The Golem and the Jinni

  At last the Jinni drove the final nail home, to a spontaneous thunder of applause. For half an hour he shook hands with what felt like every Syrian in New York. Afterward they all milled about, gazing up at the ceiling. Many laughed and stretched their hands into the air, as if trying to touch the mountains. A few older residents grumbled of vertigo and went upstairs to supper. The children spun about with upturned faces, and crashed into their parents’ legs. Finally, one by one, they all drifted away until Arbeely and the Jinni were left alone.

  All at once the Jinni felt drained to his depths. It was over, finished. He looked up at his masterpiece, trying to decide what he’d accomplished.

  “Everyone adores it,” Arbeely said next to him. “It’s only a matter of time before you have your own shop.” Then he noticed the expression on the Jinni’s face. “What’s the matter?”

  “My palace,” the Jinni said. “It isn’t there.”

  Arbeely glanced around quickly, but they were alone. “You could still put it in,” he said quietly. “Call it a stroke of artistic whimsy, or what have you.”

  “You don’t understand,” the Jinni said. “I did it deliberately. It’s only fitting that you can’t see it, that they can’t see it. But I should see it. It should be there.” He gestured to a spot near the center of the ceiling. “Just beyond that ridge. The valley looks empty, without it.”

  Something came together in Arbeely’s mind. “You mean this is a map?”

  “Of course it’s a map. What did you think it was?”

  “I don’t know—a work of imagination, I suppose.” He looked up at it with new appreciation. “And it’s accurate?”

  “I spent two hundred years traveling every inch of these lands. Yes, it’s accurate.” He pointed to a mountain in the corner near the stairwell. “I mined a vein of silver on that mountainside once. A group of ifrits tried to steal it from me. I fought them off, though it took a day and a night.” His finger moved to a narrow plain, deep in shadow. “That’s where I met up with a caravan bound for ash-Sham. I followed them invisible until they reached the Ghouta. It’s the last thing I can remember, from my life before.”

  Arbeely listened with chagrin. He’d hoped that the Jinni would’ve found some solace by now: in his work, the life he’d built for himself, the nighttime excursions that still gave Arbeely palpitations. But how could that replace the life he’d led for centuries? He put a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Come on, my friend,” Arbeely said. “Let’s go open a bottle of araq, and drink to your success.”

  The Jinni consented to be led outside, into the falling night. And behind them, Matthew crept down the staircase and stared up at the ceiling again, his eyes wide with wonder at what he’d overheard.

  Passover approached, and the daily offerings at Radzin’s Bakery began to change: from braided breads to flat matzos, rugelach to macaroons. But even with the Passover selections and wholesale orders, business at the bakery turned woefully thin. Since Mr. Radzin didn’t like his employees to appear idle, they had to work as slowly as they could, stretching each task to near-absurd lengths. For the Golem, it was like moving through glue. Minor annoyances magnified themselves: the jangling bell over the door, the shuffling and coughing of the customers. Their thoughts rang out in the silence, hopelessly monotonous and self-absorbed.

  After days like this, the long nights were a relief and a torture both. She was thrilled to be alone, but her accumulated tension had nowhere to go. She would’ve tried quiet exercises—once, casting about from boredom, she’d spent an hour lifting her desk above her head like a circus strongman—but she needed all her time for sewing. Anna had let it slip to the customers that the Golem was an expert seamstress, and now the Golem was inundated with repairs. She kept the damaged clothing in a teetering stack in the corner until her landlady complained that it was impossible to clean around—“and besides, Chava dear, this is a respectable boardinghouse, not a sweatshop.” She’d apologized and stuffed the clothing in her armoire. She sewed as quickly as possible, irked by the monotony. Why on earth couldn’t men keep their trousers whole? Why were they constantly losing their buttons?

  One night, in the slow hours before dawn, a stray thought snuck into her mind: the Jinni was right. These occupations weren’t enough to hold her interest, not for the long years that her clay body promised. “Go away,” she muttered, and forced her thoughts elsewhere. It was all his fault, of course. She’d been content enough before; now she was turning as moody as he.

