by Kim Fielding
“Why are you building your house here?” asked Emet as they descended.
“It’s a good spot. My family’s owned the land for generations because nobody wants to farm the hilltop. And I like the views.”
“But why not live in the town? With your family?”
Jakob scowled. “My parents’ house is too small for us all.”
“Couldn’t you add to it?” If Emet had a family, he’d never want to leave them, no matter how cramped they might be.
“It’s not….” Jakob huffed impatiently. “We don’t always get along very well. Mama and Papa expect me to marry as my brothers have, and… and I won’t.”
“Why not?”
“You ask far too many questions!”
Emet hung his head. “I’m sorry.” He’d never before had the opportunity to ask anyone anything, and now he was getting carried away. He vowed to hold his tongue.
Neither of them spoke as they walked back to the town and entered the gate. Jakob took Emet to the foot of the shul’s steps. “I have to go change for the maariv service,” he said. “I’ll fetch you again in the morning.”
Emet had been afraid that Jakob would decide not to work with him anymore, so now he grinned. “Thank you, Jakob.” He stood for a moment, watching Jakob walk away, then reluctantly scaled the steps to the shul’s front doors.
5
Jakob fetched Emet each morning for the next three days. They walked quietly out of town—Emet being careful not to bother Jakob with questions—and while Emet carried stones, Jakob shaped them and set them. The four walls of his house were soon evident, each rock nestled snuggly against its neighbors and kept in place with mortar. It wouldn’t be a large house. Only a single room, in fact, with the door facing the town. Jakob spoke infrequently, but he did mention that he planned to include a small porch adjacent to the front. “I want to plant a fig tree,” he said. “And some grapes.”
They rested each day while Jakob ate his lunch. Of course, Emet didn’t eat. But he liked sitting next to Jakob and listening to him chew and breathe. Emet was a little worried over how fast the project was going. While Jakob might be pleased to have his house finished soon, Emet dreaded the day when the work was over. Yes, perhaps someone else would find things he could carry for them, but that someone else wouldn’t be Jakob.
They finished work earlier than usual on the fourth day, although Emet didn’t dare to ask why. “It’s Shabbos,” Jakob explained. “No work after sundown.”
Emet’s response was hesitant. “Until when?”
“Sunday. Just the one day for rest.” Jakob set his chisel in the box before glancing at Emet. “What do you do when you’re not working?”
“I sleep. I look out the window. I listen to the prayers.”
Jakob had been about to lift the box, but now he paused to look at Emet. “You listen? Why?”
“Because the prayers are beautiful. I wish I could sing too. I wish God would listen to me.” He shut his mouth quickly. Surely Jakob didn’t want to hear him complain.
But Jakob didn’t seem angry. “Why wouldn’t God listen to you?”
“Because I’m only a golem.”
“Even if you were a man, even if you could sing… God still might not listen. He doesn’t answer everyone’s prayers.”
“Does he answer yours?”
Jakob shook his head.
That evening Emet listened to the voices in the chapel beneath him and wondered what Jakob prayed for. He seemed a kind man, a good man. He never raised his voice at Emet, never treated him poorly. He always thanked Emet for his labors and checked often to make sure that Emet wasn’t overburdened. Jakob worked hard. His capable hands made stone do his bidding. But he was sad. Emet would have done anything to bring him happiness, but he didn’t know how.
The next day seemed endless and empty. Where the attic had once been slightly confining, it now felt like a cramped cage. Emet longed to work outdoors, to have his brief chats with Jakob. He wondered what Jakob was doing all day, whether he spent the hours with his parents and brothers and, if so, whether he was happy in their company.
And that thought led to another: why wouldn’t Jakob marry? People’s habits and customs were still largely a mystery to Emet, but he’d gathered that they liked to be in pairs. He’d seen the way Jakob’s brothers and their wives exchanged fond looks, the way Jakob’s mother fussed over his father when she brought him lunch. Emet had seen pairings among the animals he spied from his window as well: birds that preened one another, cats that yowled as they mated. He thought he could almost understand why creatures did this, because when he looked at couples, he felt incomplete and unfinished. He yearned for a partner of his own, although he knew he’d never have one. But he didn’t know why Jakob insisted on being alone.
