434
PARTISAN REVIEW
shrink.
Only the soft evening breezes, only the lights of the sunset slightly
soo thed the insult. Sometimes not even the comforts of the evening
were effective, and he was forced to turn to his mute savior, the bottle
of cognac, which did what no medicine could.
In the evening Hirzl made him a full meal, as though after a fast.
Over the years, she learned to speak with restraint. If she was asked, she
answered. Gossip was strictly forbidden.
"The sky has cleared. It was a lovely evening," said the Rabbi.
" If only we have no troubles."
"I should have acted differently. They interpret softness as weakness. I
must tell them exactly what I think. Next time
I'll
tell them exactly
what I think. I won't allow them to leave until I tell them everything."
That muttering was apparently necessary to him, for he repeated it after
every board meeting.
Sometimes Hirzl permitted herself to tell the Rabbi some of her
troubles. Her elder daughter had gone blind, and her husband abandoned
her. Her younger daughter was healthy, but her life was not worth liv–
ing. Her husband beat her cruelly. Hirzl hadn't heard from her sons in
years. They hadn't written or visited her. The Rabbi would ask for some
details, and he would immediately tell her that on the next payday he'd
give her extra money for the fare so she could visit her daughters.
This time she told him at length, which was unusual for her, about
her younger daughter, who had fled from her husband and now was
living in her home. She was afraid to leave the house, and spent the
whole day curled up in bed. Hirzl shouted at her and tried to pull her
out of bed, but her shouts were useless. Fear, apparently, had taken over
her.
"What should I do, Rabbi?" asked Hirzl in an anguished voice.
" I would leave her alone," said the Rabbi.
"She's already been in bed for two weeks. She's liable to get sick."
"How many years did she suffer from her husband?"
"For many years, Rabbi."
"One can't uproot fear from one's heart in a single day."
"I don't know what to do, Rabbi."
"Leave her alone. She needs rest like air to breathe." Upon hearing
the Rabbi's last words, Hirzl's face lit up, as though he had promised her
a cure for her hidden wound.
The next day a heavy rain fell, and the Rabbi stood in the synagogue
doorway awaiting the old men. The carriages arrived late, but the Rabbi
made no comment, wished the old men a good morning, and entered
