Judah the Pious

by Francine Prose

  “It is quite all right,” replied the girl. “You are by no means the first person to confuse my eyes with those of a demoness.”

  “I am sure,” smiled Hannah. “But listen: even if you were an angel of paradise, it would still be out of the question for you to marry Judah ben Simon.”

  “Why?” asked Rachel Anna. “Rumor has it that you have been trying to find him a suitable wife for years, and that he has stubbornly refused each of the brides you proposed.”

  “Listen,” pleaded the old woman. “Those were all girls who have been acquainted with my son since childhood, who would know, so to speak, exactly what they were getting into. But for you, this marriage would be like shooting blind into a crowd of men—aiming, for all you know, at a liar, a wife-beater, or a drunkard. Besides, what would people think? It is not really customary in these parts for a young lady to come out in her own behalf, without relatives to speak for her.”

  “It is not customary anywhere,” said the girl. “And as for Judah ben Simon being a stranger, everything I have heard of him has convinced me that he is just the husband I am seeking. Anyway, it does not seem that you are being quite truthful—what are your real objections to the marriage?”

  Hannah Polikov remained silent, reluctant to say that Rachel Anna did not at all appear the sort of woman who would tame her son’s wild habits.

  “Well,” smiled Rachel Anna at last, “if you will not be honest, I will, and tell you this: not only is this marriage going to take place, not only will I win your son’s love, but some day I will also gain yours. And now, I would be grateful if you would tell me where to find Judah ben Simon, for I do not wish to feed the idle curiosity of your neighbors by embarking on a public search.”

  Aware that she had no choice, Hannah Polikov sank limply into a chair and began to describe that part of the forest where her son stayed. So bewildered that she hardly noticed when Rachel Anna left the house, the old woman felt her head spinning as she tried to decide what to do, and how to explain the situation to Simon.

  After a while, however, she recalled the rude manner in which she had first greeted Rachel Anna, and her face flushed with an odd mixture of embarrassment and hope. “Obviously,” she told herself, “a woman who is always mistaken for a witch cannot remain ordinary for very long. And perhaps this singular girl will be able to influence our son in some unpredictably positive way.”

  This thought cheered her so much that, an hour later, she was able to present her husband with a sensible and by no means gloomy version of the morning’s events.

  But, later that day, as she straightened up the house for the evening meal, something in the general disorder of the kitchen caught her eye, and made a spark of doubt flicker across her mind:

  There, on the floury surface of the table, where the girl had rested her left hand, were the sharp, unmistakable imprints of six fingers.

  “I thought you were going to talk about a perfect beauty,” broke in Casimir, his face clouded by disappointment.

  “I am sorry,” apologized Eliezer, “but the truth is more important. Anyway, you must admit that an extra digit is not nearly so terrible a deformity as a missing arm or a crooked spine. And indeed, just as Hannah Polikov was clucking in dismay beside her kitchen table, Judah ben Simon was calmly commiserating with the girl over the amount of superstitious nonsense to which her sixth finger had exposed her.

  In the beginning, it had not seemed that Rachel Anna and Judah ben Simon would ever be holding such a civil conversation. For that morning Judah had been completing a painstaking sketch of a blue jay when his model was startled into flight by the sound of footsteps crashing through the brush. He wheeled around, saw the girl running towards him, and scowled with angry surprise; throughout his years in the forest, no one but his father and a few curious village boys had ever dared disturb his work.

  “What are you doing here?” he shouted, his voice crackling with hostility.

  “Making noise,” laughed Rachel Anna. Then, closer, she stopped and stared at the young man who towered over her like the giant elms which surrounded them; she stood motionless, looking at his brown eyes, his generous mouth, his reddish-gold beard which flowed in waves down his broad chest, and she struggled to retain the composure which had never before threatened to desert her. “The truth is,” she said finally, forcing up a small chuckle which died immediately at the back of her throat, “the truth is that I have heard a great deal about a man named Judah ben Simon, and I have come to see for myself.”