On Shabbos afternoon, footsteps sounded in the stairway, and Rabbi Eleazar flung open the attic door and entered. He stopped in the center of the room and stared at Emet, who was hunched against a wall. “I have heard that you are working very hard,” the rabbi said.
“Would you like me to work now, Master?”
“No. Nobody works today.” He crossed the room, picked a piece of broken crockery off the shelf, and turned it over in his hands. “I wonder… how much can a golem learn? God created you for a specific purpose. Do we offend him if we use you for other things as well?”
“I like to work,” Emet said quietly. “I think maybe it’s good if I can help.”
“Maybe. But maybe it is a great wickedness.” Rabbi Eleazar sighed. “How am I to know? I am only a man. Ach, it was so much easier for the men in the Torah, who spoke with angels and sometimes the Lord himself. But I have no burning bush. I can only guess what is required of me, and sometimes I am afraid… I am afraid I am doing the wrong thing.”
Emet’s master seemed so small and lost. It had never occurred to Emet that the rabbi could be uncertain. He seemed so wise. “You care for your people,” Emet said. “God must be pleased with that.”
Rabbi Eleazar gave him a sharp look. Then he returned the pottery to the shelf. “I wonder sometimes if it isn’t arrogant for any man to presume to know what God wants. And what are we to do when our hearts yearn for something we have been told we cannot have? Isn’t misery a sin as well? Jakob, for example… ah, such a waste. He struggles to be such a good person.” The rabbi glanced at Emet and seemed almost startled to see him there, as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t speaking only to himself. He smiled wryly, shook his head, and wandered out of the attic.
That night, Emet listened to the havdalah service. As he pressed his nose to the crack under the door, he imagined he could smell the braided candles he’d seen Rabbi Eleazer holding the previous afternoon. He imagined the people gathered around the warm, flickering flames as they welcomed the beginning of a new week. And he could certainly hear their voices raised in song, especially the slightly mournful pleas that concluded the ceremony. It seemed to him that his favorite singer was especially gifted tonight, and especially sorrowful.
Alone in the silent darkness, Emet tried to picture what Jakob’s house would be like once it was finished. Emet had never been in a home, so his imagination could go only so far. Still, he knew the little house would be cozy, the thick walls protecting Jakob from excessive cold and heat. Maybe Jakob would have lace curtains like those hanging in the windows of the houses opposite the shul. His tools would be placed on a shelf in the evenings, and at suppertime the place would smell of stew and fresh bread. On warm summer evenings, Jakob could sit on his porch and look up at the stars—or look down at Mala Lubovnya, where in the dark attic of the shul, a golem lay on a nest of old curtains and thought of him.
“Did you have a restful Shabbos?” Emet asked Jakob the next morning as they walked to work. The sky was gray, threatening rain, and the landscape had lost its color.
“I studied as always. While Papa and my brothers nap, I go to the shul and read the Talmud. I keep looking for answers there.”
“Ha
ve you found them?”
“Not the ones I hope for.”
A few goats eyed Emet hopefully as he passed. Most mornings he picked a few of their favorite leaves—those just out of reach on Emet’s side of the fence—and fed the animals. He liked their strange eyes, and he liked to rub the hairs that grew between their horns. This morning, though, he found the plants wilted by the previous night’s frost. He was sorry to disappoint the goats.
Emet picked up a pair of stones before heading up the hill. When he got there, Jakob was standing in the middle of his partially finished house, scowling at the sky. “I hoped we could get some work done before the rain began,” he said.
Just then, a fat raindrop landed on Emet’s head. “I can work in the rain.”
“You wear so little clothing. Don’t you get cold?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Jakob shook his head. “Come with me.”
