Clay Man

by Irene N. Watts

  Father emerges from the thicket. His voice soars above the swirling river. “This is the place,” he says.

  5. CLAY MAN

  Father lights the torches and places them around a clear patch of the riverbank. The flames illuminate the place where my dream led me a week ago. My father then draws a shape in the damp ground with the point of a stick. He points to the river. Again, he leads the way and is the first to reach the water.

  The men fall to their knees; their pale hands gather great clumps of red clay, just as I did in my dream. They carry it back to the marked space, molding and shaping the clay as though making bread.

  My fingers remember the touch of the wet clay. It takes all my willpower to stop myself from running to join them.

  When they finish, they rise and look at what they have made. Lying flat and still on the ground is a man of clay.

  Father walks around him, whispering words I cannot understand, then turns to Isaac and Uncle Samuel. Isaac walks in a circle seven times from right to left. I count each one on my fingers. Father speaks, clearly now, words of strange power. The clay body begins to glow like the embers of a fire. I can feel the heat rising, warming the air, reaching me in my hiding place.

  Next, Uncle Samuel begins his walk, also in a circle around the shape seven times from right to left, chanting phrases also unknown to me. A mist rises from the ground, quenching the fire. The shape moves, trembles as I do, for I see hair growing on its head. The red body, no longer clay, becomes flesh and skin; nails grow on its feet and fingers. It looks like a man.

  I am not supposed to be here to witness this mystery, but how can I look away? Father traces a word upon the stranger’s forehead: the letters glow brightly. The word remains there for only a moment, then pales, fading away as though it had never been. But I saw the word EMET, which I know means “truth.” Is this the “truth” that Father said he was searching for?

  Father speaks again, his voice as clear as if he were speaking in the synagogue: “ ‘And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul.’ ”

  Father, Isaac, and Uncle Samuel bow to North and South, to East and West, all the corners of the universe. Father places something into the mouth of the man, whose eyes open and look only at him.

  I crawl as close as I dare, hoping to hear more.

  “This parchment I have placed between your lips bears the Shem, the name of the One who created the world. Get up,” Father says, reaching his hand out to help.

  The clay man stands – he is the tallest man I have ever seen.

  Now I remember the words I heard Father speak on the night of my dream: “I must make a golem.”

  Is this man a golem? If so, then Father is indeed a magician.

  Isaac takes clothes from the bundle he brought. Then he and Uncle Samuel dress the golem.

  “I am Rabbi Judah Loew, your master. I name you Josef. You will live in my home and do as I tell you. You must obey only me. I have created you out of the earth … formed you of fire, water, and air.

  “This has been done for a single purpose – to protect our people, the Jews. You must do no harm, yet make sure that we Jews are not harmed by our enemies.

  “You are like other men, yet not the same. You can see and hear more than others and go where ordinary men cannot go. Unlike men, you cannot speak. If you understand me, bow you head.”

  The golem bows.

  “Good, now it is time to leave.”

  I HURRY AWAY; I must get home before them. I hear Father, Isaac, Uncle Samuel, and the golem stumbling behind me. When I reach the ghetto walls, I turn around and glimpse the four figures in the distance – four, when a few hours ago there were only three.

  I scramble through the gap and am home and in my bed before Father returns.

  My last thought before I fall asleep is to wonder if this night has all been a dream.…

  6. JOSEF

  I wake to the sounds of clattering pots and my baby sister’s chatter. I must have slept late. I dress hurriedly and go down to the kitchen, not certain if last night really happened.

  “How did you graze your cheek, Jacob?” Mother asks, spooning food into Rebecca’s mouth.

  I put my hand to my face. “I don’t know, Mother. It doesn’t hurt.”

  Father comes in, followed by a man so tall that he must stoop to walk through the kitchen doorway. I recognize him instantly, and yet here inside our house, he looks different altogether: a face formed crookedly, one dark eye bigger than the other, a gash for a mouth.

  I speak to him in my thoughts: I dreamt of you, Clay Man, but the river washed you away before you were finished. I am glad to see you whole. I saw you brought to life, and this time the river did not take you from me.

