Джонатан Келлерман - The Golem of Paris

As for me, my work at the synagogue continues. I believe I mentioned I have not married, so if you happen to know any eligible young women who love a challenge, please send them airmail to Prague.

I wish I had more to say. In truth, I do, but I don’t know how to say it. I suppose that I am stalling, because I don’t want you to look at the pictures.

However there is one more very important question, namely, that of the jars.

The situation here sits on the knife’s edge, with just the one jar that you left behind. I understand that you found unusable the clay you brought back from Prague, but I do not think it feasible, as you suggested, for me to send you a fresh package. We could try, but my belief is that it would be far preferable if you were to return in person to complete the work here. Given the untimeliness of my father’s death, I am somewhat uncertain as to the absolute necessity of this. As you can imagine, we began many conversations that were never completed. It may in fact be that I am wrong and that it is not necessary.

Regardless, I humbly ask again that you consider sending me the second jar as a stopgap. I confess that I found your reluctance to do so difficult to understand. Perhaps we could discuss it further once you have had a chance to look at the materials, which I hope will not prove too upsetting.

S úctou váš,

Petr Wichs

Sam opened the door and drew a sharp breath. “Thank God.”

“I asked Mallick to send you a message,” Jacob said.

“He said you’d been held up but that you were all right.”

Sam’s dark glasses shifted in the direction of Jacob’s bandaged ear.

“It’s nothing,” Jacob said. “I went to the doctor yesterday. I’ll be fine.”

“But you’re back,” Sam said, as though to cement it.

Jacob nodded. “Can I steal a little time?”

“What am I doing.” Sam stood aside. “Yes. Of course. Come in.”

“I was hoping you’d come with me, actually. I’m going to see Ima.”

Sam swallowed drily. “Let me get my coat.”

Jacob took a roundabout route.

They’ll be hunting for me, too.

I think that’s a fair assumption.

And Bina: was she a target now, too?

Could he visit her after today?

He would need to talk about it with Sam. They would need to talk about Jacob’s conversation with Peter Wichs; they would need to talk about Prague, and about Paris.

If Vallot sent the notebook, they might need to talk about that, too. Although Jacob wasn’t sure he’d do anything but burn it.

So much to talk about. They were scions of a tradition of words, and they hadn’t spoken, really spoken, in more than two years.

“I was thinking,” Jacob said, “that we could start studying together again. Not the usual stuff. Golem literature. Maharal. Family history. What do you think?”

He glanced over.

Sam said, “I think that fortune favors the prepared.”

“It’s a deal, then.”

“It’s a deal.”

They arrived at the care facility. Before getting out of the car, Jacob said, “Do you have a cousin in Calgary? François Louis?”

“I don’t think so,” Sam said. “Why do you ask?”

Jacob grabbed the door handle. “Never mind.”

Bina sat under her fig tree. Her fidgeting hitched as she saw Jacob and Sam step from the dayroom and walk across the patio.

“Hi, Ima.”

Sam tucked the blanket around her waist. “Hello, Bean.”

They each kissed her on the cheek and sat flanking her.

It was midafternoon, the light desultory, the day ready to be over. Through a window Jacob could see residents wheeled into a semicircle around the TV. Rosario was making the rounds, dispensing medication. She looked up and noticed Jacob, reacting with surprise, and pleasure, when she saw it was three of them on the bench, not two.

She gave a little wave.

Jacob waved back.

She smiled and returned to her duties.

Wind rattled the branches, throwing a flourish of dry leaves.

Jacob said, “I have something I want to show you, Ima.”

He reached in his pocket and took out a plastic baggie from which he removed the iron ring. Placing the ring in the center of his palm, he held it out to her.

“I got them,” he said. “Both of them.”

Bina’s head moved slowly. She stared at the ring. Her expression remained inscrutable, and for a moment, Jacob feared he’d assumed too much. Or worse, that he would cause her to fly apart, irreparably.

Her hands stopped moving.

She said, “Majka.”

Sam began to breathe rapidly. He said, “Jacob?”

Bina tilted her head back.

She was smiling.

Jacob followed her gaze to a large jointed branch of the fig tree. It was bobbing gently, as though something had been sitting there, just a moment ago.

David Wichs, Zach Shrier, Rena and Mordecai Rosen, Julie Sibony, Emily at Paris Paysanne, Rabbi Yehuda Ferris, Lev Polinsky.