Winter Journey

Eyes Like Jewels

tshak Mattes stood up solemnly and embraced the young man. Why such generosity? Why, the Lord be praised, has the venerable Maarten of Amsterdam chosen to favor me? Standing, speaking slowly in his cultured Yiddish so Baruch would understand him, he said, My son, may this Sabbath celebration be forever engraved on our memory. And the whole Mattes family, except for suspicious Chaim, said Amen. And the Lord heard their prayers and the family never forgot that Sabbath. Never did the honorable ltshak, or his wife Temerl, or their beautiful daughter Sarah, who was observing the newcomer with eyes like jewels, or her suspicious older brother Chaim, the scholar of the family, uninterested in the world of gems and devoted to the study of the Torah, or little Aaron and Daniel, still far from their bar mitzvah, or the vague uncles recently arrived from Warsaw, forget that Sabbath or the four days that followed it, the night that ltshak Mattes, raising his palms before Baruch Anslo, invited him to tell his story.

Baruch, after casting the eyes of his memory far back, began the narrative with a prologue. He said that his name was Josef Cohn and that he had undertaken that long winter journey because of the express desire of his venerable master, and that he wanted them to know that during the inclement weeks of the endless journey between Amsterdam and Lodz, despite the extreme difficulty of the conditions, not once would he have traded a single prayer of the Arvit in the imprecise light of dawn or one single Aixer Yotsar for the the small and innocent pleasures of a good straw pallet at an inn or a piece of cheese purchased in a village market.

(He is a holy man. So much the better.)

"My master," continued Baruch, "is called Maarten Claeszoon Sorgh and he is a famous diamond cutter in Amsterdam."

"May Adonai have him in his glory when his hour arrives, for he is a just man," said ltshak, and everyone but Chaim said Amen.

"One day I noticed that my venerable master seemed worried, bent over the account books that took up more of his time each day to the detriment of the gems, due to his gradual loss of sight. `What is wrong, Master Maarten?' 1 said. And he answered that I was the only one who could carry out a task for him, but he dared not ask it of me. `What task, Master Sorgh,' 1 protested, `do you imagine 1 could not carry out for you?' The venerable master looked at me with his gray eyes full of wisdom and he said that he wanted to render homage to Master ltshak Mattes in the city of Lodz, in distant Poland."

"God in Heaven!" The tsaddik ltshak Mattes was once again impressed. "How can he have heard of me if 1 don't know him at all?"

"Your work is known in Amsterdam. Your cutting is much known and admired."

"Do you hear, Temerl?" Itshak, proud. "And I thought that the joy of my work was shared only by the diamond and myself in the moment that I release the fire within the stone by cutting it."

"I've always admired," said Baruch humbly, "the ability to find fire inside the ice of a diamond." In a lower voice, that made some of them shiver, he added, "the Lord has not granted me that gift."

There was a silence which each of them filled by giving private thanks to Elohim.

(Well, he has the hands of a diamond cutter, delicate, noble, with well-trimmed nails. How beautiful.)

Baruch went on after the devout silence. "He gave me three thousand Dutch florins, a horse, the advice that 1 take advantage of the voyage to meet and appreciate new people, places and languages, and the strict order to go east as far as Lodz, where he was sure 1 could stay for some time, protected by the hospitality of Master ltshak, before returning.

(May he never leave, may he never leave.)

ltshak Mattes stroked his beard, worried, and looked at Temerl, who said Yes with her eyes. He signaled his approval of the newcomer's petition.

"I left Amsterdam at the beginning of winter on a day that was sunny but bitterly cold. The ground was not snow-covered, but a freezing wind from the east, perhaps from where you are, kept Lambertus from making headway. In Utrecht, too like Amsterdam, 1 spent only one night, aware of my master's advice to learn about new people and countries and languages. My stay in Munster was slightly longer; they talk as we do but as if their mouths were full of straw, they're quieter and they're obsessed with…"

"They're papists in Munster." The icy voice of Chaim, the future rabbi, for the first time all evening.

"Yes, and 1 have to confess to having suffered some rejection for being one of the children of Israel. Munster was the first foreign city in which 1 had set foot in my twenty-three years of life."