  We are used to having visitors at all times in our home – the rabbi’s house is where everyone is sent who has nowhere else to go. Father tells Josef to sit on the stool by the hearth. The stranger moves slowly, sits staring straight ahead.

  “This is Josef,” Father tells us. “I have hired him to assist Avraham, our synagogue servant, with his duties. He will help the old man to keep the lamps clean and lit at all times, watch over the premises, and perform any other tasks for our community that I think are suitable.”

  Mother asks, “Where is he from, Judah? Surely he’s not from the ghetto? I have never seen him before, and I know everyone who lives here.”

  “I found him wandering the streets late last night, lost in the dark. He could tell me nothing, for he is unable to utter a single word, poor mute creature. Yet he understands everything. He will live here with us,” Father says.

  “You are welcome, Josef.” Mother begins to slice bread. “You may earn your breakfast by chopping wood for the stove.” She smiles at him, but Josef does not seem to notice or to have heard her.

  “Pearl,” Father says, “I have not brought Josef home to do our household chores. Each day, I will find him tasks to benefit all who live in the ghetto. Please remember, I am the only one who may give him orders. Jacob, have you finished your breakfast? Josef and I will walk partway to school with you.”

  Passersby stare at the huge figure of Josef walking. They shrink away, uneasy about the tall stranger in our midst.

  “Work hard, my son. Don’t let your thoughts wander,” Father says. Has the teacher been telling tales about me? Father beckons to Josef, and they walk through the great doors into the Old-New Synagogue.

  I TRY TO PAY ATTENTION in cheder, but schoolwork seems dull compared to all that has happened in our family these last few days. Father wants me to study hard, but how can I? I am too busy thinking about Josef, trying to remember exactly how he came to be.

  Josef was in my dream first, but I had no time to complete him. Did I really see Father create him? If I had finished making my clay man, would he have walked and talked? I shall try to teach him to say my name … I will be friends with him, if he lets me.…

  “Jacob Loew, I have twice called upon you to read. Is it too much to ask the rabbi’s son to pay attention in class?” The teacher raps his pointer on the table. “You will stay late after school for extra study.”

  When at last he lets me go, I run down Klausen Street past the old prayer house, along the narrow alley behind Pinkas Synagogue. There, I turn into a wider lane. I will soon be home.

  I see Josef walking a short distance ahead of me. For the first time, I notice that he limps. I’ll catch up with him, so we can walk back home together.

  7. “NOT LIKE OTHER MEN”

  I call out to him, “Josef, wait for me!” but he turns the corner without looking round. When I follow, he has gone, disappeared. How can he vanish when all the doors are shut? It’s as if the ground has opened up and swallowed him.

  By the time I reach home a few minutes later, he is there before me, sitting by the kitchen hearth as if he has been there for hours.

  “Didn’t you hear me call you, Josef? I wanted to wa
lk home with you.”

  Mother comes bustling in, carrying her empty basket.

  “Kept in again, Jacob? I’ve been waiting for you to get home. Supper will be late if the water kegs aren’t filled. Take the buckets to the well. I’ll be back as soon as I pick up the herrings from the fishmonger. Hurry, please, before your father comes home wanting his supper.”

  Once she leaves, I decide to ask Josef to go instead. Why not? He’s much bigger and faster than I am.

  “Josef, the kegs are almost empty. Mother needs water to cook supper. Please fill these buckets at the well.”

  He gets up and does as I ask, returning much more quickly than I could have done. I watch him pour the water from the buckets into the kegs, glad that my idea has worked so well. I go upstairs, thinking how pleased Mother will be on her return.

  “JACOB, HELP! Stop it, Josef, that’s enough water!” Mother screams.

  I rush downstairs. Water spills down the sides of the overflowing kegs. Rebecca sits in a puddle that is spreading over the kitchen floor. She splashes and plays with the herrings Mother has dropped in her panic.

  I shout, “Stop, Josef! You have brought enough water – the kegs are full. Are you trying to drown us?”

