Clay Man Page 3

  “Pearl, what am I to do? The fishermen cannot go out in this storm. There is not a fish left to buy at the stalls, not so much as a single herring anywhere in the ghetto. I was promised a fine big carp – enough for all the guests. Now there won’t be sufficient food. My Sarah will be shamed in front of her new in-laws.”

  Mother attempts to soothe her. “Dry your tears, Minnie. Everyone will bring something, you’ll see. And you can serve your famous apple pancakes. No one will even notice there is no fish!”

  Mrs. Feldman refuses to be comforted. “You know as well as I do that according to tradition, I must serve carp.” She dabs at her tears with the corner of her apron. “Pearl, a favor, I beg of you,” she pleads, looking at Josef sitting on his stool.

  I can guess what the favor is.

  “Just this one time, lend me your Josef. He can do anything – everyone says so. He’s as strong as … well, strong enough to go fishing even in this terrible storm.”

  “I’m sorry, Minnie,” Mother says. “I promised Judah, who insists that we must never take Josef away from his duties.”

  “What duties? Sitting by a nice warm fire while I worry myself to death? Here, Josef, I brought my grain sack. Take it, go to the river, and fill it with carp. I need enough fish for the wedding feast.” Mrs. Feldman puts the sack in Josef’s hand.

  He is up and is out of the house before Mother has a chance to tell him to stay.

  I run to the door. “Come back, Josef!” I shout, even though I know it’s useless.

  Mother calls too, at the top of her voice, waving her rolling pin as if that would make him turn back. But the wind is so strong, her words get lost and the door slams shut. By the time we open it again, Josef has disappeared from our street.

  “I am so grateful, Pearl,” Mrs. Feldman says. “I’ll go back to my preparations now. Just send Jacob over with the fish when Josef returns.”

  As SOON AS she leaves, Mother says, “She doesn’t understand – her head is full of wedding plans. I must find your father and explain what has happened. After all he told us and our promise to him … no good can come of this. Josef will fish until there’s not a fish left in the river if your father doesn’t order him to stop. Stay here and look after Rebecca.”

  She does not need to remind me of the day I asked Josef to fetch water from the well. Who knows what he is up to now? “I can go, Mother. My cough is almost better. Let me go instead.”

  “Don’t argue with me, Jacob! I shall go.” She throws her shawl over her head, fastens it tightly, and runs out into the rain, slamming the door behind her.

  After a while, she returns and hangs her shawl near the fire to dry.

  “Father is attending a meeting, but I asked Avraham to send him home along the river the moment he is free. I told him the matter is urgent. All we can do is hope he won’t be long.”

  She rolls out dumplings for tonight’s chicken soup.

  There is a knock at the door, and Mother asks me to answer it.

  “Pearl, my worries are over!” Mrs. Feldman cries. “The fishmonger brought over a carp – not as big as I’d hoped, but big enough. Don’t ask me where he got it. He didn’t tell me and I don’t care. So, my dear Pearl, Jacob can tell Josef to come home. Don’t worry about the sack – you can bring it tomorrow. And thank you, Pearl, for putting up with me.” She races off.

  FATHER RETURNS later than usual, but I am relieved to see Josef with him. The moment Mother hears Father’s step, she drops the dumplings into the soup to simmer. Josef goes to his place by the hearth.

  “I am sorry, Judah,” Mother says. “But nothing stops Minnie Feldman when her mind is made up. She asked Josef to go to the river for carp before I had a chance to say no. I did try.”

  “How hard did you and Jacob try, Pearl?” Father asks.

  I cough, so I don’t have to answer. Father starts laughing and, a moment later, Mother joins in.

  “What else is a poor rabbi to do? I should cry, but to laugh is better. Remember that, when you become a rabbi, Jacob.” He wipes his eyes. “This time no harm has been done. When I reached the river, Josef was standing waist-high in water, a carp under his chin, its tail slapping his face. The sack was full to bursting. When I told him to stop fishing, he emptied the sack into the water and threw the carp back after it.

