Deliver us from Evil (47 page)

I
leaned forward. "What, then?"
I
whispered. "What did you see?"

' "He appeared to me," the Rabbi answered, "as though from nowhere - as it had been written in the secret texts that he would. He gave me a book.
I
opened it. The script was like nothing
I
had ever seen before. 'How shall
I
read this?'
I
cried out to him. He gave me no answer, but only smiled, so that
I
felt like covering my face with my hands, for his silence seemed too great for mortal eyes to endure. But still
I
dared to look at him, and to speak a second time. 'Samael,'
I
asked, 'the venomous beast - how am
I
to defeat him?' Again, the Wanderer smiled; and then he turned, and went, and
I
was left alone. But the book was still in my hands; and when
I
studied its secret script again,
I
knew that the Wanderer had been Raziel, the angel of all that is hidden, who watches with a jealous eye over the mysteries of God. And it was as
I
was thinking this, and clutching the book, that you" - he smiled at me - "appeared before my seat."

' "And the book,"
I
whispered slowly. "What did it reveal?"

' "Its meaning continued a mystery to me.
I
would study it for hours in the Synagogue each day, and each day
I
would imagine that
I
had mastered it, that
I
had finally understood its script - and yet in truth, my understanding was like a pebble flicked by a child, skimming across the words as though they were water and never coming to any certain rest. Years passed.
I
began to despair.
I
still studied the book as diligently as
I
had ever done; but
I
was afraid now that
I
might not be worthy of its mysteries. Then one hot afternoon, as
I
sat alone at my work,
I
was interrupted by my granddaughter. She had been told that she was not to disturb me; but she was very young, and she had picked a bunch of flowers which she wanted to give to me.
I
scolded her gently, but
I
took her gift; and when she had gone,
I
found that
I
could no longer study the book, but only gaze at the flowers. The Ghetto is a place of dust and stone; nothing grows here, save for weeds in the cemetery; and the flowers, delicate mementoes of some countryside verge, struck me with the force of a revelation, something wondrous and strange which
I
had almost forgotten.
I
found
I
was gazing at the traceries of the tiny petals as though they, not the book, contained all the mystery; for they seemed to form the language of the universe. Suddenly,
I
could sense a sublime meaning in everything.
I
reached for the book and found that
I
could read the script in that as well. The whole world seemed contained within it: the past and the future; where
I
sat, and beyond. Yes,
I
thought, the book is indeed a lake, its surface as calm and silver as a mirror; and now at last,
I
can pass beneath its surface ..."

'The Rabbi paused; then muttered a faint prayer under his breath. "How shall
I
describe," he whispered, "what cannot be described? For the book, like the law of God, is many things. It is a collection of words, to be read and comprehended. Yet it has a meaning too which is more, much more, than the value of its words; as though the text were a body and its truth a soul, greater by far than the matter which contains it. And it is fitting
I
should describe the book in such a way; for its secrets are those of creation: of the spirit of Yahweh, who breathed into the motionless Adam, and made life out of dust. Without such breath, what is any man? Imperfect. Unfinished. A rough lump of clay ..." The Rabbi paused, then breathed softly on the back of his hand. "A man," he whispered slowly, "might mould an image of himself - but he cannot give it life. It would continue as nothing but a compound of dirt - for it would lack
neshumah,
the spirit of God. A deadly prison, then, deadly and dull - if a spirit were somehow to be trapped within its clay ..."

I
gazed at the Rabbi and could see, reflected in his eyes, the pale glitter of my own. "You formed it, then?"
I
whispered slowly. "You formed such a . .. ?"

' "Golem."
The word seemed to linger in the air. The Rabbi shuddered suddenly and his voice, when he spoke again, was hoarse and low.
I
determined, yes, to form a
golem.
But not at once - not until all was ready - for there were other mysteries
I
still had to fathom.
I
have said that the book was like the surface of a lake, through which one passed as one studied its words. And indeed,
I
might have thought that
I
had plunged into water, for golden currents would swim before my eyes, and eddies of strange light; and yet in truth,
I
was seeing things not less, but more clearly than before, for my gaze,
I
supposed, was become like an angel's - like that, perhaps, of Raziel himself.
I
could see lines and beams, some lesser, some greater, but all endowed with celestial power; and
I
felt, as
I
passed through them, that such power might be my own. Yet
I
was afraid to dye my thoughts in their light, for they were part,
I
knew, of a secret architecture by means of which the universe itself was maintained -and
I
dreaded to trespass on the mysteries of God. But
I
also knew that
I
could not wait for long; for sometimes, borne upon the beams,
I
would catch a faint sense of evil, of a darkness corrupting and muddying the light; and
I
would remember that the Angel of Evil was still abroad. And as
I
delayed - so the darkness ever seemed to grow."

