Hunting Midnight

by Richard Zimler

  The necromancer who had threatened me years earlier, Lourenço Reis, was standing outside Senhor Benjamin’s shop, only thirty paces away. Thankfully, he didn’t see me.

  Undoubtedly, he had chosen today for his return to Porto because St. John’s Eve was, at its heart, a pagan celebration of the summer solstice.

  “If you added up all the Jews in Portugal, what would you have?” he demanded of his followers.

  A man shouted “ten thousand beasts”; another, “a herd of swine.”

  “John, step away from there or I’ll flatten you!” Luna ordered.

  I was so entranced that I refused to move.

  “If you added up all the Jews,” replied the necromancer, “you would have lumber enough for a fire reaching all the way to God!”

  Midnight touched my shoulder. “What does he say?” he asked.

  “John, you wicked boy! Get away from there now!” Luna pleaded.

  She and her sister were staring at me in fury. I let the curtain fall but remained by the window. “He once threatened me,” I whispered to Midnight. “He does not like foreigners, especially – ”

  I was about to say “Jews,” but the necromancer gave a great wail, as though he had been stabbed in the gut. “I call upon Benjamin Seixas – ”

  I pulled back the curtain again.

  “ – the Jewish demon residing in this accursed house, to come to me and confess. I accuse him of treason against the Portuguese nation, of trafficking with the devil. And his sentence is death!”

  Luna dragged me away from the window. “You do as I say, John!”

  I turned to Graça, the less excitable of the two, who had started to cry. She rushed to Luna and hugged her. After a hushed exchange between them, Luna took my hand gently. “This is very serious,” she whispered. “Now, do as I say – we are all in danger. Be very quiet,” she told me, and she had me repeat this order to Midnight.

  When the noise outside died down, we thought the necromancer was leading the mob away. What fools we were!

  “Graça and Luna Oliveira,” he shrieked, “I call upon you to come to me and confess your sins! I accuse you of treason. You must die so that Christ may live….”

  Graça clasped her hand over her mouth so as not to let loose a cry of terror.

  “I call upon the Jewish whores to come out and confess their sins. I call upon them to open their wombs to Christ and allow Him to enter before they die. I call upon them to stand ready for the burning stake….”

  His threats seemed to stab through the wood of our door, until I believed that his voice alone might unlock the latch and allow his mob to seize us.

  Luna whispered, “What shall we do if he breaks in?” Graça was mumbling frantically to herself in a mixture of Portuguese and another language I did not understand. I caught the word Adonai.

  Drumming started in Midnight’s belly and grew in intensity. “John, tell me very, very precisely what that hyena outside is saying,” he whispered.

  His use of the word hyena revealed that without understanding his words, Midnight had perceived that Lourenço Reis was evil. Before I could reply, the villain banged on our door, then twisted the handle. Graça wet herself in fright.

  “Keep praying, sister,” Luna whispered to her.

  Midnight stood up, slipped out of his shoes, and grabbed the poker from its place beside the hearth. Positioning it over his shoulder like a spear, he rushed to the door.

  “Don’t go out!” I begged.

  He nodded to me and crouched, eyes fixed on the jiggling handle.

  Lourenço Reis spoke through the door. “Graça and Luna Oliveira, you must learn of sin. You must die so that Christ may live. You must perish in the burning heart of the Son of Man.”

  Shouting rose from the crowd like screeching gulls. Then, after a time, we heard them move on. Midnight came to me and we helped the Olive Tree Sisters back to their chairs, prevailing upon them to sip their cold tea. Graça gagged, then rushed upstairs. I wished to go to her, but Luna said, “She will be embarrassed. Stay here.”

  Upon Midnight’s request, I began to translate for him the necromancer’s hateful words. He could not fathom their meaning, and I could think of no way of explaining what I only barely understood myself.