  “I will talk to the congregation this week. I will explain that no one may keep Josef from his duties, which are only to watch over us and our ghetto. I should have done so before. It is especially important as the festival of Passover approaches.”

  At the wedding celebration the next day, Father tells Mrs. Feldman she has prepared a feast fit for Emperor Rudolf himself. I think Mother’s chicken soup tastes better than any old carp!

  10. “POISON”

  Father has barely finished saying his morning prayers and the baker is already waiting to see him.

  “Rebbe, forgive me for disturbing you so early. I am in urgent need of your help.”

  “Please come in, Mr. Bloch. Jacob, stir up the fire. How can I be of help to you? My baking skills, I’m afraid, are not as great as my wife’s.”

  “You joke, Rebbe, but I am facing an emergency. Did you hear about my partner, Nachum? He has had an accident and is unable to come to work for a few days. I will fall behind with Passover orders. We had only just begun to prepare the matzos.”

  “Baker Block, how serious can a few days be? You can hire someone for a short time.”

  “I need someone today, if possible. Believe me, I’ve made inquiries, but no one has come forward, at least not from the ghetto.”

  “However, I am right that there is a ‘however’?” Father says.

  “Indeed you are right, Rebbe. The ‘however’ is naturally subject to your approval. There is a baker in the old city – a good man who runs a well-established business. I approached him, and he suggested that he spare one of his own apprentices for a few days. He feels it would be valuable experience, for one learning the art, to observe our way of baking.

  “It is just until Nachum can return. The apprentice, Boris, will do odd jobs, help wait on the customers, take orders. Only I will prepare the matzos – he would not go near the mixing. Would there be an objection, Rebbe?”

  “It is not against the law, Baker Bloch, so hire him with a clear conscience. But, I have a ‘however’ too. I should like to meet this young man who is not from the ghetto.”

  “He is waiting outside, Rebbe.”

  “Jacob, show the young man in, please.”

  A tall skinny apprentice enters, and Father greets him pleasantly. Mr. Bloch tells Boris to show Father his hands. The young man wipes them on his apron before spreading his fingers wide for Father to inspect. Then he turns them palm upwards. His hands look a lot cleaner than mine!

  Josef comes over from his corner by the hearth and stands behind Father. Boris shifts from one foot to the other, staring at the floor.

  “So, Boris, how do you feel about working in the Jewish town for a while?” Father asks.

  “It is an honor, sir,” he replies.

  “Then I wish you both good day. Go in peace.”

  They turn to leave, but Josef takes one big stride and bars their way.

  “Come, come, Josef, let us pass. We have much work to do,” says the baker, impatient to be gone.

  Josef stands aside and lets them leave. But the moment they reach the street, he grabs Boris by the collar, tosses him into the air, brings him down again, only to spin him round and round as if he were a top.

  “Help, help!” Boris cries. Shutters open. Faces peer around doors.

  “Josef, are you crazy? Rebbe, I beg you, tell him to stop,” the baker pleads.

  “Stop, Josef!” Father calls out.

  Josef lets the young man go, and he falls in a shivering heap to the ground.

  “I have done nothing, nothing …,” he whimpers.

  “That we shall soon find out,” Father says.

  Josef drags Boris to his feet. He rem
oves a small flask filled with colorless liquid from Boris’s jacket pocket. Father takes it, removes the stopper, and sniffs. He passes the flask to the baker. Boris tries to slink off, but Josef grips his shoulder, stopping him.

  The baker’s face is pale. “Poison,” he whispers. “I dare not think how easy it would have been for this evil youth to pour a few drops into the matzo flour while my back was turned. He has deceived me, Rebbe. If it was not for your good Josef, all our Passover matzos would have been contaminated. How many of us might have fallen sick or died?”

  “Good riddance, I say,” Boris mutters.

  “Jacob, you will be late,” Father says. “Your teacher will have just cause to complain again. Off you go.

  “My dear Mr. Bloch, you and Josef and I will take this vagabond to the magistrate in the old city. He will know how to deal with him.”

