The Red Magician (15 page)

They had nearly crossed America before Kicsi realized where she was. Another ocean shone like metal before them, and she saw New York, its tall buildings standing guard on the edge of the continent. Then they were over the water, moving toward Europe again, and toward their starting point.

“What did you think?” said Vörös. “How did you like the world? You see, you got your wish—the one you wished that day a long time ago—that you would see faraway places.”

“I—I don't know,” said Kicsi slowly. “You know, I don't think I'll ever enjoy anything again.”

“Well, then,” said Vörös. “I'm going to have to try again.”

Kicsi looked down. For a moment she thought she was back at the village. But it was smaller than the village, and less important—just a crossroads and a few houses. The forest was larger, the distance to the next village greater. She understood that she was seeing the village as it had been hundreds and hundreds of years ago.

As she watched, settlers came to the village on horses. More houses went up. A thriving market grew by the crossroads. Trees were felled for their wood. The synagogue was built and the graveyard consecrated.

Vörös showed Kicsi two people, a young man and woman. She watched as they built a house for themselves with the help of their friends and as they blessed it and settled in. She saw the man go to till the fields every day and the woman stay at home and take care of the new house they had built. She saw the man come home in the evening, and she saw the two of them embrace and eat by firelight the dinner that the woman had prepared.

Then the woman became ill. The man stopped going to the fields and stayed at home, helplessly watching the house decay as the woman sank into her fever. He sent for a rabbi from the neighboring town, as the small village did not yet have its own rabbi. He changed the woman's name, in the hope that the Angel of Death would become confused and return to heaven without the woman's soul. He prayed. He did not eat. He sat staring into the firelight for hours, until it seemed to Kicsi that everything in the room became tinged with the red wash of fire.

He did not seem surprised when, one day, he looked up and saw the Angel of Death standing over the woman.

“Please,” he said. “Do not take her yet.”

“I must take her,” said the angel. “It is written.”

“No,” said the man. “Take me in her place.”

The angel seemed to consider this, but finally he said, “No. I want this soul, and not yours. Not yet.”

The man became angry. “If you take her,” he said, “I will end my life. I will throw myself into the fire, to follow her.”

“You cannot do that,” said the angel. “I do not want your soul. If you do that, you will doom yourself to wander the earth until the end, until the Messiah comes. You will never see her again.”

“I do not believe you,” said the man. “It is a trick to prevent me from following her.”

“As you wish,” said the angel, and he gathered up the woman's soul and took it away with him, but the man did not see where they went. He threw himself into the fire, and was burned.

Then it seemed to Kicsi that she could see the man's soul moving from place to place in the village, unhappy, restless, unable to find peace. He began to frighten travelers who came to the village—Kicsi remembered a story István had once told, of a spirit that lived in the woods—but after a hundred years had passed he stopped.

Kicsi turned to Vörös. “I know why you showed me that,” she said. “You want to tell me that I shouldn't throw away my life because someone else has died.”

“I had that in mind, yes,” said Vörös. “But that was not why I showed you the man. You see, I know him.”

Kicsi said nothing. “Ah, Kicsi,” said Vörös. “I remember a time when you would have wondered at that.”

“I'm not a young child anymore,” said Kicsi.

“Yes, you are,” said Vörös. “You are very young.” He called to the spirit in the village, and it came to meet them. It looked very much like the young man she had seen, but when she looked at it directly it seemed to fade, to grow transparent.

“This young woman does not wish to live,” Vörös said to the spirit. “What would you show her?”

“The old things,” said the spirit. Its voice sounded like wind speaking to old ruined houses.

“Which ones?” said Vörös.

“Egypt,” said the spirit. “Jerusalem.”

“Show us,” said Vörös.

They were over Egypt now, watching as workers built the great pyramids, carrying blocks of newly cut stone across the miles, sweating under the hot sun. Kicsi thought of Imre, in the haze of the candlelight, saying, “We were slaves in the land of Egypt.…” She turned away.