(Twenty-three. And 1 am fifteen and my mother is already worrying.)

"1 carried out some errands for the master and then, free of obligations, 1 shut myself up in a room in the inn to observe the Sabbath as best 1 could and to think about where I wanted the horse to take me the following day, all praise to

A murmur of approval followed Baruch's last words. Only young Chaim, the devout, remained silent.

Elohim."

Baruch bolted the door and returned to the circle of light on the table. With nervous fingers, and aided by the stiletto that he used in the workshop to cut woolen cloth into pouches for the diamonds, he delicately began to undo the package. When he had it unwrapped, his mouth fell open. In the package there was a roll of canvas and two fat envelopes that, to the touch, contained only paper. Frantically, he unrolled the canvas, fingered the envelopes more carefully, and found the black bag of diamonds nowhere. There was no black bag with two diamonds inside. Damned be the mother of that bastard Maarten Sorgh; he sends me to Istanbul to return two diamonds as big as chickpeas and he doesn't put them in the package. Where are Buzi and Ezequiel? What is going on here?

Baruch, disoriented, looked out the window. Winter was dealing harshly with that part of Westphalia and the afternoon rain was just turning into snow that fell silently, covering all of Munster with a white carpet. He could barely make out the grim cages of the Anabaptists hanging from the tower of the church of St. Lambert.

He rolled the canvas back up, now examining it carefully. The bastard Maarten Sorgh was sending to his son in Istanbul the painting that had created such a stir last spring. Baruch set it aside and concentrated on the envelopes. One of them was blank and the other carried the name of the recipient, Jan Maartenszoon Sorgh, and the address in Galata, Istanbul. He brought this envelope close to the candle and spent a long time thinking about what his next step should be. After a while, he violated the seal with the stiletto. inside, a thick fold of pages, all covered with dense writing. And no diamond camouflaged among the papers. Baruch began to read avidly to see if he could find the solution to the enigma. After the conventional introduction in which the miserable wretch Maarten Sorgh gave thanks to Elohim for all of his gifts, he asked his beloved son how things were in Istanbul and added that he was sending this letter via a special courier and by land because he wanted to prevent the information 1 am sending you, dear son, from being intercepted by the inspectors in the Ottoman ports, who, according to information provided by the Company to all those of us who have dealings with Turkey, are always on the lookout for secret information from our dealers. In the other envelope you have a complete list of suppliers, clients and owners of gems from Egypt to Bulgaria, and as far north as the kingdom of Poland and the Baltic Sea. 1 cannot make use of it because 1 no longer have the energy to travel and these places are far from Amsterdam. But it could be valuable to you and help you to prosper. Use it prudently and let no one know of its existence. 1 have spent many years and a great deal of money collecting this information, and 1 want no one to profit by it but you. He who first knows the location of the river can become the owner of the water, says a Gentile proverb. Treat the list, son, as a precious good and make wise use of it.

I want you to know as well that a year ago, just as you were leaving Venice and starting out in Istanbul, the Imperial Diamond came into my hands. It comes from Dekkhan, was as big as a river stone and weighed 221 carats. The problem was that it was very irregular, too irregular, but 1 have never seen a diamond so transparent. I studied it for some weeks, but could not see its possibilities. My sight, son, is not what it once was. 1 showed it to Baruch Anslo, the carrier of this missive, who is an extraordinary cutter. He examined it and concluded that two stones could be made from it, in the form of brilliants. The Ottoman ambassador agreed, and Anslo split the Imperial. He got from it, as he had predicted, two stones of nearly a hundred carats and a few smaller stones. He did a magnificent job of cutting. The result was two magnificent brilliants; the smaller weighs ninety-six carats and is called Ezekiel, like the prophet, and the larger is one hundred seven and is named Buzi, after the prophet's father. They are a wonder: they bend the light of the sun in a thousand directions. When you receive them, via official maritime channels, return them in person on my behalf to the Sublime Portal. I have already been paid for my work, but do not reject an honorarium for your part in this, which will surely bring you fame and renown in Istanbul and beyond.