  WHEN FATHER COMES HOME in the evening, he hands Mother a gift from our baker – a freshly baked, braided challa.

  “Aren’t you going to tell us what happened at the magistrate’s court, Father?” (I could think of nothing else all day in cheder!)

  “Boris confessed that a fellow worker, who bore a grudge against Jews, paid him to poison the matzos. The baker fired them both, and Boris was given a big fine to pay by the magistrate.

  “Mr. Bloch says if he has to work day and night, it is not important as long as everyone in the ghetto has their Passover matzos in time.”

  11. THE BLOOD LIE

  Today our teacher lets us out early from school. He tells us to go home and study for tomorrow’s test. But, instead, I walk to the gates of the ghetto, hoping that Josef is still there, as he is most days, guarding us. He is taller and stronger than anyone in the whole of Prague!

  This is the busiest part of the day – early afternoon – a time when women from outside the ghetto enter, looking for bargains: the best cloth, the biggest eggs, the finest plucked chickens. We see peddlers and Gypsies, travelers, tradesmen, and merchants, all searching to buy or sell in the hours before dusk … in the hours before the gates are locked.

  Josef looks at those entering: Do they wish to harm us? Are there pickpockets or thieves among them? Those ready to accuse us falsely and spread untruths or evil rumors?

  Passover approaches and Father reminds Josef daily to be extra vigilant. This is why Josef stands, hour after hour, watching all who come and go. He is still there, and I stand beside him, waiting for him to begin another round of the ghetto. He walks at odd times, even in darkness when doors are shut tight.

  Sometimes I see his shadow passing by, magnified by the last flicker of the candles before they are extinguished and I fall asleep.

  Are the night demons and ghosts, which hover over the sloping roofs, frightened away by Josef? He makes me feel safe. No corner is too dark for him to peer around, no wall too high for him to climb, no alleyway too narrow for him to pass through.

  Walking beside him this afternoon, I take notice of how he listens to the slightest sound. He seems to become part of the air, of the stones we walk on, of the crooked doors, the crumbling entranceways. He knows the hidden paths and inner courtyards better than I do, and I have been exploring them ever since I was a small boy and Mother allowed me the freedom of the ghetto.

  Nothing escapes him. Footsteps that do not belong to a ghetto dweller make him pause. A cry muted by the mournful singing of men at prayer, or muffled by the sound of children playing, transforms him into the stillness of a headstone in the graveyard. He looks fearsome to those who do not know him, but we who live here have become accustomed to his presence in our midst.

  As we walk, I tell Josef things about the ghetto. I feel he listens and understands.

  “That is the house of David Gans, the astronomer. He studies the movement of the stars. Do you ever watch the sky, Josef?”

  Often I forget that Josef will never answer me … will never say my name. I am used to the way he disappears, even as I am talking to him. I still have not managed to discover how he does it.

  I think of him as my friend. But a little while ago, Father reminded me, “Remember, Jacob, Josef is not like us. He has no soul.”

  I did not disagree, but when Mother lights the candles on Friday evening, I see Josef’s eyes change. They become gentle … as kind as Father’s when he gives us his blessing. I almost believe Josef smiles. I hope he can stay with us always. I think Father is mistaken. He does not understand Josef as I do.

  WE REACH THE CENTER, the most crowded part of the ghetto. An apothecary shop stands at the corner; next to it is an inn. A silversmith, a shoemaker, a printer, and a toolmaker jostle for space side by side further up the lane. Two or three families live in each of the dwellings.

  Micah, a friend from school, lives in this part of the ghetto. Once, when I went to his home to play, he showed me an underground passage from his cellar leading all the way under the houses in the lane. We followed the route until it ended at Mayor Maisel’s town hall and synagogue.

  Micah thinks I’m lucky the chief rabbi is my father. He is envious because we do not have to share our home with other families. I tell him about the people who come to visit Father at all hours seeking advice – the travelers that eat with us most every meal, or stay for nights. Often I give up my bed to them.