“No,” said Vörös. His voice seemed to come from far away. “I don't think we should be showing her this. It reminds her too much of what she has been through.”

“Yes,” said the spirit.

She looked down and saw the walled city of Jerusalem as it was hundreds of years ago. People in many-colored costumes walked quickly through the narrow cobbled streets. Others asked for admittance at the gates, and were passed through. She saw men with fine robes and bright rings on their fingers bring their tribute to the city—elephants, camels, peacocks. Craftsmen called by the king came from all over to design the temple, bringing with them the richest grains of wood in their lands.

Vörös looked at Kicsi. “What do you think?”

“I don't know,” she said. “I think I remember a time when I would have wanted to see this, but it seems so long ago now.”

“I don't know,” said Vörös. “I don't know what to do with you. There is nothing left to show you.”

“Nothing,” said the spirit, “save the spirit world.”

The world changed slightly. Below them she could still see Jerusalem on the hill, but the air was thickening about them. A winged shape, black and covered with scales, flew past them. Another shape, seemingly made of fire, burned across the sky. Something white drifted toward them, and as it came closer Kicsi saw that it was a woman with white staring eyes. Far off she heard something moan in torment. Kicsi understood that she was seeing demons and angels on their own errands. She drew closer to Vörös.

“Over there,” said the spirit suddenly. Vörös looked to where he was pointing. Quickly Vörös said a word over Kicsi and moved her behind him. A woman flew close to them, a woman with a white face and night-black hair that flew out behind her like a cloak. Her lips were blood red and her teeth were pointed.

“That was Lilith,” said Vörös. “The childstealer.”

The sky darkened. Points of light trailed past them—shining eyes or teeth or nails. In the distance a skull flashed against the sky like a comet, and was gone. The lights began to draw closer to them, seeking them, hunting them.

“Come,” said Vörös. “Quickly.” The night grew darker. There were no stars. To the east Kicsi could see a faint light, and she wondered how the dawn could be coming so soon after nightfall. It was toward the light that Vörös led them.

The night spirits hurried after them. They called to Vörös, asking him to stop, to turn back. A great silken net loomed up in front of Kicsi, and she broke through it, trailing delicate weblike strands. She shuddered.

She heard her name, and looked back. The spirits called to her, promising her rest. A child on a silver horse sang to her, telling her of the peace of death. Come with us, they called. Leave your grief with the living and follow us. There is rest here.

She slowed. Ahead of her she saw Vörös and the spirit flying toward the eastern light, their arms outstretched. Come with me, sang the child, washed in the light of the silver horse. All those you knew are dead. Find rest with me.

Vörös saw her then. One minute he was far away, nearly lost in the distance, and the next he was by her side, with the spirit beside him. A look of horror was on his face. “Go back!” he said to the spirits. He called to them by their names. “Go back and follow us no more.” He grasped Kicsi by her wrist and pulled her toward the light.

The night demons slowed, turned away, calling to each other with shrill voices. Then they were gone.

Vörös stopped. Below them Kicsi saw an angel. His face was made of light and in his hands he held a spiral sword.

“He is one of the four angels who stand watch over the Garden of Eden,” said Vörös. “The demons cannot abide his light. We are safe as long as we stay here. How are you feeling?”

“I don't know,” said Kicsi. “Tired.”

“Shall we go back?”

“I don't care,” said Kicsi.

Vörös sighed. “Come, then,” he said.

“You are going into realms where I cannot follow,” said the spirit. “Good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” said Vörös.

Below them Kicsi saw the outline of Europe reappear, clouded with smoke. They drifted a while, looking at the people below them. “It was all illusion, you know,” said Vörös. “You were never in any danger.”

“Oh,” said Kicsi.

“You do want to die, then,” said Vörös.

She said nothing.

“You look tired,” said Vörös. Then suddenly: “Wait,” he said.

“What is it?” said Kicsi. They had stopped.

“Nothing,” said Vörös. “I thought I saw—yes, it was him. Over there. Come this way.”

