The Alchemist's Door (14 page)

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Authors: Lisa Goldstein

BOOK: The Alchemist's Door
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“All these—these
things,”
Dee whispered. “All these priceless things, and he chooses to look at a seashell.”
They continued on, through rooms of paintings, of sculpture, of tapestries and glasswork and musical instruments. Their senses became stupefied. Dee opened a door without thinking and something flew at his face. He flung up his hand and cried out.
He stood motionless, watching as the thing fell to the floor. “What is it?” Loew asked.
“Some kind of flying automaton,” Dee said, moving closer to study it. “It must have been connected to the door somehow, ready to fly if anyone came into the room.” He laughed. “I made something like it once for a play at Cambridge. They called me a witch. Here I would just be another of the emperor's craftsmen.”
“Hush,” Loew said.
It was too late. Dee heard men speaking to each other around the next corner, probably alerted by his cries. Loew turned to flee. Dee held his sleeve; they could not possibly outrun them.
The men came into view. Guards, Dee saw, wearing Rudolf's uniform. His heart sank.
“What are you doing here?” one of them asked.
Dee smiled, trying to look sheepish. “I'm afraid we're terribly lost,” he said. He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness and held his smile, certain that he looked like the worst sort of fool. “We had an audience with Rudolf and he told us how to get out of the castle, but, well …”
“You're nowhere near the audience chamber,” the guard said, frowning.
“Yes, that's just the problem, I'm afraid,” Dee said. “The more we tried to find our way out the farther away we got. And of course we were dazzled by all the treasures … .”
The guard's frown deepened. Mentioning the treasures had been a mistake, Dee saw; he had only made the man more suspicious. “Take off your cloaks,” the guard said.
“What?”
“I said take off your cloaks. No one is allowed in this part of the castle except Rudolf. People have stolen things from here before.”
“I assure you we are not thieves,” Dee said, trying to put a note of outrage in his voice. “We are guests of King Rudolf. Ask him yourself if you don't believe me. And while you're doing that I'll tell him how you've insulted us. I assure you he won't be pleased.”
“Tell him whatever you like. He's the one who ordered us to search everyone in this part of the castle—he'll be happy to hear how well we're doing our jobs.”
Dee shrugged and dropped his cloak to the floor. Loew stepped forward and did the same, but not before the guard had seen the yellow circle on his breast.
“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I hadn't heard that the king invites Jews for supper.” He snickered and motioned to the other guard, who stepped forward and began to search Loew roughly.
“King Rudolf asked me here to discuss Kabbalah,” Loew said.
The second guard stepped back, a frightened expression on his face. “Kabbalah?” he said. “What's that—some kind of Jewish sorcery?”
“Yes,” Loew said. “The king wishes to learn it from me.”
The second guard looked at the first. “It's true—he's always studying some sort of magic or other. We'd better let them go.”
“We might as well,” the first guard said. “They haven't stolen anything, anyway.”
Dee and Loew bent to pick up their cloaks. Dee's hand was trembling, he noticed; he had been calm while facing the guards but now that he was free to go his terror had caught up with him. “How do we get out of the castle?” he asked, his voice shaking slightly.
“Oh, just keep going the way you've been,” the first guard said, smiling maliciously.
“But we don't—” Dee said.
Loew put his hand on Dee's sleeve and Dee quieted. They were lucky to leave with their lives, after all. The guards continued down the corridor.
Without discussing it the two men began to run in the opposite direction, rushing heedlessly through room after room. The rooms began to blur around them. Surely they had been here before, they had seen this double-headed monster, that statue of Mercury.
“Look!” Loew said suddenly.
Dee followed his gaze. Several rooms ahead of them he could see a formal garden with a fountain near the entrance. They hurried toward it.
He strained to hear Loew behind him but could make out only the laboring sound of his breath. The garden lay ahead of him like a sight of paradise. He put on one last burst of speed.
But as he drew nearer and began to slow he saw that there was something wrong with the garden. Its flowers were blooming, for one thing, though spring had hardly begun. And there was no splash of water from the fountain. No wind shook the trees. It was a painting, a mural completely covering one wall.
He stopped, gasping for breath. “It's hopeless,” he whispered. “It's all a giant maze. We'll never get out.”
Loew said nothing. He was breathing hard.
Then Dee noticed something extraordinary. A small summerhouse stood at the right of the painting, near the bottom. Its door was open, and beyond the door Dee could see a single tree, its branches stripped bare by winter. Was this another illusion? It didn't matter; the emperor's guards would be on them at any moment.
