The Golem of Mala Lubovnya Page 2

“Stay here and be quiet,” said Rabbi Eleazar. And he left, shutting the door behind him.

  2

  The golem didn’t like being alone in the attic. He had very little to occupy his time. In the evening, before the light left the sky, he would take the moth-eaten fabric from the shelf—it had once been curtains, probably—and make a bed for himself on the hard floor. In the morning he would replace the cloth on the shelf. He had nothing else to clean, no other chores. He poked around, but the room was filled only with broken and useless things. He discovered a few small holes at the base of the walls, but the mice were too scared of him to come out.

  One afternoon he tried forming the leftover clay into a figure, a miniature replica of himself. But he had no way to moisten the dust, and it simply fell apart. Even had he been able to sculpt something, he would have had no way to bring it to life. He didn’t understand how the letters engraved on his chest made him into something more than an inanimate statue, but still less than a man.

  So that left him with two things to do. During the day, he stood at the window. The street below was quite busy, and he got little glimpses of people’s lives. He watched them stroll by, sometimes in a hurry and sometimes slowly, sometimes alone and sometimes with others. Often they carried burdens such as baskets or parcels. Children ran by, laughing. Dogs and cats chased one another or lounged in patches of sun, and birds twittered from rooftops or pecked at crumbs on the ground. Most fascinating of all, however, was the construction project across the street. He liked to watch the men shaping and lifting the rocks, but he especially liked to watch the youngest mason lay the bed of mortar and fill the gaps between the stones. The man was so confident in his work, so careful and precise.

  But the golem’s favorite part of the day was at sundown, when he settled himself near the door to listen to the prayers—and especially to that one beautiful voice. The way the notes soared, the golem could almost believe they were intended to rise to the attic, to fill his ears with joy.

  Once every seven days, the activity outside became especially frantic. Everyone bustled on those days, especially as the sun approached the horizon. Then great crowds entered the synagogue. Everyone was in their best clothes, and all their voices rumbled beneath him like stones rubbing together. The prayers on those nights were very loud, but even then the golem could make out that one voice among the others.

  The next day there would be much less going on outside. The masons weren’t there at all, which made him sad. So he was happy when the prayers began again, leading the congregation into sunset and beyond.

  The golem didn’t know how much time passed like this. The rabbi never came up to the attic, nor did anyone else. The golem wondered if he’d been abandoned along with the other unwanted detritus on the shelves. He was tempted to make noise—just a little—or to sneak down the stairs. But he mustn’t disobey his master. He knew that.

  One long, hot afternoon, when the air in the attic felt as thick as wool and even the youngest stonemason was sluggish at his work, the golem noticed something interesting. It wasn’t a new thing, but he’d never before paid attention. While usually men walked with men and women with women, there were exceptions. Sometimes an elderly couple would hobble down the street elbow to elbow. Sometimes a young woman would smile at a young man. And on this stifling day, four women brought jugs of water to the masons and stood near them as they drank. The oldest woman was deep in conversation with the father, while three much younger women chatted with three of the sons. But the youngest son remained alone. When the old woman gave him a tin cup to drink from, he sat on the partially built wall with his back to the others and his face toward the shul. He looked sad, or perhaps just thoughtful. The golem understood that as a thing of clay, his perception of emotions was poor. But there was something about the set of the mason’s shoulders and the downward curl of his lips that reminded the golem of himself. The man was lonely, just like him, but the golem didn’t understand why this would be so. The mason had family; he had the whole world to move about in. He didn’t have to spend all day and all night in an attic without even somebody to tell him what to do.

  It was both a mystery and a revelation: even surrounded by others, people could feel alone. The golem spent many hours pondering that puzzle, but he couldn’t figure it out.

  The days were growing shorter, and a chill had returned to the evenings. The masons had nearly completed the house’s walls, which worried the golem. When they were finished, surely they would move on to another project somewhere else, somewhere outside his limited field of vision. That would leave him with only the prayers for solace, and they never lasted very long.

