Sigal shapira
Translated to english: Shirley Ganor
BETWEEN THE WEEKDAY AND THE SABBATH
“Watch the candles so they don’t blow out”, he said as he stood in the doorway of the house looking at the candles, with whose soft light the last moments of the weekday sidled out and disappeared. After he kissed the Mezuzah, he left the house, his robe shining with satin stripes, with a matching belt that held it close to his body, the holy books tucked under his arm in a bag with silver embroidery, and on his face a smile reserved for good days – and of course there is no day as good as the Sabbath. His smile stuck with her but immediately faded. His words rang and echoed in her ears: “Watch the candles…”
She hurried to the window, stood leaning on the lattice-work to take some of the burden off her tired legs, filling her eyes with his image receding into the winding alley in the heart of the Jewish neighborhood. After that she left the window and went back to the washing corner to wipe up after him and gather up his clothing. He used to stay in the “shower” for a long while, washing off the weekday and bringing on the holy. How she loved to take part in this ritual which repeated itself every Friday!
When the hour arrived, she would set aside her business in the kitchen which began in the early hours of the morning, take hold of the handles of a massive copper tank which she had made sure to scrub previously and filled with water and place on the range, and she would carry it to the “shower” corner and quickly pour its contents into a tub while jumping back to avoid the spray of steaming water. And even before her lungs filled with air, she ran to the courtyard with a pail in her hand, ignoring the neighbors standing and wondering with each other why such a woman was rushing about with the work of the Sabbath as if a flock of children were bleating at her, and she would return with the clear water sparkling in the last rays of the day. She would cross the room and place the pail next to the tank, and, with a copper bowl overlaid with grape leaves, she would scoop the water up and pour it into the tub while her fingers skimmed along the surface of the water, testing its heat. After that she would take up her position on the other side of the curtain which separated the room from the washing corner, her nostrils broadening like a horse that smells the water trough, drawing in the odor of purity of a man sanctifying himself for the Sabbath. Thus she stood at her post behind the curtain to serve him, handling him a towel and clothing, piece by piece. She had been married to him for years and still she did not dare to raise her eyes to his nakedness. Despite her tiredness she enjoyed these moments of kindness shrouded in steam, becoming cleansed of common thoughts…
The odors of the Sabbath spread in the room. She approached the pot of slow cooking meat-stew and covered it with jel (a thickly folded cloth that preserved the warmth and steam. Her fingers fastened the jel around the cover and lingered. Warmth and softness spread in her fingers and warmed her heart. For an infinity of Sabbaths she was troubled until this stew began to smile for her. She still remembered those Sabbaths when she stood helpless and embarrassed in front of a ruined, dry and scorched stew. Her husband would get up and leave the table without a work and the atmosphere in the room would thicken and become heavy and suffocating. Now the odors of the meat stew rose and were absorbed slowly in the walls of the room, announcing the Sabbath, and when the lid was removed the odor would strike at the salaiva glands and these would do their work faithfully, easing the process of digestion, while the eyes closed in pleasure at the sight of reddish chicken smeared with golden olive oil and filled to the brim with rice and almonds seasoned with zangwill, hell, and cinnamon. She closed her eyes in pleasure but immediately the words returned and disturbed her peace: “Watch the candles so they don’t blow out”. “Why should they blow out?” she strengthened herself. She had also added a special prayer of her own, and her lips mouthed the words “may these candles burn down and not blow out, may they stand firm against the wind and not extinguish the peace – the peace of the home”.
Encouraged, she approached the heavy trunk that stood permanently in the corner of the room and pulled out her Sabbath dress, the dress that he mother gave her along with the rest of her dowry. They were too pretty to use in her monotonous life, so they remained packed in the trunk along with her humble dreams. She put on the Sabbath dress quickly and sunk wearily into the sofa, her fingers smoothing the wrinkled fabric, trying to straighten it, and indeed the wrinkles responded to her fingers as was their habit for many years. “If only I could smooth out life like this...” she sighed and smiled sadly, surveying the darkened room. As if the oil burner in the cooking corner was only meant to light up itself and therefore it concentrated the light around it and offered shadows that moved on the wall without direction, while the Sabbath candles burning in the room were wrapped in light and created an aura of holiness around them. She sat between the two circles of light, between the common and the sacred. A slight breeze managed to get inside and put some life into the flames. In front of her eyes the candles stripped off their holiness and the flames began to dance according to a mysterious rhythm, one moment leaning towards each other and another moment distancing themselves, becoming longer and again becoming shorter. As she watched their transformation, her exhaustion overwhelmed her as the exhaustion of an adult who is afraid of an unexpected deed by a small child.. For a moment her eyelids ped but immediately she shook herself and jumped up. She came over to the pitcher of water, sprinkled some onto her palm and splashed it on her face. The freshness of the water made her alert, the words again echoing in her ears: “Watch the candles …” so he said and left, as if her husband was placing the holiness of the day in her hands. She must watch the candles and make sure that the wind would not dare to enter and tear the embroidery of peace in the home. She could still see how his eyes flashed anger, when he returned once and found that the candles had blown out and he almost raised his hand against her, but the fear of God restrained him and in his sorrow he shouted at her, as a shout emerging from the earth, and in order for her to preserve her soul, she must watch over the candles seven fold.
Time stretched out and the water that she had splashed on her face, again couldn’t keep her away from the lines of sleep. Her eyelids drooped and heaviness set into her limbs. The shadows grew and wove around her until the wind banged against the window and succeeded against it. She jumped up waving her arms as if to tear away the bonds of sleep. Darkness overcame the room. One circle of light disappeared. The candles! “Watch so they don’t blow out…” his words echoed in her ears, “Watch! Watch!” she shot at the window. The narrow alley that led to the house was empty. She still had time! Time for what? She ran to the cooking corner and looked with fearful eyes and didn’t find, ran in the direction of the candles and bumped into the sofa and from there to the window and back to the cooking corner. “Here!” she stood and matches in her hands. She drew a match and her lips mumbled “peace, peace in the home”. The matches landed on each other headless. Light shot out suddenly from the match in her hand and lit up her wide open eyes. Shocked by the sudden light, she nearly threw it from her hand. She got herself together and with a trembling hand brought it to the candle. The candle caught the flame, and as a hungry child holding his mother’s breasts, it kindled. Her seared hands threw down the burnt match. She pounced on it with the soles of her feet to put out her anger at the sin she had sinned, and while going round about the match, the door opened and her husband entered, his eyes on the candles in wonder on the miracle that happened – that she, his wife had managed to keep the Sabbath candles from blowing out, and while a satisfied smile spread on his face, her face crumpled in tears.
סיפור זה מופיע במקור שלו בעברית
כתבה אותו: סיגל שפירא
סיפור זה תורגם גם לערבית על-ידי סמיר נקאש
המקור והתרגום לערבית מופיעים בספר דו-לשוני "הבוסתן"
המקור והתרגום לערבית מופיעים בספר דו-לשוני "הבוסתן"
הספר יצא לאור ב- 2007
בהוצאת המרכז האקדמאי של יוצאי עיראק בישראל
הסיפור בעברית התפרסם ב- אפיריון, 47: 41-42, 1997
השבמחק