"You must be surprised, my good Father," shouted Wolodkiewicz, "to see me again in this town?"
The priest had to admit that the thought had not even crossed his mind. Wolodkiewicz was as much a part of Ludyn as its mud and autumnal mists.
"Something draws me here," Wolodkiewicz carried on. "I've neglected my business on the estate, and here I am, stuck. My brother is doing the ploughing for me. This place must have a magnet which pulls me here."
He giggled, poking the priest in the ribs till the latter looked at him with annoyance. Wolodkiewicz restrained himself.
"Business, my good Father, business!" he said growing serious all of a sudden, "and an important business, too, for it concerns his majesty's chambers."
Father Suryn did not know why and how the question he asked Wolodkiewicz had come into his head:
"My good sir, you are familiar with the town, they say a tsadick lives here, Reb Ishe from Zabludow. Do you know where?"
Wolodkiewicz looked at the priest from under his eyelids and repeated:
"Reb Ishe of Zabludow? I do. Everybody does. I can take you there myself, Father."
"And why should I want to go there?" asked Father Suryn.
"Well, who knows what may happen? Maybe the father will need a tsadick's advice, who knows? They know about the devil, too, do you think they don't? He is a wonderworker ... They say he can cast the devil out."
The priest stopped and looked at Wolodkiewicz questioningly.
"Mr Wolodkiewicz, sir, you are pulling my leg."
"Why, me? Sure he can! As my name is Wolodkiewicz! I am telling you, Father, Ishe can cast their devils out."
"With what power can he do that?" Father Suryn cried out in despair.
"Do I know? How am I to know? He casts the devil out with the help of Beelzebub! So they say. Possessed Jewesses come to him from all over the place."
Thus they reached the toll-gates where the toll-keepers were apparently in good humour, for they did not check the goods but took the money and let the cart through. Now they had to walk uphill towards the parish church. On top of the hill, where the street turned, right towards the church and straight towards the other toll-gates and the convent, there, on the left hand side stood a large house, built of brick, in a style rarely seen in those parts, with a high attic and arcades. Local people called it the "King's House" since King Stephen had stopped here on his way to lay siege to Smolensk. Now the house was neglected, the stucco falling off everywhere, opening redbrick wounds on the blind walls. The attic had lost most of its adorning stone spheres and in the niches, where statues used to stand, one could see only the remaining fragments of their feet.
Seeing the house, Wolodkiewicz became more animated.
"Father," he said, "you see this house? Reb Ishe lives there, just here. If you like I can take you to him straight away. Reb Ishe had communications with Lord Chrziszczewski ..."
Father Suryn was surprised.
"With Lord Chrz4szczewski?" he repeated.
"Sure. Do you think, Father, these lords come here just for the lovely eyes of Ludyn maids?"
"Communications concerning what?"
"Who am I to know? Now that Jewish envoy has been to see the Pope ... maybe it's that, maybe some other business. Well, Father, are you coming?"
They were just passing by the "King's House". Wolodkiewicz stopped and so did Father Suryn. Passively and helplessly, Father Suryn stared at the slight figure of the nobleman, clad in a worn out delia2 and a shabby sheepskin, who was standing before him shifting slightly from one foot to another as if getting ready to jump.
Father Suryn felt he was devoid of any will of his own, that something stronger than himself was pushing him into the orbit of the unforseeable. He was afraid, but felt he had already given in.
"Let us go then," he said.
And suddenly they turned and passed through the wide open oak gates.
They found themselves in a spacious, dark vestibule. Feeling their way in the darkness they found the wide stairs and started climbing up.
