The Golem and the Djinni. Helene Wecker

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СКАЧАТЬ schoolmen propounded a question: “As for the expression ‘shall not be put,’ does it mean ‘one shall not put it back,’ but if it has not been taken off, it may be left there?”

      There are two parts to our answer.

      She closed the book and stared at the leather cover. Were all books like this? Daunted and a bit irritated, she spent the rest of the night looking out the window, watching the men and women walk by.

      In the morning she told the Rabbi of her attempt at reading. Later that day he went out to run errands, and brought her back a flat, thin package. Inside was a slender book, with a gaily illustrated cover. A large ship, populated with animals, floated at the crest of a gigantic wave. Behind the ship, a band of colors curved a half circle, its apex brushing the clouds above.

      “This is a better start for you, I think,” the Rabbi said.

      That night, the Golem was introduced to Adam and Eve, and Cain and Abel. She learned about Noah and his Ark, and the rainbow that was the sign of God’s covenant. She read of Abraham and Isaac on the mountain, the near sacrifice and its aftermath. She thought it all very strange. The stories themselves were easy to follow; but she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to think of these people. Had they actually existed, or had they been invented? The tales of Adam and Noah said they lived to be many hundreds of years old—but wasn’t this impossible? The Rabbi was the oldest person she’d met in her brief life, and he was far short of a century. Did this mean that the book told lies? But the Rabbi was always so careful to say only the truth! If these were lies, then why had the Rabbi asked her to read them?

      She read the book three times through, trying to understand these long-ago people. Their motives, needs, and fears were always at the surface, as easy for her to grasp as those of a man passing by. And Adam and Eve were ashamed, and hid to cover their nakedness. And Cain grew jealous of his brother, and rose up and slew him. How different from the lives of the people around her, who hid their desires away. She recalled what the Rabbi had said: to judge a man by his actions, not his thoughts. And judging by the actions of the people in this book, to act on one’s wishes and desires led, more often than not, to misdeed and misfortune.

      But were all desires wrong? What about the hungry boy for whom she’d stolen the knish? Could a desire for food be wrong if one were starving? A woman down the hall had a son who was a peddler, in a place called Wyoming. She lived in wait of a letter from him, some sign to let her know that he was alive and safe. This too seemed right and natural. But then, how was she to know?

      In the morning, when the Rabbi asked her what she’d thought of the book, she hesitated, searching for the right words. “Were these real people?”

      He raised an eyebrow. “Would my answer change your understanding of them?”

      “I’m not sure. It’s just that they seem too simple to be real. As soon as a desire arose, they acted on it. And not small things, like ‘I need a new hat’ or ‘I want to buy a loaf of bread.’ Large things, like Adam and Eve and the apple. Or Cain killing Abel.” She frowned. “I know I haven’t lived very long, but this seems unusual.”

      “You’ve watched children playing in the street, haven’t you? Do they often ignore their desires?”

      “I see what you mean,” she said, “but these aren’t stories about children.”

      “I believe they are, in a way,” said the Rabbi. “These were the world’s first people. Everything they did, every action and decision, was entirely new, without precedent. They had no larger society to turn to, no examples of how to behave. They only had the Almighty to tell them right from wrong. And like all children, if His commands ran counter to their desires, sometimes they chose not to listen. And then they learned that there are consequences to one’s actions. But tell me, now—I don’t think you found reading an enjoyable way to pass the time.”

      “I tried to enjoy it!” she protested. “But it’s hard to sit still for so long!”

      The Rabbi sighed inwardly. He’d hoped that reading would be a good solution, even a permanent one. But he saw now it was too much to ask of her. Her nature wouldn’t allow it.

      “If only I could walk outside at night.” Her voice was a quiet plea.

      He shook his head. “That isn’t possible, I’m afraid. Women out alone at night are assumed to be of poor moral character. You’d find yourself prey to unwanted advances, even violent behavior. I wish it were otherwise. But perhaps it is time,” he said, “for us to venture outside during the day. We could take a walk together, after I’ve seen my students. Would that help?”

      The Golem’s face lit with anticipation, and she spent the morning cleaning the already spotless kitchen with renewed focus and zeal.

      After the last student had come and gone, the Rabbi outlined his plan for their walk. He would leave the tenement alone, and she would follow five minutes later. They’d meet a few blocks away, on a particular corner. He gave her an old shawl of his wife’s, and a straw hat, and a parcel to carry, a few books he’d wrapped in paper and tied with string. “Walk as though you have an errand and a purpose,” he said. “But not too quickly. Look to the women around you for example, if need be. I’ll be waiting.” He smiled encouragingly, and left.

      The Golem waited, watching the clock on the mantel. Three minutes passed. Four. Five. Books in hand, she stepped into the hall, closed the door, and walked out onto the noon-bright street. It was the first she’d left the Rabbi’s rooms since coming to live with him.

      This time she was more prepared for the assault of wants and wishes, but their intensity still took her aback. For a wild moment she wanted to flee back into the building. But no—the Rabbi was waiting for her. She eyed the incessant traffic, the streams of pedestrians and hawkers and horses all moving past one another. Gripping the parcel as if it were a talisman, she took a last quick glance up and down the street, and set off.

      Meanwhile the Rabbi stood on his corner, waiting nervously. He too was having difficulty mastering his thoughts. He’d considered tailing the Golem, to make certain she didn’t fall into trouble—but it would be far too easy for her to discover his mind, focused on her as it was, and he couldn’t risk, or bear, to lose her trust. And so he’d done what he’d said he would, and went to the corner and waited. It was a test for himself as well, he decided—to see if he could let her go, and live with the knowledge that she was out there in the world, beyond his control.

      Fervently he hoped they both would pass the test, for their current arrangement was growing hard to bear. His guest was undemanding, but nevertheless she was a constant and uncanny presence. He longed for the unabashed luxury of sitting alone at his table in his undershirt and shorts, drinking tea and reading the newspaper.

      And there were other, more urgent considerations. In the bottom drawer of his dresser, hidden beneath his winter clothing, lay a drawstring bag that he’d found in the pocket of her coat. Inside the bag was a man’s billfold with a few notes, an elegant silver pocket watch—its works now hopelessly corroded—and a small oilskin envelope. The words COMMANDS FOR THE GOLEM were written on the envelope in spindly and uneven Hebrew. It held a roughly folded square of paper that, happily or not, had survived the journey to shore. He’d read the paper; he knew what it contained.

      In the tumult of her arrival in New York, the bag’s existence had evidently fallen from her mind. But it was her property, and all that was left of her erstwhile master; he felt obscurely wrong in keeping it hidden. But then, if a child had landed at Ellis Island carrying a pistol in his pocket, would it not be right СКАЧАТЬ