Dee translated the passage and sent it to Loew. “This says the door might be closed in the next year, in 1586,” he wrote, “and yet it was written in 1471, over a hundred years ago. I believe that whoever wrote it knew a great deal about the subject. Unfortunately he does not indicate how to close the door, nor how to secure it, and I think that it is only when the door is closed that I will finally rid myself of the demon. Though I have to say that I, for one, will be sorry to see the spirits come no more.”
He wrote other letters, a few to Loew but most of them to Jane, glad that he had taken the time to teach his wife to read. He wondered how his children were doing, especially Michael, who was still so young; and how Jane was coping without him; and whether the golem had learned any more words, and if it had had to protect Loew from the king; and many other things besides. He wished that there was some way to talk to them from a distance; perhaps if two parties had scrying glasses, and angels could be summoned to deliver messages … . But no, he had had quite enough of angels for the present.
Loew answered his letter about doors and thresholds a week later. “I, too, would be sorry to live in a world without spirits,” he wrote. “We believe that there are angels for everything: angels to heal and to slay, for memory and for forgetfulness, an angel to preside at each of the four seasons of the year, angels for every month and star and hour.
“The king has not yet moved against me. We have men who watch him closely, and these people say that he has gone into seclusion, that he speaks to no one, that the affairs of government are being taken care of by his counselors and, for all I know, his scrubbing women and horse grooms. I think it would be safe for you to return, to see how the land lies, at least to visit your family. And you can see how my creation is doing; it has learned a great deal since you left us. You could always go back to Poland if you feel you are in danger here.”
Dee read the letter with growing pleasure. It would be good to return to Prague, to see his family and Loew, if only for a little while.
He arrived in Prague a few days later and spent the day with Jane and the children. Late the next afternoon he told Jane he would be visiting Rabbi Loew and set out for the Jewish Quarter. Loew’s wife Pearl answered the door.
“He isn’t here,” Pearl said. “He’s talking to the chief rabbi and a few others.”
“I thought he was the chief rabbi,” Dee said, surprised.
“Oh, no. They have not seen fit to appoint him.”
She spoke with some bitterness; Dee thought that this must be a sore point with her. But to his annoyance she would not meet his eyes. He remembered now something Loew had told him when they were imprisoned together, that men were not allowed to look at any woman other than their wives, and that the same was true of women and their husbands.
“How long will it be before he comes home?” Dee asked.
“Not very long,” Pearl said.
He began to walk aimlessly through the Quarter. He ended up once again at the cemetery and stood a moment studying the jumble of headstones. A picture came to his mind, unbidden, of layers and layers of skeletons, all of them tumbling together promiscuously beneath the earth.
He continued walking. He was not as familiar with the Quarter as he had thought, or he had forgotten a good deal of what he knew, because in a few moments he found himself completely lost. The sun began to set behind the little crooked houses; shadows stretched out before him on the street. It would soon be too late for visiting. He quickened his steps.
Nothing looked familiar. The houses seemed to close in on him. One or two candles burned within, shining against the darkness.
Ahead of him he saw three schoolboys carrying satchels, talking and laughing as they came up the street. “Excuse me,” Dee said.
The boys stared at him. Two ran off, laughing, but one stood his ground.
“I wonder if you can show me the way to Rabbi Loew’s house,” Dee said.
“Certainly,” the boy said. “This way.”
He headed down one of the streets and Dee followed. The boy fidgeted; Dee guessed that he preferred conversation to silence, and he was soon proved right.
“Do you see that man?” the boy said, pointing to two people in close conversation. “That’s Mordechai Zemah. He’s a printer. When King Ferdinand wanted to expel the Jews twenty years ago, Zemah traveled all the way to Rome and got an audience with the pope. And somehow he convinced the pope, and the pope convinced the emperor, and we stayed here. And the man talking to him—he’s an astronomer named David Gans. He corresponds with Tycho Brahe at the Uraniborg Astronomical Institute.”
Dee looked at the two, amazed. He had heard of Brahe, of course; every educated person in Europe had. More went on in this little quarter than he had ever imagined; listening to this boy he could almost believe he stood in a town filled with legends, a place where heroes walked. And then of course there was Rabbi Loew, whose creation of the golem would probably become another of the town’s myths.
“That man over there,” the boy said. He indicated a peddler holding a staff as tall as he was and carrying a heavy pack on his back. He wore a long shapeless dark blue cloak with a hood and many pockets, embroidered on the cuffs and hem with colorful peasant designs. The man knocked at the door to one of the houses. “His name is Mordechai, too, like the printer. He comes here every month or so, sells us candles and knives and things.”
A woman answered the door. The peddler set his staff against the wall and pulled a ribbon out of his bag. The woman laughed. The ribbon lengthened and changed color.
The boy lowered his voice. “Do you know Izak? People say that man is his father.”
Dee did not know how to answer this. “Here he is,” the boy said, and Dee looked up the street to see Rabbi Loew heading toward them. The boy wished the rabbi a good evening and then ran for home.