Father Suryn put his feet on the stairs as if he was climbing the gallows, but did not want to go back. As he was going up this Jacob's ladder - as if in a dream - all kinds of thoughts and visions went through his mind, as if he were about to say farewell to his life on earth. His entire uncomplicated life passed in front of his eyes, and particularly vivid was that memorable moment in Vilnius cathedral when he was thirteen. He was attending an early morning mass. It was some time after his mother had entered a Carmelite convent. He was praying rather half-heartedly, thinking of his mother who had left him, and nursing a faint feeling of reproach for her piety. And suddenly, he saw, not with his mind's eye, but with the eyes of his body, the Holy Mother descending towards him accompanied by two angels. As if in a dream, he could not make out any details; he did not see what she was like, how she was dressed, what she was standing on, or how she was descending, but he saw her smiling a heavenly smile and an inexpressible joy filled his heart. The Lady stretched her hand towards him and said, or maybe it was only in his heart that he heard her voice: "I am your mother now, serve me and work for me. Mind only that you do not lose your soul." And the sweetness which filled him became so strong, so painfully overwhelming, it permeated his whole being and threw him onto the stony floor. He was repeating: "I shall serve you, I am yours till the end of the world, Holy Mother, protect my soul from Satan and all His weapons, so I can save it from eternal damnation!" And he was filled with great fear of being damned forever. He also saw, for the first time, the black spider as it lay in wait for his soul. He called to the Virgin Mary: "Protect me! Protect me, my Holy Mother!"
That vision came back to him with such vividness that here, on the Jewish steps, he almost relived it again. The memory of the sweetness brimming in him then, of that unbound happiness, became itself that very sweetness and happiness, and his heart began to beat fast, as if it were about to burst. He kept repeating "I shall serve you! I shall serve you, only protect me from Satan!"
His meditation was suddenly interrupted by Wolodkiewicz. The small nobleman tripped on an uneven step and cursed:
"Damned stairs! They must be stairs to Hell! I almost fell, like in that inn ..."
Father Suryn managed to shake off his dreaminess. They stood before the door. A faint light was seeping through a gap somewhere, falling on the small copper hammer which lay on an oak plate. Wolodkiewicz grasped the hammer and knocked hard. The door soon opened and a long, Jewish youth in a tall fur cap appeared. He stood before the visitors and put a finger to his lips, watching them with a gentle smile in his huge, velvet eyes. He was so young that on his chin and around the ears he had only a few single hairs. His complexion was yellow and devoid of any ruddiness, as it often is with people who rarely venture outside.
"We've come to see the tsadick," said Wolodkiewicz quite loudly.
"You cannot see him...
Wolodkiewicz stepped inside revealing Father Suryn. The young Jew became confused and afraid.
"Please, please," he said, "I shall ... in a moment..."
He almost pulled the visitors inside and closed the door behind them.
"One moment, one moment," he muttered and with a few silent steps disappeared into the darkness of the antechamber. The guests stood waiting in the doorway. The antechamber was completely empty. A moment later the big door in front of them opened and the youth returned.
"Reb says to come in," he said.
Wolodkiewicz remained behind and Father Suryn realised he must enter the tsadick's room alone. He crossed the threshold, bowed and after a few steps stopped.
A big room with a low ceiling and covered windows was lit by many flickering candles. But despite them the light was still weak, as if soaked up by the dusk. The walls and the floor were completely covered by a great number of carpets, lying on top of each other, overlapping on the walls, creating a thick, impenetrable layer which absorbed the slightest noise. Words spoken inside this room sounded flat
and died like sparks in the wind.
Behind a long oak table, on which lay a single book surrounded by candles, sat a man, not yet old. He too had a yellow complexion and a long beard which fell on his chest in two flowing waves. Father Suryn reflected that he looked like the late king Sigismund Augustus.
The visitor bowed again and stood in silence. The young Jew remained by the door, full of respect, yet ready to assist in the discussion. Reb Ishe raised his eyes from the book and looked at the priest. His eyes betrayed no surprise, but were very penetrating. At last he rose and without leaving his place behind the table he said:
"Salve."
Father Suryn felt that in this greeting there was an invitation to speak Latin, but at such a moment he had no courage to trust his thoughts to a foreign, and more, a classical language. He was afraid that what he wanted to say would sound strange in classical grammar and that he would betray his thoughts following the well known but stale formulae. He therefore said in Polish:
"Forgive me for disturbing ... but..."