The carrier of this letter, Baruch Anslo, is a good cutter, as I have said. If he arrives at his destination, make use of him for a time, if you wish, but above all, do not trust him, for he has a beguiling way with words. Nor should you be deceived by his youthful appearance. He turned thirty this fall. He is twice as covetous, rapacious and cunning as he is good at cutting, which is why 1 did not trust the diamonds to him and decided to make him a target for possible thieves, as 1 hid from no one that Anslo would be the carrier of the diamonds. Moreover, he was beginning to look too insistently at your niece Rachel. If you have no interest in him, simply send him away.

Baruch Anslo left the half-read letter on the table. He had always considered himself cunning, but Maarten Sorgh had far outplayed him. Out loud he said, Filthy old bag of rat shit, may you hang forever on a Zeeland dune, the Lord be praised, and felt better. Then he continued reading the letter.

To fill the package with something that justifies the voyage, I am sending you a painting that is pretty but of no great value. 1 paid only five hundred florins for it. It is a portrait made of me last spring by Master Rembrandt Marmenszoon van Rijn, a painter who had his days of glory but has now fallen on hard times. Still, I recognize that he has made a pretty thing. The portrait took a great deal of work. The painter came to the house every morning, after Aixer Yotsar, at the time when 1 go over the client list and prepare my correspondence, as 1 do every day but the Sabbath, to take advantage of the morning light that Adonai deigns to grant us daily. Master Rembrandt chose my bedroom, which is now too large and, alas, too lonely, because it has the best light. 1 want you to keep the painting, dear son, not so much for its value, which is slight, but so that you will have, now that 1 know you will never return home because things are going well for you, a reminder of my old self and especially of the room in which your mother gave birth to you many years ago. This is the value it has, my son. Keep it with you and show it to your children and your children's children, that they should think of their poor grandmother. For you it will be a reminder of your origins, for there is no more painful death than the loss of memory.

Baruch Anslo put down the letter and opened up the painting. The portrait of the usurer Maarten going over his Devil's book, looking for the name of the fool to whom he could sell a diamond at three times the fair price, and entering in the profit column the money he took out of my salary for the little brilliant that inexplicably disappeared a year and a half ago.

He stood up and went to the fire. Baruch Anslo felt humiliated by the old man's cunning. After a long hesitation, he broke the other seal and carefully studied the secret lists. By midnight, when the city was white with cold, he had four ideas, but they still needed to be worked out.

He figured out the solution the next day when, though it was the Sabbath, he was out walking disguised as Benedictus Olson, stepping over the dirty snow near the episcopal palace, and Providence decreed that he should stop by a frost-damaged chestnut tree because, Providence be praised, the episcopal coach had stopped by the chestnut on its way into the city. His Excellency Monsignor Johann Christoph Gotz, Defender of the Cross and Bishop of Munster, alighted, accompanied by his secretary. He wanted to take a look at the chestnut, whose health seemed to be a matter of concern to him. He patted the trunk, said something to the secretary, who nodded, and Baruch Benedictus saw them get back into the coach and go to the palace only a hundred yards away. Baruch Benedictus, on seeing His Excellency the Bishop, was stunned, his mouth agape. Now he could think of nothing but finding a good carpenter.

"As you can see, Monsignor," said Baruch, pointing to the easel covered by a sheet requisitioned from the hostel, "Master Rembrandt understood that in order to commemorate his celebrated conversion to Catholicism…"

"I was not aware he had converted."

"News, Monsignor," cut in Baruch Benedictus Anslo Olson, "is always slower than the truth." Before the other could praise the striking beauty of the aphorism, he went on. "The master decided to render homage to His Most Illustrious Excellency Monsignor Gotz."

With studied emphasis he pulled on the sheet, and the episcopal secretary was able to gaze at the canvas, unrolled and displayed on a solid stand and surrounded by a frame that was at once austere and imposing. The monsignor opened his mouth, astonished. He looked at Baruch, looked once again at the canvas, and swallowed.

