Two Tales: Betrothed & Edo and Enam (12 page)

Rechnitz now made his arrangements for the journey to America. On the way, he planned a stopover in Europe to visit his father and mother. Three years had gone by since he had seen them, for any holiday trips he had made were to the marine biology station in Naples, and not to his home. From the day he first hinted to his mother that he might be arriving, she had taken to sitting at her window reading his letters, one after another, or rereading the letter which the Consul had sent her from Jaffa. At this same time, Jacob in Jaffa was picturing himself as a child again with Shoshanah. In her short frock, she chased butterflies, picked flowers and made a crown of them for her head. Actually, the Consul’s house now stood desolate and empty and Rechnitz’s parents had long since moved out of that neighborhood. But whenever his father’s home came to his mind, he saw it still as standing next to the Consul’s.

Meanwhile, Rechnitz turned back to his work. He was busy at his microscope, and happy, for sometimes small things give us great happiness, especially when they link together into something large. The humble sea plants with their tints of green, red, brown and blue, which have neither taste nor scent, and are without any counterpart on land, were dearer to Rechnitz than all the trees, bushes and shrubs of the earth. Out of the strength of his love, and his capacity to take unqualified delight in the smallest of things, his own soul grew and perfected itself ever more. And with this wholeness of spirit came tranquility. Once again he surveyed, examined and tested, with an undistracted love, objects which he had set aside for many days, perhaps since the day when Shoshanah Ehrlich came to Jaffa. Science is a complacent mistress who is not jealous of others; when you return to her you find what is not to be found in a thousand rivals. How many days and weeks had these sea plants lain, floating in salt water within their oblong trays of clear glass, exuding their salt water like tears! But now that Rechnitz had returned and wiped their tears away, they looked up at him so lovingly that in their presence he forgot any other concern.

Jaffa, darling of the waters, is crowded with men of all communities, busy at trade and labor, at shipping and forwarding, each pursuing his own ends, absorbed in his own task. There are others who take no part in any of these activities: such is Jacob Rechnitz. Yet even he is not idle; you might even say that he is busier than all the rest. What need is there for those plants he is so concerned with? The stars adorn the sky and provide light for the world and those who dwell in it, the flowers adorn the earth and give off their good scent; for this the stars and the flowers were created. But those weeds of the sea, which have neither scent nor taste, what good is to be found in them? Yet far away from Jaffa, from the Land of Israel, there are men who make a study of seaweed, just as Rechnitz does, men who value his activities and pay him honor and esteem.

XXVII

In honor of Rechnitz, all his colleagues, as well as the school trustees, got together and arranged a farewell party. At first they meant to hold it in the Hotel Semiramis, but finally they settled on the schoolhouse where Rechnitz had taught.

They seated Rechnitz at the head of the table with the two principals to his left and right and all the other teachers and trustees in order of precedence. The table was spread with an array of wines and cakes, oranges, almonds, pistachio nuts and various fruits of the season.

The first principal rose to his feet and said, “Gentlemen, we all know the reason why we are assembled here. One of our number, who has spent the last three years with us, is now leaving us. There is no need for me to say how much we regret this, but our joy is equal to our regret for we know that he is going to a great and honored position. We too gain credit from his advance, so I raise my glass and drink a toast to him, to us all, and to our school – a school where we have such teachers as Rechnitz!”