  “And what are all these wonders you have heard about me?” sneered Judah.

  “I have heard that you already know more about the forest than the animals who can find their way through it in the dark. I have heard that you are becoming a great scientist who will someday be able to explain why the salmon swim upstream and die, and why the pine trees can laugh at their naked neighbors all through the winter. And,” she added with a smile, “I have heard that you have blond hair.”

  “You have heard some exaggerations,” replied the young man, pleased despite himself, “but no outright lies. And now that you have satisfied your curiosity, you can go back home.”

  “On the contrary,” answered Rachel Anna. “Now I am less satisfied than ever, for all these things have only strengthened my desire to become your wife.”

  Suddenly, it was Judah’s turn to stare, as he tried to understand why a complete stranger would come all the way out into the wilderness just to ridicule him.

  “King Casimir,” said the rabbi, “I would like you to stretch your memory until you can recall the time when you were younger, and still slightly uncomfortable in the presence of beautiful women.”

  “I will try,” replied the boy grandly, wrinkling his forehead and puffing out his chest.

  “Thank you,” smiled Eliezer. “For perhaps you will be able to understand all the jumbled emotions which spun through my hero’s mind, and perhaps you will not condemn him too harshly for the ungentlemanly way in which he received Rachel Anna’s proposal. For it is unpleasant, but necessary, for me to admit that he snarled like a bulldog, hunched his shoulders, and asked the lovely young woman why in the world he should want to marry her.

  “Because,” smiled Rachel Anna calmly, “I am more obstinate than any woman you have ever met. And more beautiful.”

  Startled into seeing her fiery hair and jewel-like eyes as if for the first time, Judah ben Simon grew even more uneasy. “I have seen prettier women,” he mumbled defensively, thinking of the boyhood hours he had spent speculating about the anatomy and love habits of a flirtatious, dowdy village washerwoman. “And the town is full of high-spirited girls,” he added, remembering the bashful merchants’ daughters whom, during those interminable afternoon teas, he had imagined lying in his bed, as foreign and repulsive to him as the carcasses of dead cows. Suddenly, he realized that this strange girl was speaking the truth, and confusion weakened his knees.

  “Well,” he muttered, “I can see that, having no intermediaries to speak for you, you have already begun singing your own praises. Then tell me: can you embroider pillowcases with so much skill that a man might mistake them for trappings from the temple altar? Tell me: can you brew a steaming samovar of sweet coffee with cardamoms? And can you polish a silver spoon so brightly that I might look into it and see my entire past and future?”

  “I can do none of those things,” answered the girl.

  “Then if you cannot perform these simple household chores,” persisted Judah ben Simon sarcastically, “how do you expect to learn all the complicated duties which might prove necessary for the wife of a woodsman?”

  “I am not an idiot,” snapped Rachel Anna. “Do you really think that I could not have learned to brew coffee if I had ever so desired? And I assure you, the minute I put my mind to building an open fire or making a mattress from pine needles, I will soon be doing these things better than you yourself.”

  Now the idea of a pine-needle bed had never occurred to Judah ben
Simon, and the thought of it softened his heart. “So,” he laughed, “I can see that I have got myself a nasty one. But, just for my personal information, I would like to know where in this country they allow a young lady to pass through her teens without knowing any of the domestic arts?”

  “I come from the city of Cracow,” replied the girl.

  “So my reputation has reached all the way to Cracow?” asked Judah warily.

  “Oh yes,” nodded Rachel Anna. “Indeed, I first heard your name in connection with the great rabbinical court of that beloved saint Judah the Pious. All the sages there are fascinated by the reports which have reached them concerning your knowledge of the forest, for they truly believe that such a scholar may one day help them unravel the knots and intricacies of God’s mysterious pattern.”

  “Then you can go straight back,” hissed Judah ben Simon furiously, “and tell them that I already know God’s plan, which has ordained that the so-called wise men of Cracow be exiled to the slimiest pits of hell.”