  One afternoon the golem watched from his window as black clouds swept into the sky. All the people hurried to finish their tasks. In the buildings across the street, windows were shuttered tightly. All the masons left but one; the youngest, it seemed, wanted to finish setting a few more stones. He was covering them with heavy cloth when lightning began to crackle and thunder boom, and fat raindrops began to fall.

  The golem had seen a few storms before, but none this fierce. He was frightened. Perhaps God had noticed the creature made of clay and decided he was an abomination. Perhaps God had sent the tempest to destroy him. The golem thought about himself, alone and unneeded in the attic, reduced to a pile of dust that would someday be swept away. If he were dust, he’d never again hear that voice lifted in prayer.

  A bolt of lightning struck very close, and the thunder was loud enough to shake the building.

  The golem wailed.

  And as he looked out the rain-streaked window to the ground below, hoping for a final glimpse of the stonemason, he saw the man rooted in place. Staring openmouthed at him.

  The golem rushed as far from the window as he could get. He backed into a corner—knocking over the broom—and sank to the floor. He huddled there with his face pressed against his knees. Now even more than the storm, he feared his master. If Rabbi Eleazar heard the noise the golem had made and discovered he’d allowed himself to be seen, surely the rabbi would be furious. Furious enough to destroy the golem.

  The storm raged on, rain pounding the roof and wind making the window rattle, but the golem listened for the sound of footsteps running up the stairs.

  Evening prayers began. The golem could hear the men chanting, but not that one wonderful voice. Perhaps this was a punishment for his transgression. He wasn’t certain he could bear his existence if he was never allowed to hear that voice again.

  The prayers ended, the storm waned into a soft patter of raindrops, and still the rabbi didn’t come.

  In the velvet blackness, it was difficult to find the old curtains and lay them neatly on the floor, but the golem managed. He took special care not to knock into anything and not to let his feet thud on the wooden floorboards. He settled down on his bed. But he couldn’t rid himself of the vision of the stonemason looking up at him; the man’s face lingered behind his eyelids like the aftereffects of a lightning flash. The man had looked astounded. But even then, and with his clothing soaked through, his curls dripping wet, he’d been handsome. In fact, the way his wet shirt had become almost transparent and clung to his broad chest only served to heighten the golem’s attraction.

  Without the golem’s conscious intent, his right hand slid under the waistband of his trousers.

  He had spent very little time thinking about his own body. Truly, he’d hardly thought of it as his own. He was a created thing. Property. His master could order him about at will, could destroy him as he saw fit. And while the golem had occasionally stroked the letters carved into his chest, he’d never explored the parts of himself that were covered by clothing.

  Tonight, though, he allowed his hand to wander.

  His belly was flat and uninteresting. But past that, he’d been made like a man. He didn’t know why the rabbi had bothered with such details, creating a cock and balls proportionate to the golem’s massive body. But now the cock leapt at his touch, lengthe
ned, grew hard. He stroked it gently, using only his fingertips. His fingers were rough and raspy, like sand, but they felt good against the smoothness of his shaft. They felt very good. He rubbed harder.

  A moan escaped his throat, unbidden, and he paused. He had already defied his master once tonight, making noise during the storm, and he dared not do so again. He should simply go to sleep. But he couldn’t, not when he ached so. Instead, he stood and felt his way to the shelf where the empty folded sacks were stored. He took the top one and returned to his bed, where he wadded the bag into a ball and stuffed the rough, dry fabric into his mouth. With the hope that his sounds would be muffled, he began to touch himself again.

  Very soon his movements became harder and faster. Usually he was cold, but now a spark lit in his center as if he’d trapped a bit of the lightning. He stroked his cock and the spark grew, warming him, making him tingle from scalp to toes. And as the feelings inside him intensified, it seemed as if he could hear the faint ghost of a singing voice and see a wet, upturned face with wide brown eyes. He could almost—almost!—imagine another hand on his skin, and the fleshly scent of sweat.