He ran. He could hear Loew calling after him, but he could not spare breath to explain. The air began to smell fresher; he had not noticed how stifling the palace was. Then he stepped through the door.
The sky outside was black and filled with bright stars. Loew came through the door after him. “It's night,” Dee said stupidly.
“It is,” Loew said. His voice was filled with amazement. “We have to hurry. The guards could still be following us.”
Despite what Loew said they could only walk; their final sprint had taken all their remaining energy. They made their way slowly through the lanes surrounding Rudolf's palace, the outbuildings looming dark against the night sky.
Dee felt oddly disoriented. Was this the true sky, the true stars? Or were they still trapped in a room of the Cabinet of Curiosities, enchanted by an astonishingly lifelike painting of the sky and the stars?
A lion roared nearby, startling him from his reverie. “The emperor's menagerie,” Loew whispered.
Other beasts were sounding now, squawking and gibbering and howling. Something or someone shrieked out, “Help! Help!” Dee shivered violently and turned toward it.
Loew held him back. “They are peacocks,” Loew said. “Nothing more.”
“They sound human,” Dee said. He shivered again.
They walked on, hoping the guards had not been drawn by the noise of the animals. It was too dark to see much: several times they stumbled on the uneven cobblestones or lost themselves in a warren of alleyways. Once they passed the menagerie again, coming at it from a different direction.
Finally Dee noticed that the ground began to slope downward, that they were leaving the precinct of the castle. The usually bustling city below the castle was silent and deserted. Dee's feeling of unreality grew.
“How do we know this isn't just another part of the emperor's collection?” Dee asked. “How do we know that Prague, that the world, is not just one of his illusions, another room in his palace?”
Loew said nothing. Dee stopped and saw that he was lagging behind and breathing hard.
“Do you need help getting home?” Dee asked, concerned. The man was even older than he was, after all.
To his surprise Loew nodded. “I do, yes. Thank you.”
They staggered through the city like two drunken revelers. Once they sat on a low wall and gathered their breath. Three prostitutes passed them, tripping over their finery.
“What are you going to do now?” Loew asked.
“God, I hadn't thought,” Dee said. “I can't stay here in Prague, that much is obvious. I'll have to go somewhere Rudolf can't reach me. Poland, probably.” He laughed without mirth. “I left Poland to escape the demon, but it seems to have followed me here. Well, at least my family can stay where they are—King Rudolf doesn't know how to find them. What about you, what will you do?”
“I have the beginnings of an idea,” Loew said. “But I'll need your help. Can you find safe lodgings for the night and come to me tomorrow?”
Dee shook his head. “I can't—the emperor—”
“You can't set out for Poland tonight. You said yourself
Rudolf doesn't know where you live. Go see your wife, sleep at your house tonight, and then come to me sometime tomorrow. Tomorrow evening would be best. I'll meet you at the town hall, at nine o'clock. Under the clock, the one you say runs backwards.” He smiled; it had a bitter tinge. “I think my first feeling about you was correct, that we're both in this together. Whatever it is.”
L
OEW LET HIMSELF INTO HIS HOUSE. PEARL HAD not gone to sleep or had woken early; she was sitting by the hearth, staring into the flames. She gave a startled cry when she saw him. “Oh, thank God,” she said. “Are you all right? Thank God you're safe! What happened to you?”
“I was in King Rudolf's jail,” Loew said. He sank into a chair, more tired than he had ever been in his life. “I only just managed to escape.”
Pearl put her hand to her mouth. “In jail? But why?”
“Rudolf wants some information.” Loew hesitated, then told her what they had learned about the thirty-six men. As he spoke he felt a great weariness fall from him. He had wanted to shield her from danger, but now he saw how good it was to share his burden with someone he loved.
“But what can we do?” Pearl asked. She looked around wildly, as if she thought Rudolf's men would break into their house at any moment. “Will he come here?”
“Not tonight, I don't think. We didn't see any of the watch on our way home. And perhaps he'll forget all about us, or go into seclusion and ignore everyone. It's happened before. Besides, the emperors don't like coming here. It's traditional for them to stay away from the Quarter.”
“But what if he does? Will we have to leave Prague?”
“It may come to that. But first we must find a way to protect ourselves.”
“How?”
“I have an idea.” He stood and kissed her, then held her close for a moment. “I'll discuss it with Doctor Dee tomorrow.”
“Can you trust him?”
“I think so, yes. He's a Christian, of course, and he has all the peculiar ideas Christians have. But I think he's less hostile to us than others would be, and he's interested in learning.” Loew almost smiled, remembering the two of them in the emperor's library, the lure of the books making them forget for the time that they were in danger of their lives.