“Good day,” Loew said to Dee. “You’ve taken my advice and decided to risk a visit, I see.”
“I’m glad you’re safe,” Dee said. “You are safe, aren’t you? Has there been any sign of the king’s men?”
“None, I’m glad to say. But let’s not talk about such things. I’m afraid I can’t spend as much time with you as I’d like. The Sabbath is coming and I have to prepare. Walk with me—I’ll show you how Yossel is coming along.”
Dee eagerly went with him down one of the cobblestoned lanes. “The Sabbath? But it’s only Friday.”
“Friday, yes. We celebrate the Sabbath on Saturday, you know, and we start our days on the evening before, at dusk. What nonsense was that child telling you?”
“Oh, all sorts of things.” Dee repeated the conversation but left out the part about Izak’s father; he did not want to argue with Loew today.
They reached the house and went inside. Loew led Dee not to his study but toward another room. “This was my son’s bedroom,” Loew said. “I suppose there are some advantages to seeing your children grow up and leave the house.”
“I didn’t know you have children,” Dee said.
“One son and six daughters, all grown now. My son Bezalel is also a rabbi. What about you—how many children do you have?”
“Three sons and one daughter. All of them still children—the youngest, Michael, was born a few months ago.”
“Then you have some wonderful experiences ahead of you,” Loew said. “My family is the best part of me.”
Dee’s eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light and he saw the genuine pleasure on Loew’s face. Another thing we have in common, Dee thought. No matter how hard he tried to distance himself from the other man, he was constantly reminded of their similarities.
Something moved in the gloom. He turned, startled, and saw the golem sitting on the bed, its head nearly touching the ceiling. Someone had lengthened its clothes, Pearl probably, but they were still too small for its enormous frame.
“Good day, Yossel,” Loew said.
“Good day,” the golem said. Its pronunciation was a little better, but Dee w
ondered if he would have understood the words if he hadn’t known what it was saying.
“This is Doctor Dee,” Loew said. “He was present at your birth.”
The golem turned to Dee and nodded, looking out of its strange flat eyes.
“Well,” Loew said. “I said there has been no sign of the king, but since I wrote to you the chief rabbi has heard certain rumors—”
“I told Pearl that I thought you were the chief rabbi,” Dee said.
Loew shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t have that honor. I had hoped, of course … . But he’s a good man, a very good man.” Loew paused. “A good man. I wonder …”
“Could he be the thirty-sixth?” Dee said, completing Loew’s thought.
Loew shrugged. “Lately I can’t hear anyone called a good man without wondering about him.”
“Why does the rabbi think the king will move against you?”
If he made a reply Dee never heard it. Someone shouted from the street. “Rabbi Loew!” someone called. “Rabbi Loew, they’re coming!”
Loew hurried back down the hallway to the front window. Dee, following him, was in time to see about a dozen uniformed soldiers marching slowly along the narrow cobblestoned street. A child scampered out in front and threw a stone at them. One of the soldiers drew his sword but another motioned to him to ignore the child, and they continued until they stopped at Loew’s house.
“Now we see,” Loew said. “Now we see whether I created well or ill. Yossel!”
The golem came down the hallway. It had to duck to avoid hitting the ceiling, and this gave its walk a strange, shambling motion. As Dee scurried out of its way he could not help but notice once again that its arms were of different lengths.
The golem thrust open the door so fiercely that it slammed against the wall. It walked out into the street, unfolding to its great height. Groups of onlookers came out into the street to watch: women in aprons, interrupted while cooking the Sabbath meals; men in the midst of dressing for services. Several of them gasped and began to back away. Someone screamed.
The golem moved without hesitation toward the soldiers. The man in front launched his sword at it; the sword sank deep into the golem’s chest but it continued on. It lifted the man who had thrown the sword and hurled him to the ground.
A few of the soldiers broke and ran, but most stayed in formation. One thrust his sword into the golem’s thigh. The golem swatted him away. The man fell backwards, into the arms of one of his fellows, and they both went down.
All the soldiers were running now. One stayed long enough to throw his sword and then joined his fellows; the sword dangled from the golem’s upper arm. Others were picking themselves up from the ground and hobbling away, some wincing in pain.
A few children followed the soldiers, taunting and jeering, but Loew called them back. Then he turned his attention to the golem. “Yossel!” he said.
The golem glanced at him and began to walk away from the rabbi’s house. It plucked out swords as it went—from its chest, arm and leg—and threw them to the ground. “Yossel!” Loew called. “Come back!”
The golem seemed not to hear. It hit out blindly, its fist ripping through the fragile wall of a house. Someone inside screamed. Loew and Dee ran after the golem, both of them calling out for it to stop.
The golem was moving faster now. It tore the thatch from the roof of one of the houses, pulled down a balcony from another, grunting as it worked. People ran from their houses and then stood silent, horrified at the destruction. “Make it stop!” someone yelled to Loew. “Make it stop!”
“What is happening?” Dee said, panting as he tried to follow the golem. “Why isn’t it stopping?”