  A storm broke within the golem’s body. His torso bowed as his hips thrust upward; the back of his head thudded hard on the floorboards. For one brief moment, he felt real.

  Afterward, he returned the sack to the shelf and settled on his side on the pallet. A light rain still tapped on the roof and window, but for the time being, the golem wasn’t afraid. He knew now why people prayed—to thank God for the gifts he’d given them. Their songs were gratitude for life and love and joy. The golem had tasted only the faintest nibble of those gifts, but he was grateful for even that much. He wished he knew how to pray. But maybe it was just as well that he didn’t, because then he’d be tempted to beg for a little more, for a few more bites of life.

  The golem never dreamed. But that night as he fell asleep, his final thoughts were of a man standing in the rain.

  3

  A few more weeks passed. Rabbi Eleazar did not come to the attic, which was both a relief and a torment. The golem continued to spend his days watching the masons. The youngest man paused in his work several times each day to look across the street and up at the attic window. He gave no sign that he saw anything, but he would frown a little. He probably couldn’t see through the glass since it was still grimy on the inside, and while the sky was bright, the attic was quite dark. The golem waved at him, even though he knew he was being foolish.

  At night the golem had taken to removing his clothing completely so as to better explore his body. He found little creases and crannies that were especially sensitive to touch, like the lines where his legs joined his torso. He also felt as if something were missing, and he wished someone else would touch him as he’d been touching himself.

  On a bright, blustery afternoon, the golem watched out his window as the glass rattled in its frame. The last of the bright leaves had fallen from the trees, and they now whirled and scurried down the street. Women tied their head scarves more tightly, and men held on to their hats. When a woman leaned out her window to flap a small rug, a passing donkey shied, causing its loaded cart to topple firewood onto the pavement. The donkey’s owner yelled at the woman before stooping to gather the sticks; she yelled back. The golem smiled. He enjoyed watching the little dramas that unfolded outside his attic.

  Just as the man was loading the last of the fallen firewood, a carriage turned the corner. It was a grand, gilded thing pulled by a pair of chestnut horses. The golem had never seen anything so fancy on the street, and perhaps neither had anyone else, because people stopped to stare. The carriage wasn’t moving very fast. Clop-clop went the horses’ hooves on the hard pavement, until the carriage halted in front of the shul. The golem had to crook his neck to see, and even then his angle was poor. He caught only a glimpse of a round, beardless man climbing out of the carriage and entering the front door.

  Not long afterward, men came hurrying to the shul from every direction. Among them was the family of stonemasons. Loud voices rose to the attic—not praying but arguing. The golem stood near the door, wringing his hands, wondering if this was the danger Rabbi Eleazar had mentioned to him.

  Those suspicions seemed confirmed when footsteps came from the stairway. The rabbi flung the door open, then recoiled slightly in surprise when he saw how close the golem was. He recovered quickly. “Follow me,” he ordered. His face was set in grim lines.

  Their progress down the stairs was quick. Emotions roiled inside the golem’s head, and he couldn’t identify them all. Better not to try, he decided. Better to simply concentrate on his master’s orders.

  But it was hard to concentrate on anything when they reached the large foyer on the ground floor and dozens of men gasped all at once. The golem froze. He wanted to bolt back to the safety of his attic, where there was nobody to stare and gape at him. Instead, he hung his head and gazed at the patterned stone floor.

  “What is that?” demanded a loud voice.

  “A golem,” Rabbi Eleazar answered. “God has allowed me to create this creature to protect us. Blessed be the Lord.” He muttered a short prayer, and several of the other men joined in.

  Someone stepped closer. The golem glanced up and saw that it was the man he’d spied getting out of the carriage. His head was bare, unlike the heads of the other men the golem had seen, and a golden cross dangled from a chain around his neck. “It’s certainly very large, Rabbi. A miracle indeed. But it can’t protect you from the duke’s soldiers, and it won’t protect you once the people in the city take up arms against you. I’m telling you, Eleazar. You and your people must leave before things get any worse.”

