Free Shira by S. Y. Agnon Page B

waitress asked in a hush, “Is your wife sick?” He ran his hand through his hair, laughing heartily, and said, “She’s not sick, she wasn’t sick, and she won’t be sick. She has given birth to a daughter. She has given me a sweet new baby, whom all the boys are already after.” The waitress said, “When you came in, I said to myself: This man is celebrating. Mazel tov, sir. Mazel tov.” To which Herbst said, “And what sort of good wishes may I offer in return? I could wish for a husband for you, but such a fine young woman has probably been spoken for already.”
    The restaurant owner strutted over, bowed perfunctorily, glanced harshly at the waitress, and was off. Herbst asked the waitress, “Who is that absurd-looking man?” “He owns the restaurant,” she replied. “And it annoys him to see us talking,” Herbst said. “Even nurses in a hospital are allowed to talk to visitors, and this yekke doesn’t want you to talk to me. In fact, your words have more of an effect than any of this yekke’s delicacies.” The waitress smiled and said, “But, sir, aren’t you from Germany too?” Herbst said, “True, I was born in Germany, but I left before you were born.” “An exaggeration, sir! What an exaggeration!” Herbst said, “Then let’s say I left Germany while lullabies were still being sung to you.”
    The proprietor was back, glaring darkly at the waitress. Herbst gathered up the paper and envelopes, and said, “Rather than arouse that fool’s envy, I will just sit here and write to my daughters. Many thanks for the paper, the envelopes, for everything.”
    The waitress left, and Herbst began to write. The scented paper reminded him of its owner. He thought to himself: Too bad about that man and all that befell him. He had a further thought: A man becomes intimate with a woman, and, in a flash, all her sisters begin to notice him. He found some newspapers to lean on and composed this letter to Zahara or Tamara: “Our mother fair / To whom poems are dear / Wishing to spare poets the effort / Has added to Zahara and Tamara / A new rhyme, namely, Sarah.”
    After writing this, he glanced at the newspapers that were under the letters. He saw a puzzle, which he tried solving. While working on it, he noticed a poem. He put down the puzzle and looked at the poem. He read: “Flesh such as yours / Will not soon be forgotten….” He folded his letters and left.
    Every day after lunch, Herbst used to lie down on his bed, read, and doze. On this day, having eaten in town, he was far from home, and there wasn’t time to go back and forth. He was planning to go back to the hospital to see his wife. But the hospital would not be open for two more hours. What was he to do in the meanwhile?
    He saw a pharmacy sign and remembered that he meant to take his wife some perfume, the scent that had been on the envelopes given to him by the charming waitress. He went into the drugstore and handed the druggist the envelope, so he could smell it and give him the same perfume. The druggist thought he wanted envelopes. He glared at him pompously and said, “This is a pharmacy, not a stationery store.” Herbst explained and said, “I will surely find what I want here.” The druggist clapped his hands to call his wife to come and sniff, since he himself had no sense of smell. She came, sniffed, and handed Herbst a bottle of perfume. He said, “I trust you to give me the right thing.” Hearing this, the pharmacist began to celebrate her sensibilities. “She is so sensitive, especially about smells. Once our daughter came from the kibbutz, stopped in to use the phone, and left immediately. A little later, her mother came back from marketing and had to phone one of the stores she had been in to see if her keys, which she had left somewhere – she didn’t know where – had been found. As soon as she picked up the receiver, she asked me, ‘Was our daughter here.’ I said, ‘Did you see her?’ She said to me,