“Its power grows during the week,” Loew said. “It’s the strongest on the Sabbath. I usually take the shem from its mouth before the Sabbath starts, but now I fear I won’t have time. I’ve never let it stay conscious during the Sabbath before—I don’t know what may happen.”
The speech had winded him. He stopped and looked into the sky. “Almost dusk,” he said. “The Sabbath is almost here. I have to do something.”
Abruptly he turned and began to run down another street. “Wait!” Dee called. “Where are you going?”
“To the synagogue,” Loew said. “I have to tell the congregation to recite the service as slowly as possible. They have to see to it that the Sabbath does not come.”
Dee stood uncertainly, wondering which way to go. Then he hurried after Loew.
Loew came to one of the synagogues Dee had seen before and ran through an entrance decorated with grapes and vine leaves. Inside it was very dim; the only light came from candles in hanging bronze lamps. He heard singing in a minor key, and only then was he able to make out the congregation, sitting in wooden benches gone dark with age.
Loew shouted something. The man at the front of the room, standing before an embroidered curtain, glanced at him, annoyed, and the two began to argue in loud voices. Finally the man—the chief rabbi, Dee guessed—shrugged and motioned Loew forward.
Loew began to sing very slowly, and the congregation followed his lead. Slower and slower went the songs and chants, dragged out as long as possible, until it seemed that each note was held for minutes at a time.
Dee went back to the door and looked outside. Darkness was filling the streets. He heard the sound of glass shattering, of someone shouting for help. Heavy footsteps headed toward the synagogue.
The golem loomed out of the darkness. It stopped at the sound of singing, its head cocked to one side, then said something in its gravelly voice.
“What?” Dee asked.
“Where?” the golem said slowly.
“Where? Where is Rabbi Loew?”
The golem nodded. “My creator,” it said.
“He’s inside the synagogue,” Dee said.
The golem moved toward the doorway. Dee blocked him, his heart beating hard. “You can’t disturb them now,” Dee said. “The services have begun.”
“Services,” the golem said. Then, speaking even slower, as though it was formulating the ideas for the first time, it said, “I want to pray too. I want friends and family, want respect, want love. I want what he has, my creator.”
The golem sat; its speech, its new thoughts, seemed to have tired it. Dee moved forward warily. Behind him he could hear the slow singing of the congregation.
“Who would you pray to?” he asked. He wanted to keep the golem talking, but at the same time he was genuinely curious. “To God or to Rabbi Loew? It was Rabbi Loew who created you, after all.”
“I would—” The golem stopped, its mouth comically open. “I would pray—”
Dee summoned his courage and reached into the golem’s mouth. It was strangely dry. He felt for the piece of paper under the tongue, grasped it and pulled it out.
The golem closed its eyes. Its head sagged. Dee exhaled softly with relief.
He went back inside the synagogue and held up the paper. Loew nodded. He sang for a few moments longer, finishing a prayer, Dee thought, and then gave up his place to the chief rabbi.
Loew walked back to where Dee stood and took the paper from him. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Please, stay until the service ends. They are almost finished—we very nearly didn’t make it in time.”
Dee nodded. Loew took a seat in one of the benches but Dee continued to stand at the rear, feeling out of place. He studied the curtain at the front; it was embroidered with silver and gold thread and with pearls, and shimmered in the dim light. At one point in the service the rabbi opened it and Dee made out the scroll of the Torah behind it.
As his eyes grew accustomed to the light he saw a dark irregular stain on the eastern wall. He wondered what it was, whether it had some sort of religious meaning.
When the service came to an end he asked Loew about it. “That?” Loew said. “That is blood.”
“What?” Dee asked. All the rumors he had heard about Jews, about how they stole baptized babies and drank
their blood, came back to him. Had he been too trusting? “Why is it there?”
“The Quarter was attacked once, about two hundred years ago. They killed three thousand of us. We keep the blood there in their memory.”
Dee could say nothing. Suddenly he thought he understood everything: why these people kept to themselves, why they hedged their lives about with laws and proscriptions, why Loew had grown so angry with him. Three thousand people. He could not imagine so large a number killed.
His expression must have mirrored his thoughts, because Loew smiled suddenly. “But come, my friend,” he said. “Let’s not talk of such unhappy things on the Sabbath. Show me what you’ve done with Yossel.”
It was the first time Loew had called him “friend.” They went outside and saw that a crowd had formed around the golem.
As Loew came closer the people backed away, murmuring among themselves. Several of them glanced at Loew but no one met his eyes. Loew was becoming a legend, as Dee had thought he might, but his accomplishments were well on the way to making him feared rather than loved.
The golem sat, still inert, its head fallen against its chest. The crowd dispersed, the darkness closing around them as they went. Loew and Dee were left alone with their creation; it was barely visible in the light from the synagogue. “I must tell you,” Dee said, “that it spoke to me. That it said it wanted friends, a family. That it wanted to pray.”
“Did it?” Loew said. “It’s said several worrisome things to me as well. Perhaps I did wrong to create it.”
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