When would the unknown man come to collect it?
The joy of living, which had quietly returned while I was working on the cameo, awoke again in all its invigorating freshness, repelling the night thoughts which were still trying to ambush me.
Quickly I picked up the photograph of Angelina – I had cut off the dedication at the bottom – and kissed it. It was all so foolish and unreasonable, but why for once not think of happiness, why not grasp the present and enjoy it, as one might enjoy the sight of a glistening soap-bubble.
Was it not perhaps just possible that these images which the yearning in my heart conjured up for me could turn into reality? Was it so absolutely beyond the bounds of possibility that I might become famous over night? Her equal, through reputation if not by birth? At least the equal of Dr. Savioli? I thought of Miriam’s cameo. If I should manage to create others as fine? There was no doubt that even the foremost artists of the past had not produced anything better.
And then, assuming one chance event: supposing Angelina’s husband should suddenly die?
I felt hot and cold all over. One tiny chance event and my desire, my most audacious desire, could turn into reality. Happiness hung by a thin thread which could break at any moment, letting it fall into my lap like a ripe fruit. Had not things happened to me which were a thousand times more miraculous? Things whose very existence humanity did not even suspect?
Was it not a miracle that, in a few short weeks, creative powers had awoken within me which lifted my work to a far higher level, far above the commonplace?
And this was only the beginning!
Had I no right to happiness?
Must mysticism mean a complete lack of personal desire?
I drowned the ‘Yes’ within me. Could I not dream for a minute, for a second, for the brief span of human existence?
And I was dreaming with my eyes open. The gemstones on the table grew and grew, surrounding me on all sides with multicoloured cascades. There were trees of opal standing together in groves, scattering the light-waves from the sky, which was an iridescent blue, like the wing of some gigantic tropical butterfly, in a sparkling shower over boundless meadows redolent with summer heat. I was thirsty, and cooled my limbs in the icy spray of the streams dashing down over rocks of shimmering mother-of-pearl. The air hung heavy over blossom-strewn banks, intoxicating me with the odour of jasmine, hyacinth, narcissus, daphne …
It was too much! Too much! I erased the vision.
I was thirsty.
Such were the torments of paradise.
I flung open the window and let the warm breeze play on my brow. There was a scent of the coming spring.
Miriam!
The image of Miriam forced its way into my mind. The way she had had to lean against the wall so as not to fall over with excitement when she came to tell me that a miracle had happened, a real miracle: she had found a coin in the loaf of bread that the baker had put through the bars onto the kitchen window-ledge.
I grabbed my purse. With any luck it would not be too late and I would still have time today to magic another ducat into her hand.
She had visited me daily, ‘to keep me company’, as she called it, though she had been so full of the ‘miracle’ that she had hardly spoken a word. The experience had stirred her to the very depths of her soul, and when I recalled how sometimes – without any obvious cause, purely from the memory – she would go deathly pale, even to her lips, then my head swam at the mere thought that in my blindness I might have done something with incalculable consequences.
And when I reminded myself of Hillel’s last, dark words and related them to what I was doing, an ice-cold shiver ran down my spine. The fact that my motives were pure was no excuse. The end does not justify the means, of that I was well aware.
And what if my desire to help was merely an ostensible motive? Could there not be an insidious lie hidden behind it? Perhaps the unconscious wish to preen myself in the role of benefactor?
I was beginning to doubt my own self.
What was clear was that I had been much too superficial in my assessment of Miriam. The simple fact that she was Hillel’s daughter must mean that she was different from other girls. How could I have been so foolish as to interfere with the workings of a soul that was perhaps infinitely superior to my own?
Her very profile, which was much closer to the sixth Egyptian dynasty – though much too spiritual, even for that – than to our own age with its rationalistic types, should have been a warning to me. ‘Only fools distrust outward appearances.’ I had read that somewhere. How true it was! How true!