They walked back down the hill and across the field. The rain began to fall in earnest, making Jakob bow his head and shiver. Emet moved around to Jakob’s windward side, hoping his body would shield Jakob’s a little. Jakob took them to a tumbledown structure that smelled of old hay. They sat in a corner where the remains of the roof were intact enough to shelter them, and they huddled close to each other, not quite touching. “This used to be a corncrib,” Jakob explained. “It would have lasted longer if they’d built it of stone instead of wood. Let’s wait a while to see if the storm passes.”
Emet nodded happily, relieved that he wouldn’t have to return to the attic right away. The drumbeat of the rain on the roof reminded him of music, although it was a much wilder tune than the prayers he was used to. “What do the words of the prayers mean, Jakob?”
“It depends which one.”
“The last one from last night.”
Jakob thought a moment. “Eliyahu HaNavi. It’s a plea for the return of Elijah.”
“Elijah?”
“The prophet. When he appears, we will be redeemed.” Jakob must have read the blank look on Emet’s face, because he sighed. “You know so little.”
“I’m sorry,” said Emet, ashamed.
“It’s not your fault. In some ways you’re like a small child who’s never been taught anything at all. And… in other ways you are very like a man.” Jakob shifted his body a little, increasing the space between them by a few inches. He picked up a small, smooth pebble and rubbed it with his thumb. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Emet. With my hammer and my chisel, I mean.”
“I healed right away. You saw.”
“Yes. But I caused you pain, and you didn’t deserve that. You’ve never harmed anyone at all.” His voice was so soft that Emet could barely hear it over the wind and rain.
“It’s all right. You had to show that man how strong I am so the duke would be afraid of me.” Emet considered for a moment before continuing, and decided to be honest. His name was truth, after all. “I would hurt someone if I had to. If Rabbi Eleazar commanded me to. If you— If your people were threatened.”
Jakob turned and looked at Emet for a long time. “Why don’t you leave? I wouldn’t stop you. I couldn’t if I wanted to—you’re so much stronger and faster. You don’t have to let me and the rabbi boss you around, and you don’t have to lock yourself up in the shul. You could go anywhere. Conquer kingdoms.”
“I don’t… I must obey my master.”
“Or what? Will you crumble to dust if you disobey? Will God reach down with his fiery arm and strike you from existence?”
“I don’t know.”
Jakob tossed the pebble away, out into the rain. “That’s the difficulty, isn’t it? We want so badly what we can never have, and we don’t even know what the consequences of our disobedience would be.”
“I don’t want to go,” Emet said very softly.
“But you do want something.” Jakob shocked Emet by setting his hand on Emet’s arm. It was the first time they’d touched—the first time anyone but Rabbi Eleazar had touched Emet—and Jakob’s hand felt very warm and wonderfully rough against Emet’s skin. “What do you want?” Jakob asked.
Emet’s throat felt tight and it was hard to answer. “I want to be real. A man. I want… I want a house and friends and family. I want to work hard, and at the end of the day I want to sing my thanks to God, and then I want to go home and laugh with people who… who care about me.” Oh, he wanted those things so badly that each word pierced more painfully than Jakob’s chisel—but these wounds didn’t heal.
Jakob squeezed Emet’s arm before letting his hand fall. “Those are good things, Emet. They’re not so different from my dreams. In my view, that makes you real—or makes me a monster. I’m not sure which.”
“You are not a monster!” Emet said, appalled.
Jakob twitched his shoulders slightly. “I am… that I am.” He chuckled humorlessly. And then, after a long pause where he slowly stroked his beard, he smiled at Emet. “But I can give you one small thing you hope for, at least. I can be your friend. If you like.”
Emet smiled so widely his face ached. “Yes! I would like that, please. I don’t… I don’t know how to be a friend back, but I’ll try.”
Jakob squeezed Emet’s arm again, very briefly this time. “Good. I could use a friend as well. What can I do to seal our friendship, Emet?”
Touch me, Emet wanted to say. But he didn’t dare. “Could you tell me about Elijah, maybe?”
When Jakob smiled back, the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Of course. And since this rain doesn’t appear to want to stop anytime soon, I can tell you more as well.”