Here he stopped and glanced at the rabbi questioningly but the latter stood unmoved and expressionless. He did not even try to help him finish the sentence.
"You must be surprised," said Father Suryn and moved a step towards the narrow table.
"No," said the tsadick in a resonant voice, "no. I have long expected that one of you would come to see me."
Father Suryn hesitated.
"You know then?" he asked.
"I do," answered the rabbi quietly.
"What is it?" asked the priest again.
"I do not know. I would have to see."
"Oh!" sighed the priest.
"Are they real demons? ..."
"Ah! Indeed," responded Father Suryn eagerly, "are they real demons? And what are demons anyway?"
Reb Ishe suddenly lost his air of indifference, his face assumed a strange expression and his eyes lit up with sparks of irony. He laughed.
"So, the good father comes to the poor rabbi to ask him what are demons? The father doesn't know? Didn't they teach the father sacred theology? The father does not know. The father hesitates? Perhaps these are not demons, and only lack of angels?" He laughed again. "The angel left Mother Joanna and she is now left alone with her own soul. Perhaps it is only her human nature?"
Father Suryn lost patience. He walked quickly towards the table and stood in front of the rabbi, stretching his hand towards him. The youth by the door shifted from one foot to the other. Reb Ishe pulled back his head gently, so that his eyes were hidden in shadow and the candlelight fell only on his black satin caftan and the intricate arabesques of his thin beard.
"Do not judge, do not taunt, Jew!" shouted the priest, "I know that your knowledge is greater than mine. But you just sit here in this room without windows, with your books, with your candles ... and nothing ... you care nothing that people suffer, that women...
Father Suryn stopped, for the tsadick's eyes, concealed in the shadow, flamed with such contempt and irony that the indignant priest was lost for words. He lowered his hand, seeing he would achieve nothing with this kind of argument.
"Women suffer," repeated Reb Ishe. "Let them. Such is woman's fate. No one can escape his fate."
Here he looked at Father Suryn meaningfully. For a moment both remained silent.
"Tell me," whispered the priest pleadingly, "what do you know about demons?"
The Jew laughed.
"Sit down, Father," he said and sat down himself.
His eyes returned into the orbit of the candlelight. Father Suryn sat on a stool. They were now separated by the narrow oak table and the open book. Father Suryn was surprised to notice that the book contained a Latin text. The priest leaned over the table towards the tsadick and fastened his eyes on his lips, shut tight among the thin strands of his beard, as if twisted by a bitter taste.
"We keep our knowledge to ourselves," said Reb Ishe after a while in a low voice.
"And you do not want to fight the evil spirit?" asked the priest.
"First tell me, Father, what is the evil spirit," said Reb Ishe with an ironic smile, "and where does he live? And what is he like? And whence comes he? And who created him?" he asked louder all of a sudden. "Did the Lord create him? Adonai?"
Father Suryn leaned back.
"God!" he cried. "Who else could create him?"
"And who created the world?" asked the rabbi with temptation in his voice.
"Stop it," whispered the priest again.
"And what if Satan created the world?"
"Are you a Manichean?"
"And if the Lord created the world why is there so much evil in it? And death, and wars, and diseases? And why does He ... us, Jews, persecute?" he moaned suddenly as if in a synagogue. "Why do they kill our sons, rape our daughters? Why do we have to send an envoy to the Pope? The Jews send an envoy to the Pope to deny all the horrors people tell about them. Why all this, good father?"
Father Suryn did not feel comfortable in this room. It was hot and stuffy. Beads of sweat were rolling down his brow. Small, silver bowls standing among the candles gave out a heavy scent, which felt oppressive to him. The thoughts expressed by the tsadick were not new to Father Suryn. More than once, more than a hundred times he had pondered them, but now, so clearly and forcibly formulated, they were driving him to despair. For he could not answer them, neither for himself nor for the Jew.
"Original sin ... he whispered quietly.