He yawned widely. “I'll be in my study. Could you bring me some coffee, please?”
“Of course.”
He took a candle and lit the way to his study. Then he sat at his desk, his head in his hands. A knock at the door roused him.
It was Pearl with his coffee. He took it from her and drank it quickly. “Will you be all right?” she asked.
“I think so.”
He waited until she left, then took a book from his shelf and set it on his desk. It opened to page thirty-six, and he scowled. He paged back and forth, looking for a passage he remembered.
There it was: “On Making a Man of Clay.” Next to that was a note he had written, an idea he had had about the proper word to inscribe on the man's forehead. It was as if he had always known he would come to this moment.
But to make a man, a golem as it was called … . How could he possibly think himself worthy? Only God could create life.
But the being would not be precisely a man. It would have
the soul of an animal, not a human; it would be missing the light of God.
And he had no other choice. The emperor had forbidden the Jews to take up arms and learn how to defend themselves; it had made them easy targets for the mobs that overran the Quarter from time to time. He could not possibly gather a fighting force in the short time he had, even supposing he could find someone to train them. And the golem, of course, would be useful in protecting the thirty-sixth man, should he ever be found.
He shook his head, trying to drive away his melancholy thoughts. The man would be found, and Rudolf would respect tradition and not enter the Jewish Quarter. Everything would work out for the best.
He sat at his desk and prayed for the rest of the night, hoping to make himself pure for the task ahead of him.
DEE STAYED INSIDE THE NEXT DAY. AS ME HAD FEARED JANE had been terribly worried, and he told her how he and Loew had been imprisoned. He did not mention the demon, though, saying only that they had managed to escape from the castle.
“But the king will still be looking for you,” she said.
“Yes, I'm afraid so. I'm sorry, sweetling—I'm going to have to go away again. I'll have to see if Prince Laski will receive me once more.” She sighed, and he brushed her cheek with his hand. “I know how difficult this is for you and the children. Loew has an idea, a way to protect himself from the king. I'm going to visit him tonight.”
All the while they talked he listened for a knock at the door and the sound of the king's men forcing their way inside. At dusk he said farewell to Jane and set out for the Jewish Quarter,
keeping to the shadows, ready to turn back if he saw anyone suspicious. As he went he thought of the psalm Loew had recited: “Thou shalt not be afraid of the terror by night … .” The night grew darker; he wrapped his cloak around him.
When he reached the square he heard the town hall clock strike nine, and then the faint echo of all the clocks across the city ringing out. Someone stood in front of the town hall holding two lit torches.
It was Loew. He saw Dee and smiled. “You made it after all,” he said. “I was afraid you'd gone to Poland.”
“My curiosity got the better of me,” Dee said. “I could not resist the riddle you posed last night. What is it you have planned?”
Loew handed him one of the torches. “Light is said to drive away demons,” he said. “The Talmud says that carrying a torch at night is as good as having a companion, and moonlight is as good as two men. There will be a full moon tonight.”
They began to walk. He led Dee not to his house but along an unfamiliar cobblestoned street. Houses flickered in the torchlight. Light shone out from some of the windows, the golden glow of hearth-fires. He saw people eating supper, talking, laughing, reading, and he wished he could return to his own home and sit by his own fire with Jane. He had never felt so much of an outsider.
They traveled for a while without speaking. Suddenly Dee smelled a familiar odor in front of him, of water and rich thick mud. A few steps more brought them to the banks of the Moldau. The moon began to rise, as full as Loew had promised; its silver light pooled out across the water.
The lane ended. They walked the last few yards in mud, their shoes sinking as they went. Loew set his torch upright in the sand, and Dee did the same.
“Come,” Loew said. “I'll need your help. We are going to create a man from the mud.”
A man? Could Loew truly create a man? Some people, Kelley among them, thought that the Philosopher's Stone could animate a lifeless vessel, but Dee had never heard of anyone who had done it successfully. Did Loew know the secret?
Loew knelt and began to shape the clay. Dee shook off his doubts and bent alongside him.
As they worked the moon rose fully. Its light shone down upon them, illuminating the figure as it slowly took form. Dee shoved his hands into the wet mud and felt it slip between his fingers. It was lifeless, inert. Could it possibly be roused to life?
He molded the curve of a shoulder, the flat plane of a chest, added mud to thicken the muscles of the thigh. To his surprise he saw Loew sculpt a penis and testicles for the thing; he wondered why, since it would never have the opportunity to use them. The only sound as they worked was the quiet slap of the river against the shore. Their torches hissed and went out, but the moon gave enough light to work by.