After the toast had been drunk, the second principal began as follows: “My colleague has said that our joy is as great as our regret, since our friend here has been advanced to a great and honored position, namely, to a certain university abroad. But for my part, I admit to feeling sad. Why is Rechnitz departing? Because we have no university here. If there were one, he would not have to leave us; he would join our own university and teach there. My dear colleagues, I am raising an issue which, after all, needs to be frankly discussed. Why have we no university? Because we are content with too little and therefore get nothing at all. I know that people make fun of me for wanting a university. Why do they laugh? Is there any enterprise of ours which they don’t deride? When we founded our school here, did they not laugh at us? Did they not call us charlatans? Now those who mocked us come begging for posts. I am not saying, of course, that a university is the same as a high school. No two things in the world are completely alike – except for the smart-alecks and scoffers, who are the same in all places and times. Today they laugh, tomorrow they are dumb-founded, the day after tomorrow they see what they can get out of it for themselves. Finally, they boast that it was they who suggested the whole idea. Let me say in conclusion that I hope we, too, will achieve a university before long to which we can invite our friend Rechnitz to come and lecture. What a great university that will be, when all the scholars of Israel, from all the universities of the world, gather in Jerusalem, on the Temple Mount, to teach wisdom and knowledge! Such a university, my dear friends, the eye has not beheld. But it follows of necessity that I mean no mere seminary for religious studies. We have enough already of this ‘religious study’ stuffed into us morning, noon and night. When I say university, I mean a real one, where all the forms of knowledge to be found in other centers of learning will be taught. And at this point let me turn to our colleague Rechnitz. My dear Rechnitz, just as we regret that you are leaving us, so shall we rejoice on the day you return here to our own university. ‘Blessed be your going out and your coming in.’ To your health!”

After this speech the hall rang with cheers. At last there was silence again, the toast was drunk, and speech followed speech until, when midnight had passed, the company went home quietly.

XXVIII

Ever since the Consul’s coming to Jaffa, Rechnitz had given up visiting the homes he used to frequent. He had started by being available to the Consul at all hours; now he neglected him, too, and stayed in his room devoting himself entirely to his work. He would take up some piece of seaweed, cut it and examine it under the microscope, then attach it to a sheet of paper, fold the sheet, place it in his great album and note down its name, its habitat, and the date when he had drawn it out of the sea. Nearly two hundred separate species had been taken by Rechnitz from the sea near Jaffa, Haifa, Acre, Caesarea, Hadera and elsewhere. It would hardly be an exaggeration to say that no one in the entire world possessed as many sea plants of the Mediterranean as Jacob Rechnitz. Nowadays we are familiar with more than two hundred kinds of Mediterranean seaweed, and the specialists know of still more. But in his time, no one had a collection to match that of Rechnitz. There they were, dried, attached to their sheets, placed in the album. At first glance you would think you were looking into an artist’s sketch book, each line was drawn with such exquisite care and beauty; for the way of seaweeds is to adhere to paper, become absorbed in it, and not protrude from the surface. But once you drop a little water on them, they grow soft and you see before you living plants, the work of the Creator who cares as much for each humble object as He does for what is high and mighty. There were times when Rechnitz shed a tear in his rapture, which fell on the plant and brought it to life again.

The sea gave forth its daily harvest, and at night, under the moon, the daughters of Jaffa took their walks by the shore. The waves kissed their footprints and tossed up an abundance of plants such as Rechnitz had been used to gather. But you will not find Rechnitz there; he is well content with what he has taken to his room and laid out upon his table. Happy, at ease among his glass trays of saltwater, he sits with the great album before him, its pages full. That album is the bliss of his eye and soul.

This was all that Rechnitz did; he sat in his room and devoted himself to his work. At times he was so preoccupied that he would forget to light the little burner to make his coffee or, if he lit it, to put coffee in the pot before the water boiled over and put out the flame. Needless to say, he no longer took tea with the parents of his pupils and girl friends; thus, he made himself a stranger in all those households and with all those good people who, though they seemed unimportant then, were to count for much in the days to come. For they dwelt in the Land of Israel and were among the first of its founders. The reasons for their coming were many and varied, but it may well be that the very people whose motives were most obscure will be remembered and inscribed for all time, while those who came specifically for their country’s sake will be forgotten and ignored.