  “John, listen closely,” Luna said. “I know that this must all seem rather odd to you, but – ” She stopped in mid-sentence when Reis began calling for Senhor Policarpo, the wheelwright, to come out and face his judgment, along with his wife and children. I was stunned that he knew them by name. He must have been watching us all for some time.

  Midnight held Luna’s hand as we listened to a litany of curses against Policarpo’s family. Then we heard a single shriek rise up as though to pierce the sky.

  The necromancer was now only a short ways from my home. I took my key from my pocket and held it in my fist. Though I was certain I had locked the door, my heart tumbled toward dread; Fanny was in the garden.

  “We have to go home,” I declared to Midnight.

  “No, John, you must not let yourself be provoked.”

  “But Fanny. She is sure to start barking and they might hurt her.”

  “No, I forbid you to leave. Fanny will have to take care of herself.”

  From down the street, I could hear the preacher shouting, “Maria Zarco Stewart, James Stewart, and John Zarco Stewart, I summon you out to the street for your crimes against the Portuguese nation. I call upon you to bring out the African heathen – ”

  I dashed for the door, but Midnight grabbed my arm roughly and ordered me to remain still.

  Luna said, “I shall tell you now why you cannot leave, John. Sit.”

  “No.”

  “Sit now!”

  I did so, but before she could speak, the necromancer’s shouting began again: “John Zarco Stewart, you have not departed from Porto as I have asked you. So you will now learn what it is to die for love. You shall be cleansed through fire, and I shall return you to God as innocent as the day you were born.”

  He then called for the death of my mother and father. We waited in silence for the rest of his tirade but heard nothing more. He and the mob must have turned a corner.

  “John, listen closely,” Luna said. “Under normal circumstances I would let your mother tell you, or your father, but now that this has happened …” She stood up, took a sip of tea, and smoothed a lock of gray hair behind her ear. “Do you know what a Jew is?”

  “Moses was a Jew.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And he had a horn. And a tail.” Guessing what was to come, I shouted, “And I don’t have a horn or a tail, so I cannot possibly be a Jew!”

  “Do not raise your voice, please.”

  “I cannot be a Jew!” I shouted again, louder.

  “John, we let you think those things about Moses. I’m sorry. Perhaps it was wrong, but we had no choice. We would not have wished you to guess sooner. Now, listen: There is no physical difference save one between Jew and Christian. On those lads who have received the covenant, a small … a small … I don’t know how to say it. What I mean to say is that – ”

  “What’s the covenant?” interrupted.

  “You are making me lose my place.”

  “Good! I do not want to talk of these things.”

  I desperately wanted everything to be as it had been. I wanted Daniel to be alive and Violeta to be happy. I wanted to imitate birds at our pond. I wanted to run to Fanny.

  “You must listen,” Luna begged, taking my hands in hers. “On lads, there is a small piece of skin taken from their … from between their legs, at the tip …”

  “What piece of skin?”

  “A small hood. It is removed from Jewish infants when they are but eight days old.”

  “But I’ve had nothing removed. I never had a hood or anything else.”

  “Perhaps not, but that does not change what I am saying.”

  “Which is what? You’re not making any sense at all!”

&nbs
p; “John, if you raise your voice again …” She looked to Midnight and said in careful Portuguese, “I’m afraid this is difficult.”

  Midnight replied, “John is clever. But very, very” – he shook his fists and pulled an ugly face, an imitation of me when riled. It was quite accurate and I was not at all pleased – “very excitable,” he concluded.

  “I am not!” I shouted.

  “Stop being so quarrelsome with us all!” Luna snapped. “And make no mistake, young man, I will knock you straight from today into next week if I have to!”

  Her anger abated almost immediately, and I soon saw in her eyes that she, too, would have wished to return to the way everything had always been. But all hope for that faded completely when she said, “John, you are indeed Jewish.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Your mother is Jewish, and in Judaism, heritage passes through her alone and not through your father.” When I accused her of lying, she added, “John, your grandmother is Jewish too. And Grandfather João as well – blessed be his memory. He was a Portuguese Jew, but from Constantinople. He returned here before you were born.”

