Chapter 8 A Tale of Love and Darkness (8)

Already in the vestibule, I was seized with a sense of awe, as if the heart itself were commanded to take off the shoes, walk in socks, stand on tiptoe, breathe politely, and purse lips with modesty.In the vestibule, there is only a brown coat rack with curved handles standing by the front door, a small wall mirror, a black woven rug, and the rest of the space is occupied by rows of books: a A shelf full of books.I can't tell from the alphabet what language the books are written in, books stand upright, others lie on top of their heads, plump and brilliant foreign books spread out freely, while other poor books Huddled cramped together to spy on you, lying there like illegal immigrants crammed into the bunks of a foreign ship.The thick and decent books are bound with gilt leather covers, and the thinner books are bound with thin paper, just like the glorious and dignified gentleman and the unkempt and ragged beggar.Around, between and behind them are sweaty pamphlets, leaflets, loose-leafs, anthologies, periodicals, dailies and magazines, like the tumultuous crowds that always gather in any square and market place.A window in the vestibule, through an iron handle reminiscent of a hermit's hut, looked out at the melancholy foliage of the garden.Aunt Cipolla received us in the hall, where all the guests were also received.She is a lovely old lady, with a radiant face and a pleasant smile, wearing a long silver-gray dress and a black shawl over her shoulders, very Russian, her white hair is pulled back and combed neatly. Xiaoji, kissing on both cheeks in turn, a kind round face showing a welcoming smile to you, always saying hello to you first, usually not waiting for your answer, and then directly cutting into the situation of our dear Joseph, saying that he is staying through the night again Sleepless, either my stomach has returned to normal after a relapse, or I just received a particularly good letter from a well-known professor in Pennsylvania, or I have to finish an article for Lavidovich's magazine by tomorrow Important long essay, either decides to ignore Hebrew literary critic Isig Silberschlag's further injury, or finally decides to destroy the diatribes of the leaders of the "Pact of Peace" gang Sex fights back.After the news announcement was made, Aunt Cipolla smiled sweetly and took us to see Uncle himself. "Joseph is waiting for you in the living room," she announces to us with a burst of laughter; The family is in the living room, and some distinguished guests are coming." Sometimes she said, "He's been imprisoned in the study since six o'clock in the morning, and I even have to send him meals there, but it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, you now Just go and find him, he'll be happy. He's always so happy to see you, and I'm happy too. It'd be better for him to take a break from his work, to rest for a while. He's ruining himself! He's not at all Care about yourself."

There are two doors in the vestibule.One opened into the drawing-room-dining room, with carved panes; the other, heavy and dark, led us to the professor's study, sometimes called the library.Uncle Joseph's study seemed to me as a child the vestibule of some palace of wisdom.Dad once whispered to me that in Uncle's private library, there are more than 25,000 volumes of books, including priceless ancient tomes, manuscripts of our greatest writers and poets, and the first edition signed for him personally, Using various means to smuggle out of Soviet Odessa scriptures, priceless collections, religious and secular books, almost all Jewish literature and a large number of world literature, books purchased by the uncle in Odessa, or Books obtained in Heidelberg, books he found in Lausanne or found in Berlin and Warsaw, books he ordered from America, and books found only in the Vatican Library; languages ​​include Hebrew, Aramaic , Syriac, Ancient Greek, Modern Greek, Sanskrit, Latin, Medieval Arabic, Russian, English, German, Spanish, Polish, French, Italian, and languages ​​I haven't even heard of Languages ​​and dialects such as Ugaritic, Slovenian, Maltese, and Slavic church languages.There was something austere about the library, the straight black lines of the dozens of bookshelves stretching from floor to ceiling, and even to doorways and windows, a certain quiet, stern splendor that did not allow haste and frivolity, and had something for us all. There is a sense of oppression, and even Uncle Joseph himself always speaks softly here.The smells of my uncle's great library will be with me all my life: the seductive earthy scent of the seven hidden wisdoms, the quiet worldly life of dedicated learning, and the secret hermit life welling up from the deepest well of wisdom The ghostly silence of the dead, the whispers of dead sages, the bursts of secret thoughts of long-buried scholars, the stern solace of the desires of previous generations.From the study, too, through three tall narrow windows, one could see the dark garden, maddened with maniacs, and beyond the garden walls the deserted Judean desert, with craggy hills rolling down to the Dead Sea.Surrounding the garden are towering cypress trees, rustling green pines, oleanders, weeds, untrimmed rose bushes, dusty thujas, dark gravel paths, and a wooden garden table that has been through many times. Rotten after the winter rains, an old crooked neem tree is half dead.Even on the hottest days of summer, there is a depressing touch of Russian winter in this garden.The childless Uncle Joseph and Aunt Kippola fed the cats in the garden with scraps from the kitchen, but I never saw them wandering anywhere, nor did I see either of them sitting on those two faded sheets in the evening breeze. on the bench.On those Sabbath afternoons alone I wandered the gardens, always alone, dodging the dull conversation of the scholars in the parlour, hunting the leopard in the undergrowth, digging under the stones, looking for the old parchments stored, dreaming of The barren hills beyond the walls are conquered by the valiant artillery fire of my troops.