  She was wallowing in these preoccupations at the bakery, and trying to ignore Mrs. Radzin’s small talk with a customer, when a burst of pure panic drove all other voices aside. Anna was standing stock-still at her table, her face white as wax. She put down her rolling pin and walked to the back room as casually as she could; but the bakery’s low chatter couldn’t mask the sound of her vomiting in the water closet. She emerged a few minutes later and went back to work as though nothing had happened; but the Golem knew the truth of it, for the girl’s thoughts were a jumbled torment: Oh God, there’s no doubt now. What if the Radzins heard? What will Irving say? What am I going to do? And all the rest of that day Anna proved that she might’ve had true success as an actress, for she chatted and smiled as though all was well, with no outward clue to the terrified din in her head.

  While the Jinni had been preoccupied with Maloof’s tin ceiling, spring had taken root in Manhattan. In the desert he’d seen the seasons change countless times, but this one felt like a magic trick. A day of hard rain washed the garbage from the half-frozen gutters, and then, improbably, the sun emerged. The filthy snowdrifts that had sat on the corners since November began to crater and dissolve. Windows shuttered for months were flung open, clotheslines restrung. Rugs and counterpanes were hauled onto the fire escapes and joyously beaten. The air began to smell of dust and sun-warmed cobblestones.

  As the Jinni walked to the Golem’s boardinghouse that week, he tried to decide whether to tell her about the tin ceiling. Usually he made a point of saying little about his daytime work, but this she would want to hear about. She’d praise him, tell him how glad she was for his success; and something in him rebelled against it. He didn’t want praise from her, not for this. Not when she knew how much more he’d once been capable of. To even mention the ceiling felt dangerously close to giving in, settling, declaring this life to be good enough, in a way that it hadn’t with Arbeely.

  He reached her boardinghouse and found that, as usual, she’d been watching for him. But instead of her usual caution, she wrenched open the front door and barreled down the steps as though fleeing a terrible argument. She cast no worried glance at her neighbors’ windows; she didn’t even bother to put up her hood. “Where are we going?” she asked by way of greeting.

  “Central Park,” he said, taken aback.

  “Will it be a long walk?”

  “I suppose, but—”

  “Good,” she said, and set off without waiting. He hurried to catch up with her. Every line of her body spoke of frustration. She walked with her head down, impatiently jumping the maze of puddles, apparently forgetting she’d once scolded him for doing the same. Her hands flexed at her sides. He’d never seen her like this.

  They walked for some blocks, and at last he said, “If it’s myself you’re furious with, please let me know. I’d rather not go on guessing.”

  Instantly her anger turned to chagrin. “Oh, Ahmad, I’m sorry! I’m poor company, I shouldn’t have come. Except I might have torn down the house rather than stay inside another minute.” She pressed her hands to her forehead, as though fighting a headache. “It’s been a terrible week.”

  “How so?”

  “I can’t say much. There’s a secret that isn’t mine to tell. Someone at the bakery is extremely frightened, and trying to keep it hidden. I’m not even supposed to know.”

  “I can see how that would distract you.”

  “I can barely think of anything else. At least a dozen times I’ve had to
stop myself from saying the wrong thing.” She hugged herself, scowling. “I’ve been making so many mistakes. Yesterday I had to throw away an entire batch of dough. And then today I burned all the butter-horns. Mr. Radzin shouted at me, and Mrs. Radzin asked me if everything was all right. Asked me! While Anna goes on smiling as though nothing—”

  She stopped, hands flying to her mouth. “There, you see? Oh, this is intolerable!”

  “If it helps, I’d already guessed it was Anna. You don’t have that many colleagues.”

  “Please don’t tell anyone.”

  “Chava, who would I tell? What would I tell? I don’t even know the secret!”

  “And I’m not going to say it,” she muttered.

