The Alchemist's Door (20 page)
Read The Alchemist's Door Online
Authors: Lisa Goldstein
“Yes, that's true,” he said cautiously.
“I thought we might have a talk some day. I myself dabble in certainâdisciplines.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Dee said, his curiosity, as always, getting the better of him. “What disciplines are those?”
“Have you noticed how easy some spells have become? How simple it is to work magic these days? Why is that, do you suppose?”
“There is a door to other realms, and it is opening wider every day. Various powers are coming through, are seeking our world. But be carefulânot all of these things work for good.”
“Is there any way to open the door still wider?”
He shook his head. “That would not be wise. You can't predict what these powers will do if they are let loose on our world. The wise man will seek ways of closing the door.”
“Ah, but I am not a man, Doctor Dee.” She bit down hard on a fingernail; he noticed now that all her nails had been chewed to the skin, leaving raw-looking scabs.
“No,” he said. “All the more reason not to attempt to open the door wider. Women's magic is weak and uncertain, it lacks guidanceâ”
She laughed. “Nonsense,” she said. “I see you are no wiser than the rest of the fools my cousin patronizes. Good day, Doctor Dee.” She gathered her skirts in her hands and continued on down the corridor.
“Wait,” he said. “Be careful!”
She opened the door to her rooms and closed it behind her, giving no indication she had heard him.
He stood a moment in the corridor, gazing after her, thinking about their conversation. Her comments had been strange, off the point; she had not answered him but had gone her own way, following her own thoughts. He shook his head uneasily and went downstairs.
LOEW LEFT THE JEWISH QUARTER AND SET OUT INTO THE streets of Prague, looking for Jan the tavern-keeper. He had had a rare argument with Pearl that morning and felt glad to be away and enjoying the sunshine. Pearl had told him, not for the first time, that she wanted Yossel out of their house.
“And where would he go?” Loew had asked.
“I don't care. Somewhere else. You saw how dangerous he is.”
“No one would take him, you know that.”
“Of course they won't. And you know why. Because they're all terrified of being murdered in their beds, that's why. Like we will be, if you keep him here.”
“I told youâhe's completely harmlessâ”
“Harmless!”
“Yes. It's true I lost control of him once, but it won't happen again. I'll make him sleep when the Sabbath comes, that's all.”
Now he thought about his creation. For a while after Yossel's rampage he had ordered the golem never to leave his room. And to his relief Yossel had obeyed him; whenever Loew passed the room he saw him sitting on the bed, his eyes fixed on nothing. Loew could not help wondering what he thought about. Finally he went inside and spoke to him, but the conversation did nothing to dispel his uneasiness: the golem asked when he would be allowed to study, to pray, to leave the house and take part in the life of the town. “When will I learn to open the box of fire?” Yossel asked, and Loew was puzzled until he realized that that was how the golem referred to reading.
After these talks Loew tried to find him chores: chopping wood, hauling water, moving furniture. He took him to the house whose roof he had wrecked, hoping to make amends by having him do repairs, but the owner had been so terrified he would not let the golem come close.
Suddenly Loew realized that he was thinking and speaking of Yossel as “he” and not “it.” When had that happened? He shook his head and went into a nearby cookshop.
No one in the cookshop had heard of Jan the tavern-keeper, and a few of them eyed him warily, wondering, no doubt, what he was doing outside the Quarter.
He left and continued walking. The hours passed quickly.
Morning became afternoon; the shadows stretched out like cats along the cobblestoned streets. He did not wish to be late for evening prayers. In desperation he questioned a few men on the street, but they all shook their heads or brushed past him without speaking.
Morning became afternoon; the shadows stretched out like cats along the cobblestoned streets. He did not wish to be late for evening prayers. In desperation he questioned a few men on the street, but they all shook their heads or brushed past him without speaking.
Finally one man stopped. “Jan's tavern, yes, of course,” he said. “Two streets that way, and then turn left.”
“But I was there already, and I didn't seeâ”
“It's behind another cookshop, in an alley. You can't find it by accidentâyou have to know where it is.”
This sounded promising. Loew walked back the two streets, saw the alley he had missed, and turned left. There in front of him was a small tavern. The man had been right: he could never have found it on his own.
It stood in the cookshop's shadow; even on the sunniest of days, Loew thought, it would not get much light. The roof slanted nearly to the ground; candles inside turned the windows to gold. There was no sign anywhere to suggest what the place might be, or who the owner was.
Before today Loew had never visited a tavern owned by Christians. He shrugged, said a small prayer, and opened the door.
He had to duck through the door, and, once inside, saw that the ceiling rose only a few inches above his head. A fat serving man bustled about carrying platters and mugs of beer.
Was this the owner? He looked disappointingly ordinary, short enough so that the low roof did not bother him, with dark brown hair and a face you could pass in the street and never notice.
The tavern was crowded; several people vied for the man's attention. “Jan!” someone called.
Loew's heart beat faster. This was him, then. He no longer noticed the man's ordinary appearance; he thought only that
here, in front of him, might be the thirty-sixth, the man on whom the existence of the world depended.
here, in front of him, might be the thirty-sixth, the man on whom the existence of the world depended.
Loew took a seat out of the light of the candles and watched the tavern-keeper. Soon after he sat down, one of the men in the tavern told Jan that he had no money to pay for his meal. Jan shrugged, holding his arms out to the side as if to say, Never mind, there is money here for everyone. A few minutes later he did the same to another man.
The third time this happened a woman walked out from the kitchen and began to berate him, softly at first and then louder and louder. “Are you letting him go without paying again?” she said. “We have no money to feed ourselvesâwhat in God's name do you think you are doing?”
