home to work all evening on the Holy Scriptures, with my sisters and my cousins and uncles in the scriptoria of our houses, which were big rooms.
“As I told you, I was never very quiet, and I would sing the psalms out loud as I wrote them, and this irritated my deaf uncle more than anyone. I don’t know why. He was deaf! And besides, I have a good voice.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Why should a deaf uncle get so upset? But he knew I was singing the psalms not as I just sang that one for you, but as one would sing, with cymbals, dancing, you know, with a little bit of added dash, shall we say, and he wasn’t so happy about it.
“He said that we were to write when we were to write and to sing the Lord’s songs at the appropriate time. I shrugged and gave in but I was one for cutting up all the time. But I’m giving the wrong impression. I wasn’t really bad…”
“I know what kind of man you are, and were then…”
“Yes, I think by now you do, and maybe if you thought me bad you would have thrown me out in the snow.”
He looked at me. His eyes weren’t ferocious. The brows were low and thick, but the eyes were plenty big enough beneath them to give him a pretty look. And, it seemed to me that he was warmer and more relaxed now than earlier, and I felt drawn to him and wanting to hear everything he said.
But I wondered: Could I throw him out in the snow?
“I’ve taken many lives,” he said, plucking the thought right from me, “but I would not hurt you, Jonathan Ben Isaac, you know that. I wouldn’t hurt such a man as you. I killed assassins. At least when I came to myself that was my code of honor. That is my code now.
“In my early days as the Servant of the Bones, as the bitter, angry ghost for the powerful sorcerer, I killed the innocent because it was my Master’s will and I thought I had to do it, I thought that the man who had called me up could control me, and I did his bidding, until the moment came when I suddenlyrealized that I did not have to be a slave forever, that maybe though my soul had been taken from my spirit, and my spirit and soul from my flesh, that perhaps I could still be pleasing to God. That somehow all could come and be united once more in one figure! Ah!”
He shook his head.
“But Azriel, maybe it’s happened!”
“Oh, Lord God, Jonathan, don’t give me consolation. I cannot bear it. Just hear me out. Make sure your tapes record my words. Remember me. Remember what I say…”
His confidence broke suddenly. He looked at the fire again.
“My family, my father,” he said. “My father! How it hurt him what he finally did, and how he looked at me. Do you know what he said about hurting me? He said, ‘Azriel, who of all my sons loves me as you do? No one else could ever forgive me for this but you!’ And he meant it. He meant it, my father, my little brother, looking at me full of tears and sincerity and absolute conviction!
“I’m sorry. I jump ahead. I’ll die soon enough. It won’t take too many more pages, I don’t think.” He shuddered all over. And again the tears stood in his eyes. “Forgive me, and recall again that for those thousands of years, I didn’t remember these things. I was the bitter ghost without memory. And now it has all come back to me and I pour it out to you. I pour it out to you in tears.”
“Continue. Give me your tears, your trust, and your hurt. I won’t fail you.”
“Ah, you are the rare thing, Jonathan Ben Isaac,” he said.
“Not really, I’m a teacher and a happy man myself. I have a wife and children who love me. I’m not very special.”
“Ah, but you are a good man who will talk to someone who is evil! That is what is rare. The Rebbe of the Hasidim, he turned his back on me!” He laughed suddenly, a deep bitter laugh. “He was too good to talk to the Servant of the Bones.”
I smiled. “We are all Jews, and there are Jews, and there are Jews.”
“Yes, and now Israelis, who would be Maccabees! And
“As I told you, I was never very quiet, and I would sing the psalms out loud as I wrote them, and this irritated my deaf uncle more than anyone. I don’t know why. He was deaf! And besides, I have a good voice.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Why should a deaf uncle get so upset? But he knew I was singing the psalms not as I just sang that one for you, but as one would sing, with cymbals, dancing, you know, with a little bit of added dash, shall we say, and he wasn’t so happy about it.
“He said that we were to write when we were to write and to sing the Lord’s songs at the appropriate time. I shrugged and gave in but I was one for cutting up all the time. But I’m giving the wrong impression. I wasn’t really bad…”
“I know what kind of man you are, and were then…”
“Yes, I think by now you do, and maybe if you thought me bad you would have thrown me out in the snow.”
He looked at me. His eyes weren’t ferocious. The brows were low and thick, but the eyes were plenty big enough beneath them to give him a pretty look. And, it seemed to me that he was warmer and more relaxed now than earlier, and I felt drawn to him and wanting to hear everything he said.
But I wondered: Could I throw him out in the snow?
“I’ve taken many lives,” he said, plucking the thought right from me, “but I would not hurt you, Jonathan Ben Isaac, you know that. I wouldn’t hurt such a man as you. I killed assassins. At least when I came to myself that was my code of honor. That is my code now.
“In my early days as the Servant of the Bones, as the bitter, angry ghost for the powerful sorcerer, I killed the innocent because it was my Master’s will and I thought I had to do it, I thought that the man who had called me up could control me, and I did his bidding, until the moment came when I suddenlyrealized that I did not have to be a slave forever, that maybe though my soul had been taken from my spirit, and my spirit and soul from my flesh, that perhaps I could still be pleasing to God. That somehow all could come and be united once more in one figure! Ah!”
He shook his head.
“But Azriel, maybe it’s happened!”
“Oh, Lord God, Jonathan, don’t give me consolation. I cannot bear it. Just hear me out. Make sure your tapes record my words. Remember me. Remember what I say…”
His confidence broke suddenly. He looked at the fire again.
“My family, my father,” he said. “My father! How it hurt him what he finally did, and how he looked at me. Do you know what he said about hurting me? He said, ‘Azriel, who of all my sons loves me as you do? No one else could ever forgive me for this but you!’ And he meant it. He meant it, my father, my little brother, looking at me full of tears and sincerity and absolute conviction!
“I’m sorry. I jump ahead. I’ll die soon enough. It won’t take too many more pages, I don’t think.” He shuddered all over. And again the tears stood in his eyes. “Forgive me, and recall again that for those thousands of years, I didn’t remember these things. I was the bitter ghost without memory. And now it has all come back to me and I pour it out to you. I pour it out to you in tears.”
“Continue. Give me your tears, your trust, and your hurt. I won’t fail you.”
“Ah, you are the rare thing, Jonathan Ben Isaac,” he said.
“Not really, I’m a teacher and a happy man myself. I have a wife and children who love me. I’m not very special.”
“Ah, but you are a good man who will talk to someone who is evil! That is what is rare. The Rebbe of the Hasidim, he turned his back on me!” He laughed suddenly, a deep bitter laugh. “He was too good to talk to the Servant of the Bones.”
I smiled. “We are all Jews, and there are Jews, and there are Jews.”
“Yes, and now Israelis, who would be Maccabees! And
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