"But Rembrandt has never been here," he said admiringly. He pointed. "You, sir…"

"Gerrit van Loo, from Weesp," Baruch Benedictus Anslo Olson of Amsterdam continued humbly.

… van Loo, do you know His Excellency?"

"1 have that honor."

"But Rembrandt has never come to Munster!"

"1 am his eyes, Monsignor." He lowered them humbly and went on. "1 was in Munster the day that His Most Illustrious Excellency was enthroned, charged by my master with describing his features to him. When 1 returned to Amsterdam, 1 explained to Master van Rijn what His Excellency looked like, and he decided that, in order to avoid clumsy imperfections, he would make the figure small but surround it with an aura of wisdom and holiness."

"It is a perfect likeness." The episcopal secretary was still in awe.

"With this painting, Master Rembrandt wished to pay homage to all of the sages who, like His Excellency, spend the better part of each day, and even of the night, in the study of philosophy and holy theology, seeking guidance in ancient books full of wisdom." He raised a finger in conclusion. "You should know that Master Rembrandt has read Gotz's entire Tractatus Philosophicus."

"Admirable." In an attack of sincerity, the secretary said, "I was incapable of doing it."

"Do you see?" insisted Baruch Benedictus Gerrit Anslo Olson van Loo. "The book that His Excellency is consulting in the painting is the Summa Theologica of Thomas Aquinas, Accordingly, the true protagonist of the canvas, along with His Excellency Bishop Gotz, is the room itself and its atmosphere." He pointed an expert finger. "This is the reason that much of the painting is dark ochre, and the window, which admits the blazing light sent to us every day by Almighty God, stands out like a point of departure."

"It is truly beautiful."

"Do you see here, Your Reverence? These are the stairs coming down from a kind of ivory tower into the world in which we mortals busy ourselves far from wisdom."

"1 should like to know why you are offering to sell us this painting if…"

"Once it was finished, my master said, Gerrit, my son, this painting has a destination. Go to His Excellency the Bishop of Munster and offer it to him as an homage to this city that has remained Catholic amid such turbulence."

"This is the first painting by Rembrandt that I've seen. Rubens is more talked about here."

"The experts say that Master van Rijn is the only one who knows how to paint air."

It was true. The air in the room, the space, the light, the contrast between dark and light. It was a marvel.

"This seems to me a most generous gesture on your master's part. Tell him that His Most Illustrious Excellency will accept the gift and the homage."

"Well…," said Baruch Benedictus Gerrit Anslo Olson van Loo cautiously, "the master told me that 1 was to offer it to His Most Illustrious Excellency for five thousand Dutch florins, though it is worth three times that."

"Ah." The episcopal secretary looked again at the canvas, well placed by the window. "And what would happen if His Most Illustrious Excellency did not wish to pay this money?"

"With tears in his eyes he told me that if we did not reach an agreement, 1 should travel on to Rome and offer it to the Holy Father Alexander."

"At the same price?"

"At double the price."

The secretary went up to the painting to admire a detail. Then he stepped back a few paces and looked at the whole thing. His eyes shone like jewels.

"What title has your master given it?"

There was a slight hesitation, which Baruch covered up by clearing his throat.

"The Philosopher." He coughed a little more. "The Philosopher Gotz," he finished after the false attack of coughing. "In homage to His Reverence and to his renown as a student of philosophy." For the first time, the secretary left off contemplating the painting and looked Baruch in the eye. Now he understood everything.

2

"In Munster, my friends, I understood the extent of the Catholic rage towards those of other confessions, even those of Christian sects. There are children here, so I cannot describe the horror of the tortures they inflicted a few years ago on the unredeemed Anabaptists, hanging them alive from hooks and condemning them to death from hunger, cold, exposure and thirst."

(Such delicacy. He is sparing us the details.)

"Death by starvation," from the cautious voice of Chaim, "in many places is reserved for liars and traitors. They are left to feed forever on their own falsehood."

"That is a great truth, noble Chaim," said Baruch. "But 1 was unable to trust the Gentiles and lived in a state of uncertainty. For that reason 1 had to hide my true faith and try to carry out my master's errands so that 1 could leave the city, which was dangerous to those who are not papists."