  He doesn’t listen, but goes back to the well, returning with two more buckets, full to the brim. The minute he starts to empty them, Mother and I grab his arms, but he shakes us off as easily as a horse swishes away two bothersome flies. The water continues to rise.

  Our neighbors gather to stare and to shout advice, but the moment Josef has emptied the buckets, he goes right back to the well. Will he never stop? Why doesn’t he obey us?

  Rebecca crows with joy, which turns to a piercing scream when Mother picks her up and hands her, dripping, to Mrs. Feldman from next door.

  In the uproar, Father appears.

  “Stop, Josef!” he commands him. “Put down the buckets and wait outside until I call you.”

  Josef obeys instantly.

  “I met Josef coming from the well and heard the commotion. Who told him to fetch water? I thought I made it clear that I am the only one who may tell Josef what to do.” Father looks stern.

  “It is my fault, Father. I asked Josef to fetch the water. I’m sorry. Mother asked me to do it, but I was tired.”

  “Tired? That is not what your school teacher said about you. I will tell you once more: Josef is not here to take over anyone’s chores, least of all those of a boy who comes home late because he has been kept in after school for not paying attention. Josef was sent to the ghetto to protect our community – to keep us safe from our enemies. He is not to do anything that might keep him from that. Do you understand?”

  Sent? What is Father talking about? Josef was not “sent.” Didn’t I see Father make him from lumps of clay?

  “Yes, Father. But why did he obey me when I first asked him and then refuse to stop when the kegs were full?”

  “Enough of your questions, Jacob,” Mother says. “You have made me late with your father’s supper.” She pushes a mop into my hand. “Dry this floor please.”

  “Can I not make you understand, Jacob?” Father says. “Josef is not here to help with household tasks or your chores. He has other, more important duties to fulfill. Josef is not like other men – he does not think or reason as you and I do. He is strong and will protect us from those who tell lies about us … who wish us harm. Josef has special gifts, but I am the only one who may decide how and when his gifts will be used. He recognizes that I am his master. Never disobey me in this way again. Now, help your mother.”

  “I will remember. I’m sorry, Father.” I dry the floor.

  I WISH I KNEW what was going on in Josef’s head. What does he think about? When he vanished today, did he make himself invisible? Is that one of his gifts?

  Father did not say that I must stay away from Josef, only that I must not tell him what to do. He did not say that I must not watch where he goes in the ghetto, nor walk beside him, nor stop from wondering who he really is!

  It takes me a long time to mop the floor. Would it have mattered, just this once, if Josef had used those special gifts of his to dry the floor?

  8. “NO SMOKE WITHOUT FIRE”

  Every week I have to go to market to help Mother carry home the shopping. I never see other boys of my age there. If only Rebecca were old enough to go instead of me! Even cheder is preferable to this!

  If I knew how to make myself disappear the way Josef does, I’d do it this minute. My cheeks ache from being pinched by our neighbors. Oh, no! Mother’s stopping again.

  “Good afternoon, Rebbetzin. My, your Jacob is getting tall, but don’t you think he’s a bit too thin? How old are you now, Jacob? It seems only yesterday that you were learning to walk.”

  I turn my face into Mother’s shawl to avoid another pinch.

  “Does he bring home good marks from cheder as his brother used to do?”

  “Every child is different,” Mother says. “How is your Aaron getting on in the yeshiva?”

  Mrs. Kaufman tugs my ear and tries to answer Mother. She can hardly make herself heard above the noise in the square: cackling geese, quacking ducks, women gossiping and comparing prices or the size of cabbages and turnips. Thankfully today I am spared having to listen to Aaron’s many accomplishments because something unusual is happening at the dairy stall.

  Mother waves to her friend Mrs. Jacobi, who is standing in line, waiting to be served. The women make way for the rabbi’s wife. I have to be better behaved as her son and the son of the rabbi, but it does come in useful sometimes.

  “What is going on, Mrs. Jacobi? Poor Mrs. Levi looks quite upset,” Mother says.

