Page 12 of The Golem of Mala Lubovnya
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. “Iwouldhurt 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.”