' "So tell me,"
I
whispered. "Tell me what you did."

'The Rabbi stared at me strangely, for my eagerness must have appeared hectic in my eyes; and for a moment he fell silent, as though suddenly afraid of my designs.
I
pressed him again; he smiled very faintly, then began to tell me of a man named Dr Dee. It may stir your sensibilities, sirs, to know that this Dee was an Englishman, one of the hundreds of alchemists gathered in Prague, all buzzing about the Emperor like flies above meat. Yet Dr Dee himself was not merely a charlatan but also a learned and brilliant man, the master of many branches of knowledge - one of which especially served to interest Rabbi Loew. For Dr Dee had written of immortal and invisible beams, which were possessed of a sacred and miraculous power. It was the argument of the Doctor that in his own native land the ancient priests had built temples along the line of such beams; and so the Rabbi wondered if the same might not have occurred in Bohemia. It was with such a hope that he approached Dr Dee and, having sworn him to silence, revealed to him the secret of his book.

'He knew that he had taken a risk; and so indeed it proved: for Dr Dee could not resist the temptation laid so suddenly before him. Unbeknown to Rabbi Loew, he began to copy out the text of the book, and then, when he had completed it, fled from Bohemia back to England. Yet Rabbi Loew was not too concerned; for he doubted that Dr Dee, even if he had succeeded in copying the text correctly, would ever succeed in reading it; for he had not been able to do so before, not even with the help of Rabbi Loew himself. What the Doctor had succeeded in discovering, however, written in ancient texts, had been the tradition of an ancient line of sacred power passing through the heart of Prague, through the very centre of the Charles Bridge itself; and although Dr Dee himself was fled, the fruits of his research had been left behind. So the Rabbi went with his book to the edge of the bridge. He began to read the script, and to pass into the world of mystery it revealed. And he saw then that Dr Dee had been right: that the bridge was crossed by a mighty stream of energy, so pure that it could barely be glimpsed at all, and of a power such as he had never experienced before. As the Rabbi stood in the wash of its flow, he knew that it offered him the best chance he would have.

'He followed the line beyond the bounds of Prague, to a quarry on the bank of the River Vltava. That afternoon, he bathed himself; then recited passages from the Kabbalah, and the one-hundred-and-nineteenth Psalm. As night began to fall, he swathed himself in a hood of purest white; then, carrying a torch, returned to the quarry. He knelt by the river bank, where the clay was thickest; and began to form a human shape, three cubits long, laid out in the heart of the great line of power. When it was completed, Rabbi Loew rose again to his feet. He began to read from his book, circling the figure of the
golem
as he did so, feeling himself melt all the time into the power. He could see the line more clearly now, a whirlwind of dark fire touched with brightness about its edge, and with amber in its heart; and now it was the world beyond which instead seemed indistinct and faint. Still the Rabbi continued circling the
golem,
reading from the book; and the amber grew brighter, so that he could see nothing else beyond it. By the sixth circuit, all the darkness had been consumed; the amber was blazing in a mighty wall of fire, and the Rabbi cried out, for he seemed diffused into the flames and the infinite points of life that they cast; and then he laughed, and understood - that he was now the light.

'He stopped reading and dropped the book. It cast out waves of colour. He looked around. The world was all about him again, but strangely, like a rainbow's reflection cast upon a stream. Yet the Rabbi could control it: could make it obey the slightest ripple of his thoughts. He gazed along the line of power, still blazing but with the form of liquid crystal now; and the Rabbi could see where it led, for mile after mile, so that vast distances seemed to shrink into nothing. He thought of the Evil One - of Samael, the Venomous Beast. Nothing appeared. It was not possible, the Rabbi thought, to imagine its appearance - to imagine the face of the enemy of God. So he traced in his mind, as though it were wet sand, the letters of its name; and as he did so, he gazed into the depths of the line.

