The man’s other servants ran away, frightened of the golem. But now the creature was so big it did the work of several, and the merchant could command it to labor all through the night, while he slept—so he counted himself better off. His friends would no longer come to visit, but he was so absorbed with the demands of his growing business that he hardly noticed.
Still the golem grew. Now it had to stoop to enter by even the great front doors of the merchant’s house. And the merchant sometimes had to tell his clay servant several times over to do even the simplest task. One morning he had to scream until he was nearly hoarse before the golem took up the broom to sweep and a bucket to clean the ashes from the hearth.
When he returned in the afternoon, he found the broom snapped in half in the middle of the floor and the pail crushed and tossed into the ashes of the fireplace. Angrily the merchant shouted for his servant, but the golem did not come. The man searched all the rooms of the house, but found no trace of the creature.
He went outside, and found the clay being, which was now twice as tall as the tallest man, standing in a far corner of the garden. He ordered the golem to return to the house and finish the tasks he had started, but the thing only stood looking down at him. Something in the way it stared at him made the man take first one and then another step back.
The merchant made one last attempt to regain control of matters. “Since you’re out here already,” he said, mustering as much authority as he could, “you can draw water from the well for the evening meal.”
He was relieved to see the golem start for the well. But instead of drawing water, the creature began to smash the well to bits. Then it turned and began uprooting the fruit trees in the garden.
The merchant tried in vain to get it to stop. But the red clay figure, now almost as high as the wall surrounding the garden, continued its work of destruction, moving closer to the house. Frantic, the man ran about, ordering the creature to stop. But the golem no longer heard him—or if it heard, it no longer would obey.
Terrified, the rich man ran through the rooms of his house, calling for help, but his servants were long gone and no one else dared come near the place. Behind him, he heard splintering wood and a sound like stone grinding on stone. Afraid for his very life, he ran out into the street and hurried to the home of his friend the rabbi.
“Tell me what to do to stop the golem!” he shouted, as soon as he entered his friend’s study.
Startled, the rabbi asked what had happened, and the man quickly explained.
“You must erase the first letter from the word Emet, which is written on the golem’s forehead,” the rabbi said. “Then the word becomes met, ‘death,’ and the creature will cease to exist.”
The man hurried back home, to find the huge clay figure rampaging through the house, pulling down curtains, smashing holes in the walls, breaking the elegant furnishings into kindling. Seeing his home in ruins, the merchant cried in a loud voice, “Stop!”
This time, the golem obeyed. It halted in the center of the room, looking at its master. After a few moments, when he was convinced he again had control of the creature, the merchant dared to come closer. He looked at the word Emet written on the golem’s forehead, but it was now quite out of reach, because the monster had grown so tall.
The creature waited, staring down at the man.
“I have some things you must do,” the merchant began, letting his voice grow softer with each word, “but I have so worn my voice out that I can only whisper what you are to do.” Now his voice was little more than a whisper itself: “Bend down and hear my commands.”
Stiffly the golem leaned down toward its master. As soon as he could reach its forehead, the merchant rubbed out the E, turning Emet to met, “Truth” to “death.”
At that moment, the golem broke apart. But the lifeless mass of yellow clay it once again became fell and crushed the merchant to death.
Lavender
(United States)
Not so long ago, two college freshmen were driving along the road one evening on their way to a dance at a neighboring women’s college. Bill, who owned the sleek red convertible, was driving slowly because the road was unfamiliar. Eric, who had a roadmap unfolded over his lap, said, “We’re sure not on the highway any longer. We made a wrong turn back there somewhere.”
“You’re one lousy navigator,” laughed Bill, “but what the heck! We’re taking the scenic route.”
“Yeah,” Eric responded, not too enthusiastically, “but I’d just as soon get off this road before it gets too dark.” He looked nervously out the car window at the shadows gathering under the trees on either side of the road.
“Hold on!” cried Bill, slamming his foot on the brake. “I think our luck just changed for the better!” He pointed through the windshield to where a slim, young woman stood by the side of the road, flagging them down. In the half-light of evening, they could see she was wearing an old-fashioned lavender dress. Since so many of the women they knew wore old-style clothes they had bought at thrift shops or antique stores, the young men saw nothing unusual in the way the girl dressed.
Bill brought the car to a halt on the dusty shoulder of the road. “Need a lift?” he called to the attractive young woman.
“I’m going to a dance at Gabriel College,” she answered. “I’d appreciate a ride.”
“We’re going there ourselves,” said Bill. “Why don’t you hop in and come with us?”
“I believe I will,” she said and smiled, climbing into the back seat of the car, while Eric held the door open for her. He was struck by how pale her face was, and how cold her hand felt when it brushed his. There was a faint fragrance of lavender that clung to her, which reminded Eric of his grandmother. But all he said was, “We’re lost: I’m the world’s worst navigator.”
“That’s fixed easily enough,” their passenger said. Then she gave them careful directions that soon guided them back to the main highway. The three young people talked and joked all the way to Gabriel College. Eric forgot his uneasiness and cracked awful jokes that had Bill groaning. But the young woman in the back seat laughed as though he were the world’s greatest comedian.