(How brave. His eyes are blue-gray-green.)

Baruch Anslo spent his last night in the holy city of Munster erasing his tracks. First he burned the letter from that disgusting old rat Maarten to his son. Then he hid in the most secret part of his body the list of clients and the names of the contacts so he would have access to the Sublime Portal. He made sure that no condemned paper, no fragment of wax, escaped the flames of the fireplace in his room. Then he made himself some credentials out of ink and his own imagination. By the time he was prepared, night had fallen. He wrapped himself up well and went out into the darkness, down the white streets, holding the reins of the faithful and silent Lambertus that the innkeeper had made ready.

3

"My horse is called Lambertus."

"That's no name for a horse." Chaim, distant and cold.

"An innocent joke of Master Maarten's. The animal knows no other name."

(Lambertus, what a pretty name for a horse. If someday 1 have a horse he will be called Lambertus and Chaim can be angry if he wants. Lambertus.)

"I've been lucky with Lambertus. He's a faithful and humble animal who has twice saved me from certain death."

(What!)

ltshak Mattes offered a challah to his guest, as if inviting him to rest a little or perhaps to make up for the danger to which he had exposed himself in carrying those precious documents. Baruch broke the braided bread tenderly. It seemed to Sarah that Baruch was not breaking the challah with his delicate hands but stroking its braids, and she shivered.

"Twice. Because in addition to helping me escape from thieves, one night, close to Scharmutelsee, which was completely iced over, 1 fainted in the saddle from cold and fatigue, and all by himself, stepping carefully to keep me from falling off, he took me in the dark to a post-house and neighed until they came out and helped me.

"What thieves? Why were they after you? Weren't you ever afraid?"

"1'm only afraid of the darkness of the tomb," he said in a brave voice. He smiled and looked around for something, and Temerl guessed that he needed a little wine to go with the challah. She served it to him herself.

He entered the square of Saint Paul's Cathedral at the agreedupon time. As they had promised, on the north side of the building, by the cloister, a shadow was waiting, immobile, leaning against the wall. He tied Lambertus to a spindly tree and approached the shadow.

"Well?" he said by way of greeting.

"His Excellency was willing to pay only four thousand florins."

"In that case, you will have to give back the painting."

"No. He's kept it. He likes it."

"It's worth five thousand!"

"No. It's worth what a buyer gives for it."

"1 will go to the authorities, Monsignor."

"Go ahead. Where will you begin? Where did you steal it from?"

"That is insulting. I work in the studio of…"

"Do you want the three thousand florins or not?"

"Didn't you say four?"

"Now it's three."

The shadow stretched out a hand with a full purse. Baruch Anslo took it nervously and opened it. By the cold brightness of the white snow, he estimated that there were perhaps two thousand five hundred florins in gold coins. A shot of rage ran up his spine. He smiled.

"It has been a pleasure to deal with you, Monsignor."

First he slipped the purse into his girdle, and then he took out the stiletto and thrust it, through layers and layers of clothing, into the episcopal secretary's stomach. It all happened so fast that when the monsignor was on the ground, darkening the snow around him, he had not lost the ironic smile with which he had handed over the purse containing two thousand florins to the swindled swindler. Aware that the man was still alive, Baruch Anslo took off his clothes. The secretary made a moan that turned into a death rattle.

"Don't bother to scream because 1 know you came alone."

"Call someone. 1 don't want to bleed to death. You can still get away.

"First give me the money."

The episcopal secretary said, Don't kill me, and fainted. Baruch Anslo finally found the purse. It was fuller than the other. It made him so furious that he stabbed the episcopal secretary in his noble gut once more. He left him convulsing against the wall of the cathedral. A few steps away, struck perhaps with compassion for such useless suffering, he went back to where his victim lay. With the stiletto he opened a sinister smile in his throat, and the monsignor, the swindler swindled by the swindled swindler, finally stopped trembling, infinitely weary.

