[The Wandering Jew 1] - My First Two Thousand Years the Autobiography of the Wandering Jew

by Viereck, George Sylvester

  I laughed.

  “They even suspect me.”

  I consoled him. “Joseph, if ever I should go beyond the gate—will you come with me?”

  He did not answer for a long while.

  “Can one remain a Jew there?” he asked at last.

  “One must at least pretend that one is not.”

  “Wherever you go, I go, Isaac.”

  Within two days, four men died of violent cramps. The Ghetto forgot its quarrels and its petty intrigues, and battered the doors of the Rabbi. “The plague! The plague! Pray to God to spare us! You are a holy man—pray!”

  The synagogue was crowded to the brim. Rabbi Sholom, bare-footed and covered in a shroud, called to God to spare his people. The shofar was blown seven times. The congregation beat their breasts. The women sobbed violently.

  Two men fell dead on the threshold of the Holy House. The people scattered, shouting and waving their arms.

  Rabbi Sholom asked a dozen men to confer with him. They shouted their opinions at the top of their voices. The fault lay in the sinfulness of the city and the lack of proper reverence for Yahweh. They suggested prayers, incantations, and sackcloth and ashes.

  I entered the room. An ominous silence ensued. The men retreated and skulked. Rabbi Sholom, a little irritably asked, “What brings you here, my son?”

  “Why do you ask me this, father? Is it not evident?”

  “It is only for men who have spent their lives in the study of the Torah to discover why the Lord punishes us.”

  “You saw that even while you prayed, two men fell dead.”

  “Our sins are great!”

  “The dirt and the squalor are greater.”

  “It is God’s way of purifying our souls.”

  “God has given us water to purify our bodies.”

  “If our souls were pure, our bodies would need no purification.”

  “Very true,” the Chasidim whispered to one mother. “Very true. Our souls must be pure.”

  “Father, while you discuss the soul and it. purification, our people die of the plague.”

  “It is God’s will.”

  “Our obstinacy was our undoing, father. Even in the time of the Romans– —”

  “May their memory perish!” Rabbi Sholom interrupted.

  The others repeated: “May their memory perish!”

  “Father, I am a Jew and have our people at heart.”

  There was grumbling among the Chasidim. I stared at them. They huddled together.

  “Do you doubt, father, that I am a Jew?”

  “How should I doubt it since I gave you my daughter in marriage?”

  “Have I not proved my love for our people? Have I not given charity? Have I not– —?”

  “It is not by charity that one shows love but by leading a godly life.”

  “Yes, yes,” the others remarked.

  “Have I not led a godly life, father?”

  “Only the Lord can read our hearts. But there have been many complaints against you, my son.”

  “Complaints?”

  “You are clean-shaven. Should not a Jew wear a beard? Should he rebuke God for causing hair to grow upon man’s face? You have a Gentile friend.”

  “The golem! The golem!” some whispered.

  “You object to your wife’s wig. Should a virtuous woman look like a wanton? It pains me, Isaac, to tell you these things in public.”

  “Father, whatever the complaints against me may be, and however true, this is no time for words. Hearken to me! I have lived in many lands. I have seen many things, including plagues. Let me help my people. Let me save them from suffering and death.”

  “How are you capable of doing this, when our holy men know no remedy?”

  “I shall pay large sums of money to physicians to come from the other side of the gate. I shall supply the funds necessary for purifying the sources of water and other necessities of life.”

  “But if our souls be impure, how can physicians purify us?”

  “They know means by which the pestilence may be stopped. Later, we shall attend to our souls.”

  The Chasidim shook their heads.

  “You begin at the end, Isaac.”

  “At least for the time being, the people should not gather in the synagogue. They infect one another.”

  “What?” the Chasidim shouted.

  “Isaac!” the Rabbi admonished. “Not foregather in the synagogue? Not pray to the Lord in time of sorrow?”

  “You are not a Jew!” one Chasid exclaimed, rising and pointing his forefinger at me. “You are not a Jew! Your words are the Devil’s words and your advice is the advice of one who wishes to destroy our race!”