  I peer into the window of the apothecary at the narrow shelves holding rows of bottles and flasks of colored liquids. There are jars of mysterious powders and boxes of salves and ointments.

  A horse whinnies; a cart trundles to a stop. The driver pats his horse’s neck and unloads a bundle wrapped in sacking. He goes round the back into the courtyard to make his delivery. The horse lowers its head to the cobblestones, picks up a vegetable rind, and eats greedily. I am hungry and look around for Josef to tell him I am going home, but he has vanished into the cold gray air.

  The driver returns, his hands bound with rope. Josef towers behind him, looking somehow as if he has grown! He carries the sack as tenderly as if it contained my baby sister. Whatever is in it? The driver does not cry out for help. His face is white and fearful. Did the man try to steal something?

  Josef places the sack into the cart and throws the driver after it just as though he were a trussed chicken. He ties his feet together and takes the driver’s seat.

  “Josef, wait for me!” I call, but he drives off and I’m forced to run behind. I try to keep up, but the cart goes too fast. Josef has forgotten all about me. …

  AFTER SUPPER, Father tells us the story.

  “This afternoon Josef discovered a man in the ghetto attempting to conceal the body of a child in the cellar beneath the town hall. It is what I feared might happen one day. The little boy, younger than you, Jacob, was ready for burial. If the man had succeeded in his evil plan, we would have been tainted once again with the Blood Lie: the murder of a Christian child for the purpose of using his blood in our Passover matzos.

  “We drove out of the ghetto and brought the culprit to the chief of police. The man confessed. It seems a priest had ordered him to do this. Both are in prison and will no doubt remain there for a long time.”

  Mother starts to cry.

  “Don’t cry, Mother, it is all over now,” I tell her.

  “Jacob, I weep for the child’s parents. I shall remember them in my prayers,” she says. “Judah, I bless the day you found Josef and brought him to this house.”

  12. “TO SAVE A LIFE”

  Three years have passed since Josef came to live among us. We have celebrated our festivals without fear because of his presence. His eyes and ears are everywhere, allowing nothing and no one to harm us. Those enemies outside our walls that tried to plot and scheme were discovered. Not one of them succeeded.

  Word spread rapidly in Prague and throughout Bohemia that it was better not to plot against the Jews. Also, Emperor Rudolf admires our learning and looks unfavorably on those that try to blacken our reputation.

  I am almost thirteen and will soon take my place with the men in the synagogue
. Next year, I will leave cheder and study at the yeshiva. There will be less time to walk with Josef … less time to explore and play with my friends. Still I have not found the courage to talk to Father about my dreams for the future. I shall do so soon and hope that he understands. I do not want him to be disappointed in me.

  The week is nearly over. It is late on Friday afternoon and the Sabbath approaches. Mother has covered the supper table with a white cloth and set out her best dishes. The house is filled with the smell of roasting chicken; two freshly baked challas stand by the silver candlesticks. I can almost taste the sweet white bread and wish the sun would hurry up and set.

  Every Friday, before the start of the Sabbath, Father reminds Josef of his duties. From sunset on Friday to sunset on Saturday, he may walk and keep watch over the ghetto, for Josef is not bound as we are to keep our Sabbath laws. But once the Sabbath begins, Father cannot break our law by giving him any further instructions.

  My sister hops from one leg to the other, anxious for the best meal of the week.

  Mother has changed into her good dress and waits for Father to come home. “Go and see what is keeping your father, Jacob. The service is over; all the men are on their way home. It is almost time for me to light the candles. Whatever can be delaying him? And Josef, too, has not been home today.”

  I run over to the synagogue. Avraham is about to shut the heavy doors. He calls out to me, “Your father said to tell you that he has been called to the bedside of a sick child. He will be home as soon as he can.”

  The street is quiet. Everyone is already in their homes, ready to welcome the Sabbath evening. I walk a little farther, hoping to meet Josef. He has never missed the candle-lighting. I will bring him back with me if I see him.