  “Some woman has accused Mrs. Levi of cheating. She says she’s been shortchanged.”

  “I don’t believe it for one minute!” Mother exclaims.

  Mrs. Levi’s cheeks are bright red with shame.

  The woman, whose clothes do not have our familiar yellow circle sewn on them, shrieks louder than a chicken about to be slaughtered: “You Jews are all the same – cheats and liars! It’s as I’ve always said, ‘There’s no smoke without fire.’ No wonder Emperor Rudolf had to build walls and lock the gates around your dirty little town. It’s to keep thieves like you away from us honest, decent folk.”

  “Mrs. Levi is a good person – a hardworking widow doing her best to make a living for her family. I’d like to give that woman a piece of my mind. Someone has to, but don’t breathe a word to your father,” Mother whispers in my ear.

  “I won’t, but he’ll hear about it anyway,” I say.

  “Go back where you came from!” Mother calls out fiercely. “We don’t need strangers calling us bad names in front of our children. This is a peaceful neighborhood, or was, until you showed up.”

  “I’ll not move one step until I get the money I’m owed. My husband warned me not to come here, but my good nature overcame me,” the woman replies.

  The stranger leans both elbows on the edge of the stall. She’s a big heavy woman, and the weight of her body causes the merchandise to slide around.

  Mrs. Levi undoes the leather pouch she wears around her waist and takes out some coins. “You asked for six eggs, and I gave you six eggs. You paid for them and pocketed your change. But here you are, take your money back. Let’s call it a gesture of goodwill to a visitor to our ghetto. And in future, please buy your eggs in your own city market.”

  The woman grabs the money and mutters, “Oh, so you admit you shortchanged me? Don’t you dare tell me what to do. Warning me off, are you? Well, don’t be surprised if one day your stall meets with an accident. No one gets away with insulting me!” She gives the stall a vicious push.

  Suddenly Josef appears by her side. He covers her wrist with his big hand.

  The woman screams, “Help, a monster has burned my arm!” She rubs her wrist.

  The crowd is silent. Josef’s arms drop to his side and he stands as still as gravestone. He looks down at the woman and stare
s into her eyes.

  She looks away, fumbling for some coins. “Here, take back your money. I was mistaken.” She throws the coins at Mrs. Levi so that they roll off the counter and turns away, pushing through the watching women. Then she hurries out of the market as if every demon in Bohemia were chasing her.

  Josef follows a few steps behind her, stronger and more powerful than any ogre she could imagine. The women clap and laugh. They line up again to purchase their cheese, milk, butter, and eggs.

  Mrs. Levi carefully arranges twelve beautiful brown eggs in Mother’s basket. “With my thanks, no charge. Take it, Rebbetzin – a gift! We are all better off because you and the rabbi have opened your home to Josef. He is a fine man, the more so for not having a tongue to argue with.”

  Mother and Mrs. Levi look at each other, and the women roar with laughter. What is so funny? Mother thanks Mrs. Levi and we go home, Mother still smiling. Sometimes, I don’t understand her.

  THAT EVENING after supper, I go up to Josef sitting by the hearth and touch his hand. It feels as though he has just taken it out of a basin of cold water. How could he have burned that woman’s hand?

  He can disappear … make people think they are hurt when they are not. Are these the special gifts Father was talking about?

  9. A WEDDING FEAST

  A storm has been raging for two whole days. Great gusts of wind rattle the shutters, howl through cracks and under doors. It rains day and night, and the water flows down the gutters in torrents.

  Mother keeps me home from school today because yesterday at cheder, I sat all day in my damp clothes. I coughed the whole night. She rubs goose grease on my chest. I don’t mind the stench, if it means I can spend the day at home by the fire.

  Mrs. Feldman’s daughter Sarah is to be married tomorrow, and the entire street has been invited to the feast. Mother is making noodle pudding with chopped nuts to bring to the celebration. Her hands are deep in flour. Meanwhile, she murmurs comforting words to Minnie Feldman, who sits crying at the kitchen table, her tears leaving watery streaks on the floury surface.