At one point he saw Loew separate the jaws and put a piece of paper in its mouth. Then he wrote something on its forehead in Hebrew characters.
Emet
, Dee read. Truth.
Dee sat back and wiped his forehead, realizing as he did so that his face had gone as muddy as his hands. He could see now that one of the thing's arms was longer than the other; he had not managed to match the one Loew made. He bent back to work, to correct his mistake, but Loew held up his hand.
Loew stood and tried, futilely, to brush the mud from his trousers. “I need you to recite a psalm,” he said. “The one hundred and thirty-ninth. It says—”
“Wait,” Dee said. “We're not finished, are we? The arms are wrong. And see—the features are misshapen. Look at its mouth and nose and eyes—they're far coarser than a human's.”
“We can't waste any more time,” Loew said. “I don't
know how much longer this will take, and we have to finish before the night ends. To some people, what we do here is witchcraft.”
Dee nodded reluctantly.
“The psalm,” Loew said. “You must say, ‘My body was not hid from thee, when I was made in secret, and curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth. Thine eyes did see my substance, unperfect, and in thy book all my members were written.' And you must walk in a circle about the body as you recite.”
Dee stood. He suddenly realized how tired he was, how unused he was to hard labor and no sleep. “And what will you do?” he asked.
“I will circle the body as well,” Loew said. “I will speak the
shem
, the name of God. I will combine the letters into all the permutations there are.”
Dee nodded. He had written the hidden name of God on one of his wax tablets; he remembered now that Loew had been alarmed when he had first seen it. It consisted of the letters Yod Hay Vav Hay—YHVH—though no one was certain exactly where the vowels should be placed or how it was pronounced. Kabbalists combined the letters into all their possible forms—only twelve words, since two of the letters were the same—in order to work their magic.
They began to walk around the body, their feet leaving tracks in the mud as they went. Dee recited the verses he had been given. He could dimly hear Loew speaking words as well, but he could not make them out. After a while he noticed that they were circling counterclockwise, going backwards like the clock in the town square.
He could never remember afterwards how long they had walked. It felt like hours; his legs ached and began to tremble, and his voice grew hoarse. The words he spoke sounded meaningless.
Once Loew stumbled, and he hurried forward to support him.
After a while he felt certain that they had failed, that the body would never come to life. He wondered when Loew would realize this, when he would call a halt to his experiment.
The moon began to set. He could no longer see the river, could barely see the body they walked around. The moon glinted on the thing's face.
The moonlight moved over the coarse features. No—the light was not moving at all. The head was turning slowly to one side.
Dee blinked. The face seemed stationary now. Surely he had not seen what he had thought he had seen. His circling turned him away from the body, and when he was facing it again it looked as lifeless as before.
Then the thing opened its eyes. Dee gasped and stood still. Loew pushed him roughly, indicating that he should continue walking; he did not stop chanting as he motioned.
Dee took a step forward, and then another. He was trembling strongly now, and not from tiredness. The thing sat up and studied its hands, turning them back and forth. Its head was cocked to one side as though it was puzzling something out.
“Good,” Loew said. “You may stop now.”
Dee sank gratefully to the ground. The thing seemed to study him. Its irises were not much more than depressions in the clay of the eyes, like thumbprints, but the eyes moved and seemed to see. It was all one color, hair and eyes, tongue and teeth, the muddy color of a riverbank.
The clay man got slowly to its feet. Dee had not realized how tall they had made it; if he were standing it would tower over him, and he was not a small man.
“I should tell you how to return it to clay,” Loew said. “In
case something happens to me. First you must take the piece of paper from its mouth.”
“What did you write on the paper?” Dee asked. He could not take his eyes from the thing.
“The name of God, the
shem,”
Loew said. “Then you must erase the first letter on its forehead, the
aleph.
When you do this it will simply say
met
, or ‘dead.'”
Dee nodded.
“We call this a golem,” Loew said. “It has a soul like the souls of animals, but it lacks the light of God.” Suddenly, unexpectedly, he grinned. “I wasn't sure I could do it. I have never heard of anyone succeeding.”
He sat abruptly near Dee. “I will call him Yossel,” he said. “He will ring the synagogue bells.” He laughed giddily.
Was he delirious? Dee wondered. Or was he simply elated at his success? Dee thought that he could not blame him for either. They had done something incredible here.
“We must go,” Loew said, turning serious. “I will take him home, and he will give us protection from the king's men. And you will go to Poland.”
His voice had turned cold; it was as if he regretted his earlier giddiness, as if he felt embarrassed at showing such emotion to a man he thought of as an outsider. Still, Dee had heard the laughter, and he could not help but feel more warmly toward him.

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