The tall and wide walls of the library were occupied by crowded but well-organized books, rows of blue, green, and black precious books decorated with gold and silver carvings.In some places, the books are so crowded that two rows of books are forced to stand one behind the other on the same bookshelf under heavy load.There were sections with ornate Gothic letters that reminded me of minarets and moving towers, and sections of holy books, Talmuds, prayer books, compendiums of the Torah, and Midrash compilations.One shelf of Hebrew books from Spain, one from Italy; some Hebrew Enlightenment books from Berlin or somewhere, and endless Jewish thought, Jewish history, early Near Eastern history , Greek and Roman history, ancient and modern church history, and various pagan cultures; Islamic thought, Eastern religion, medieval history, and a large area of ​​Slavic and Greek areas that make me feel mysterious, and another area is gray and brown. Four-ring binders, cardboard folders, bulging with selected prints and manuscripts.Even the floor was covered in piles of books, some lying there open, some filled with small bookmarks, and others like frightened sheep on the high back chairs and even the windowsills for guests Crowded together.A small black ladder with metal legs can be moved around in the library to reach the upper bookshelves against the high ceiling.Occasionally, I was allowed to carefully push it on rubber wheels from shelf to shelf, no pictures, plants or decorations, just books, lots of books and silence filling the room, and a strange smell , it was leather bound, yellowed paper, mildew emanating, kind of eerie, like seaweed and old glue, wit and secrets and dust.In the center of the library stands the desk of Professor Klausner, as if a large black destroyer has anchored in the cliff bay surrounded by high mountains. The whole desk is full of piles of references, notebooks, various pens, blue, black, green, red, pencils, erasers, box full of paper clips, rubber bands and staples, dark yellow envelopes, white envelopes, and envelopes with colorful nice stamps on them, Papers, loose leaflets, notes and index cards, open Hebrew books stacked with foreign books, inserted from time to time torn papers from spiral pads, with my uncle's densely packed elongated handwriting everywhere. Paint, daub, modify, modify, like black dead flies, small pieces of paper everywhere, Uncle Joseph's gold-rimmed glasses are placed on top of a pile of things, as if flying in the sky, and the other pair of glasses is placed on a small cart next to the chair A third pair of glasses peeks at you through the pages of an open booklet on a small case next to the black sofa.

Uncle Joseph himself was on this sofa, huddled in a disastrous position, a red and green checked blanket like a kilt draped over his shoulders, without glasses, his face bald and full of Childish.He was thin and slender like a child, and his narrow brown eyes looked both happy and disappointed.He shook us slightly with that almost transparent white hand, spread his mustache and goatee, smiled pale pink, and said things like, "Come in, honey, come in, come in!" Entering the room, already standing in front of him, but still close to the door, Mom, Dad and I huddled together, like a small herd of livestock lost in a strange pasture.) "Forgive me for not standing up to greet you, don't treat me Too harsh, because I didn't leave my desk for three days and two nights, I didn't close my eyes, ask Mrs. Klausner, she will testify for me, I didn't eat or sleep, I didn't even glance at the newspaper, just wanted to put this article After finishing writing, its publication will cause strong repercussions in our land, not only here, but the entire cultural world will watch this debate with bated breath. This time I believe I will silence the obscurantists forever! This time Force them to agree and say amen, or at least to admit that they have nothing to say, that they are over, their game is over. How are you? My dear Fania? My dear Ronia? And sweet little Amos? You Well? What's new with you? Have you read to dear little Amos a few pages of my "When the Nation Struggles for Freedom"? My dear ones, it seems to me that in everything I write Of these, "When a Nation Struggles for Freedom" is best suited as food for dear Amos himself and for our entire distinguished generation of Hebrew youth, and perhaps also for my "Second Temple History" on heroism and Rebellious description. "What about you, honey?"You must have come here on foot.Is the road too far?From your Kerim Abraham's house?Now that I think about it, thirty years ago when we were young, in the picturesque and sincere neighborhood of Bukhara, we used to walk from Jerusalem to Beitra or Anatot on the Sabbath, and sometimes To the tomb of the prophet Samuel.Dear Mrs. Klausner will bring you something to eat and drink now, and if you will follow her kindly, I will finish this difficult sentence.The Wojslavski family and the poet Yuri Zvi, as well as Evan Zahav may also be here today.Dear Netanyahu and his charming wife visit us almost every Shabbat.Come now, my dear people, come and see for yourself, my dear little Amos, and you too, come and look at the drafts on my desk - after I die, groups and generations of students should come here to visit , let them see with their own eyes the pains that writers suffer in the service of their art, the struggle I have made throughout my life, the relentless pursuit of simplicity, fluidity, and clarity of style, how much I have cut out of every line, how many drafts I have typed, Sometimes there are even more than six different drafts, and then I feel that my stuff is not satisfactory.Success comes from sweat, inspiration comes from hard work and hard work.As the old saying goes, blessings go up from heaven and down from the abyss.Of course, I was just joking, ladies, please forgive me.Now, my dears, quench your thirst with Mrs. Klausner, and I will not delay you. "