  He stopped suddenly, pressing his hands upon his stomach, groaning with pain.

  “He is the Devil!” some shouted.

  “He has looked at him with his evil eye!”

  “Look away, everyone!”

  “He will kill us all!”

  They turned their backs upon me and hid their faces. Rabbi Sholom covered his head with a tallith.

  Late at night, Joseph entered my room on tiptoes.

  “Isaac,” he whispered, “Isaac—leave at once! They are planning to kill you and Kotikokura. They blame you for the plague. They claim that your evil eye killed a Chasid.”

  “I know, Joseph. I shall leave. Will you accompany me?”

  He looked at me, his eyes filled with tears.

  “Come with me, Joseph! The world is beautiful.”

  He looked at me reproachfully.

  I placed my hands upon his shoulders. “Joseph, you are like the friends of my youth, long ago—longer than you imagine. It is for their sake I cherish you. Believe me, I am neither the Devil nor a magician. I do not mean to destroy your soul, but to show you the way to discover it.”

  He wept bitterly.

  Kotikokura meanwhile was becoming impatient.

  “Do not fear, Kotikokura, we have time enough to escape.”

  He looked at Joseph angrily.

  “At most, he can be with us a few paltry years,” I whispered.

  Kotikokura grinned, pacified.

  “Meet me at the gate, on the stroke of twelve!”

  Joseph nodded and left.

  As we reached the road that led to the gate, we saw dangling from a withered tree, like an immense and grotesque cat or monkey, the body of a man. We approached. The body remained perfectly still. Kotikokura, whose eyes glittered in the dark like a tiger’s, recognized Joseph.

  “Perhaps he is not dead yet. We may be able to save him.”

  Kotikokura began to climb up the tree.

  I stopped him. “Don’t! It is best not to disturb him. He can never overcome his environment; nor can he accept it again. Poor Joseph symbolizes his own existence—suspended between two worlds and belonging to neither!”

  We walked along the shore of the Guadalquivir. The sun had not yet risen, but wide strips of red were already visible on the horizon. Here and there, upon the river, a fisherman’s boat turned lightly about itself. From time to time, a dog barked and a cock crowed. Seagulls, fat and slick, uttered ominous screams.

  “Kotikokura, you have seen my people and you have not found them to your taste.”

  He nodded.

  “Poverty is like a horse’s hoofs crushing delicate flowers. You must not judge my people too severely.”

  He nodded.

  “Perhaps it was my fault, Kotikokura. I was indeed as a son returning to his parental roof. I was offered the toys and dishes I had enjoyed as a child,—but I am no longer a child.”

  He nodded.

  “In the Christian world, I am not a Christian. Among the Mohammedans, I am a stranger. To the Jews, I seem a wicked magician, bringing about the plague. I do not belong anywhere, Kotikokura,” I sighed.

  Kotikokura sighed also.

  “But that is the destiny of man. I am Man—and man is always a stranger among men. I am not the Wandering Jew, but the Wandering Man.”<
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  “Ca-ta-pha—god; Kotikokura—high priest.”

  “God or man,—I am. Life is. We are two parallel lines, running on always—perhaps. Life knows no favorites. Henceforth I shall know neither creed nor race. I am free, Kotikokura! Free!” I shouted.

  Kotikokura echoed: “Free!”

  “Kill the Jews! Burn the Ghetto! Drive the dogs into the sea!” Córdoba had become a giant mouth, vituperating and threatening the Jews. “Kotikokura, before long, there will be much slaughter here. We must seek fairer shores. Come!”

  LV: THE QUEEN PAWNS HER JEWELS—I DO BUSINESS WITH ABRAHAM—I FINANCE COLUMBUS

  THE snow fell leisurely, in tiny flakes like confetti. The sun shone, but a little dimly like an eye opening after sleep. The bells of all the churches rang. The people threw their hats into the air, shouting: “Long live the King!” A regiment of infantry preceded by officers on horseback passed by, laughing and calling their women. Children turned little wooden toys that made a deafening noise.