The rain didn’t stop until it was almost time to return to town. Jakob talked and talked, telling stories about Elijah, about David who slew a giant and Moses who parted a sea, about Eve who spoke with a serpent and Solomon who was very wise. Jakob didn’t seem to mind when Emet asked questions; he answered every one of them patiently and well. And when the rain slowed to a slight mist and they noticed the sun was getting low, Jakob looked as disappointed to be leaving as Emet felt.
They walked back to town, the cold mud squelching between Emet’s toes. When they reached the shul, Jakob touched Emet for the third time, just a light tap on his elbow. “Good night, friend,” Jakob said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
6
“My parents tell me I’m foolish to be working in this weather,” Jakob said as they walked toward town at the close of another day. As if to demonstrate what he meant, he waved a hand, causing the drifting snowflakes to swirl and spin.
“You are. I see you shivering as you work.”
“Not much longer. Another week, I think, and the house will be finished enough that we can lay a fire inside.”
Emet tried to smile at that idea—and he did sometimes daydream about being warm again—but he dreaded finishing the house. He and Jakob would undoubtedly have finished already if the days hadn’t grown so short. “It’s a very nice house,” Emet said.
“It is. My finest work yet, I think. I’m going to carve an elaborate stone mantel that’s far too grand for such a small shack. I may carve the ceiling beams as well, although I don’t much enjoy working with wood.” He grinned boyishly. “My little house will be fancier than the duke’s by the time we’re done with it.”
We. Emet liked the sound of that. His fingers were much clumsier than Jakob’s, but perhaps Emet could learn to do some carving as well.
They came to the field with the goats. During lunch that day, Emet had stolen a few crusts of Jakob’s bread. As always, Jakob pretended not to notice. Now Emet gave the crusts to the hungry animals, who bleated their thanks after they ate.
“You’re spoiling them,” Jakob said, but he was smiling.
“They look hungry.”
“They’re goats. Goats always look hungry.”
“They do seem to enjoy their food.”
Jakob gave him a look Emet had grown used to—it meant Jakob was trying to puzzle something out. “You could try food sometime too,
you know.”
Emet shook his head. Jakob had offered before, and Emet had been tempted. But by now he’d learned that after humans ate or drank, they excreted, and Emet didn’t think his body was capable of that. He pictured himself swallowing food and then having it remain somewhere inside him forever.
Jakob moved closer to Emet, so close they almost touched, and Emet could feel the radiant heat as if Jakob were a small fire. Jakob stuck out a finger and captured a single snowflake, which he held in front of Emet’s mouth. “Try this at least,” he said.
Obediently, Emet opened his mouth.
Even though the snow had probably melted already, Emet felt a dot of cold moisture on his tongue. It had no flavor. But Jakob’s finger—ah. Jakob’s skin tasted of stone and salt, and although Emet knew Jakob’s fingers were very calloused, the skin felt smooth against his tongue. He sucked gently. Oh, that was very nice. A little bit of Jakob’s body inside his own. Emet’s cock grew as hard as when he stroked it at night.
With a noise somewhere between a groan and a gasp, Jakob pulled his finger away and took an unsteady step backward. His eyes were very wide and his cheeks were flushed. “No,” he said, but Emet didn’t know what he was denying. And then Jakob’s gaze fell slightly and he moaned again.
Emet looked down at himself. His erection was clearly visible beneath the thin fabric of his trousers, and it fascinated him. He’d taken very little time to explore his body in the daylight, and he hadn’t realized his arousal would be so visible.
“You can… you can….” Jakob swallowed loudly. “You are… complete.”
Unsure what Jakob meant, Emet fidgeted. “Did I do something bad?”
“You… no.” Jakob squeezed his eyes shut and kept them that way for what seemed like a long time. When he opened them again, his expression was somber. “Do you know about… about sex, Emet?”
“No?”
“In the stories I’ve told you, you remember how they lie together. Like Jakob with Leah and Rachel. And you remember the Song of Songs?”