Shira (3 page)

About an hour before the appointed time, Herbst stole away from home, since he had no way of knowing what his wife might ask of him, nor could anyone know who might suddenly appear at his door and how long it would be necessary to tarry, since a friend could drop in without calling ahead, and Herbst would not be free until the friend was ready to go. For these reasons, Herbst left home an hour before the appointed time.

When he got to Ben Yehuda Street, Herbst crossed from sidewalk to sidewalk, from the side the Café Zichel was on to the opposite side, then the reverse, afraid someone would engage him, for it is the custom in this land that, if you run into a friend and you are not busy, you attach yourself to him, whether or not you have something to say. One can imagine Herbst’s concern. Still, except for the cigarettes he took out and lit, one after the other, nothing engaged him. Between cigarettes, he consulted his watch, which did not alter its time, like an hourglass in which the grains of sand will not move until it is time, however much one taps it. When the appointed hour arrived and Lisbet Neu was not there, Herbst began to review every word he had said the previous day. He had, perhaps, said something inappropriate that turned her against him. Reviewing the entire conversation and weighing each word, he found no flaw, so his mind was at rest, but not his feet. He went into the café to see if she was there. Pressed between the crowded tables, he searched every corner without finding Lisbet Neu. As he didn’t find her, he left.

Again he crossed from sidewalk to sidewalk in despair, then anticipation; in anticipation, then despair. When these two emotions faded and were replaced by a vague sense of weariness, he spotted Lisbet Neu. There she stood: face to face with him, eye to eye.

There was Lisbet Neu. She came and said, “I’ve wasted your time, Dr. Herbst. I kept you waiting.” Hearing this, Herbst would have liked to say: I would wait for you until tomorrow or the day after. But, saying nothing, he bowed, shook her hand, and went into the café with her.

Again Herbst was pressed between crowded tables and chairs with back legs that were straight and indifferent to the fact that everyone knocked into them. The whole point of a chair is that one sits on it however he likes, with no concern for passersby who knock into it. Herbst was in the café again. The first time he had felt sad and abandoned, but now Lisbet Neu was at his side. He was surprised that everyone in the café did not get up to offer her a chair. Since no one offered her a chair, he began looking for one. He couldn’t find an empty chair. Then someone did get up to go – to a meeting, a conference, home – and there was an empty chair. Herbst brought it to Lisbet Neu. He stood beside her and would have stood there until the end of time. Another chair was vacated. He grabbed it but remained standing. He suddenly realized he could place it near Lisbet Neu’s chair and actually sit down. He took the chair, put it near Lisbet’s, and sat down.

Lisbet Neu sat there, as did Dr. Herbst. They seemed to be sitting for the sake of sitting. The waitress came and asked in a coarse voice, “What will you have?” Herbst answered harshly, “What will we have? Everything. And if there is not enough here, run and bring us Jerusalem’s best.” Lisbet laughed and said to the waitress, “Bring me cocoa made with water rather than milk. And you, doctor, what will you drink?” Herbst asked, “Cake, how about cake?” Lisbet Neu said, “I can’t have cake.” Herbst said, “Why?” She said, “They’re made with butter.” Herbst said, “So much the better. They’re better with butter.” Lisbet Neu said, “It has not been six hours since I ate meat.” Herbst was astonished to discover that there were people who still waited six hours between eating meat and milk. She was astonished by his surprise. She told him, among other things, that when she, her mother, and little sister came to the country, they had no means of support. She was hired to cook in a restaurant that was certified to be strictly kosher, and observant Jews did not hesitate to eat there. One day she saw meat dishes and dairy dishes being washed together in the same basin. She would never again taste anything that was cooked there. From then on, she did not eat hot food until she got home after midnight and cooked for her mother and sister. Her mother was too sick to stand on her feet long enough to cook more than a simple porridge, her sister was still young, and she, Lisbet Neu, loathed porridge. So she cooked for herself and her little sister, who lived with them while she was still in school. The girl was now living in Amsterdam with her mother’s aunt.

