The World That We Knew

by Alice Hoffman

  “We?” Ettie said with a frown, for she knew full well where the Almighty’s fury would be placed should an unforgivable error be made. She would be the one to burn for all eternity. Still, what she had begun, she must finish. She turned to her sister. “You have yours.”

  Marta had been half-asleep, exhausted from digging at the river, but she instantly was wide awake, shocked when she was instructed to reach inside her underthings and bring forth her monthly blood. She was modest and this aspect of being a woman brought her shame, even when it was private.

  “I won’t!” she cried. Bleary-eyed, she appeared younger than her age, but her discomfort didn’t deter her older sister. Getting out of Berlin was the only thing on Ettie’s mind, and no shame would stop her.

  “You’ll do it right now,” she said, intent on their success. “Or I’ll do it for you!”

  Marta wept, not that it mattered. What they needed was blood, and although she seemed like a young girl, she was a woman. At last Marta turned from them and did as she was told, reaching into her undergarments.

  “Place the blood inside the creature,” Ettie urged, bossy at the best of times, insistent now. When Marta balked again, Ettie tugged on her arm. “Do you want to live? We have no time to be ashamed.”

  The younger girl did as she was instructed, whimpering as she smeared the blood into the indentation her sister had made in the clay figure.

  Now they must circle the body they were creating. The circle would protect and complete the ritual. As they did so, Ettie recited the secret names of God she had heard her father and his students utter. She had spoken these words along with the men from her hiding place outside her father’s chambers, and she knew how intense such a recitation was. The name had seventy-two parts and was so holy that each section of the name scalded the speaker’s lips. Ettie had coated her lips with cooking oil to ease the burning. Everything she was doing was a sin and she knew it, but even angels, who had no inclination to evil, were imperfect, and she was nothing compared to them, only a girl who wanted to live.

  “Forgive me,” she said to the Almighty, in the hope that He would hear her one small voice.

  If she were a boy, perhaps her father would have heeded her words, and they might have created a golem to protect their family and his students and their neighbors and all of the Jews in the city. But of course her father would never have listened to her. Had he known of the existence of a golem, he would have destroyed it immediately. His own experience had made him distrust such creatures, whom he considered to be little more than demons. But perhaps a demon was needed to fight demons. Perhaps some sins were prayers sent up to the Almighty.

  With a final effort that left her panting, Ettie opened the gates with her prayers. To her amazement she saw the letters of the illuminated Hebrew alphabet hanging in midair. Before there were numbers, there had been letters, so ancient and intricate they were used for both counting and speech. Ettie’s awe of the Almighty and His wonders intensified. She felt a web of power in the room. Beads of sweat formed on her burning lips as she continued her recitation. The incantation felt hot and sweet in her mouth. She seemed no longer attached to the ground; everything was equal, earth, fire, water, sky. The other women opened their minds as well. Marta, who was so chaste, imagined a corridor filled with doors. Behind every one there was one of the seraphim, the angels that did God’s bidding and were so close to men it was sometimes possible to see them brush by in the shadows. It was happening now. An angel had appeared in the corner of the dim cellar. He was crouched down, his eyes aflame as he watched, but of course they could not see him, for he was the beautiful and fearsome Azriel, called from his slumbers when the door to the World to Come was flung open, as it was now, ready to take whoever might be chosen to go with him.

  It was then the clay figure began to glow, as if burning with human emotion. Its veins turned densely black, before becoming the color of ink. The sisters and Hanni continued to keep their minds open, their thoughts so deep it was as if they had fallen into the center of the earth. The air in the room grew stifling, as it does before a birth. And then it was so. In that instant there was only Olam HaZeh, the world that they lived in, and one more creature entering that world. All three gasped in disbelief at what was before them. The figure had cooled into the shape of a woman. She was tall, with long legs and a well-proportioned body. Her hair was flowing and dark, the color of damp soil. The form had been given ruach, the breath of bones, the life force that animates every creature on earth. Its lack of a soul would allow it to perceive the spiritual aspects of the world that no human could ever know or see. Good and evil appeared in their truest forms to a golem, death was easy to perceive and the spirits of the dead could be summoned. It was possible for a golem to see the angel in the corner, its bare feet dusted with soil, as it took in this miracle.