'Suddenly, in its very heart, he could make out a mannikin, a tiny silhouette. It appeared to be struggling; but the Rabbi fixed it with his stare and would not let it go. Nearer
and nearer it drew, borne upon
the line of power; and the Rabbi saw, to his horror, how it was staining the crystal of the blaze with its darkness, so that he, who was the light, could feel his own power start to fade. But he did not release the figure - not even though there was a coldness now reaching deep into his bones, and the darkness was screaming like a gale through his thoughts. More and more pitch it grew; and then suddenly the Rabbi could see nothing at all. He stood frozen. The gale faded away, and the silence seemed so icy that it made the Rabbi scream. Still he was answered by silence; and then suddenly the figure was before him, a monstrous size, a compound of shadow save for the furnace of its eyes. It reached for the Rabbi and twisted back his head; then lowered its jaws towards the side of his neck. The Rabbi cried out a prayer. It had no effect. Despairingly, he gazed down at the ground where he could see the book, its pages open. The Rabbi read them, a secret incantation; and as he did so, the darkness was streaked again with light. He repeated the incantation, and the creature staggered as though suddenly wounded. Yet it did not release its grip, but with a shriek of mingled agony and rage flung the Rabbi down into the mud. Its jaws were still apart; as they drew near to his throat again, the Rabbi could feel the drip of its saliva. He twisted his head round desperately, trying to sink deeper into the mud; and as he did so he saw, upon the bank, a host of swaying flowers. The image of his daughter -all those years before, holding up a bunch of flowers to him - filled his mind; and he recalled how surprised by joy he had been, tracing the beauty of each tiny petal.

'At the same moment as he remembered this, he heard the creature scream; not with hatred now, but with a desperate pain. The Rabbi could feel it shuddering, and then releasing its grip upon his arms. He twisted, rolling away across the mud, so that he came to rest amidst the flowers. He turned and looked back towards the creature. It was writhing and shrieking as though consumed by the light. The Rabbi turned again and reached for the flowers; he picked a bunch and held them to his nose; he breathed in their scent. And all the time he was thinking - thinking of the secret magic in the book, by the power of which the Beast was to be bound. He raised his eyes again; he crossed towards the creature. Still he could make out nothing of it save for its silhouette; but then, as he seized it in the toils of his thought, he saw its darkness start to glisten and he realised that the creature was sweating out its blood. He gazed down at the model of the
golem.
Blood, in a thick rain, was falling on to it. And all the while the creature was shrieking, as its limbs and body continued to wither, and its blood was drunk by the greedy clay. The Rabbi reached down for the book and then, still clutching the flowers in his other hand, he read out the secret incantation once again. Like the breath of a wind trapped within a house, the creature's scream rose and then faded into silence; its skin and bones collapsed into dust, and the clay of the
golem
glistened with damp.

'The Rabbi bent down beside it; then from within his robes he drew out a single strip of parchment. It had Hebrew letters inscribed upon it - the
shem hamephorash,
the secret name of God. He placed it within the
golem's
open mouth; and the clay figure writhed, and bucked, and then was still, as the dampness faded and the clay was baked hard. The Rabbi turned to the dust of bone and skin behind him, and buried it deep within the mud; then he left the quarry and began the walk back to Prague, still with the book and the bunch of flowers in his hands. Once returned to the Ghetto, he ordered four of his followers to fetch the
golem
and place it in the attic of the Synagogue. No one saw them as they went about their task; and once the
golem
had been carefully hidden beneath prayer shawls and books, the Rabbi ordered the door to be boarded up. He then issued the sternest prohibition, forbidding anyone to pass into the room; for it contained, like the Temple, the mysteries of God.'

'And as is ever the way,' Lord Rochester drawled, 'someone disobeyed him?' He smiled lazily. 'For mortal flesh exists to break such commands.'

'That may be,' answered the Pasha, 'and yet still, the Rabbi was no fool. For he was reluctant to see the
golem
buried away from his watchful eye; and he knew that, even lifeless, the terror it inspired was deterrence enough. Only the violence of the Christians could have endangered its hiding place, and it was for that reason that the Rabbi had requested his audience with the Emperor. He revealed to him, during their secret conference, the truth of the
golem;
and Emperor Rudolf, a man such troubled by presentiments of evil magic and war, believed the Rabbi's story. He granted the Jews of Prague his personal protection, and then demanded to see the
golem
for himself. Despite the Rabbi's best efforts to dissuade him, the Emperor would not be denied; and so it was that one night, Rudolf arrived in disguise at the Synagogue, climbed the stairs and ordered the doorway to the attic to be opened. He then passed inside, and for a long while gazed down at the face of the
golem.
When he left the attic at last, he ordered that the door be boarded again, but even more securely than before; otherwise, though, he said not a word. From that moment on, the Emperor was rarely seen abroad again. It was said that his melancholy had devoured his senses; that he was raging mad; that he was dead. The Rabbi, hearing such rumours, would sometimes glance up at the single attic window and pray, deep, deep in his heart, that he had done things for the best. Sometimes too, when he sat in his study, he would glance at a bunch of flowers in a vase, to make certain that their petals were not losing their bloom. For ever since that night in the quarry by the river, the flowers had not faded but had remained as fresh as when the Rabbi plucked them first.'