Manfred Herbst learned from Lisbet Neu that her mother was sickly and, for the most part, bedridden. He learned that Lisbet’s sister was too young to support herself, and he learned that the entire burden of the household was on Lisbet’s shoulders, that there were many days when she went hungry, that as a result she had come down with jaundice but was now fully recovered. Neither the rigors of life nor an excess of piety were congenial to Manfred Herbst, an enlightened man who lived an orderly life. But the religious feelings Lisbet Neu conveyed when she spoke of the practical commandments were unlike those of other observant Jews Herbst had occasion to know, for whom he had little regard.

“What am I doing now?” Lisbet Neu continued, not wanting him to think she was still employed in the restaurant. “I am a clerk in a furniture store.” Herbst didn’t ask if she was being paid enough or what the job entailed. The word
clerk
has many connotations. The woman who cleans and takes customers up in the elevator could call herself a clerk. It could even be that Lisbet Neu is merely a caretaker.

The waitress brought the cocoa and coffee. Herbst said to Lisbet Neu, “It took so long to bring the cocoa, it must be six hours by now. You could have it with milk and eat the cookies, which probably don’t have a trace of butter.” Lisbet Neu smiled politely, but it was evident that she did not approve of his joke, that even a mild joke about religion disturbed her.

Herbst remembered that Lisbet Neu needed advice. He couldn’t decide whether or not to remind her. If he reminded her, the entire matter might be concluded in three or four minutes, and their meeting would be over, which would not be the case if he failed to remind her – then their meeting would be prolonged. He weighed the two options and admonished himself: Unless you give her an opening, she won’t begin; but, since you enjoy the company of this lovely young thing, you allow her to flounder while you subject her to bad jokes. Lisbet Neu got up and said, “It’s time for me to go. Forgive me, Dr. Herbst, for troubling you to come here.” When she got up to put on her coat and he got up to help her, she added, “I don’t deserve it.” When she realized he meant to see her home, she was surprised, for not only had she taken his time, but he was going to take more time and see her home.

As they walked, she said, “The matter I wanted to consult you about has worked itself out, and I am glad not to have to bother you. I’m really surprised at myself. I can’t believe that I was going to bother anyone with it.” As she spoke, her face seemed to cloud over, and Herbst concluded that, though, the matter was settled, it was not settled in her favor and, furthermore, that he had no right to ask about it. They walked on in silence, in close physical proximity but at a distance in their thoughts. Lisbet Neu was considering: I went to a café with a stranger. I let him pay for my cocoa, and now I am walking with him, while Mother is at home alone, worrying about me. Herbst was considering: The conversation I had with Miss Neu has no future. With this sort of young woman, you imagine you’ve come close when in fact you’ve created a barrier. Wish her well and don’t try to court her.

He did not act on this intelligence. The next day he ran into her in the post office, at the next window. Having met her, he spoke to her, and when their business was concluded he joined her. While they walked, he talked on and on. He suddenly had so much to say. With no preparation, the words came. Not of themselves, but by way of a story about a postal worker who collected stamps. He used to remove valuable stamps from international letters and keep them. Nothing was said about this, for what would be the point of speaking out when your letters could be confiscated? Then, suddenly, someone saw the matter differently. He went and told a supervisor, who would have dismissed the matter in deference to British honor, for no servant of the British Empire would violate its laws, but he was not content until the fellow was reprimanded. In addition to the reprimand, he was ordered to return the stamps. He denied taking them. His house was searched, and many undelivered letters were found.

A story that doesn’t really pertain to either Dr. Herbst or Lisbet Neu gave them something to talk about. If we were to monitor their conversation, we would find nothing that hasn’t been said by others. Still, it wasn’t wasted. For, having begun a conversation, they continued to walk and talk, like people who know each other well and enjoy talking to each other. As things happen, it happened that, before taking leave of each other, she gave him the telephone number of the store she worked in and, as it was closed at night, added the number of the grocery she shopped in; the grocer and his wife were there until 10:00 and would call her to the phone at any time. The night Dr. Herbst took leave of his wife when she was about to give birth, it was hard for him to go back to his empty house. He thought of various people but was not drawn to any of them. He was reminded of Professor Neu’s relative. He thought of calling her. One doesn’t really call a young woman at such an hour, but Lisbet Neu was different, This is the beginning of the story of Manfred Herbst and Lisbet Neu, a relative of Professor Alfred Neu, Dr. Herbst’s distinguished teacher. I think I have made things as clear as they can be. But this is not the essence of the story. The essence of the story involves Manfred Herbst and the nurse Shira, the Shira I began with, whose conduct I will continue to recount insofar as it touches on the story of Herbst.