  Ettie marveled at what she had wrought. The mystery of creation hung in the air, a thick, deep curtain that carried the odor of blood and of the future and of all the lives that had come before this one. The creature’s eyes were closed.

  Hanni was in knots, terrified they had failed and that her daughter would have no protector. Perhaps the creature had been stillborn. Without thinking, Hanni reached out. Its skin was warm beneath her touch, but it had no reaction. “Why isn’t it moving?”

  “It has to be activated,” Ettie told her. “That is the last step.”

  She rushed upstairs to her father’s study to search for his pen and a vial of ink that had been sanctified for the use of creating sacred scrolls. She had never been allowed to enter this room, and now grew light-headed at the thought of all she had done. She could hear the youngest of the children rustling under their blankets, and her father groaning as he began to wake. The day was moving too fast, like a spoke in a wheel that would not stop spinning. What was done was done, and so it must be completed. Ettie returned to the cellar, taking the steps two at a time. She had peered through the keyhole during the making of her father’s golem, and she knew the last step. Her father had written the word emet on the creature’s arm. Now she carefully did the same. The word meant truth.

  She put down the pen and took the golem’s hand, which tightened in her grasp. It was then its eyes flew open. They were deep gray, the color of the river at the hour when they had assembled on the bank to dig for clay.

  “Is it alive?” Marta asked, her voice hoarse from fear.

  Ettie hushed her sister. “You can walk among us,” she told the golem. “Sit up.”

  As the creature did so, Hanni was overcome with tears when she saw the expression of mute trust in its eyes.

  Ettie sat back on her heels, a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. There was an intense connection, as if the four were one. The very air was smoky and foul.

  “She should have a name,” Marta whispered, for the clay was now clearly alive.

  “Don’t be silly. The other one wasn’t named.” The men had called it “you” and “it” before they had destroyed it. Ettie doubted that a naming was proper.

  But Marta was unyielding. Her blood had helped bring it to life. They could not treat it like a slave with no identity. “She must be named.”

  Ettie was reluctant to treat a monster as if it were human, but her sister was so insistent that in the end she relented. What difference would a name make? Dogs were named, and that was not an affront to God. They decided to call the thing Ava, reminiscent of Chava, the Hebrew word for life. They hadn’t expected her to be beautiful or young, but she was both, appearing to be no more than twenty-five. When they began to clean up the mud and muck, the creature quickly took over, sweeping the floor, cleaning out the basket in which they’d carried the clay that had made her. Then she clapped her hands together so that any remnants of soil were dispersed. She was given the dress Hanni had sewn, which fitted her perfectly. The sisters offered up a pair of the rabbi’s old boots, for the creature’s hands and feet were as large as a man’s. She was strong, they could see that
, and, they could tell, she was learning more about their world every second. She cocked her head and listened to their conversation.

  “Do you understand us?” Ettie inquired.

  The golem stared at her, then nodded.

  “I believe you do,” Ettie told her creation. “You should know from the beginning you do not have a heart or a soul and can never be a woman.”

  The creature nodded again, acknowledging what she’d been told. Ettie took Hanni aside, out of the golem’s hearing, and out of Marta’s hearing as well. There were rules when one fashioned a golem, some of which Ettie believed her sister was too sensitive to hear. It concerned the creature’s extermination, which Ettie now revealed was as important as her creation. Everything had an appointed season and there was a time for every matter under heaven.

  Hanni gazed at the innocent creature with compassion when she was told of the last step.

  “You must understand,” Ettie confided. “It doesn’t matter that she looks like us. She is not human. If she lasts too long, and gathers too much strength, she will be uncontrollable, and will no longer do as she’s told. As in all things, there is a beginning and an end. This is what my father told his students, and this is what I must tell you.”