"Original sin! The fall of the first parents! And how many times have people fallen and risen again?" cried out Reb Ishe. "How many times has patient Abel met his death from Cain's hand? What sins have not gathered over the damned head of Man? But all the evil done by Man does not explain the evil which torments him. The fall of the first man! The fall of the first angel! Why did the angels descend on Earth and beget giants with women? ... Well, tell me, Father!"
Father Suryn hung his head.
"Angels," he said in an undertone, "are incomprehensible beings."
"This mother of yours calls herself Joanna of the Angels," said Reb Ishe with scorn, "but what does she know about angels? About those powerful spirits who are everywhere, who look after people, follow them into battle, go with them to the fair? The angels who take care of the music, the light and the stars? What are angels, Father? What is Metatron, the highest of the angels?"
"I don't know," said Father Suryn who was beginning to feel dizzy from the quick questions thrown at him in a quiet, husky voice.
"Our father, Jacob," continued the rabbi, "saw the angels ascending and descending the ladder. Whither were they going? To Heaven. And whither were they coming? To Earth. And why were they coming to Earth? To live on Earth. The angels also live on Earth, the angels can also possess a human soul."
"God sends them," said Father Suryn.
"And who sends the devil? Without the Lord's will Satan cannot possess a human soul ..."
"When can Satan possess a human soul?"
"When? When a man falls in love with him!"
"What love can there be for Satan?"
"Love lies at the bottom of everything that happens in the world. Satan possesses the soul through love. And when he wants to possess it completely He leaves his stamp on it ... We had h..re in Ludyn one young puritz, he loved so much, so much he loved one Jewish girl ..."
The young man standing by the door sighed deeply; Father Suryn turned and gave him a curious glance. But Reb Ishe continued.
11*..that later, when he died, he entered her body! And they brought her to me, and she stood there, where you are standing now, and I called on this spirit to come out ..."
"And what? And what?" asked the priest excited.
"And the spirit did not want to come out."
"See?" whispered Suryn with a kind of satisfaction.
"But he told me he so loved this girl that he'd never leave her. And that they would come out together, his soul and her soul. That is what he told me." Reb stopped suddenly and for the fi
rst time there appeared something more humane in his eyes, a sort of pain, or pity. At that moment he hesitated, or perhaps held his breath.
"And what happened?" asked Father Suryn.
"Ay vay ..." sighed the youth by the door.
"And she died," said Reb Ishe and suddenly, unexpectedly, covered his face with his hand. "Ay vay . . . " he repeated after his pupil, "and he took her soul, and she died. Strong is love, like death," he added after a while.
The rabbi's voice became calm, as if smothered by the dead air in the room in which all sound had died.
"Oh, I shall learn nothing from you," groaned the priest resting his chin on his hand.
The tsadick bridled at the words and spread out his arms.
"You want to know everything at once," he started again passionately, and then, lowering his voice, added quickly: "That which my father learned from his father, and his father from his father, and his great-grandfathers, that which is written on the parchments of Zohar and in the Temureh, all this you want to know, and you want me to tell you all this in three words? Pass it on like some business deal, with receipts and I.O.Us? Hush, hush! Hush, I say! About all the demons, those created by the Pre-Eternal One, Adonai, and those born of the sons of angels and earthly women? And about those which rise and multiply in the souls of the damned? And those which rise from cemeteries to possess their beloved? And those which are born in human souls, born and growing slowly, ever so slowly, like snails, like snakes, till they fill up the soul completely? And you want to know about those which rise in you, poisoning your mind, which blacken your kingly pride and watch only how to strip you of your wisdom and put their seal on you? And about those which dwelt in the four elements and now are in your heart, heart, heart, heart!" He rose from his seat in a torrent of violent cries and stood pointing his finger at Suryn's chest; the priest was afraid to move on his stool.
Reb Ishe calmed as quickly as he had been roused. He was sitting again before the priest, still and cold, with a yellow, wax-like mask on his face. After a while he started calmly again:
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