fingers dipped in fat, to a donkey, to drinks.

Manfred went back to Henrietta. Even before his thoughts were organized, he began talking. About Zahara and Avraham-and-a-half, who were together, alone in the car, with no one else there, such a long distance – all the way from Ahinoam to Jerusalem and from Jerusalem to Ahinoam. Manfred said to Henrietta, “You and I, Henriett, are of the old school, and our road never deviated, so we can’t fathom this new generation, whose emotional discipline is lax. Tell me, Henriett, what did Zahara say to you? I myself am out of step with this world, with this generation, with these daughters. But you, Henriett – you as a woman, a mother – are entirely of this world, and you sense what this generation is after.” Henrietta looked at him fondly and said, “If I weren’t an old woman, I would kiss you for your innocence. What should Zahara have told me? In any case, you can sleep peacefully. It’s past eleven, and here we are, chattering away like a pair of youngsters. Go to your room, my dearest. Get into bed and get some sleep. Last night you came in after midnight. Incidentally, where were you last night? What did you do?” “Where was I? What did I do?” Manfred cried in dismay. “Taglicht already told you.” “Taglicht told me? Not a word, not even half a word.” “What are you talking about? He distinctly said…” “What did he say? I didn’t hear a thing.” Manfred answered her, “You’re teasing me, Henriett. He certainly did tell you, and, if you don’t remember, I’ll remind you. Take a chair and sit down. I don’t like to see you standing when you should be lying in your crib. Taglicht came tonight because of last night’s events; he was here because of last night, Henriett.” “What happened last night?” “Last night? I didn’t really want to tell you about last night, but do we keep secrets? Is there anything in the world that I hide from you? You know the meaning of the riots only too well, and all about those young men who refuse…refuse to be slaughtered like the Jews of Hebron and Safed. You know all this, and about the Haganah too. But you don’t know that even Taglicht, even Taglicht is a member of the Haganah, and, like most Haganah members, he spends most of his evenings training. Tell me, Henriett, would you ever dream that such a fellow holds a rifle? Well, last night he dragged me to their training site. This is a forbidden subject, but we don’t have secrets between us. I said ‘training,’ but actually they were military drills. Real military drills. Please, Henriett, bury this information in your heart and don’t mention it to anyone in the world, not so much as a hint, especially not in front of Taglicht. I’m amazed that he revealed all this to me. It’s top secret. True, some of the English know what we’re up to, but they don’t want us to know that they know. Do you see, Henriett? On the one hand, they instigate the Arabs to fight us, and, on the other hand, they’re pleased that we create a counterforce. Who can grasp the English mentality? It may all be one scheme: the English want the Arabs to riot against us, and they want us to retaliate. Understand, Henriett?” Henrietta said, “I understand one thing: I understand that what Taglicht is doing is right, and I don’t understand why you and your friends stand by with folded arms. If I weren’t a woman, I would learn to use all those weapons.” “You? You, Henriett?” “Yes, Fred. Or would we do better to wait for the Arabs to come and slaughter us?” Manfred said, “Then I’ll confess in a whisper that there are not only young men in the Haganah, but young women as well. In a separate section.”