  When they came back to address the golem, Ettie informed the creature of what her task would be, from this time forward. “You’ll do as this woman tells you. You’ll care for her daughter at all costs. You cannot abandon her or leave her on her own. She is the only one who matters to you.” The golem nodded, having understood.

  Now that the deed was done, Hanni gave the rabbi’s daughter the packet of jewels and two tickets to Paris on the night train. She was a thief and a murderess, but she paid her debts and she knew how to love someone. In this brief time, she had come to love this serious red-haired girl. In a moment of raw emotion, she threw her arms around Ettie. “You would have been a great rabbi,” she told her. It was likely a sin to say such a thing, but what was one more sin after what she had already been party to?

  For so long, that had been Ettie’s secret wish, the reason she had yearned to have been born a boy. But that was no longer her desire. She didn’t ask to be a scholar or a student or even to earn her father’s respect. The most she dared to wish for now was to live long enough to become a woman.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE FOLLOWER

  BERLIN, SPRING 1941

  THE GOLEM MADE CERTAIN TO keep ten paces behind Hanni. She understood both her purpose and her place from the moment she was brought into this world. She was tall, nearly six feet, made even taller by wearing the rabbi’s heavy winter boots. She didn’t feel cold or heat or wind or rain, but as they walked into the sunlight that was breaking through the foggy morning sky, the light fell upon her for the first time, and she was amazed. The marvel of all she saw was staggering. He has made everything beautiful in its time. She understood her time was now. What had been clay had become flesh.

  Every now and then, Hanni glanced behind her, fearing that the golem might disappear, rise into the air and float away or disperse into dust. Or perhaps she herself would wake in bed to discover that everything that had transpired in the cellar had been a dream. But no, there was the golem, calmly following, her long dark hair flowing down her back, her eyes raised to the sky as if looking for the Almighty, who had allowed her to breathe and walk and speak.

  She may be like a dog, or she may have thoughts and desires.

  This one seemed more like a dog, stopping a few steps behind Hanni each time Hanni paused to find her way. At last they came to an address Ruth had given her, an apartment house not far from Grosse Hamburger Strasse, near the oldest Jewish cemetery in the city, in use from 1672. Everyone in the neighborhood had been taken away to Judenhäuser, overcrowded housing. A single squatter remained, moving from flat to flat. The forger. He had been an artist and a printmaker, and Ruth had assured Hanni that he created false documents so well made no authority would dare to question them. Hanni had one treasure left. On their wedding day her husband had presented her with a gold necklace. Now, in exchange for the necklace, she acquired visas to France and identity papers under the names Lillie and Ava Perrin. Each visa cost ten thousand Reichsmarks, but the forger was delighted to have gold instead. Currency changed; gold never lost its value.

  While the golem waited in the courtyard, she let herself rest, perching on a stone bench. She was good at mimicking human behavior, to ensure that she wouldn’t stand out, and when Hanni emerged from the forger’s apartment, she had to remind herself it was not another woman who was waiting for her. She assumed the smile on Ava’s face was meant for her, but, in fact, Ava was astounded by all she saw. The green leaves of the trees. The brightening of the mottled clouds. A bird wheeling across the gleaming sky. Fly away, it said to her in a beautiful language that she immediately understood. But she couldn’t listen to the bird’s counsel. She had a duty to uphold.

  When they passed the river, she found herself drawn to the water. She could hear the fish calling to her in cool, silvery voices as they warned her to keep herself far from mortal life. But she had no choice. She had come to life with a single purpose, to watch over a girl of twelve who was waiting in a small apartment, on the third floor, half a mile away.

  Ava was not sure what sort of being she was. She knew she was not a bird or a fish; she hadn’t that sort of freedom to go where she pleased and do as she wished. As they walked along, she spied a black dog in a fenced yard. She gazed into its eyes. Was this what she was? A beast such as this? The dog was chained, and when it barked plaintively Ava felt something inside her chest tighten. They must do as they were told. They were bound to humans, but humans were not bound to them.