  Graça came down the stairs now, pale, holding a handkerchief to her mouth. She apologized for leaving us.

  “I was just telling John about his heritage,” Luna told her sister.

  Graça bowed her head and gave a sigh, as though she had always been expecting this truth to cast a shadow over our lives one day.

  “I have to go,” I said.

  Graça knelt next to me. “You know, John, your grandfather was a lovely man. Intelligent and kind. With a gift for gardening, just like Midnight. Do you know how he and his family came to live in Constantinople? And why they spoke Portuguese there, unlike the Turks?”

  I shook my head. She caressed my hair and smiled. “Back in the sixteenth century, your grandfather’s ancestors lived in Lisbon. They had been converted against their will to Christianity. Even so, they and their friends were still persecuted because … well, the Church and the Crown feared that they would maintain their Jewish customs, which some of them did. Thousands were arrested and put in dungeons, and many were burnt in public ceremonies. So one day your ancestors took a ship from Lisbon to Constantinople. To escape. They wished to practice Judaism openly. And to live without fear. Do you follow me?”

  “Yes,” I said, but I didn’t think I did.

  “They wanted to live as they preferred and not worry that they might end up as ash. The Sultan of Turkey welcomed them. He welcomed thousands of Portuguese Jews. Then, later – ”

  “But this is madness, Senhora Graça. How did they become Jews in the first place? Tell me that if you’re so clever!”

  “They … they always were Jews, I suppose,” she stammered.

  “That’s impossible,” I declared. I believed I had found the fatal flaw in her logic. “They must have started out as Christians, so why did they first convert to Judaism and then need to be converted back? It makes no sense. It’s … it’s not true.”

  I had no clear understanding of what being Jewish meant, but I feared that it would change everything in my life – that it would distance my parents and Midnight from me, and that they would no longer be fond of me in any way.

  Luna sighed. “This has been a wretched day.”

  I stood up. “I must go now.”

  “You sit back down, John Stewart,” Graça said determinedly, “or I shall never give you instructions in art again!” She grabbed both my hands to hold me down. Hers were freezing cold. “However it came to pass, the truth is that your maternal grandparents were Jewish, and their ancestors were exiled from Portugal hundreds of years ago. They kept their language and they kept their customs, even though they lived in a Moslem land. Then, after the Inquisition ended its worst abuses – you know what the Inquisition was?”

  “Yes,” I replied, but I had only a vague notion.

  “Then you probably also know that it lost its power twenty-five years ago, though it is not yet completely dismantled. Since then we have been able to practice our religion more … more fully.”

  “Though we would not wish to call attention to ourselves,” Luna added.

  “No, that would be foolish,” Graça agreed. “It’s much better for everyone that we remain hidden. Now, the important thing for you is this, John: Under sacred law, the child of a Jewish woman remains Jewish. That’s why you are what you are. You see now?”

  “So is my father a Jew?” I asked. They both shook their heads. “There, you see! It makes no sense. If I were Jewish, he would be too. I cannot be what my father is not.”

  “For better or for worse,” Luna said, “that is not how these things are decided. That’s precisely what we are trying to tell you.”

  “Then why wouldn’t I know it? Why wouldn’t my papa have told me?”

  “Your parents were waiting until you were a little older. It is part of our tradition. The children are only told when we are absolutely certain they are old enough to keep such an important secret. Unless there are circumstances that … that complicate matters and make such knowledge essential, like what took place today.”

  “Why do we have to keep it a secret?”

  “Look, John,” Graça replied, “the Inquisition may return, which is why that preacher, Lourenço Reis, came here today. We have known of him for many years. He was formerly employed by the Holy Office, by the Church, as a prosecutor, you might say. He has jailed Jews and made them burn. You can be sure he greatly regrets that such power was taken from him and that we are no longer completely at his mercy. He would like to see a return to the old days.”

