The Rabbi of Worms. M. K. Hammond

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СКАЧАТЬ rectangular board and made some marks on it with a piece of charcoal. “That’s an alef. Abba starts with alef. Abba means ‘dad’. You got it?”

      “Yup.”

      “Okay. After you learn the letters, you put them together to make words, and then you put words together to make sentences. Then you start memorizing sentences, lots and lots of sentences, from Torah. Can you do that?”

      “Yup. I think so.”

      “Good. We’ll try it for a couple of weeks. Then if you want to keep going, you’ll need to have a ceremony.”

      “What kind of ceremony?”

      “An initiation ceremony. Every boy who starts school has a ceremony. Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt.”

      As they traversed the streets, Mosche’s instruction flowed quickly, and Josef soaked it up eagerly. Once they had made all their deliveries, the boys agreed on a day and time for their next meeting, and they parted. Josef set out for home in high spirits. Approaching the courtyard, he remembered he was supposed to stop at the sewing shop to get thread and patches for his mother. He ran back at full speed and returned home completely out of breath, but happier than he had ever been in his life.

      •

      The next afternoon, Josef went with his mother to St. Paul’s Church where occasionally, on Sundays and holy days, they would sit at the back and listen to the Mass. Not today—there was no Mass this afternoon. Josef was helping his mother carry heavy linens back to the church. She had washed them, and now she would meet with other women to press and fold and put them away. It was a task she enjoyed, a brief respite from routine and a chance to chat with her few friends. Josef enjoyed it, too. He was expected to wait in a small garden beside the church.

      A portion of the garden was bounded by the church itself, and the rest was surrounded by a high wall that shielded it from street noises and random intruders. For Josef it was the most peaceful, secluded place he knew. He would spend hours (or so it seemed) admiring the colorful flowerbeds and watching bees hurry from one blossom to the next.

      But today Josef settled on his favorite bench and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply of sweet-smelling lilies and heard faint buzzing noises. The warm air made him drowsy. He could have fallen asleep had he not been jolted awake by the sound of the heavy iron latch opening and snapping shut.

      Through the gate came old Father Albert. He was short and stooped, and his feet shuffled when he walked. His frizzy white hair pointed in every direction. As he drew closer, Josef could see his small eyes, set close together and bunched up in a perpetual squint. Father Albert hobbled straight to the bench and sat down beside Josef. Nevertheless, Josef was not certain the old priest had noticed his presence. The boy looked up and marveled at the network of wrinkles in the man’s face, divided by deep creases. Slowly Father Albert turned his face toward the boy.

      “Hello, little one.”

      “Hello, Father.”

      “Tell me your name.”

      “I’m Josef.”

      “And why are you here on this lovely afternoon?”

      “My mother washes linens.”

      “Ah, yes.” The old man turned his head and seemed to focus on the wall opposite, if he could see that far.

      “Father, can I ask you a question?”

      “Yes. What is it?”

      “Can you read?”

      Without turning his head back to the boy, the priest answered, “No, it was not deemed necessary for me to read. My work has always been with the sick and the lame and the poor. It’s only those who teach or copy books or intone Scripture who require the skill of reading.”

      “Didn’t you want to learn?”

      “There was a time, when I was young, when I thought it would be wonderful to read the Scriptures and other works of literature as well. But it was not the will of God. My superiors determined I was to be a humble servant and not a scholar.”

      “Did you try to change their minds?”

      “No, it was the will of God. I learned the prayers and doctrines and memorized certain formularies I would need in my work. The Father provides all that we need.”

      Josef mumbled quietly under his breath, “I haven’t got a father.”

      The man turned and looked directly into Josef’s face. “Nonsense, boy. You have a Father in heaven.”

      “I mean I haven’t got a father at home.”

      “That may be so, but your heavenly Father loves you and cares for you just the same. And remember you call me ‘father,’ and the other priests.”

      Now Josef turned his head and looked intently at the wall. Should he ask Father Albert what a bastard was? He still was not sure what the word meant, although he suspected it had something to do with his mother. Would this simple old man recognize the word, and even if he did, would he explain it to a boy? No, it would be better not to ask a priest, in case it was a sin to say the word. Besides, if Josef asked about it, Father Albert might tell his mother.

      When Josef looked up again at the old man, his eyes were closed. He seemed to be deep in thought or asleep. Josef remained silent until his mother came to get him and they went home.

      •

      Ever since he met Mosche, Josef was approached less often in the Market Street by those horrible boys. They stayed away from him entirely whenever Mosche was with him. Even when Josef ran errands alone, his schedule and his route were less predictable now, and he was frequently able to sneak through their territory unobserved.

      One Saturday morning, however, they met him as he returned from the market. The tall boy stepped in front of him and walked backwards in Josef’s path. “Well, if it isn’t the bastard! What have you been up to, bastard?”

      Josef kept walking.

      “Hey, boys, look what I found!” Three others came out and walked alongside, chanting the usual refrains. “Bastard, bastard.”

      “Who’s your father?”

      “Tell us who sleeps with your mother!”

      Josef stopped abruptly and looked straight into the tall boy’s face. The others ceased their taunts and stared down at him. Josef said quietly, “My father is God.”

      The boys exchanged uncertain glances until the tall one burst out laughing. “His mother slept with God! Can you believe it?”

      “Or maybe she slept with the bishop!”

      “Naw, he’s too good for her. I’ll bet she sleeps with Jews. That’s why this kid smells so bad.”

      Josef pushed his way forward and resolved to say no more. Some day he would understand the words they used and then he would be able to refute them. But now it was useless. He would just try to pretend they were not there.

      As СКАЧАТЬ