  We entered a wine-shop crowded with people.

  “What say you, Magister, to the notion that the earth is round and that we can reach the Indies by water?”

  The Magister, an old shriveled up individual, toothless and almost gumless, piped: “Nonsense! There is nothing about it in Aristotle.”

  “But Marco Polo, Magister, claims– —”

  “Who is Marco Polo? Who is anybody? Aristotle never said that the earth is round!”

  “Cristóbal Colón is pledging his head and the heads of all his sailors– —”

  “Nonsense!”

  “They say that the Queen is willing to sell her jewels to finance his wild expedition.”

  “Women are always credulous.”

  “If it prove true, Spain will become the richest nation in the world, rivaling Rome in the days of her greatest glory.”

  “If—If—” the Magister repeated. “I have always taught my pupils to detest that word! The earth is flat. Aristotle– —”

  A Jew entered. He was short, stout, and breathed heavily through his mouth. His beard, the color of carrots, sprinkled with threads of white, did not hide his heavy sensuous lips. His eyes, small and deeply set, shone like beads which supplant the lost luminaries of stuffed birds. His kaftan was threadbare and covered with grease spots.

  “The Jew! The Jew!” a few called out.

  “Make him eat pork.”

  “Give him the cross to kiss—the circumcised dog!”

  “Put him on the rack!”

  One of the soldiers pulled the Jew’s beard. The other spat in his face. The Jew wiped himself and remained unperturbed.

  The Innkeeper seemed unusually cordial to him.

  “Give me another month’s time, Abraham. I could not get the money together. What with the wars, and my wife’s sickness– —”

  Abraham waved his hand. “I know. I know. I have not come for that. I am looking for two merchants that have recently arrived in Granada.”

  “Two merchants?”

  Abraham espied us.

  “They look like foreigners, do they not?” he asked the Inn keeper.

  The Innkeeper nodded. “Yes. With all the crowd here, I did not notice them.”

  “Will you ask them to be good enough to meet me outside?”

  Abraham walked out. The Innkeeper came over. “Señores,” he whispered, “the Jew who has just been here—he is the richest merchant in Granada—begs to speak to you. He is waiting outside.”

  “Very well.”

  Abraham bowed several times, his small stubby hands upon his belly.

  “Welcome, señores, to Granada. Welcome! Welcome!”

  He reminded me of Don Juan’s parrot.

  “The gentlemen come from a long journey, do they not?”

  “Yes, a very long journey.”

  He rubbed his hands. They produced no noise, as if they had been oiled.

  “India?” he asked, smiling obsequiously.

  “Yes.”

  “Ah, how fortunate am I to have the honor of speaking to gentlemen who come from India! Was the trip very long?”

  “Very long.”

  “And dangerous too, I presume.”

  I nodded.

  He clicked his tongue. “How much courage is required to travel! How many are lost on the way!”

  I nodded.

  “Marco Polo tells such terrible things, señor—but such marvels, too.”

  “I have not read his book.”

  “No? Is it possible? ‘Mirabilia Mundi’ he calls it. I have not read it either. It is written in Latin. We are allowed to read only the holy language, señor. But a friend of mine, a bishop– —” he grinned, “he owes me some money—related Marco Polo’s adventures to me.”

  I looked at his boots, torn and muddy up to his knees. He smiled, raising his palm. “We must not judge by appearances, señor. But ask about Abraham in Granada, and outside of Granada—and you will hear what you will hear.” He pulled my sleeve. “I do business even with Her Majesty, the Queen.” He walked away a step or two, and bowed. He approached again. “With Her Majesty.”

  “Indeed?”

  “I do not mean that I go to the palace or that I am invited to the royal banquets.” He laughed. His teeth were yellow and long as wisps of hay. “But I supply the money. I am not such a rich man. But I can manage. It is not easy, but I can manage. A nobleman transacts the affairs with Her Majesty and I supply the money.”

  The snow ceased falling. The sun shone like a newly gilded platter. Soldiers and civilians, arm in arm, vociferated their joy, now considerably augmented by Bacchus.