Chapter four

N
ow, after taking leave of his wife, he went to telephone Lisbet Neu. He found a phone booth, but it was at an intersection, and he was worried that he wouldn’t be able to hear Lisbet Neu’s lovely voice over the traffic. So he passed it up and went on to another phone, only to realize that the numbers were jumbled in his mind. He wasn’t sure which was her work number and which was the grocery number. He opened the telephone book to verify the numbers. They were spotted with dirt and illegible. He put down the book with the illegible numbers and went on. He found another booth.

When he opened the door, he found a woman inside. He retreated and was about to turn away. The woman said, “I finished my conversation. If I’m not mistaken, it’s Dr. Herbst, Mrs. Herbst’s husband.” Herbst stared at her and at the red turban on her head, his face turning red, like the turban. She said, “I am sure that Mrs. Herbst is well. She is comfortable with us and has whatever she needs.”

Herbst asked himself: Who is this woman in whose hands Henrietta is so comfortable? One thing is clear: the red turban on her head is becoming. And it is equally clear that she is the nurse I call Nadia, though her name is not Nadia but Shira. He was gracious to her, so that she would be gracious to his wife.

Shira said, “Did Dr. Herbst want to use the phone?” He blushed and muttered, “Yes.” Shira said, “Is there trouble with the phone? Here, I’ll make the call.” She lifted the receiver, placed a coin in the slot, and said, “This is the nurse Shira. S-h-i-r-a. How is Mrs. Herbst? H-e-r-b-s-t. I said Mrs. Herbst, the wife of Dr. Herbst. Dr. Herbst from the university. Mrs. Herbst who checked into the hospital this afternoon. She’s doing well? If so, Mr. Axelrod, her husband sends regards. Her husband, Dr. Herbst, who is right here having trouble with the phone. Can you hear me?
Heeeeaaar meee
? Or do I have to repeat everything? You heard me. Good.”

Herbst thought to himself: That nurse took on a hard job. I must thank her and pay her for the call. But will that make us even? He looked her in the eye and said, “If Miss Shira is free, I would be glad to take her for coffee.” Shira answered, “I am free, and I would be delighted to go.” Herbst realized his timing was right, that he had done the correct thing, and that to have done otherwise would have been rude.

Shira adjusted her turban, took a mirror from her purse, powdered the tip of her nose, and said, “Let’s find a café with a phone so we can inquire about Mrs. Herbst.” Herbst opened the door of the phone booth for her, thinking: This woman is tough on the outside, but inside she is soft. As for me, what am I like? I’d rather not inquire or analyze. He looked at Shira again. Her freckles were no longer visible, because of the darkness or the powder. Either way, she was tall and well dressed, so one would not be embarrassed to be seen with her in public. She opened her purse but, instead of a cigarette, took out a mirror and peered into it, as young women do.

They went into the café and sat down – Herbst like a man unaccustomed to the company of a woman, and Shira like a woman intending to relax rather than talk. When Herbst realized she wasn’t eager for conversation, he was relieved and took the opportunity to observe her. He noted that she was sitting distractedly, sitting without crossing her legs, sitting and drinking tea with milk, sitting without smoking, sitting contentedly without looking this way or that, simply gazing at the small space in front of her, which was being filled with her tranquil presence. Though one cannot quite say this, for space is space and she is no more than herself – how could her mere gaze fill it up?

When she had finished about half of the tea, she took her purse, got up, went to the phone, picked up the receiver, and asked how Mrs. Herbst was doing. She came back, smiling, and said, “This time I was lucky and more successful. I spoke with the night nurse, not with Axelrod, who never hears you, who just keeps talking to everyone and his wife, as they say. As for Mrs. Herbst, she is doing well and is in good hands. The nurse I spoke to is the one in charge.”

Herbst said to Shira, “Really, that Axelrod is an odd fellow. He talks over his shoulder to everyone at once.” But what I am saying is irrelevant too. I should thank her for taking the trouble to inquire about my wife for me, and I end up talking, in Shira’s words, about “everyone and his wife.”