Instead of taking the road for Frankfurt, which would lead him straight to the Danube, instead of turning onto the route which would have taken him to Istanbul, as he had mentioned two or three times to the innkeeper, Baruch turned the horse towards the rising sun, on the old road to Warendorf, in search of revenge. Goodbye, Rachel Sorgh. I'll find you again in Magdeburg or farther to the east, I'm sure.

When the sun came up over the snowy road, he stopped Lambertus and opened the monsignor's purse. That stinking thief had been good at milking the vanity of the most illustrious Bishop of Munster; in the pouch, in the form of a few heavy coins, was the equivalent of more than thirteen thousand gold florins. Never trust anyone.

4

"But what thieves?"

"It was after Munster."

"Please don't be so impatient, dear Temerl. You have to give him time to explain himself."

(As far as I'm concerned, he has all the time in the world.)

Baruch Anslo thanked ltshak Mattes for his assistance. He took a drink of wine and continued.

"After I'd carried out the errands, there was no reason to stay in a city so harsh to foreigners, and following my venerable master's instructions I went east, towards still distant Lodz."

(How well he speaks. He has a poet's mouth. And poetic eyes.)

"It is in Elohim that 1 place my trust. So when 1 met up with the thieves 1 was telling you about, in an inn outside of Magdeburg, it was the Lord's will that they did not find the little money 1 had on me and left me for dead."

He pointed to the scar on his left arm that he'd gotten in a canal in Amsterdam three years ago, and a pair of blue-green bottomless eyes filled with tears.

(If 1'd been there to defend him or cry out for help…)

"Three cruel bandits." Baruch found the memory upsetting. "I took one of them down. But the other two ran off, and since 1 was wounded… But that wasn't the worst of it. When I was going through the forest that they call Schonenbaumgarten, a dense, dark place where the trees stand close together, those two wretches were waiting to get their revenge. I've made this journey unarmed, and I was at the mercy of their hatred."

(Oh, Lord God in heaven. And 1 was here, not even worried…)

"And then Lambertus saved me. Without my telling him to, he took off, leaving the road, and went right through the forest as if he'd known it all his life, and managed to leave them behind, We didn't get lost because he smelled the high road after a few hours. 1 never saw them again, those awful men."

(Whoever says Lambertus isn't a good name for a horse has no feelings at all.)

Lambertus raised his head. He seemed extremely fatigued, though Baruch had not pushed him. He snorted in the direction the post house. No doubt the odor of burning wood reminded him of a place to rest, away from the infinite snow of that white plain. The poor beast was sweating copiously despite the cold, and Baruch, perhaps with a bad conscience, patted him reassuringly on the neck.

He didn't see them until he dismounted. There were three of them and they came out of the inn menacingly. The one with the feather came up to Baruch as soon as he'd dismounted.

"Sir, we have orders to inspect all travelers on this road."

"May 1 know why, sergeant?"

"The murder of a high official of the Church."

"I'm coming from Bremen. Where did this terrible thing happen?"

"in Munster, five days ago. In any case, we have orders to go through everything. Wherever it comes from."

Baruch, very courteously, showed them his credentials as emissary from the kingdom of Denmark on his way to Leipzig, and asked the sergeant to have the deference not to search through the rest of the papers in the document pouch, to which the sergeant agreed, Because we're not looking for papers.

"And what is it you're looking for?"

"We're not authorized to reveal that to anyone."

"In that case, I'm at your disposition, gentlemen."

And they went through absolutely everything, the bastards. Everything meaning that they put him in a room, they made him tell his name (Peter Nielsen), birthplace (Alborg), profession (optician) and the reason for his journey (1'm sorry, but for obvious reasons 1 cannot say any more than 1 already have). Afterwards, amiably but firmly, they stripped him naked. He reminded them uselessly that he was an emissary of the kingdom of Denmark, and they went over every stitch of his stinking clothing, his pouch, his shoes, his blanket and Lambertus's saddlebags, and left him shaking with indignation and cold. When he had dressed, he demanded that the sergeant apologize to an emissary of the kingdom of Denmark on his way to Leipzig, but the sergeant and his soldiers had no time for games and paid him no mind. Besides, two more travelers had arrived. At the inn that night, they told him that his horse was unwell and he could change mounts.