By now Miriam and I were close friends. Should I confess to her that it was I who had been slipping the ducats into the loaves every day? The blow would be too sudden. It would only bewilder her. I dare not risk it, I would have to proceed more cautiously.
Perhaps I should try to tone down the ‘miracle’? Instead of putting the coins into the bread, leave them on the stairs where she would find them when she opened the door, and then, and then? I comforted myself with the thought that I would surely be able to think of something new, of some less abrupt way of gradually leading her from the realm of miracles back into the everyday world?
Yes! That was the way to do it!
Or should I cut through the knot with one blow by telling her father and asking his advice? I blushed at the very thought. Time enough for that if all else failed.
But there was no time to lose, I must set about it right away.
I had a sudden inspiration. I had to persuade Miriam to do something unfamiliar, to drag her for a few hours out of her normal surroundings, to open her mind to other thoughts.
We could hire a carriage and go for a ride! Who would recognise us if we avoided the Jewish quarter? Perhaps it would interest her to see the bridge that had collapsed?
Or she could go with old Zwakh or one of her friends from school if the idea of going with me was too outrageous.
I was determined not to take no for an answer.
As I left my room I almost knocked a man over.
Wassertrum!
He must have been spying through the keyhole, as he was bending down when I collided with him.
“Were you looking for me?” I asked brusquely.
He stammered a few words of excuse in his impossible dialect, then agreed that he had been.
I asked him to come in and sit down, but he stood by the table, convulsively twisting the brim of his hat. However much he tried to conceal it from me, his face and his every movement betrayed a profound hostility. Until now I had never seen the man this close to. It wasn’t his dreadful ugliness which was so repulsive (that, rather, aroused my compassion; he looked like a creature whom nature herself had given a furious, disgusted kick in the face at birth), but something else, some indefinable aura he gave off. The influence of his ‘blood’ as Charousek had so aptly formulated it.
Involuntarily, I wiped the hand that had shaken his when he came in. I tried to do it unobtrusively, but he must have noticed; he had to force himself to suppress the flash of hatred which threatened to suffuse his features.
“Nice place you’ve got ’ere”, he said hesitantly, when he realised I was not going to do him the favour of opening the conversation. He rather contradicted what he was saying by closing his eyes, perhaps to avoid having to meet mine. Or did he think it would give his face a harmless expression? You could hear the conscious effort he was making to speak standard German.
I did not feel obliged to reply to this, and waited to see what he would say next.
In his embarrassment he put his hand out towards the file which, God knows why, had been left lying on the table since Charousek’s visit, but immediately drew back involuntarily, as if he had been bitten by a snake. I felt a rush of astonishment at such subconscious psychical sensitivity.
He finally roused himself to speech. “Of course, it’s part of the business, to ’ave an elegant establishment like this when you get such … fine visitor
s.” He opened his eyes, to see what impression his words had had on me, but evidently decided it was premature and quickly closed them again.
I tried to force him into a corner, “You mean the lady who came here in her carriage recently? Why don’t you say what you mean?”
He hesitated for a moment, then grasped me fiercely by the wrist and dragged me to the window. The strange, abrupt way he did it reminded me of the way he had pulled the deaf-mute, Jaromir, into his den a few days ago. He held out a glittering object to me in his crooked fingers. “What do you think, Herr Pernath, can anything be done with it?”
It was a gold watch, the covers of which were so bent that it almost looked as if someone had damaged them deliberately. I took my magnifying glass. The hinges were half torn off and inside … wasn’t there something engraved on it? It was scarcely legible anyway, but for good measure someone had covered it with a lot of fresh scratches. Slowly I deciphered it:
Ka…rl Zott…mann
Zottmann? Zottmann? Now where had I seen that name? I couldn’t remember. Zottmann?
Wassertrum almost knocked the magnifying glass out of my hand. “The mechanism’s all right, I’ve ’ad a look meself. But the cases’s buggered.”