  And, before the astounded young woman could say another word, Judah ben Simon had turned his back and stalked off into the forest. He picked up his pens and brushes, and tried to work, but found it so hard to concentrate that, later in the afternoon, he headed slowly back towards the elm grove, telling himself all the while that he was only looking for the blue jay he had been sketching earlier.

  Rachel Anna was sitting on the ground with her back propped against a tree, so that her orange hair fanned out against the rough bark; her purple shawl lay beside her, thrown carelessly on the grass. Hearing his footsteps, she raised her head and smiled; but, when he began to speak in the same angry tone, her expression turned to a look of wonder, as she marveled that his stubbornness was even greater than the rumors had led her to believe.

  “I forgot to ask you,” he muttered, “whether Judah the Pious also mentioned that brilliant piece of advice which he gave my family twenty years ago.”

  “No,” answered Rachel Anna. “But your mother spoke of it this morning.”

  “Then you can surely understand my position,” sighed Judah, sinking down onto the grass, exhausted by the battles he had fought with himself that day. “You can see why I wish to avoid all contact with superstitious, religious people, why I have come out here to bury my shame in the logical order of the forest. And you must realize that I could never pass my days with a woman—even such a beautiful woman—who has been to the court of Judah the Pious, and become the handmaiden of the world’s greatest impostor.”

  In the fading sunlight, Rachel Anna looked back at him, too surprised to blush at the compliment. “I have also witnessed public executions,” she said. “Does that mean I am a famous murderess? Listen, Judah ben Simon: having glimpsed the sage with my own eyes, I cannot deny that he is an amazing man. But, aside from that, I swear to you that my experience with superstition has been much more painful than yours. For it is likely that you were honored as a blessed miracle-child by your neighbors, while I have been scorned as a witch and a demoness all my life.”

  “Because of your eyes?” asked Judah.

  “Because of my eyes,” she nodded. “But also because of something else.” Then slowly, cautiously, Rachel Anna raised her left hand, displaying the trump card which, she had always known, would someday help her win one game. And that was how Rachel Anna’s sixth finger came to be discussed in the forest.

  “And was he not disgusted by this?” cried the young King of Poland.

  “Not in the least,” grinned Eliezer. “In fact, he was so comforted by their common perspective on religion that he soon let himself be charmed into the web which Rachel Anna was spinning around them with her glittering conversation. Together, they talked of life in Cracow, and of all the things which Judah had learned in the forest. They spoke honestly and openly, bravely revealing all the secrets which they had always kept to themselves, though Rachel Anna seemed somewhat reluctant to dwell on the subject of her past.

  “It is an old story,” she smiled. “My father tried to marry me to an old man, whose body was as foul-smelling as his riches. I would not want to bore you with the details. But someday you will overhear me telling it all to our children, for I would not want them to think that their mother materialized out of nowhere.”

  “Let us not have any talk of children, or marriage, or even true love,” laughed Judah, “lest our life be complicated by foolish expectations and constraints. We should live together as friends and companions, coming no closer than that until we have as much faith in each other as we do in the sturdiness of that enormous elm.”

  “Agreed,” said Rachel Anna, who felt so strictly bound by this bargain that, the very same night, she did not hesitate for a moment to creep beneath Judah ben Simon’s blanket.

  “And were they good at this business of lovemaking?” inquired King Casimir, who had been waiting for this part all along, and was hoping to obtain certain mysterious and precious bits of information.

  “Very good,” smiled the rabbi, then grew suddenly serious. “King Casimir,” he said, “it has just occurred to me that there is nothing in the world more poetic, more romantic, more full of possibility than a love story of this sort, a love story which one virgin would not blush to tell another. On the other hand, there is nothing more preposterous.”

  “Why?” asked the boy bashfully, unable to meet Eliezer’s eyes. “I do not see why a romantic love story cannot be just as believable and true-to-life as the most common anecdote. For surely you are not one of those who claim that love is merely a procession of shrewish women, grinning lechers, and cuckolded old men.”