As they were pulling into the parking lot at the college, Bill suddenly said, “Say, we don’t even know your name.”
“Oh,” she laughed, “just call me ‘Lavender,’ since that’s my favorite color.” Then she pushed open the door of the car and climbed out. The music of drums and guitars thrummed across the parking lot. “Hurry,” she pleaded, holding a hand out to Bill and Eric, “I don’t want to miss a moment of this night!”
Bill took her right hand and Eric, her left. The three of them ran like small children toward the bright lights and loud music.
Inside, while Eric watched Lavender dance with Bill, he thought, I could fall in love with someone like her. Then he felt himself blushing, because he’d never felt that way about anyone before. And, he reminded himself, you don’t even know her name. But the mystery that clung to her like the fragrance of lavender only made her seem that much more alluring. Then it struck him, I’m already in love with her. Watching Bill on the dance floor with the beautiful, lavender-gowned girl, he guessed that Bill was falling in love with her, too.
How he would sort this out with his best friend was anybody’s guess. But “Lavender” was worth it—ofthat he had no doubt.
When the dance ended, Bill suggested they go someplace for coffee; but the girl only said, “I have to go home.” To Eric, she sounded very, very tired.
Bill protested this, but she simply said, “Please. I have to go home.” Something in her voice left no room for further argument.
As they crossed the parking lot, she began to shiver. Eric gallantly gave her his sportcoat, and she gratefully wrapped it around her shoulders. But she seemed to shiver just as much. He was tempted to put his arm around her, but something about her made him hold back—for all he cursed himself for being a shy fool.
It was very late when they
left the highway and started up the side road where they had first met “Lavender.”
With an odd, faraway sound in her voice, she directed them to a run-down shack way at the end of a rutted dirt road. There was a single light burning in one window.
When Eric and Bill offered to walk her to her door, she said quickly, “No, I have to go alone!” Again her tone of voice stopped their objections cold.
She waved once—a graceful lavender shadow in the mingled moonlight and starlight—then hurried toward the lighted window like a moth drawn to a flame. With a sigh Bill popped the car into reverse and headed back down the driveway.
It wasn’t until they were almost back to their own campus that Eric said, “Hey! She never gave me back my jacket.”
“I wondered when you’d notice,” chuckled Bill.
“Why didn’t you say something?” Eric demanded.
“Don’t worry,” laughed Bill, “this gives us an excuse to go back tomorrow, find out her real name, and get to know our mysterious ‘Lavender’ better.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Eric, eager for a chance to see the young woman again.
Shortly after noon the next day, Bill and Eric drove up to the cabin at the end of the rutted road. They had to knock several times before a very old woman in a faded house-dress answered. She glanced from one to the other with watery eyes.
“We’ve, urn, come to see a young lady who calls herself ‘Lavender,’” Bill explained.
The old woman shook her head. “I don’t know anybody named ‘Lavender,’” she said.
But when Eric described the young woman they had met on the road the evening before, she suddenly pressed trembling fingers to her mouth and whispered, “That was Lily.”
“So, where is she?” Bill wanted to know.
“She’s been dead for many years,” said the old woman, wiping a tear away from her eye. “Lily was my daughter, but she died in a car accident on her way to a dance. She’s buried in the cemetery two miles down the road.” The woman gave a sigh and dabbed at her eye with a crumpled Kleenex. “You’re not the first to see her: she often tries to come home. I leave a light burning all night, every night, just hoping some night she’ll make it all the way back to me. But that’s never happened.”
“But—” Eric started to say.
Bill grabbed him by the arm and steered him back to the car. When he had pushed his friend into the front seat and started the engine, Bill said, “Don’t you see? It’s a joke. She doesn’t want to see us anymore, so she put the old woman up to telling that story. We’ve just been given a brush-off, so let’s forget the whole thing.”
“But my coat …”
“You needed a new one, anyway,” said Bill. “I’m not going back to that dump ever again. I know when I’ve been had!”
They drove for a while in silence. Suddenly Eric shouted, “Stop! Pull over!”
Startled, Bill did as his friend said, bringing the car to a halt outside the walls of a small country cemetery. Before Bill could stop him, Eric had leapt out of the car and run through the rusted iron gates that hung ajar. With a soft curse, Bill shut off the engine and climbed out.
He caught up with Eric as his friend was walking up and down rows of gravestones, reading each.
Abruptly Eric stopped, pointing at a small, white gravestone.
“What …?” Bill began, then he fell silent.
Engraved on the tombstone was the name Lily Abbott. The dates inscribed showed that the woman had died more than thirty years before. Lying neatly folded on the grass below the stone was Eric’s sportcoat.
“It’s a trick,” Bill said weakly.
But neither one of them believed it.
