Gottlieb was literally beaming at her with his convincing smile, because just this once he really wanted to share the story with somebody.
And with that smile he slowly convinced the insane woman longing for understanding, or perhaps he deceived and bewitched her.
It says here about him, he looked back at his book quickly, that his wealth, enormous erudition, rare integrity, and piety made this rabbi first among his contemporaries. But his fame also reached the court of the prince of Jülich in Duseldorp, and if he or the princess happened to be in the mood, the rabbi was a welcome guest of theirs whenever they invited him.
Sit down, come, sit there, facing me, Margit, sit down with those miserable dumplings, let me read to you the whole story, he said, and with his book pointed impatiently to the other kitchen stool.
At about this time Madzar’s mother arrived home from the island, flushed and hot from work and riding her bicycle.
Madzar, standing on the veranda, wrapped in silence and invisibility, was observing how she pushed the bicycle to the shed, how she leaned it carefully against the wall, and how she slipped off the basket she carried on her back.
A solitary bird was chirping shrilly from the edge of the eaves.
The bird flexed its legs twice after each chirp, but did not fly away.
His mother had nothing in her back basket but her white petticoat, which she had taken off because of the heat, her black sweater, and a little freshly cut alfalfa for the rabbits. Her scythe was carefully hooked onto the upper rim of the basket. And the redstart nesting in the eaves had been sending its alarm signal because from among the roses or grapevines a cat was peeking out. Standing behind the veranda window, Madzar read a great many things in his mother’s dry features. Many things that earlier could not have reached his consciousness. He saw too much of the reality that consisted of simpleminded details, with which the foundation of his life had been laid. On her face, he saw again his own most intimate memories, which, precisely because of their commonness, one never scrutinizes closely.
How many things she must have learned while she waited for the ferry and during the short trip from the island to the town shore.
The excitement easily dissolved the dry features.
While on the ferry with the other women and on her way to her house, she gleaned much information that she had already learned from other sources in slightly different versions; and some details now became clear about which she could never have had an inkling.
Margit was irritated, cursed her husband, if he could take it outside, why can’t he take it back in, don’t you have hands. Why should I do everything.
Sometimes she cried because of the kitchen stools, but she would not take them inside herself.
Now she lowered herself to one of the stools, spellbound.
On the Gottliebs’ veranda, there was nothing but the two stools.
If you don’t bring it back here, don’t expect me to do it.
Never, you understand, never.
Maybe the wedding ring would fall off his precious hand if he did.
You are a base, mean man who does not wear his wedding ring so he can flirt with anybody.
The last person to tell her a story was her adored father. She did not sit on the entire stool, only on its edge, because she was afraid that this wretch, this shameless, this insolent, this mean man would deceive her with this new approach. He would deceive her by reading aloud to her. He is capable of anything. He would read something from his pious book that isn’t even in it. And I don’t want to hear it. She had a special contempt for the wretch because of his books. You don’t come up to the ankle of my adored father, you hear, you wretch, with your lack of education and your ignorance. Thinks he can fool anybody with his famous books. That people will look at him as a finer person, a scholar, they’d say, because his nose is always in books. Ridiculous. A hardworking peasant doesn’t eat as much as you stuff in your big stomach. And when it comes to sleeping, he really knows how to do that. And to snore, so I can’t sleep. Like a log, you sleep, while I only toss and turn on the sheet all night long. Your brain is as blunt as a log. Sharpen it all you want, with your books. You won’t deceive me, believe me. You only give yourself airs with your books and your great knowledge, while on the sly and quietly you keep passing them, one after the other, out here on the veranda.
If only he did it aloud at least.
And you make such a stink that I have to stop at the door. That’s your big knowledge, how to pass wind, that you know. So that my whole life, in my own house, I should smell it. Your stench, you shameless, treacherous, mean wretch, you are not a man. Your stink has eaten itself into the walls. I can’t even clean the window glass because of it. All the windows stink. Nobody else could live with you in the same house but me, and even I’m suffering like a dog.
I am suffering because of you, don’t you understand, suffering.
Why must I live in so much suffering with a complete stranger, that’s what I want you to explain to me.
It happened that on an early spring day Rabbi Ammon received another message, Gottlieb read aloud, as if he had not heard any of the woman’s words, inviting him to distant Duseldorp, which was the name of Düsseldorf back then. Maybe she had never heard of this. Jan Willem, the prince of Jülich, had moved his court there after several decades of warfare, and, based on what he had read, Gottlieb’s imagination created a special space in which to accommodate the action of the story. Once again, the prince wanted to hear the rabbi’s advice, Gottlieb read in his book so he wouldn’t hear the false sounds his wife was making. The messenger also revealed the subject on which the mighty prince had expected to hear Rabbi Ammon’s advice. Because then the guest would have a chance, during the journey to the palace, to contemplate the matter, turn it over in his mind. The messenger was also a nobleman, a large young man, his chin just becoming downy; he insisted on setting out immediately because the Rhine and the Maas had overflowed, not to mention the Niers, and there was a chance that they might merge and flood the highway. They rode in pouring rain, and because of the floods, a journey that should have taken only two days lasted more than five. On the low-lying meadows, above which the heavy-bellied rain clouds moved slowly, they continually had to search for passages of high ground in the water. They lost their way several times, had to put up in unfamiliar inns to feed their horses and rest them. Water, nothing but water as far as the eye could see. The horses’ hooves splashed in water. On the afternoon of the fifth day, they reached the Duseldorp castle, whose walls, in a merciless driving wind, were being lashed by the waters of the flooding river. But the prince had already adjourned the conference, attended by distinguished lords from Jülich, Berg, Pfeilen, Mark, Ravensburg, and, from the rabbi’s hometown, the count of Cleve himself. When Rabbi Ammon was led in, still drenched, the nobles were already seated at the table set for dinner and even the prince of Jülich would not have wanted to remember what he had hoped to hear from the rabbi.
It would not have been proper to revive the debate among the restless lords.
They let the Jew dry off, along with the dogs that burst in with him.
Do you hear, Margit, I hope you’re listening, Gottlieb interjected but did not even look up at his wife, who, with a confused little smile on her lips, was paying fairly devoted attention to him.