  Leave? The golem imagined the street deserted. No more stonemasons or passersby, no more evening prayers. Would he be permanently abandoned in the attic, or would his master return him to nothing but globs of damp clay?

  The golem couldn’t see the rabbi’s face, but he saw that the man’s shoulders were set straight and firm. “We will not leave, Gospodin Novák. This has been our home for centuries.”

  “I know, I know. And I come to you now because we are friends and I respect you. You are a good man. But the plague has begun to spread again, already worse than last year at this time, and people whisper among themselves: Why are the Jews not stricken as we are?”

  “We are not responsible for this plague! We have no quarrel with the gentiles, no reason to want them to die. All life is valuable to us, regardless of faith, and murder is a sin.”

  The hatless man nodded. “I know. I think even the duke knows this. But… he is also badly in debt.” He shrugged. “If the whispers grow loud enough, he can easily stir people against you. And if you are accused of crimes or killed, he can seize your property. You know this, my friend. It has happened elsewhere.”

  “It will not happen here.” Rabbi Eleazar turned to look at the golem. “Follow me. You will show Gospodin Novák what you can do.”

  The gathered men muttered excitedly and followed as the rabbi and Gospodin Novák led the golem out the large front doors, down a few steps, and into the street. Women and children came running up, exclaiming loudly, as the crowd arrayed itself in a large circle. One face near the front caught the golem’s eyes: the youngest stonemason. His eyes were very round and his mouth slightly open. The golem gave him a small smile, but the man didn’t smile back.

  “Unhitch this donkey,” Rabbi Eleazar commanded loudly. The donkey had been standing patiently, perhaps enjoying the respite from its labors. It didn’t complain as its owner untied it and led it a few feet away. The rabbi turned to the golem. “Lift that cart.”

  The cart was large and awkward, but the golem got his arms underneath it and lifted. He was careful to not disturb the firewood. The burden didn’t feel especially heavy, but the onlookers cried out in surprise. The golem looked at his master and waited for the next order.

  “Carry it away.” The rabbi pointed down the street.

  The golem obe
yed. The people backed away from him as he drew near.

  “Bring it back,” the rabbi called.

  The golem spun around. He retraced his steps and replaced the cart exactly where he’d found it. It jostled a little as he set it down, jarring a few sticks loose. He picked them up and placed them back atop the heap.

  “Yes,” Gospodin Novák said, shaking his head a little. “It is very strong indeed. But I don’t see that it’s enough.”

  “Then I will show you more. And you will tell the duke what you saw. He will not dare to send his men against us then.” Rabbi Eleazar looked around for a moment, until his gaze caught on a large tree. He pointed at a thick branch perhaps ten feet up. “Golem, break that off.”

  The golem was sorry to damage a tree, but his master had ordered him. He plodded over, again scattering the crowd. He leapt up, grabbed the branch with both hands, and pulled, breaking it from the trunk. Again, the people gasped.

  “Break it into small pieces,” said the rabbi.

  The golem did, snapping the wood as easily as he might tear paper. It felt good to use his strength. For the first time, he wondered how much he was capable of. Without being told, he gathered the broken chunks of branch and set them in the cart.

  But Gospodin Novák was still not very impressed. “Even with strength such as that, my friend, it cannot hold off dozens of armed men. Perhaps hundreds of them, if enough hearts are poisoned by the whispers. They will be armed.”

  “I know,” Rabbi Eleazar responded. Then he turned to the youngest stonemason. “Jakob, fetch me your biggest chisel and your heaviest hammer.”

  Jakob. The golem smiled at learning the man’s name. He wished he could say it aloud to see how it felt on his tongue and lips, how it tasted. But his master hadn’t given him leave to speak.

  Jakob hesitated a moment before running toward the nearly finished house. He returned soon afterward with the tools in his hands. He tried to hand them to the rabbi, but Rabbi Eleazar shook his head.