  “So you’re Jewish too.”

  “Yes, John, many of us are Jewish. At least, in secret.”

  “Who?”

  “I think it best for you to talk to your mother about that. She may be very unhappy with us for telling you this much.”

  “But what shall I do now?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I am Jewish and my father is not. If you are so clever, then tell me what shall I do?”

  *

  I traipsed down the street toward home. Midnight tried to talk to me, but I was too angry to answer him. I was wondering who I was.

  Then we saw Senhor Policarpo sprawled on the cobbles outside his home. His wife, Josefina, was leaning over him, sobbing and covered in his blood. The bones in his face had been smashed in. Flies were already feeding at his eyes and lips.

  Senhora Josefina gazed up at us in horror and started to wail.

  “John, go home,” Midnight said. “Get in the house.”

  “What about you?”

  “I shall be there presently. Go home and make certain you lock the door.”

  I rushed away. Before I closed the door behind me, I saw him reaching for Policarpo’s pulse. He shook his head and reached for Josefina’s hand.

  To my relief, I found Fanny alive and well, nosing through the leaves of a verbena bush in our garden.

  “Senhor Policarpo is dead and I am a Jew,” I told her, which only made her run to get her leather ball and drop it in my hand. I threw it into the rosebushes, which was a cruel thing to do. While she tried to contort herself to get through their thorns unscathed, I went to my room and cried. Then I peered in my mirror for a mark on my scalp where my horns might have been, but again I could detect no such sign. I found nothing unusual on the tip of my penis either.

  Mama arrived home an hour or so later. “John?” she called in a worried voice. “John, are you in your room?”

  I dashed down the stairs and ran into her arms.

  “Thank God, you’re safe,” she said. She embraced me for a long time, and I could feel her trembling.

  I wished to ask her if she and I were Jewish but reasoned that this was sure to insult her either way. For if it were true, then I would be drawing attention to a family fault, and if it were not, as I still hoped, then she might be offended that I thought so badly of her.

  “I believe
that something worrisome happened to you today,” she said as calmly as she could. “You weren’t hurt at all?”

  “No, Mama.”

  “No one touched you?”

  “No.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Yes.”

  “You must have been frightened.” When I shook my head, she asked, “Is Midnight here?”

  “He must be in the Lookout Tower or in the garden.”

  “Thank goodness.” She glanced down, weighing her options, then added, “Would you pump some water into a pot for me, John? I’ll prepare supper. Yes, that’s just what I’ll do. Hot food is what we need.”

  I took a deep breath and said, “Senhor Policarpo is dead.”

  “I know, John, I’ve seen Josefina. We shall speak of what it means for us later.”

  “Mama, if I … if I were Jewish, would I … would I …”

  I did not know how to continue and so said no more.

  Mother held up her hand to have me wait a moment, then removed her black shawl. She laid it on one of the armchairs and returned to me. She held my head in her hands and pressed her lips to my brow. “Yes, John, if you were Jewish … What is it you wish to know?”

  She seemed strangely confident, and I realized that I had expected her to become hysterical. Instead, she smiled encouragingly.

  “If I were Jewish, would I know it?”

  “That is a very good question, John, and I will indeed answer it. But first, will you tell me precisely what happened to you today? I need to know.”

  “No, you answer my question first.”

  She sighed, resigned to my inquisitive nature. I had no inkling whatsoever of what an overwhelming relief it would be to her to finally tell me the truth.

  I now believe that many of her idiosyncrasies – particularly her constant fretting over the opinions of others and stern insistence on decorum – were the direct result of the need for secrecy both inside and outside her home. That she saw herself obliged by circumstance to lie to her only child must have seemed a cruel fate at times, given her devotion to me.

  “Come sit with me, John, and I shall answer all your questions,” Mama said warmly. On her insistence I sat in Papa’s chair. “You’re so big now that if I tried to sit you on my lap I’d be crushed,” she said, laughing.