  “Of course not,” protested the rabbi. “But I am glad to see that you possess such a wise, comprehensive understanding of the nature of love.”

  “It is only a matter of experience,” replied Casimir proudly. “I have been around, you know. I have learned that the onset of love is much like the terrible melancholy which creeps over one’s whole body on a warm spring evening, and that the height of passion is something akin to the shivers which follow a cooling bath on a hot summer’s day.”

  “Indeed,” murmured Eliezer thoughtfully, staring at the boy in amazement. “King Casimir,” he said, after a short pause, “there are many audiences which would make me quite uneasy at this turn in my narrative. But you have so reassured me that I no longer have any qualms about dealing with the delicate matter of love in your presence. Now, I must ask you to help me along, and together we will construct the story of Judah ben Simon’s love. For we may be the only two men left in the world who might still believe it.”

  VI

  “NEEDLESS TO SAY,” SMILED Eliezer, resuming his tale, “neither Judah ben Simon nor Rachel Anna wasted a moment of their first night together thinking of their neighbors in town; yet there were many villagers who, having once glimpsed Rachel Anna, dreamed of the beautiful young couple all night long. By the next morning, they had turned their dreams into a legend, which changed and grew as it spread through the countryside. In telling this tale, the young girls always emphasized the tenderness of Judah ben Simon’s passion, while the married women seemed more concerned with his perfect fidelity; naturally, the scholars most enjoyed finding historical precedents for the idyllic romance, and began referring to the pair as ‘the new Adam and Eve.’ And there was one facet of the legend which inspired even the most sophisticated country bucks with a certain awe:

  It was said that the handsome couple gave in to the urgings of love everywhere, even in the most unexpected and uncomfortable regions of the forest.

  Oddly enough, this rumor owed its existence to the village children, who had come home from outings in the woods imitating the mysterious cries, murmurs and giggles which they had heard filtering through the screens of ferns and flowers. Their parents, many of whom had never uttered such noises themselves, still understood immediately what these sounds signified; nevertheless, they scolded their offspring for having wandered so near the child-eating woodland trolls that they
had overheard their digestive grumbles, and forbade them to revisit the forest.

  “And tell me,” interrupted King Casimir slyly, “did these innocent children also happen to see anything in the places from which the noises came?”

  “Possibly,” shrugged Eliezer.

  “For example?” persisted the king, driven to such boldness by his fear that the rabbi might otherwise overlook such essential matters.

  “That, I suppose, would have depended on the season,” replied the old man patiently. “In summer, they might have spotted the couple rolling through the sweet green meadows, or on the riverbanks, slippery with mud. In autumn, they may have seen them making love in heaps of fallen leaves; in winter, on the frozen crust of twelve-foot snow drifts.”

  “Twelve-foot snow drifts!” repeated the boy incredulously.

  “Winters are stormy in those parts,” said the rabbi.

  “Amazing,” murmured Casimir, who could barely stand to leave the palace during the colder months. “Such passion is truly amazing.”

  “Not necessarily,” answered the old man sensibly. “After all, I must remind you that generations of children have been conceived in every season, long before the canopied bed and the silken sheet were ever invented. But, frankly, what I find amazing is the life which Judah ben Simon and Rachel Anna led in between these moments of passion. For, as I heard this story, the lovers never quarreled, or exchanged an impatient word, never grew tired or bored in each other’s company—not even when the January blizzards kept them imprisoned in their tiny wooden shelter for weeks at a time. Soon, they learned to share the work which Judah had begun, and to order their lives so that they had no needs which the forest could not satisfy; they received nothing from the town, except for the few pennies and honey cakes which Judah ben Simon brought back from his parents’ home.

  By unspoken agreement, Judah always paid these infrequent visits alone. For as soon as the Polikovs had realized that Rachel Anna would never mold their son into a proper householder, they had lost all desire to hear her name. Still, they were invariably overjoyed to see their son, and to discover that the redheaded woman was not making him moody, sickly, or despondent.