Baruch said nothing but he slept with one eye open, listening from time to time to poor Lambertus neighing, and before it was light, ignoring the advice of the stableboy, he mounted Lambertus with the intention of following the sun. Below him, still in shadow, the famous city of Magdeburg. Lambertus, who was starting to urinate blood, now walked purely out of obedience. So when they arrived at the banks of the Elba, he dismounted, took off the saddle, and made the beast lie down on the grass. His breathing was so labored that it broke your heart, and it was clear that he was in unbearable pain.

"1 hope you will forgive me, dear Lambertus," he whispered into his ear. And he severed his jugular with the stiletto. The animal shuddered harder than the episcopal secretary and his eyes became glassy. Without waiting for the death throes to end and after making sure that he was completely alone, Baruch opened the horse's gut with a precise motion. He thrust his hands into the stench spilling out of the intestines, and then farther, until he came to the stomach. All of the coins were there, bloody, filthy, but whole, offering their gold to Baruch. He left nothing behind. When he was picking out the last one, he thought he could feel a slight tremor in Lambertus's body. Goodbye, Lambertus, he said without turning around, as he left carrying the saddle.

He went on foot for a couple of days. On a road outside Modkem, Baruch Benedictus Gerrit Peter Anslo Olson van Loo Nielsen bought a tall, nervous horse, which he baptized with the name of Lambertus, and pushed on to get away from those places where, involuntarily, he had left traces.

5

"After thirty-six days of traveling under fearful conditions, 1 finally arrived, Adonai be praised, at the end of my journey. Spread before my eyes, weary of so much winter, were the houses of the city of Lodz, and in one of them was the family to whom I was to bring my present."

(How could we be so lucky.)

"You are an honorable and well-known person, Reb ltshak. I had to ask only once and 1 was sent to the right house. The first person 1 saw… was sweet Sarah, who was standing on a mound of peat, looking out over the road."

(How nice he is. 1 could just eat him.)

"And here 1 am. Now you know everything about me."

Everyone was respectful of the silence that fell. Baruch himself broke it after taking a sip of that warm and welcoming wine.

"1 don't want to disturb you," he announced. "With your permission, I'll prepare to return to Amsterdam as soon as I've recovered my strength."

(But what are you saying? You just got here.)

Silence. ltshak Mattes was thinking of the newcomer as a possible assistant to whom he could teach the secrets of the art of cutting, given that Chaim was distancing himself, drawn by study and prayer. Temerl was thinking, Poor young man, he must rest for as long as he wants and the voyage is dangerous. He can't leave until summer. Chaim was appraising Baruch's eyes, but silently. He was silent inside.

(Let him stay. Stay. Forever, Josef.)

At night, when everyone was asleep, Chaim Mattes shook him energetically by the shoulder. Young Baruch, half asleep, thought, This is it, Maarten has sent someone after me and I'm finished.

"Josef, wake up!"

It took a while for him to realize that it was suspicious Chaim, with a light in his hand. Baruch tried to sit up, his eyes wide with fright. Chaim, yes. He calmed down.

"What do you want? What is it?"

Chaim, with the flat of his hand, kept him down.

"Everything you said tonight was a lie."

"What?"

"No one in Amsterdam knows my father. That's impossible."

"He's on the list. And he certainly thinks it's possible."

"Pride and arrogance blind our eyes."

"You concentrate on the Torah and leave me in peace."

Chaim left the light on the nightstand. The chiaroscuro was reminiscent of Caravaggio and Rembrandt. Once again, he held Baruch down.

"Why have you come?"

"On the orders of my master."

Chaim opened his fist. Five gold florins. He left them on top of the nightstand.

"How is it that you're so rich? Your purse is full."

"What you're doing is an insult to your family's hospitality."

"What have you come to do?"

"For your own peace of mind, tell your father to find out… 1 don't know, if ltche Hertz in Warsaw buys second quality at the price of first."

"If 1 find out that you're trying to steal from my father, I'll kill you.

He gave him a seemingly affectionate slap on the cheek and left the room, with the candle. Baruch, in the dark, began to make plans.