“Just needs hammering out again, perhaps a couple of welds. Any goldsmith could do that for you, Herr Wassertrum.”
“But I’d like it done proper, artistic as you might say”, he put in hastily, almost anxiously.
“Very well then, if it’s that important to you …”
“Important!” His voice cracked with eagerness. “Important? I’m goin’ to wear it meself, that watch. And whenever I show it to anyone I want to be able to say, ‘Look, that’s Herr Pernath’s workmanship, that is.’ ”
The fellow was nauseating, smearing me with his slimy flattery.
“If you come back in an hour it’ll be ready for you.”
Wassertrum squirmed until he almost tied himself in knots. “No, no … I don’t want you … to put yourself out … Three days, four days … next week’s soon enough. I’d never forgive myself, if I thought I was imposing on you.”
What was he after, getting into such a state? I stepped into the next room and locked the watch in my iron box. On top was Angelina’s picture. I quickly closed the lid in case Wassertrum should be watching.
When I went back I noticed that he had changed colour. I gave him a close look, but immediately abandoned my suspicion. He couldn’t have seen anything.
“That’s settled then; some time next week perhaps”, I said, in order to bring his visit to a close. Suddenly, however, he seemed in no hurry at all. He pulled up a chair and sat down. Contrary to his earlier behaviour, he now kept his fish’s eyes wide open and fixed on the top button of my waistcoat.
“I bet that baggage told you to say you know nothing, if it all came out, didn’t she, ey?” Without warning, he suddenly started ranting on at me, thumping the table with his fist. There was something frightening in the abrupt way he could shift from one tone to the other, switching like lightning from flattery to a brutal verbal assault. I imagined it was quite likely that most people, especially women, would be in his power in no time at all, if there was the least thing he could use against them.
My first thought was to grab him by the throat and throw him out, but on reflection I decided it would be wiser first of all to find out what he knew.
“I have really no idea what you mean, Herr Wassertrum”, I said, looking as blank as possible. “Baggage? What, some kind of luggage?”
“I’ll be teachin’ you your own language next”, he snorted. “You’ll have to swear on the Bible in court, you will, when it comes down to it. I’m tellin’ you, d’you understand?” He started to shout, “You can’t look me in the face and tell me that her from over there”, he jerked his thumb in the direction of the studio, “didn’t come runnin’ in ’ere, with nothin’ on but a bit of carpet?”
I saw red, grabbed the rogue by the chest and shook him. “One more word in that tone of voice and I’ll break every bone in your body, do you understand?”
Ashen grey, he sank down into the chair and stammered, “What? What’s the matter? What d’you want? I was only saying.”
I strode up and down the room a few times to recover my composure, not listening to the continuous dribble of excuses slobbering from his lips. Then I sat down facing him, knee to knee, determined to clear up the matter, so far as it concerned Angelina, once and for all. If a peaceful solution was not possible, I hoped to force him finally to open hostilities and perhaps waste some of the arrows in his quiver in a premature volley.
Without paying the least attention to his interruptions, I told him in no uncertain terms that blackmail of any kind was doomed to failure, since there was no accusation he could back up with hard facts, and I (in the extremely unlikely event of it ever coming to court) would definitely avoid giving evidence. Angelina, I emphasised, was much too close a friend for me to leave her in the lurch when she was in danger. I was prepared to pay any price to save her, even perjury!
Every muscle in his face was twitching, his hare-lip turned up until it touched his nose and he bared his teeth, gobbling all the time like a turkey-cock in his attempts to interrupt. “Did I ever say I wanted anythin’ from the baggage? Will you just listen.” I refused to let myself be put off my stride, and that sent him beside himself with impatience. Suddenly he erupted in a roar, “It’s that Savioli I want, the goddamned swine … the … the …” He was gasping for air. I stopped immediately; now I had him where I wanted him. But the next moment he had himself under control again and was staring at my waistcoat.