  At length the gates at Fifty-ninth Street appeared, and they entered the park along the darkened path, leaving the streetlights behind. Twigs and branches shivered above them in the sudden hush. The Golem slowed and looked around with fascination, her ill mood visibly fading. “I’ve never seen so many trees.”

  “Just wait,” he said, smiling.

  They rounded a corner, and the full scope of the park came into view, the rolling stretches of lawn and distant groves. She turned around as she walked, trying to see the whole panorama at once. “It’s enormous! And so quiet!” She put her hands over her ears and uncovered them again, as though to make sure her hearing hadn’t deserted her. “Is it always like this?”

  “At night, it is. During the day it’s full of people.”

  “I never would’ve thought the city could be hiding this. How far does it go?”

  “I’m not sure. It would take weeks to explore properly. Months, perhaps.”

  They walked north toward Sheep Meadow. He’d hoped to take her off the main carriage drive, but the lawn had thawed to a swamp, and the smaller paths were submerged. The sheep were nowhere to be seen; he supposed they’d been stabled somewhere less muddy.

  “I feel different here,” the Golem said suddenly.

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know.” She shivered lightly once, then again.

  He frowned. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.” But her voice was distracted, as though she were listening for something far away.

  They left the carriage drive, and descended the steps to Bethesda Terrace. The fountain had been stilled for the evening. Coins lay scattered at the bottom of the basin, dark and perfect circles. The water was so transparent that it seemed an illusion.

  The Golem looked up at the winged statue. “She’s beautiful. Who is she?”

  “She’s called the Angel of the Waters,” the Jinni said, recalling that first conversation with Sophia. How long had it been since he’d seen her last? He remembered the locked door, the draped furniture, and felt a vague unease.

  The Golem said, “I read about angels, once. In one of the Rabbi’s books.” She glanced at him. “You don’t believe in them, I suppose.”

  “No, I don’t,” he said. He thought she might be waiting for him to return the question; but he didn’t want to talk about angels, or gods, or whatever else the humans had invented that week. The park was too calm, too hushed, for an argument. He thought again of bringing up the tin ceiling but could see no graceful way to do it. She’d think he was a child, hunting for praise.

  For a while they sat against the basin’s rim—the Jinni ever mindful of the water behind him—and watched the lake as it lapped against the terrace. The night had grown heavy with fog, and it set his skin prickling. The Golem was a cool and solid presence at his side. Her head was tilted upward; she was looking at the sky. Even this far into the park, the city’s lights illuminated the haze of clouds, giving them depth and texture.

  “I wish my life could always be like this,” the Golem said. “Calm. Peaceful.” She closed her eyes, and again it seemed she was listening for something.

  “You should come here on one of your Saturdays,” he said. “It’s different here, during the day.”

  “I couldn’t come alone,” she said absently.

  He wanted to protest this, but then he recalled how noticeable Sophia had been, a solitary woman by the fountain. The Golem didn’t have Sophia’s beauty, but she drew the eye nonetheless. Perhaps a chaperone wasn’t the worst idea. “What about that friend of yours, Michael? You could bring him.”

  She opened her eyes, gave him an odd look. “I’d rather not.”

  “Why, have you quarreled?”

  “No, not as such. I haven’t seen him since we went to Brooklyn. But he might . . . misconstrue the invitation.”

  He frowned, not understanding, but then remembered what he’d forgotten: this friend wanted more from her, and it made her uneasy. “It would be an afternoon in a park, not a lifelong mating.”

  She winced at this. “He’s a good man. I wouldn’t want to lead him on. ”

  “So you’ll avoid him for the rest of his life, to keep him from getting the wrong impression.”

  “You don’t understand,” she grumbled. “He has desires for me. And they’re very loud.”

  “And you have no romantic feelings for him at all?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s hard to tell.”

  He snorted. “Maybe you should lie with him. It might clarify things.”

  She jerked as though he’d slapped her. “I would never!”

  “Never? You mean with him, or with anyone?”

  She turned away. “I don’t know. It’s difficult to think about.”