Two rooms farther down, Sarah, in her dreams, recited the Aleinu transported with joy at Josef's existence and begged him not to leave, never to leave.

He had to wait for three days. On the fourth, ltshak Mattes, after shutting himself up with his son for hours in the workshop, left for Warsaw to look into the business of that Hertz. Baruch had to wait only until the suspicious son went to cheder to teach the boys the rudiments of the Mishnah, the reflections of the Gemara and the history of the people of God taught in the Torah. All praise to Elohim, because finally Chaim's eyes are no longer boring into my thoughts.

Baruch waited for the moment when Temerl was involved with preparing that night's borsch and turned his best smile onto Sarah.

"Why don't you show me the workshop?"

"When father isn't here, we can't go in."

Baruch put his hand on her back, made her tremble with emotion and said, But I'm here, and I'm a sort of big brother, right?

(Big brother, little brother, any kind of brother, Josef, I love you.)

"Yes."

"So?"

She let go of her last scruple and unhooked the key from behind the stove (a very clever place, he would never have figured it out all by himself), took the hand of her Theseus without knowing that she was Ariadne, and led him toward the dark labyrinth.

Shadows, darkness, stairs that went unbelievably far down, and, after a few turns, the distinctive smell of diamonds that only he was able to detect.

"1 wonder if…" He shook his head, serious. "No, never mind, let it be."

(My love, what is it that you don't dare tell me? That you love another? That you're married?)

"No, what is it? I'm willing to…"

"Well, I was wondering if… if you'd like me to kiss you."

(The Lord be praised.)

"You're sure? Do you mean that…?"

"Yes, you're right, Sarah. Forgive my boldness."

"No, I mean…"

(Oh, yes, my love. Kiss me once and I'll kiss you a hundred times and feed off your indestructible love and you and I will live forever in a paradise where the rivers and streams run with milk and honey.)

"The facets of your eyes are very well cut, my love." He brought the light close to her. "And when the light shines on them, they sparkle as if they were jewels. I love you, Sarah."

Sarah, in response, stood on tiptoes and covered his mouth with a kiss inappropriate to her age but very exciting to Baruch. A thousand days later she let go of her Josef, and he told her, I've made a mistake: to compare your eyes with simple diamonds is to do them an injustice.

"I like your eyes too, Josef Cohn. And your hands."

"Where does your father keep the diamonds?"

"In a secret place. Why?"

"To compare them in front of a mirror. Next to your eyes, a diamond loses all its value."

"Do you really think my eyes are so pretty?"

"They're the most beautiful light I've ever dreamed of. You know, a diamond needs the sun to coax out the fire it has inside. But your eyes…" In tears, Baruch confessed, "1 didn't know there could be such beauty in the world."

Sarah, trembling, pushed aside the work table while Baruch held up the light at a prudent distance. Behind a tattered curtain hung from the wall, a cavity closed off by a solid wood door.

"The key isn't here. They usually keep it here but…"

Baruch brought the light close. It was a Larszoon lock.

"Too bad," he said out loud. When your father or your noble brother Chaim have returned, we'll ask them to let us try it.

When the happy and the careless were sound asleep and the house itself was resting, Baruch took the key from behind the stove, went into the depths of the workshop and stood before the Larszoon lock with a skeleton key and his stiletto. He opened the lock before the candle had burned down one finger-width. The door opened onto a storage space cut into the wall. To the side, some little boxes on shelves. He brought the candle up to them and the jewels and the diamonds multiplied in explosions of joy, like Baruch's eyes. He looked hard at one of the boxes. He brought the candle up to it and said in a low voice Those sons of bitches holy ltshak and his milksop son. Crystals that smelled of glass. Glass! A cheap copy that… Then he saw that there were more boxes behind, and he took a step inside with the candle. Behind him a soft sound, a little current of air, enough to blow out his candle. The door had closed and someone was working the Larszoon lock with a key and sealing the tomb of Baruch Benedictus Gerrit Peter Josef Anslo Olson van Loo Nielsen Cohn.

"You can eat your lies," he heard, muffled, from the other side of the heavy door, before he fainted from terror.