Manasse

My friend Matei has a doctorate in law as well.

Another one. That much I understand. A doctor in medicine is feeding on the sick; a doctor in law is feeding on the quarrelsome, but what on earth does a doctor in philosophy feed on? [Lazăr and Frunză smile.] Yeah, you poke fun at me. How would I know? In Fălticeni they call me a philosopher as well, and I swear I did not study. You tell us, Nisim, what does a doctor in philosophy do?

Nisim [Sighs and moves his head in sign of approval]:

Didn’t I tell him too? Not mentioning the costs here and abroad, thank God, means I do not lack. But as a parent I would have liked to enjoy seeing my child become a somebody, to see he’s looked at with consideration. But such a doctor! When I introduce him somewhere, I don’t even mention he’s a doctor, for what kind of doctor is he! Night in and night out, he’s sitting and studying, he studies and studies; even in the office, whenever he has a free quarter of hour, he quickly grabs a book—he never stops buying books and learning—and learns and I ask myself: what is there to learn that much of and what’s the use of it?

Use, Nisim? Everything for a use? Business is for use. God bless Lazăr with health, and he will make money too. “Learning is not a digging spade,” our sages said. Do you know, Nisim—but how could you know? You neither studied Talmud nor other learning. Leave the boy alone, you have no right to speak, you do not understand. The sweetest learning is that which has no use.

Do you see, Matei? Didn’t I tell you? Those old folks had their own ideals, they were not just plain money-making machines.

The money-making machine is me. And you should be the last to complain.

Please, father, I did not mean to annoy you, do not get angry. I am not annoyed by all those things you tell me.

In other words, you could not care less about what I tell you.

But Lazăr never meant to say that, Mr. Cohănovici; he just said he cannot become annoyed because he understands that from your point of view, you are perfectly right.

Nisim [Tamed]:

Naturally, you are a good defender.

He doesn’t even need a defender. Take me, for instance; what do I get from my studies? You know very well, you have seen it with your own eyes: old as I am now, even today I sit bent over a book three, four hours a day. Earlier I used to stay up late in the night, now I no longer can, my eyes would no longer aid me, but three–four hours a day I am still studying. What’s my use? Do I make something out of it? Money—you made more than me, and with no learning. One does not need a lot of wisdom for that. But do you believe I would exchange my learning, not just for your money, but for all the treasures of the world? The day is near when I will close my eyes for the last time.

No, father, what are you saying! You will live long and happy years.

Either yes, or no. I am close to the border of life and death. What is a man’s life? It seems like just a week or two has passed since I was going to school, and then I married Sara and had a son, then I married him off and he had children too, then Sara died, and tomorrow, I shall be gone too. All this fleeting life I had no other pure pleasure, solace, self-forgetting, and world-forgetting than studying. All other pleasures were lined with worries, troubles, and griefs. And what do I take with me when I pass the border of this life? Money? Jewelry? My learning—that’s what I’ll take, and I shall show up there and say: “Almighty, you sent me to the world with an empty head, and I’m bringing it back full of your wisdom.”

Șor [To Roza]:

Are you also studying to be a medical doctor?

Yes.

Is that true that you cut the dead when studying to be a doctor in medicine?

Yes.

That is no good. If the cover of a Torah wears away, we do not throw it out; it remains holy. So too the human body that covered the Almighty’s soul; it mustn’t be thrown away, the body is holy and must not be scoffed.

And do you cut all sorts of dead, small and big?

Yes.

And those dead you cut, are they naked?

Yes.

Fully naked? No shirt, no drawers?

Yes.

And you cut ’em in pieces?

Yes.

Naked women too?

Yes.

Into pieces?

Yes.

Men also naked?

Yes.

Into pieces, little pieces?

Yes

Manasse [Jumps from his chair]:

Ugh! Shame!

Șor [Who had long stared at him]:

Mr. Headwaiter, hey, look at me . . . why are you looking at the floor? You won’t find me there. Look straight at me, of you please. Sooo. Now tell me, how long have they called you . . . how did you say they call you?

Jorj [Firmly]:

My name is Jorj.

Shorsh. [Pause, then suddenly] Where did you leave Yitzik?

Jorj [Jumping as if burned]:

What! Whatever, whatever.

Mr. Manasse, do you know who he is? The son of Abner, your miller from Hârtop. You act as if you don’t know me as well, Mr. Manasse, eh! Now, listen here, Yitzik!

Jorj [As before]:

Don’t call me that, you’re destroying me.

What? Are you ashamed of your grandpa’s name? Hey, my name is Zelig. I wouldn’t change it even for that of King Og, who invented the iron beds.

That’s alright for Fălticeni. Bucharest is a grand civilization. Nobody wants to look at Yitzik. By Jorj I earn my bread. Please, Mr. Șor, do not destroy me . . . let no one hear you . . . I have a wife and children . . .

Many?

Three: two boys and a girl.

You’re young. May you live many, happy years. But now, Yitzik, let’s go!

Again? [Pleading.] Please Mr. Șor, call me Jorj.

Alright. I’ll think of my own name: Șor, Shorsh, okay. But now, slash the devil into ten and bring my luggage down. Five pieces, carriage number 311; or better yet, I come as well [Ghită comes running from the back, holding a bottle and a small box in his hand. Șor tries to stop him]. Hold it, Ghiță! [Ghită leaves on the left, without stopping.] Come on, Yitz . . . no Shorsh, Șor [Leaves with Jorj].