They fell back to earth slowly, toward an emergency station that had been set up by the Red Cross. No one seemed to notice them. As they came closer Kicsi could see that lists had been posted—the lists of the names of the dead. Standing in front of one of the lists was a man. His gray-black hair was longer, wilder, and his gray eyes were fiercer, but she knew him. It was the rabbi.

She saw him read his daughter's name from the lists of the dead. “I will get revenge,” she heard him say. “I will find that traveler—the man who spoke the words of evil omen at my daughter's wedding—and I will kill him. I will have my revenge.”

And then she and Vörös were back inside the barracks, on the cot, as though nothing had happened.

8

Vörös sat with his head in his hand, looking at the wall, saying nothing. Finally Kicsi said, “He can't really kill you, can he?”

Vörös turned to her and laughed. “Why do you say that? Certainly he can.”

“But—” She remembered another time, long ago, when the rabbi had threatened to kill Vörös. She remembered her fear then, the horrible certainty that Vörös would die. She did not feel afraid now. Perhaps, she thought, too many people had died. Perhaps she would never be afraid of death again. “But he said he would kill you if he saw you in the village.”

“He said that he would kill me if his daughter was harmed.”

“Oh. But he can't really believe—I mean, it wasn't you that—”

“No,” said Vörös. “But he thinks it was. His mind has been twisted by the war, and by all the deaths. His village, his congregation, is gone. I'm afraid he sees all his enemies as equals. I am the same as the Germans who killed his daughter, in his eyes.”

“Oh,” Kicsi said again. “But he can't really harm you, can he? Last time, when he tried, you escaped, remember? Your magic is stronger than his.”

“Kicsi,” said Vörös, “let me tell you something. His magic is stronger than mine and always has been. Last time, when I escaped, it was by luck, and with the aid of a friend.” He looked at the far wall again and said nothing for a long time.

“Well,” said Kicsi, “what will happen now? Are we going to die?”

“We may,” said Vörös. “I am very weary. I have worked the last three years without stopping. I will need my pack to continue.”

“Your pack,” said Kicsi. “I have it. I hid it in the walls—”

“I know,” said Vörös. “I have been back once to find it, but the house was filled with soldiers.”

“Soldiers? In our house?”

“Yes. It was then that I knew that you and your family had been taken. I would have come back sooner but I had pressing errands …”

“Soldiers,” said Kicsi. “In our house. Who lives there now, I wonder?”

“I would like to find out. If I can get back my pack I might be able to stand against the rabbi. Will you come with me, back to your village? It will be painful for you, I know.”

“I have nowhere else to go,” said Kicsi. “I may as well come with you. What do we do now? Do you snap your fingers and we return to the village?”

“Kicsi,” said Vörös. “You have not been listening to me. I have no magic left. We must walk, and ride the trains.”

“No magic?” said Kicsi. “But—what about the trip we just took? Around the world, and to Jerusalem—”

“That was illusion. None of it was real. I put on a show for you, to see if you would come alive again. You did not.” Suddenly Vörös sounded very old. “But illusion will never work against the rabbi. He is too clever for that. So. Do you still want to come with me? I have nothing else to offer you. Very possibly, it will be dangerous.”

“I will come,” Kicsi said. “I am not afraid of death anymore.”

She spent the next few days resting and gathering strength. Vörös went into the town several times for food and supplies. Gradually she was able to eat a whole meal, to walk about the camp. Life seemed unreal without the barking of dogs and the roaring of the furnaces. She felt that she had seen beneath the mask of the world, and she could not quite believe in that mask again.

One day after Vörös came back from the town he said, “It has been eighteen days since I first came to this camp. Eighteen is the number of
chai
, the Hebrew word for life. It would be good to leave now. Do you think you are ready?”

“Yes.”

Vörös looked at her carefully. “Do not be so willing to throw your life away. The rabbi is after us, as I thought. If you see anything at all unusual, I want you to tell me. Can you do that?”