  “Señor,” Abraham said suddenly, “come with me. Away from the crowd. I have a proposition which I am sure will interest you. Only who can speak in this noise? Will you come, señor? I know a small wine-shop where we can speak at leisure.”

  “I am not particularly interested in the business.”

  “Of course, señor. But if something wonderful is presented to you.”

  I deliberated for a few moments. “All right, let us go.”

  He tried to keep pace with me; his large flat feet kept at a wide angle, stamped the ground like the flapping of a giant bird’s wings.

  The wine-shop was a dingy place in a cellar. The proprietor, a Jew whose face was overshadowed by his enormous nose, bowed so low to us that I feared he would strike his head against the stone floor.

  We entered a small room. Abraham ordered wine and instructed the proprietor not to permit anyone to disturb us.

  Abraham filled the cups.

  “You will like the wine, señor. It is very old. You cannot find a better vintage in Granada. The scoundrel charges me enough good money for it.”

  Abraham smacked his lips and rubbed his hands. “So! Now we can talk better.”

  “What, in short, is the business in which you would like to interest me, Abraham?”

  “A gentleman’s time is very valuable, I know, and life is too short to spend in such company as mine. I shall come to the point at once.”

  I nodded.

  “I do not know whether the earth is round or flat. What has Abraham to do with such matters? That he leaves to sailors and queens and wise people. Abraham must provide money—isn’t it so?”

  I nodded.

  “But he does not live in Zipangu where the chamber-pots—forgive the expression—are made of gold. He lives in Spain where even Her Majesty finds a lack of that beautiful metal. And if she finds a lack of it, why should not Abraham?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, your time is precious, señor, and I am jabbering away. Well—this is the business: Her Majesty—may she prosper forever—wishes to sell her jewels that a certain sailor or admiral, Cristóbal Colón, an Italian or a Portuguese, may buy enough boats and hire enough men to go to India by water.”

  “By water?”

  “He says that the earth is round and if a man travels far enough on the sea, he will reach the other side of the world. I do not unders
tand it, but I know that the Queen’s jewels are worth many times the money asked for them. But there is not a man in Granada who has the required gold. The wars have impoverished everyone, señor—everyone.”

  “What makes Cristóbal Colón think that the earth is round?”

  “Who knows, señor? The Queen is convinced. That is sufficient. Besides, for more information about the matter, I can refer you to Don Ricardo in whose care the jewels are at present—provided, of course, you are really interested in the business and are able to furnish the funds.”

  “What made you believe that I might be interested or that I might possess such funds?”

  “Ah, señor, I have an eye that sees, an ear that hears, and a nose that smells.”

  “Take me to Don Ricardo.”

  Don Ricardo’s castle, situated upon a hill, was smothered by pine trees. He had suffered from lung trouble in his youth, Abraham explained, and the physicians had advised him to breathe the pure air of the pine.

  “You could never tell now that he had ever been ill. He is stronger than one of his trees.”

  Don Ricardo received us in his study. He was tall, straight as a tree indeed, and wore a short pointed beard, black as ink.

  Abraham kissed his hand and remained bent during his entire stay.

  “Don Ricardo, this is the señor, the foreign nobleman who is desirous to see Her Majesty’s jewels.”

  I introduced myself.

  Don Ricardo asked me how I liked Spain and Granada in particular; what I thought of one thing or another. We spoke at random for some time. Don Ricardo made a sign to Abraham who walked out, his back to the door.

  Don Ricardo showed me a map and a plan of the trip. I was delighted to see to what extent my mathematical calculations coincided with the new conception of the earth’s geography.

  Don Ricardo continued. “The Queen is convinced, and the Admiral certain of the outcome of the enterprise. Besides, he who buys the jewels has nothing to risk. They are worth much more than the sum demanded.”

  He unlocked an iron box and took out two cases of jewels—diamonds, pearls, emeralds, sapphires, rubies. Among them, I recognized a necklace and a pair of earrings that I had sold some centuries previously to the mistress of a Cardinal.