Two Tales: Betrothed & Edo and Enam by S. Y. Agnon Page A

ken, thoughts which keep them from communicating, and this makes us shrink in their presence, believing that they hold in their hands the keys of all wisdom. Yet if we consider the matter well, we shall find that their silence grows out of overweening pride and that they don’t surpass us by so much as the breadth of a parrot’s claw. It is only because we shrink that they tower above us. And why do we thus belittle ourselves before them? This calls for investigation but I have no time for it. It is after four o’clock, the Consul is already up and having his boredom. I have extended my reflections too far and extended monologues are to be avoided in modern drama. Verflucht! I like the smell of baking in butter over there. Yehia’s wife does all her baking in oil because the Jews here don’t have any butter and because people in the East prefer olive oil to dairy products anyhow. It isn’t a thing you can reason about but simply a matter of taste, just as the Sefardi teacher will say “a quarter-hour” instead of “a quarter of an hour.” And now a quarter of an hour has gone by and I am still standing outside, delivering long monologues.
    Rechnitz entered the hotel. Nobody was in the lobby, except the waiters setting the tables and brewing coffee. He walked through, glancing from side to side. The absent guests, he thought, the honored guests, are still sitting in their private rooms waiting patiently until the mere nobodies have prepared their food and drink. As for me, I’m one of the nobodies; and if I haven’t the ability to prepare meals and drinks, at least the gods have given me the power to save somebody from boredom. “ Schmeckt’s, Herrchen? ” he asked himself and looked around again. The hotel clerk saw Rechnitz and said, “There’s a letter for you, sir.”
    “A letter?” Rechnitz stammered, and his heart began to pound. The clerk brought the letter; Rechnitz took it and went outside. He walked through the garden, stopped under a tree, and leaned against it with the letter in his hand. A letter from Shoshanah? Let’s see what Shoshanah has to tell me. Let’s open the letter and see. But when he opened it he saw it was not from Shoshanah but from her father. Again his heart began to beat fast, not the rapid heartbeat of a man awaiting some happy event, but such as one feels when expecting disaster.
    Again he looked round. Seeing that no one was about, he reflected: Shoshanah has told her father all that happened by the sea and he must be punishing me with a reprimand. Rechnitz was filled with rage. Does that old man think because he has thrown me a few crumbs from his table that he has the right to abuse me? Keep your crumbs, old man, for the dogs. I can provide for myself and, as for my name in the world of science, I don’t owe it to you. Verflucht , these people with money! If you have taken the least scrap from them, they think they have bought you. I don’t mind thanking you, Consul, for all you have done on my behalf, but you have not bought my soul. And if your daughter should be pleased to follow me, I shall take her from under your nose.
    While he was saying this to himself, he looked at the words of the letter, and as he looked his eyes lit up. Here was no rebuke but instead a kind of apology. The Consul and his daughter had departed for Jerusalem without managing to take leave of him in advance. He saw too that the Consul sent his best greetings, as well as his regards, and added: “As soon as we are back in Jaffa, we shall be delighted to see you.”
    It was a good thing that Rechnitz read that letter. Even as he did so he put all the bitterness out of his heart. His soul returned and he reflected: All my life I never aspired to Shoshanah. When I used to speak about her to her father it was with humility, and suddenly I’ve grown bold. If I were now to go to him and demand his daughter, he would be shocked. No, I shall not argue or pick a quarrel or talk big, but act modestly