— The Lord be praised.
— The Lord be praised, madame.
— No, no more tears, Doña Flora. I swear to you by my departed son to choke back every one of them. As if I had any left! Since morning I have been saying psalms with them all — crying, saying psalms, and crying again.
— Yes, I promise not to cry in his presence. Hallas, as the Ishmaelites say…
— Directly from the ship. Before the first sail was folded I was already in a carriage speeding from Piraeus to Athens.
— No, madame. The bitter news reached us at sea, halfway through the voyage. We were boarded by a pirate boat out of a small port in the devil’s own island of Crete, and after we were relieved of all our valuables, one of the pirates, who knew me from my shop in Salonika, said to me, “Your rabbi’s lute has popped a string.”
— Hush… hush… of course… but how shall I speak to him?
— With all simplicity? Ah… Your Grace… señor… my master… Rabbi Haddaya…
— More softly?
— But how will he hear me when he seems so lost in himself? His very soul is folded inward…
— My master, maestro y señor mío” I create the fruit of the lips; Peace, peace to him that is far off and to him that is near, saith the Lord; and I will heal him.”
— Praise be to God.
— Does he thus sign his awareness? Praise be to God…
— If he does not know me, madame, whom should he know? Ah!…
— In truth, a wondrous smile.
— Most nonpareil.
— Most true, Doña Flora. So winsome a smile never graced his lips in all these years — and six-and-thirty years, Doña Flora, have I been at his side, long, long before you were. ‘Twas ages ago that first I was brought to him! “Yea, I was a lad and I have grown old…”
— Excessively burdened. All his life.
— Of course… as you say… señor, does Your Grace remember me? Truly, it is written, “All my life have I lived among sages and found no better course for a body than silence.”
— Ah!
— Your Grace has consumed himself with his endless wandering and preaching, and now Your Grace deserves to rest. Only “bless me, even me too, my father”!
— Ah… forgive me… forgive me, Doña Flora… my feelings ran away with me…
— I did not know… I was not warned… I only wished to kiss his hand and ask his blessing as is my wont…
— I did not know… I was not warned… oh, madame…
— Ah! Have I hurt him? May I hope to die…
— I did not know… forgive me, Doña Flora, I was not warned…
— In truth, the hand seems stricken and withered.
— The length of his body? Master of the Universe… the entire length?
— How fearful and wondrous are the ways of the Lord! And I in my simplicity had thought it was widthwise — his lower half stilled as over against his upper… but how came it to pass?
— And in a twinkling shall come his salvation, madame. Believe me, in a twinkling! Let the rabbi be silent for a spell, let him smile — in the end we shall rouse him. We shall not let Your Grace leave us, shall we, Your Grace? We shall not!
— No, God forbid; in all quietude. I already have, Doña Flora, a notion for reviving the power of speech in him. I thought of it while still at sea…
— For example, I thought we might put before him a likeness of that French Emperor, the first Napoleon, to pique the rabbi’s soul — for forty years ago Rabbi Shabbetai was summoned to him in Paris, he and some other sages, and since then he often spoke of him. I can remember sitting at his feet in our house in Salonika and listening all night as he dwelled on the ways of that Emperor, who was then sinking deeper and deeper into the snows of Russia…
— Of course not. Perish the thought… I did not mean this minute…
— Slowly but surely… we will bide our time… but did I truly hurt him, Doña Flora? He does appear to be looking at me with great wonder. Why, he cannot even cry out!
— How dreadful is the hand of the Lord! In a thrice it divides a man in two and creates an abyss between the two sides of him. But heaven forbid, señor, that Your Grace should feel diminished or divided, God save us! Your Grace should know that for us, his loving and reverent disciples, he will always be one and the same, his vegetative and animative souls joined together and worthy of our redoubled love. May I, Doña Flora, with your permission, and with the utmost care, take his saintly hand in my own… surely I may, may I not?
— And may I give it a little squeeze? Just a small one?
— And a kiss? May I?
— Bless me, even me too, my father and teacher! Bless your oldest pupil… bless a wretched, a much suffering man…
— No, Doña Flora… God forbid… I will not cry… no more tears… slowly but surely…
— No, madame… ‘tis nothing… God forbid… I am already over it…
— Slowly but surely…
— But how did I vanish? And did I truly?
— How can you say that? Surely you know, Doña Flora, that I was awaiting a birth.
— Indeed it did. The infant was delivered on the night after the Day of Atonement.
— A boy child, señores, a boy child born in Jerusalem — and you, madame, will be his grandmother. Your poor sister of blessed memory did not live to be one, and you must be one for her.
— Yes, I too, it would seem… that is… well, yes… I too, with the help of God…
— Both mother and infant are well. I bring you greetings from them alclass="underline" a greeting of peace from Jerusalem — from Refa’el Valero — from the rabbis of the city — from its streets and houses — from the Street of the Armenians and the Hurva Synagogue — from the cisterns and the marketplaces — even from your room, Doña Flora, your little alcove by the arched window — yes, even from your bed, the bed of your maidenhood, in which you slept so many a night. Wrapped in your quilt, I thought of your youth and of mine…
— In your very bed… and with great pleasure. Your brother-in-law Refa’el assigned the bed of your parents, may they rest in peace, to our young couple, and that was where the unfortunates slept, while I was put up in the little room nearby, between those two most wondrous looking-glasses that you hung on the walls, which played the very devil with my mind. It is not to be marveled at, Doña Flora, that you never looked for a husband in Jerusalem, because in such a room one feels sure that there is already someone with one, hee hee hee…
— I named him Moshe Hayyim in the hope of a fresh start.
— No, he was not named after his father. It is enough that I am accursedly boxed in by the same name before and after me. I am weary of the names of dead patriarchs commemorating downfalls and defeats; I had my fill of Genesis and went on to Exodus, from which I took the name of Moses in all simplicity. May his great merit stand us in good stead… for there was a miracle here… before death could drain away the vital fluids, life saved a few precious last drops… look, Doña, how wonderfully he smiles again. Does he approve of the name Moshe?
— He is nodding. He understands! God be praised. I promise you, Doña Flora, that the rabbi’s salvation is nigh and that in a twinkling of the eye he will preach again…’tis but an interval…
— With moderation… of course… without compulsion…
— With much travail, Doña Flora, although through clenched teeth…