Jan shrugged again. Several of the men grinned and joked among themselves, as if this was a common occurrence. And Loew had to admit it looked a little comical: Jan's wife was thin and even shorter than he was, but her voice boomed out as if it came from a much larger woman.
The woman sighed loudly, a sigh meant to be heard in every corner of the room. Suddenly she noticed Loew and began to head toward him, but stopped when she saw the yellow circle sewn to his jacket.
“And what are you doing here?” she said. “Aren't there taverns in the Jewish Quarter? I suppose you're going to eat and not pay as wellâI know you Jews.”
“I'd likeâI'd like a beer,” Loew said.
“Let me see your money first.”
Loew began to search through his purse. Just then a man came into the room, and the woman turned away from Loew abruptly. The man's face and hands were a mottled, unhealthy red, as if he had lived out-of-doors for years. He was dressed in rags and had no shoes; his feet were as thick as horn.
“You!” Jan's wife said. “I want you out! Right now!”
“Let him stay, dearest,” Jan said. The endearment made the customers snicker again.
“Are you going to give him money again?”
“I suppose so.”
“No! No, I forbid it!”
Jan opened his purse. The beggar stood calmly, ignoring the woman, his hand outstretched. “Here you are,” Jan said. “Here's thirty pennies, andâwaitâhere's six more.”
Jan's wife seemed to have given up in disgust. She turned back to Loew. “A beer, did you say?”
“Just a minute,” Loew said. He looked at Jan. “Why did you give that man thirty-six pennies?”
“Because he's hungry,” Jan said.
“What difference does it make?” the wife asked Loew. “Are you here to drink or ask questions?”
“No, I mean, why specifically that number? Why thirty-six?”
Jan looked puzzled. “Because he doesn't care that his wife and children are starving,” the wife said.
“I don't know,” the tavern-keeper said finally. “It's an important number, I know that much. Every beggar has to get thirty-six pennies. Do you know why?”
Loew shook his head. The wife set down a glass of beer and waited until he paid for it. He drank thoughtfully and then left the tavern.
He hurried home, worried about missing evening prayers. His thoughts swirled like leaves in the wind. Was this a righteous man? He seemed a good man, someone doing the best he could in turbulent times, but was he the one they were looking for?
Perhaps, Loew thought, I don't want to think so. I expected a man filled with wisdom and learning, and he is far too simple. But is it necessary that a righteous man also be a learned one?
A few days later he ventured out to find Jaroslav the stable-owner. Jaroslav proved far easier to locate; the second person he
asked gave him directions to the stableyard, and then added, “He's a wonderful manâgives a great deal of money to charity.”
asked gave him directions to the stableyard, and then added, “He's a wonderful manâgives a great deal of money to charity.”
Good, Loew thought. He made his way to the stable and went inside. It was a cool dimly-lit place, smelling of animals and leather, hay and sweat and dung. A man came out of the darkness, calling something to someone over his shoulder.
“Are you Jaroslav?” Loew asked.
“Yes,” the man said. A small boy ran into the stable and Jaroslav motioned to Loew to wait a moment. The boy was probably his son; with his square face and lantern jaw he looked like a younger copy of the man.
“Did you deliver the horse?” Jaroslav asked.
The boy nodded.
“And it took youâwhat?âan hour to get there and back?”
The boy nodded, not so certain this time.
“An hour,” Jaroslav said. “For a fifteen minute errand. Didn't I tell you to come right back and not dawdle? Didn't I?”
The boy said nothing. Jaroslav grabbed him by the arm and began to cuff him. “I'm sorry,” the boy said. “I had to stop andâ”
“No excuses!” Jaroslav said, hitting him harder. “When I tell you to come right back, you come right back, do you understand me? Did you get his money, at least?”
The boy nodded. He tried to reach into his purse while his father continued to hit him. “Here it is,” the boy said. “Thirty-six pennies to hire the horse, like you said.”
“Good,” Jaroslav said. “At least you can do one thing right.”
He let go of the boy and turned to Loew. But Loew was already leaving the stable, having seen enough.
DEE GOT A LETTER FROM LOEW DESCRIBING HIS SEARCH A few weeks later. After his account of his visit to Jan's tavern
Loew had written: “Even if we never find this man I have already learned something from our questâI have begun to regard every man with respect, even the most common among them, because any one of them might be the one we seek.”
Loew had written: “Even if we never find this man I have already learned something from our questâI have begun to regard every man with respect, even the most common among them, because any one of them might be the one we seek.”
Dee rummaged among the papers on his desk and took out his list, then crossed off Jaroslav the stable-owner and put a question mark by Jan's name. He stretched, went to his door and looked into the corridor. A beautiful woman was coming out of Countess Erzsébet's rooms.
She was not Anna nor Marie nor any of the others he had seen. He watched her idly, wondering what Erzsébet needed with so many serving women and ladies-in-waiting. As she headed for the stairway her shoulders began to round. Her hair grew white from the roots outward, as though an invisible hand was painting it; it struggled loose from its bindings and fell in unruly wires to cover her face. By the time she reached the stairs she was as bent as a crescent moon, and Dee knew who she was. Magdalena.
He left his room and followed her down the hallway. Her gait had become slow, uncertain. He caught up with her easily at the foot of the stairs. “Magdalena,” he said.
She turned toward him. “Doctor Dee. I was just going to get your supper.”
Her face was guileless. Had he truly seen her as a young beautiful woman? Her hair had been light brown, like polished wood, and her eyes blue as a calm sea. She had stood as straight as a new blade of grass. He strained to see the color of her eyes, but her straggled hair shadowed her face.
“Who are you, really?” he asked.
“What?” She seemed genuinely confused.
“I saw you come out of Erzsébet's rooms just now. You looked far younger, like a maid of twenty.”
“IâI did?”
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