The Goblin Spider
(a Japanese legend)
There was once a famous samurai named Raiko, who was sent by the Emperor of Japan to rid the country of a terrible goblin spider plaguing the countryside near the city of Kyoto. This famous warrior went searching for the monster with his companion, Tsuna. When they reached the plain of Rendai, which was supposed to be haunted, the two men suddenly saw a skull floating in the air in front of them.
“Have you come to destroy the spider?” the skull asked.
“We have,” answered Raiko.
“The monster killed me many years ago,” said the skull. “I have waited a long time to see the beast punished. I will show you where to find it.”
Before they could question their ghostly friend any further, the skull flew away in front of them, as though it was driven by the wind. The two knights followed as fast as they could. But when they had almost caught up with their strange guide, it suddenly disappeared.
Looking around them, the two men discovered nearby the ruins of a palace. Entering the littered courtyard through a crumbling archway, they saw a strange old woman, sitting on a broken pillar across from them. She was dressed in white, with lank white hair; her face was a mass of wrinkles, delicate as spiders’ webs. When she raised her heavy eyelids, her eyes glittered like an insect’s, black and cold, at Raiko and Tsuna.
“Warriors, you are not welcome here,” she said to them. “I am two hundred and ninety years old. For all my life I have served the demon who haunts this place. Be warned: if you linger here, the monster will slay you as he has slain countless other men—some as brave as you or as foolish.”
“We won’t be frightened away,” said Tsuna.
“Begone, hag,” commanded Raiko, “and tell the creature you serve that we are here by the will of the Emperor, who commands us rid his kingdom of the goblin spider.”
At this, the old woman broke into a cackling laugh. “I will send some friends to entertain you, while I tell my mistress you have come to see her.”
With that, the hag melted into a pale mist and vanished through a crack in the courtyard flagging. At the same moment, dark storm clouds began to gather above the shattered palace; flashes of lightning lit the ruins all around them. A short time later, rain began to patter onto the flagstones of the court.
“Hsssst!” warned Raiko, grabbing his companion’s shoulder. “Listen!”
Now Tsuna could hear it also: ghostly footsteps all around them. Suddenly a great company of demons poured out into the rain: some were huge with horns, three toes, three fingers, and three eyes; some looked like animals but walked like men, with faces that were a horrifying mix of beast and human; one had its eyes in its hands, and kept its palms up so it could see; another was a serpent with a woman’s head, its long hair flying and its tongue flickering out to taste the rain; small creatures, like frogs or monkeys with a shock of red hair, pranced around the legs of their taller companions.
Both samurai drew their swords. In an instant the gruesome horde was upon them, but their flashing swords kept the monsters at bay. On and on they fought, while more monsters came from the shadows to join those already battling the two heroes. Toward morning, the rain slackened, and the thunder died away somewhat, but still the demons kept up the attack.
Then, over the sounds of battle and the dying storm, Raiko heard a distant cock crowing.
A shudder ran through the monstrous company surrounding them. When the cock crowed a second time, the hideous creatures began retreating to the shadows of the ruins. Hissing and snarling and screeching, the goblin army fled the approaching dawn.
When they were alone in the vast courtyard, Raiko and Tsuna hugged each other and each complimented the other on his bravery.
Then they heard a single pair of footsteps climbing an unseen staircase. In a doorway on the far side of the courtyard, a beautiful, pale woman dressed in white appeared. She looked as slender and graceful as a willow, curving in the breeze. Silently she beckoned the two men to come nearer.
But when they were close to her, she was suddenly wrapped in a fierce white light, brighter than the sun, which blinded the two men. Tsuna gave a cry, dropped to the ground, and pressed his hands to his eyes. Then he rolled to one side. Raiko turned his head aside and raised his left arm to shield hi
s eyes; with his right arm he drew his sword.
The dazzling light grew fainter by degrees. Looking into it from an angle, Raiko saw that the beautiful woman had become a ghastly creature: a thing with a tiny body and a head two feet long that floated at the end of a reedlike neck. Her arms were white as snow, long and thin as ropes that were snaking out toward the half-blinded warrior.
Just as the awful creature touched him, Raiko shouted and struck at her with his sword. She turned into threads of silk that disappeared down between the stones of the courtyard, just as the old hag had vanished earlier. Raiko found that he was covered with cobwebs as thick as wire. As he pulled the sticky strands off, Tsuna, who had also recovered from the blinding, joined his friend. Together they discovered that Raiko’s sword was smeared with white blood.
The sun had returned now; the last of the rainwater was seeping away through the cracks between the flagstones.
After watching this for a while, Raiko clashed his sword on the stone several times, then said, “There is a vast hollow space below us. That is where the hag and the other creature fled. Surely that is where the goblin spider has its den.”
“There must be a way down through the building,” suggested Tsuna.
“To be sure,” said Raiko. “But the monster must fear the sunlight, or else it would have come after us itself—not sent others to warn us away. We would be smart to bring the sun with us.”
“How?” asked Tsuna.
“Like this,” said Raiko, and he sank the point of his sword between two flagstones and pried one loose. The ancient mortar crumbled easily; stone after stone came free and was tossed into a far corner of the courtyard.
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