“Listen, Pernath” – he forced himself to adopt the cool, calculating tone of a businessman – “you keep on talking about that bag- … the lady. Fine! She’s married. Fine! She’s taken up with that young … rascal. What has it to do with me?” He was waving his hands to and fro in front of my face, the tips of his fingers and thumbs pressed together, as if he were holding a pinch of salt in them. “That’s between ’er and ’er conscience, the little baggage. I’m a man of the world and you’re a man of the world. We both know what’s what. All I want is to get my money back. Now d’you understand, Pernath?”
I started in astonishment. “Money? What money? Is Dr. Savioli in your debt?”
Wassertrum evaded the point. “I’ve things to settle with ’im. It all boils down to the same thing.”
“You mean to murder him”, I shouted.
He leapt up, staggered, and swallowed hard several times.
“Yes! Murder him! How long did you think you could keep up this act?” I pointed to the door. “Out you go.”
Slowly he picked up his hat, put it on and turned to leave. Then he stopped and said, with a calm I would never have thought him capable of, “Right. If that’s how you want it. I wanted to leave you out of it. Why not? But if you don’t, then that’s all right by me. It’s the tender-’earted sawbones what makes the worst cuts. I’ve ’ad it up to about ’ere. If you’d shown a bit more sense … Savioli’s only in your way, isn’t ’e? Now – I’m – going – to – make – mincemeat of (to make his meaning absolutely clear, he drew his hand across his throat) all three of you.”
There was an expression of such fiendish cruelty on his face, and he seemed so sure of himself, that the blood froze in my veins. Obviously he must have something he could use against us, something I had no idea of, the existence of which even Charousek did not suspect. I felt the ground sway under my feet.
“The file! The file!” It was a whisper running through my brain. I gauged the distance: one step to the table, two steps to reach Wassertrum. I was about to spring when there in the doorway, as if by magic, stood Hillel.
The room was swimming before my eyes. I saw, as if through a mist, that Hillel remained motionless, while Wassertrum shrank back, step by step, until he came up against the wall.
Then I heard Hillel say, “You know the rule, Aaron, that all Jews must vouch for each
other? Do not make it too difficult for us.” He added a few words in Hebrew which I could not understand.
“Why d’you ’ave to go snoopin’ at doors?” the old junk-dealer spat out venomously, lips quivering.
“Whether I was listening or not is none of your business.” Again Hillel added a sentence in Hebrew which, this time, sounded like a threat. I expected it would lead to an argument, but Wassertrum answered not a word; he just thought for a moment and then went out, with a defiant look on his face.
I looked at Hillel expectantly. He signalled me to stay silent. Clearly he was waiting for something, for he was listening for what was happening out in the corridor. I was about to go and close the door, but he waved me back impatiently.
A good minute passed, then we heard Wassertrum’s shuffling steps coming back up the stairs. Without a word, Hillel left and made way for him.
Wassertrum waited until Hillel was out of hearing, then he snarled at me,
“Gimme my watch back.”
EVE
Where on earth was Charousek? Almost twenty-four hours had passed and still he had not appeared. Could he have forgotten the signal we had agreed on? Or had he perhaps not seen it?
I went to the window and adjusted the mirror so that the ray of sunlight falling on it was reflected onto the tiny barred window of his basement.
Hillel’s intervention yesterday had reassured me somewhat. I felt sure he would have warned me if there were danger in the offing. And anyway, Wassertrum had taken no steps of any significance since then. Immediately after he left me he had returned to his shop. I glanced quickly down at it, yes, there he was, slumped motionless behind his cast-iron hotplates just as he had been when I had seen him first thing this morning.
Unbearable, this eternal waiting!
The mild spring air pouring in through the open window in the next room was making me sick with yearning. The drip of melting ice from the roofs! All those delicate filaments of water gleaming in the sun! It was as if invisible threads were drawing me outside. Impatiently I paced up and down the room; threw myself into a chair; stood up again.
The Golem Page 15