Look who’s talking, I thought. You look more like the golem, Yossi golem, than the golem does.
They both began laughing. But it was a weak, an artificial laughter.
“So he can film them, the attic and the golem. For his film,” Yossi added, pointing to my camera bag.
“And meditate.”
“Maybe he wants to rewrite K’s first book, Meditation,” Yossi said.
“Enough!” I screamed. “Men of Sodom! I’ve had enough of your nasty sarcasm.”
They retreated. They backed up and pressed against the wall. As though a storm wind pinned them there. Mouths open. Pale and frightened. But they didn’t say, Sorry! As I turned angrily away from them they slunk out quietly and I was left alone. The silence in the vast space of the shul had its own melody. I don’t know how long I sat there in the humming silence, mesmerized by the ambience of the old synagogue. Fifteen minutes? Twenty? Perhaps half an hour.
Then I went up to the bimah. I looked around. Heard, saw, no one. I bent down quickly, opened one wooden door, felt in a crack deep in the cabinet, and took out the envelope with Dora’s letter. If I couldn’t film K, the letter — which no one knew about — would be a small substitute. I held the sheet of paper. From my knowledge of Yiddish I was able to make out the German. Why had K hesitated after the word “nurses”? That hesitation intrigued me. I looked at the first few lines and found the answer to the mystery. A phrase that K had left out when he translated Dora’s letter for me. He had said, “Now that you are away, one of the nurses secretly told me that the lab confirms Dr. Klopstock’s diagnosis.” But looking at Dora’s letter I saw that after the word “nurses,” K had skipped a telling phrase: “you know, Miriam, the pretty one.” Why had K censored the remark pertaining to Miriam, whom Karoly Graf claimed was his mother? There must be a reason. The full sentence should have read: “But now that you are away, one of the nurses, you know, Miriam, the pretty one, secretly told me that the laboratory confirms Doctor Klopstock’s diagnosis.” Here we have another fascinating wrinkle in K’s story. It is Miriam who breaks the news to Dora about the severity of K’s illness. Ulterior motive on Miriam’s part? A purposeful elision by K because he remembers his affair with her? His censoring that phrase certainly adds another dynamic to the film. Karoly Graf had indeed said his mother was beautiful and Dora confirmed it; this entire scenario certainly tilts credibility to Graf’s claim. But enough speculating, I told myself. I have to get moving.
I spent a while trying to figure out where best to video Dora’s letter. Finally, I decided to place it on a slanted wooden Siddur holder and film it first from the back of the bimah, with the Aron Kodesh in the distance, getting in the reading table, the iron grating of the bimah, and in the distance, the great, majestic Holy Ark. And then I would zoom in for a close-up, holding it there until a viewer could read the entire text, which later would be shown in translation.
Just as I was bending down to take the camera out of the bag, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Scared out of my wits — I thought the golem had come down from the attic — I dropped the camera. It gave one bounce and landed on the floor three steps below.
I wheeled. And faced K.
“That wasn’t very nice. Never, never, did I expect something like this from you. You astonish me. You disappoint me. You upset me. Why didn’t you ask for permission?”
K’s face was ashen. His mustache trembled. Anger glistened from every pore of his face. I placed my hand on my heart and, near tears, said I was sorry.
“Why did you do this?” K wasn’t crying, but his plaintive tone was as close to tears as words could get.
I swallowed. My reply came out from a distant speaker.
“You said no to my filming you. I wanted this historic document at least.”
K gripped the railing of the bimah. His knuckles were white.
“I am very disappointed. I trusted you. I trusted you…. Why that odd look in your eyes?”
“I’m wondering how you found out.”
“I have people close to me here. I got two calls this morning.”
Who told you? I wanted to ask. But K’s voice was weak; now wasn’t the time for normal conversation. But K answered me anyway.
“First, my friend the shamesh. Despite our divergent views on the attic, we are very close. And I also heard from another man I’m close to.”
Now I didn’t hesitate. “Who?”
“My relative.”
“You mean the other man? Yossi? How is he related?”
“He’s my father.”
That’s it. This is too much. I’ve put up with every absurd thing he’s told me, including his claim that he’s K. But this! This is too much. He’s in la-la land. Writing a K-esque novel.
I swallowed. Tried to remain silent. Restrain myself. But I just couldn’t let it pass. The words jumped out of me of their own accord.
“Yossi your father, huh? It was hard enough for me to believe Jiri is your son. How do you expect me to believe Yossi is your father?”
K gave a little smile. “I don’t expect you to believe anything. Yossi is my father…. All right, my son told me.”
It seemed to me I heard “son.” Yes, I did hear “son.” Once more the word “son” echoed in my ears. “Son?”
K bided his time.
“I thought he was dead,” I said.
“My other son.”
So Karoly Graf is right. But Graf wasn’t here.
“Yossi? Your son?”
“My father because he protected me. My son because he cared for me. A relative, metaphorically speaking. But above all my friend. Guardian. Angel. One who helped me. Saved me.”
I thought K would change faces again. Become the golem. Scare me. Hurt me. Punish me. Teach me a lesson. I thought he would spread his wings and become the Maharal.
“Looked out for me in the past as he looks out for me even now. This morning.”
The word “How?” came out of me as if I were an automaton. “By feeding me. In the attic. During the war. When I was in hiding.”
I shivered. No. Impossible. But maybe I had sensed it. With his size, his face, his lumbering movements.
“Yossi?”
“Yes. Yossi. Yes. Yes.”
“The g…”
“Him.”
“But I thought his face. The glass eye. From the 1973 Yom Kippur War.”
“He came to help his people. Was wounded, yes. But he returned to be near me.”
So I was right. By calling him Yossi golem I had inadvertently hit upon it. But there is no inadvertence. Only intuition. But, then again, maybe K was pulling my leg. Teasing me. Trying to frighten me.
“You have sidetracked me, my boy. Let us shift the conversation back to you and what you have done. They called me and I had to run down here with a taxi to stop you.”
“Please forgive me.”
K didn’t say a word. He didn’t look at me. He took Dora’s letter and put it back in its place inside the reader’s desk. That he did this in my presence made me feel better. He trusted me not to take the letter again.
“No one will touch this letter anymore.” Now he turned to me. His blue gaze chilled me. “Except…” and he tapped his chest three times.
I nodded. I closed my eyes in contrition. “Yes.”
Then, without bidding me goodbye, K left the Altneushul.
I ran to the door, then stopped. I wanted to ask K if he had ever contacted Dora Diamant again. If I could see him again. Once more that “if” that creates parallel universes in us.
But I was afraid of his answer.
32. The Old Man Is Out. Guess Who’s In?
Trepidatious, my heart higher than it’s ever been, pumping in back of my throat, I rang the bell.