From the library, you can go out into the long, narrow corridor, which is the colon of the housing.To the right of the corridor are the bathrooms and storerooms, and straight ahead are the kitchen, pantry, and the servant's quarters (although there were never any servants), so to speak, of the kitchen.You can also take an immediate left into the living room, or go straight down the hall to my aunt and aunt's ornate white bedroom with a large vanity mirror framed in copper and decorative candles on either side shelf.So you can get to the living room in three ways: turn left from the vestibule as you enter the house, or go straight into the study, come out into the corridor, and turn left immediately, as Uncle Joseph used to do on the Sabbath, Or go straight to the VIP seat at the head of the black dining table that runs almost the length of the living room.Furthermore, at one corner of the living room a low arched doorway led to the lounge, which had a rounded side like a turret, with windows overlooking the front garden, Washington palmetto, and the quiet side street.Mr. Agnon's house stood just across the street.Lounges are also known as smoking rooms. (Smoking was banned in Klausner's house on the Sabbath, but the Sabbath did not always prevent Uncle Joseph from writing.) There were a few heavy, soft armchairs, a sofa with embroidered oriental-patterned cushions, a large, soft carpet, a large oil painting (by the Polish painter Maurice Gottlief?) of an elderly Jew wearing a phylactery, a prayer shawl over his shoulders, and a prayer book in his hand, but this The Jew didn't read the prayer book, for his eyes were shut, his mouth was open, and his face was pained with piety and euphoria.I always had the feeling that this pious Jew knew all my dark secrets, and instead of accusing me, silently begged me to correct my course.At that time, all of Jerusalem was littered with one-and-a-half-bedroom houses, or two-bedroom houses shared by two competing families.The mansion of Professor Klausner seems to me to be a sample of the palace of the Sultan or the emperor of Rome. Before I fall asleep, I often lie in bed and imagine the restoration of the Kingdom of David and the Hebrew troops standing guard for the palace of Tarapiut. sentry.In 1949, when Menachem Begin was running for the presidency of Israel, I wove this image: Uncle's presidential palace in Tarapiut surrounded by Hebrew soldiers, under the brass plaques at each entrance, two Shining sentinels separated the two sides, assuring all who approached that Jewish and humanitarian values ​​would forever be united without conflict. "That crazy kid is running around the house again," they said, and look at him, running around, out of breath, flushed and sweating like he swallowed mercury. "They scolded me: What's the matter with you? Have you eaten chili peppers? Are you chasing your own tail? Do you think you are a spinning top for the Hanukkah Festival? Is it a moth? Is it a propeller? Are you chasing your own tail? Missing the pretty bride? Your ship sinking? You're giving us all a headache. You're messing with Aunt Kippola. Why don't you sit down and be quiet for a while? Why don't you find a good book to read? Or we'll give you Bring a pen and paper, sit there quietly and draw us a nice picture? Don’t you do it?” But I was already like this, running wildly from the living room to the corridor, to the servant’s room, to the garden, and back again, full of Feel the walls and knock to find hidden bedrooms, unseen spaces, secret passages, underground passages, tunnels, tunnels, secret mezzanines, or disguised doors.To this day I still haven't given up.誗① Menachem Begin (1913-1992), Zionist leader, Prime Minister of Israel (1977-1983).②Heim Weizmann (1874-1952), chemist, pioneer of Zionism, one of the founders of the State of Israel, and the first president of Israel.誗③Hanukah Festival, which has multiple translations such as Hanukkah and Purdue Festival, is to commemorate the uprising of the Jewish people under the leadership of the Jewish Maccabees in 165 BC to resist alien rule and defend their national beliefs.Spinning top is a kind of toy that children play during this festival.