  It was a clear signal, but he decided to ignore it. “It should be easy. They’re the ones who complicate it beyond reason.”

  “Of course you would say so! And I suppose I should follow your example, and take all the pleasures I can!”

  “Why not, when there’s no harm done?”

  “By which you mean that you aren’t harmed, and that’s what matters!” She’d rounded on him, full of ire. “You go here and there leaving God knows what in your wake, and then you think less of them for worrying about the consequences. Meanwhile, I have to hear every I wish I hadn’t and what’ll I do now! It’s selfish and careless, and inexcusable!”

  Her startling anger seemed to have run its course. Frowning, she turned away in stony silence.

  After a moment he said, “Chava, have I done something I don’t know about? Did I harm someone?”

  “Not as far as I know,” she muttered. “But your life affects others, and you don’t seem to realize it.” She looked down to her hands, tangled in her lap. “Perhaps it’s unfair to wish otherwise. We’re our natures, you and I.”

  Her words hurt, more than he’d have thought. He wanted to defend himself—but then, maybe she was right, maybe he was selfish and careless. And he was right as well, to think her prudish and overcautious. Both of them had their reasons, as well as their natures. He looked out over the lake, which lay dark and still, somehow unruffled by their argument.

  “We can’t seem to talk without fighting.” Her words were uncomfortably close to the drift of his mind; he wondered, sometimes, if he was as opaque to her as she thought. “It’s strange that we can be friends. I hope that you do consider me a friend, and not a burden. I don’t want these walks to be something you dread.” She glanced at him quickly, as if embarrassed. “It feels strange, not knowing. Were you anyone else, I wouldn’t have to ask.”

  It took him a moment to respond, and he had to dare himself to match her honesty. “I look forward to walking with you. I think I even look forward to the arguments. You understand what my life is like, even when we disagree. Arbeely tries, but he can’t see it the way you can.” He smiled. “So yes, I consider you a friend. And I would miss this, if we stopped.”

  She returned the smile, a bit sadly. “So would I.”

  “Enough of this,” he said. “Are we seeing the park, or aren’t we?”

  She chuckled. “Lead on.”

  They left the terrace and walked up the steps to the Mall. The thickening fog had wiped the world away, leaving only the
broad, elm-lined path and a misty horizon. Next to him, the Golem seemed like a manifestation of the landscape. “This place makes me feel strange,” she murmured.

  “Strange, how?”

  “I’m not sure.” Her hands came up, as if feeling for the words in the air. “Like I want to run and run, and never stop.”

  He smiled. “Is that so strange?”

  “It is to me. I’ve never run before.”

  “What, never?”

  “Never.”

  “Then you should give it a try.”

  She paused, as if considering—and then she leapt from his side. Her legs stretched behind her, her cloak flowed outward like a wing; and for a long moment her body was a dark shape flying away from him at incredible speed.

  He stood, stunned, watching; and then he grinned and took off after her, shoes pounding the slate, the trees blurring to either side. Was he gaining on her? He couldn’t tell, she’d disappeared; she’d run from him so quickly!

  A copse of trees loomed up out of the fog: it was the end of the Mall. He slowed, came to a stop, looked around. Where was she? “Chava?”

  “Come see!”

  She was in the middle of the copse, crouching low over something. He stepped across the low fence, and sank up to his ankles in cold mud. Cringing, he picked his way over to her. “Look,” she said.

  A thick shoot had poked its way through the mud. At its crown was a knot of petals, tightly furled. He looked around, and saw smaller shoots scattered here and there: the first flowers of spring. “You could see this from the path?”

  She shook her head. “I knew it was here. The ground is waking.” He watched as she pressed her hand into the mud. Her hand vanished, then her wrist. For a wild moment he thought she might sink in entirely. He wanted to pull her away, to keep her from disappearing. But then she sat back, and gazed down at the mess of her skirt and shoes, her mud-spattered cloak. “Oh, look what I’ve done,” she murmured. She stood up, becoming again her brisk and businesslike self. “What time is it?”