  “Hurry,” Hanni called when Ava lingered at the fence listening to what the dog had to say, a litany filled with loyalty and despair.

  Do what they say, but don’t think they will ever hear you in return.

  The sun had already risen when they entered the courtyard. At last they were safely off the street. There was a measured pause while Hanni stopped to draw a deep breath. The enormity of what they had done and what was still to come overwhelmed her. She was overtaken by emotion when she imagined sending her daughter away. Until the incident in the alleyway, she would have said nothing could be worse than being separated from her child, but now she could think of far more terrible possibilities.

  When Ava saw that her companion was crying, she couldn’t help but be curious. This was her first encounter with human sorrow.

  Hanni wiped her eyes with her hands. She noticed the golem staring. Clearly, her daughter’s guardian was not a monster, and so she confided in Ava as if she were a woman. “I beg you for one thing. Love her as if she were your own.”

  What Hanni spoke of was the deepest human mystery, which could not be understood by mortals or angels. All the same Ava nodded. “Whatever you say I will do.” Her German was already perfect. She was a very quick learner, and she knew exactly what Hanni wished her to say.

  They were beneath a beautiful, old oak tree whose branches had been cut down for bonfires for those newly homeless Jews who slept on benches and in doorways. Only a few green leaves remained on the ancient tree. Hanni took the golem’s hand, warm in her own.

  “I want you to feel what I feel. Do you understand what I mean? Real love. That is what I feel for my daughter, and what I will always feel for her, no matter what happens. Even when I am no longer here.”

  “I will see no other,” Ava assured her. Her eyes were strangely hot and wet.

  “Yes.” Hanni was relieved that the golem had understood. “We should go in now. They’ll be worrying.”

  Lea had been awake for hours. Once she’d found that her mother was gone, she stationed herself at the window, in a panic. She had been changed into a girl who expected the worst. She thought of the fierce look on her mother’s face in the alleyway, and worried what Hanni might do next. Perhaps there was some evidence against her that had come to light
, an eyewitness to what had happened in the alleyway had come forth, or some neighbor willing to turn her in, in order to save himself.

  When Hanni appeared in the dim courtyard, Lea called out to her grandmother. “She’s come home!”

  And not alone, it seemed, for a tall, dark young woman followed her into the building. As soon as Bobeshi spied Ava from her window, she knew the miracle had been accomplished. It was an amazing achievement, but it brought its own sorrow. The time for Lea to leave had arrived.

  “Pack up anything that matters,” Bobeshi told her granddaughter. “The suitcase is under the bed.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Lea insisted. But when she saw her grandmother’s dark expression she did not dare to argue.

  By now Hanni had unlocked the apartment, and Lea ran to embrace her mother. She had a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Bobeshi said I should pack.”

  “You should,” Hanni said. “Right now.”

  “And when will you pack?” Lea asked.

  Hanni turned to the woman lingering in the doorway. “Come in. Come in,” Hanni told her before turning back to Lea. “Here is your cousin, Ava. Say hello.”

  In time Lea would forget how suspicious and angry she was and would come to remember the details of this day as if a light had poured over them. She would forget the way she glared at the stranger, and how she had taken a step back, as if ready to run and hide. Instead she would recall the blue pot of soup on the stove, the ticking of the clock on the mantel, the way Bobeshi covered her face so no one would see her cry, the stranger’s heavy boots, more suited to a man than to a young, pretty woman, her mother’s dark hair swept up with tortoiseshell combs, the sadness in her eyes, the gauzy curtains that made it seem as if the world was still the same, if you narrowed your eyes, if you didn’t look too closely, if you managed to still have hope in the world.

  “I didn’t know we had cousins.” Lea was cautious. Too much was happening all at once. The world was turned upside down and nothing made sense.