Schutzling came up to me and smiled. Oh, how threadbare was his smile, how weary were his clothes, how crumpled was the hat on his head, the velvet hat that he had bought new in honor of the festival. I greeted him and said to myself: It is nine months since his wife has seen him, and in the meantime he has grown stunted and a kind of hump has grown on his back. And his wife is so elegant, although she has grown old before her time. I wanted to talk to him about his wife and children, but I was in a hurry to buy a citron, so I left him and ran off, thinking: Surely all the shops are closed, so what is the point of this running? It would have been better to stay with my friend. And what my heart told me, my eyes told me: the Holy Day had already started and the shops were closed. I turned and ran back to my hotel, consoling myself with the thought that my host would earn the price of a meal, at a time when he had no guests and was earning nothing.
But at that moment a group of women happened to come in, so he attended to them and paid no attention to me; he barely opened up a room for me. I went into my room and wanted to wash in honor of the festival, but I found many people there standing beside the washstand. I asked them to sit down at the writing table. When they began to do so, a number of women came and called them, so they went out. “Now I shall wash,” I said to myself. But my host knocked at the door and said, “The food is getting cold.” I went into the dining room and found a company of old women sitting there quietly sipping soup. “Isn’t that so, Leibtche?” I said.
Leibtche nodded his head and said, “Yes, yes, my dear sir.” I smiled at him, but his face darkened — and not his face alone, but everything around darkened, for we had gone on talking so long that the day had passed. I got up and went into the dining room.
The dining room was empty; there was no one in it at all. Along came that one whom I know but whose name I do not know. Every day he has a different face; today he looked like a Japanese and a Tartar at the same time. Everywhere there are many like him, but here in Szibucz there is no one that resembles him in the least. He was little and he was lean; his cheeks were red and his eyes black; his mustache was black and shiny and straight, with points hanging down on both sides; and he was thirty years old, give or take a year. He twirled his mustache and stood like a man who is answering someone, and said, “I already told you so.” Then he took a magnifying glass out of the hair on his head, looked through it, and went out. What did he mean? When had he spoken to me? When had he told me so, as he said? I sat down somewhere and closed my eyes.
Krolka came in and said, “You are sitting in the dark, sir, I’ll light the lamp for you straightaway. All day we haven’t seen you, sir. Heavens above, where have you been and what have you eaten? I’ll bring your supper straightaway.” I put my finger on my mouth and signaled her to be silent. Krolka crossed herself and said, “ Heavens above, I did not see that the master was standing in prayer.” After Mr. Zommer had finished the Afternoon Service, or the Evening Service, he came and sat down in his place.
My mood was middling, neither sad nor joyful. Equanimity is a great quality; it is not every day that a man achieves it.
After I had eaten and drunk I went back to my room and said to myself: I will sit and read the letters that came today. While I was sitting and reading, it came into my mind to answer the senders. So I fitted the deed to the thought and wrote letter after letter, until midnight came and I went to bed like a man who has done his duty.
I did not expect to sleep, but sleep came upon me unawares, and I slept until the day dawned and it was time to get up. Morning came; it was past nine o‘clock, perhaps ten. I looked at my watch; it ticked as usual but did not show the time. Since the day I went abroad, my watch is sometimes normal and sometimes out of its mind. Not every watch can stand the air outside the Land.
To rise or not to rise? From the logical point of view, there was no need to rise, for the times were all confused, and there were no fixed hours for meals. This Babtchi, may God be kind to her, treats the guests as if every morsel she gives them were a kindness on her part. Since I was not hungry I could do without her kindnesses, and if I grew hungry, Krolka would make me a light and pleasant meal in the evening.
So I lay in bed and examined my doings. I saw that I had deceived myself, for the letters I had written were not that significant, and there wasn’t that much need to write them, while the letters that remained unanswered cried out from their envelopes for a reply. From the bed to the letters that were waiting for an answer was no more than a stretch of the hand, but I had no power to stretch out a hand. So I lay in bed and wondered what I could reply and how I should make my excuses for having delayed until now. Oh, how many excuses I would have to make for having delayed my replies. After an hour or two I got out of bed and, wonderful to relate, began copying down my thoughts in writing. And if I lengthened a letter that should have been short or shortened a letter that should have been long, in the world of thought it would all be equalized. So I sat and wrote all day and part of the night. Finally, I got up from the table and went into the dining room. Then I remembered a phrase that I had struggled with the night before, namely that Krolka was a good Jewess for a Christian. I recalled that it was Genendel who had said so, and laughed at the strange combination of words. When I went into the dining room, I found Mrs. Zommer weeping and crying, “It’s all true, it’s all true!”
I asked her what she was crying about, but her husband beckoned with his hand that I should leave her alone and not ask; then he stood up and came over to me, leaning on his stick, looked at me, and said, “Mr. Schutzling is your friend, isn’t he?” I nodded my head and asked, “Has anything happened?” Mr. Zommer replied, “Schutzling’s sister is not in good health.” Mrs. Zommer got up, wiped her eyes, and asked if I had eaten. Then she went into the kitchen and sent me my supper. She did not show herself again either that night or the next day.
Chapter three and sixty. The Real Truth
Genendel sat wrapped in a woollen shawl, with a blanket on her knees. I greeted her and asked how she was. She looked at me and asked, “Who are you?” I told her my name. “I don’t know you,” said she. “Don’t you remember, Genendel,” said I, “that I was in your house with your brother Aaron, and you made us a big meal?” “Yes, yes, my dear,” said Genendel, “I remember, I remember, my dear. Take a chair and sit down in front of me. What do you say to this business?” And as she spoke she dropped her head on her breast and dozed off.
After a little while she raised her head and looked at me and asked, “Who are you?” I told her. She nodded her head and said, “Yes, yes, my dear, I remember. Aren’t you Esther’s son, aren’t you? Where have you been all this time? I heard you had gone away. Wait and let me remember where you went to.” She dropped her head on her breast and dozed off.
After a little while she awoke and said, “It seems to me that there was someone here.” “Yes, Genendel,” said I, “I am here.” Genendel opened her eyes and said, “You are here. Fine, fine. Who are you, my dear? It seems to me I have already seen you. Aren’t you…? Wait a while and let me remember.” I told her my name again. “Yes, yes, my dear,” said Genendel, “I know you, don’t I? Tell me, where have I seen you? What do you say to my sorrows? They take a little butterfly and wring its neck!” And again she laid her head on her breast and closed her eyes.