all its terrifying aspects, on a flat pane of glass.
“I know just the fellow,” I said, as the rabbis helped me to my feet.
I could see the flickering outlines of people on the embankment as they scurried away to spread the word about our Jewish magic.
I brushed myself off and described the way to Langweil’s studio. Then we washed our hands, and left the cemetery. Rabbi Gans hustled off to search for Langweil, and I told Rabbi Loew that if all went well, I’d be back under his roof within an hour.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to bring our friend back to life.”
ZINGER SAT IN THE MIDDLE of the circle of gaily painted women, doing what he did best, getting cheap laughs and bringing a little levity to their earthbound souls.
“There are certain words that just shouldn’t exist,” he said. “Like bishopric. I mean, what are you supposed to think when they say a word like that? I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure I don’t want to think about what a bishopric is.” His shoulders quivered in a stageworthy shudder.
The girls all laughed.
“Look, we don’t have much time,” I said. “Could we get on with this?”
The hostess looked me over with the green eyes of a jealous goddess. “And what have you been doing, rolling around in a mud puddle?”
“Mud would be a step up from what I’ve been rolling in,” I said. “Where’s Trine?”
A few titters escaped from their shiny red lips.
“Keep your pants on, Mr. Shammes. She’s coming.”
The girls tittered again. I didn’t like it any better the second time. I reached into the circle, grabbed Zinger by the hand, and pulled him away from his adoring audience.
The hostess made a number of comments about my questionable parentage as I directed Zinger to the archway and marched him all the way back to Trine’s room.
I knocked on the door, but she didn’t answer. The space under the bottom panel yielded no clues, so I crouched down and looked through the keyhole—yes, I admit it—but it was too dark to see anything. But the one next door was letting some light slip through.
I found her in Yosele’s room, taking the knots out of the big fellow’s hair with a wooden comb.
I made some quick introductions, but Zinger just stood there staring at this overgrown child, seemingly at a loss for words, which was fine with me because I wasn’t in the mood for idle chatter.
“He’s like a trained bear,” Trine said, dragging the comb through Yosele’s thick, matted hair. “We’ve trained him to sit at the table, and use a knife and fork, but he’s still a bear. And sometimes he goes back to being one—” she said, pulling at a particularly tough knot.
“Well, what do you think?” I asked.
Zinger looked him over. “Well…with some raised shoes, maybe even a pair of special stilts concealed under extra-long pantaloons, only a couple feet long, nothing too obvious, then if we cover his clothes with a layer of mud and smear his face and hands with earth, it just might work—”
“Wait a minute,” said Trine. “What might work?”
“We need to make him look like a golem,” I said.
“Oh, no, you don’t. Not with my Yosele. Who do you think you are, Rabbi Elijah of Chelm? You wouldn’t even know how to keep him out of the pantry. Why, if I let him have all the sweets he wanted, he’d blow up like a fatted calf.”
“That’s exactly why we need your help.”
“And what do I get out of this marvelous deal?”
“A chance at redemption.”
“Who are you to offer me redemption? Besides, I thought I was beyond redemption.”
“No one is cast off forever.”
Meanwhile, Yosele kept busy by lining up a set of wooden blocks with faded Hebrew letters that must have been painted on quite some time ago. But when I tilted my head, the pattern became clear: . He wasn’t just lining them up arbitrarily, he was spelling out the words katz, hunt, epl. Cat, dog, apple.
“How did he learn to do that?” I asked.
“By imitating me. He can learn to imitate anything you teach him.”
I wondered what else he was learning to imitate from such a teacher.
“Good,” said Zinger. “Because we need him to scare the goyim into crap-ping themselves.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” said Trine, stroking Yosele’s head with her thin white fingers. “It sounds dangerous. And he’s really very gentle, you know. He’s not like other men his size—”
Suddenly Zinger clapped his hand to