Rechnitz turned his thoughts away from these people, and from their daughters too. This time was perhaps the best he ever knew. In his great desire for Shoshanah he had put out of mind all lesser desires; now even that desire fell away. He knew that he must prepare for his journey, whether it be to America or to Europe, for now the Consul was about to leave and it was better to travel with him and Shoshanah than to go alone. And yet work took his mind away from the journeys that lay ahead. People in Jaffa knew that he must get his lectures ready and took care not to disturb him. And Rechnitz too did not trouble himself with fancied needs. If he had found the time for it, he would have given praise and thanks to the gods for dealing with him so well.

XXIX

One night Rechnitz was alone in his room. The doors were closed and the blinds drawn, and the lamp lit up the table and the plants of the sea laid out upon it. This room had once been full of flowers and their scents; now he had in front of him only these odorless plants, together with the material for his course of lectures in America, which he was preparing in advance. This night, apparently so ordinary, was for Rechnitz singled out from all others, for in it he was experiencing what a man knows but once or twice in a lifetime. Having yielded his will to a single desire, the desire itself at last quits him and he is left free from any and all concerns. Never in his life had Rechnitz been so free a man as now; he had separated himself from Rachel and Leah, from Asnat, Raya and the rest, on account of Shoshanah Ehrlich; he had come to despair of Shoshanah because of her disease; his journey lay before him, and yet even this was put out of his thoughts in order that work might be his sole object and end.

We have intimated that Rechnitz was a modest young man and no woman-hunter; still, man is a social being and he may feel more affection for a group of charming girls than for the rest of the world. Sometimes his hidden thoughts may drive him beyond all reason; were he to consider them dispassionately he would be appalled. With the Consul’s arrival reason resumed its proper place for Rechnitz, but at the cost of his tranquility, which was only restored when he returned to his work. Were one to ask how it was possible for Rechnitz not to grieve at Shoshanah’s distress, the answer would be this: many factors for which language, however precise, has no name were operating to silence such thoughts.

So Rechnitz sat in his room, at peace with himself and free from all distraction, for he had come to accept the fact of Shoshanah’s sickness and distress. The good gods had favored Rechnitz, granting him peace and calm, together with joy in his work. But these favors were not to last long. The gods are envious, and when they see us prosper too much, they send their agents to change our lives. Every man learns this for himself; let those who have not yet done so now witness the case of Rechnitz. Enough, then, of the beauty of this night and the benefits of a tranquil mind; let us tell instead how Rechnitz lost his tranquility.

As Rechnitz sat alone, he heard the sound of a light tap at the door; after the tap, the door opened and Tamara entered. Entered and stood still. Never before had she called upon Rechnitz; never, perhaps, had she been inside a young man’s lodgings. One could tell this from her whole stance and from the dim glow that hung like a mist over her features.

Tamara paused on the threshold, waiting to be asked in. Her lips trembled like petals touched with morning dew. Rechnitz did not take her into his arms but he took her by the hands and seated her on the couch. Tamara was a girl of some humility. Never had she dared to think that people took notice of her, certainly not a great scholar like Dr. Rechnitz. No, the only reason for her coming was that she was planning to go abroad, and since he was also leaving, she had gathered up courage and come to visit him.

Tamara had been graduated from the Jaffa high school and was preparing to go to Europe, where she intended to study medicine, an interest she had inherited from her father the doctor. Meanwhile, she had taken up sculpture and clay modeling and now she was finding it hard to decide where her true inclination lay. The body contained so many secrets and her fingers were itching to create shapes; sometimes she dreamed of figures of flesh and blood, sometimes of figures in stone. Rechnitz found Tamara’s conversation exciting, even though it contained no exceptional wisdom. He felt a sudden longing to grasp in his arms this body which was so uncertain about what it wanted, and to kiss Tamara full on the lips. It is quite possible that he would have done so, had he not heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

Again there was a sound at the door; this door, which had not opened to visitors for many days and nights, tonight opened twice.

XXX

Rechnitz pulled himself together and behaved as if there were no little Tamara seated in his room. Rachel and Leah came in. They had not intended to pay a call until, passing the house, they heard the sound of conversation and assumed that Rechnitz was not too busy with his work. In this they were certainly correct.