Then a surging wave of hope rose within Rebecca's breast, and it
lifted her to her feet and stretched out her arms toward the
Splendour. And she said: "Lord God, forgive Thou my husband, for he is
in the hand of the Tempter. Save him from the power of the Evil One
by Thine outstretched arm and Thy mighty hand. Save him and pardon
him, Lord, in Thine infinite mercy." Then a strange, dread, anxious
silence fell upon the vast spaces of the Firmament, till from the
heart of the Celestial Splendour there fell a Word that floated
through the Universe like the sweet blended strains of all sweet
instruments, a Word that mingled all the harmonies of winds and waters
and mortal and angelic voices into one divine cadence--_Salachti_.
And with the sweet Word of Forgiveness lingering musically in her
charmed ears, and the sweet assurance at her heart that she, the poor,
miserable tailor's wife, despised and trodden under foot by the rich
and by the heathen around, could lean upon the breast of an Almighty
Father, who had prepared for her immortal glories and raptures amid
all her loved ones in a world where He would wipe the tears from off
all eyes, Rebecca Grinwitz awoke to find the bright morning sunshine
streaming in upon her and the fresh morning air blowing in upon her
fevered brow from the skylight which Reb Yitzchok had just opened.
"_Surely He shall deliver thee from the snare of the
fowler._"--Psalm xci. 3.
A shroud of newly fallen snow enveloped the dead earth, over which the
dull, murky sky looked drearily down. Within his fireless garret,
which was almost empty of furniture, Moshe Grinwitz lay, wasted away
to a shadow. His beard was unkempt, his cheek-bones were almost
fleshless, his feverish eyes large and staring, his side-curls tangled
and untended. There did not seem enough strength left in the frame to
resist a babe; yet, when he coughed, the whole skeleton was agitated
as though with galvanic energy.
"Will he never come back?" he murmured uneasily.
"Fear not; so far as lies in my power, I shall be with you always,"
replied the voice of the hunchback as he entered the room. "But, alas!
I have little comfort to bring you. One pawnbroker after another
refused to advance anything on my waistcoat, and at last I sold it
right out for a few pence. See; here is some milk. It is warm."
Moshe tried to clutch the jug, but fell back, helpless. A shade of
anxiety passed over his companion's face. "Have I miscalculated?" he
muttered. He held the jug to the sick man's lips, supporting his head
with the other. Moshe drank, then fell back, and pressed his friend's
hand gratefully.
"Poor Moshe," said the hunchback. "What a shame I tossed into the
gutter the gold my father left me seven months ago! How could I
foresee you would be struck down with this long sickness?"
"No, no, don't regret it," quavered Moshe, his white face lighting up.
"We had jolly old times, jolly old times, while the money lasted. Oh,
you've been a good friend to me--a good friend. If I had never known
you, I should have passed away into nothingness, without ever having
known the mad joys of wine and riot. I have had wild, voluptuous
moments of revelry and mirth. No power in heaven or hell can take away
the past. And then the sweet freedom of doing as you will, thinking as
you will, flying with wings unclogged by superstition--to you I owe it
all! And since I have been ill you have watched over me like--like a
woman."
His words died away in a sob, and then there was silence, except when
his cough sounded strange and hollow in the bare room. Presently he
went on:--
"How unjust Rivkoly was to you! She once said"--here the speaker
laughed a little melancholy laugh--"that you were the _Satan Mekatrig_
in person."
"Poor afflicted woman!" said his friend, with pitying scorn. "In this
nineteenth century, when among the wise the belief in the gods has
died out, there are yet fools alive who believe in the devil. But she
could only have meant it metaphorically."
The sick man shook his head. "She said the evil influence--of course,
it seemed evil to her--you wielded over her thoughts, and I suppose
mine, too, was more than human--was supernatural."
"Oh, I don't say I'm not more strong-minded than most people. Of
course I am, or I should be howling hymns at the present moment. But
why does a soldier catch fire under the eye of his captain? What
magnetism enables one man to bewitch a nation? Why does one friend's
unspoken thought find unuttered echo in another's? Go to Science,
study Mesmerism, Hypnotism, Thought-Transference, and you will learn
all about Me and my influence."
"Yes, Rivkoly never had any idea of anything outside her prayer-book.
Rivkoly--"
"Mention not her name to me," interrupted the hunchback harshly. "A
woman who deserts her husband--"
"She swore to go if I blew out the _Yom Kippur_ light. And I did."
"A woman who goes out of her wits because her husband gets into his!"
sneered the other. "Doubtless her superstitious fancy conjured up all
sorts of sights in the dark. Ho! ho! ho!" and he laughed a ghastly
laugh. "Happily she will never come back. She's evidently able to get
along without you. Probably she has another husband more to her pious
taste."
Moshe raised himself convulsively. "Don't say that again!" he
screamed. "_My_ Rivkoly!" Then a violent cough shook him and his white
lips were reddened with blood.
The cold eyes of the hunchback glittered strangely as he saw the
blood. "At any rate," he said, more gently, "she cannot break the
mighty oath she sware. She will never come back."
"No, she will never come back," the sick man groaned hopelessly. "But
it was cruel of me to drive her away. Would to G--"
The hunchback hastily put his hand on the speaker's mouth, and
tenderly wiped away the blood. "When I am better," said Moshe, with
sudden resolution, "I will seek her out: perhaps she is starving."
"As you will. You know she can always earn her bread and water at the
cap-making. But you are your own master. When you are rid of this
sickness--which will be soon--you shall go and seek her out and bring
her to abide with you." The words rang sardonically through the
chamber.
"How good you are!" Moshe murmured, as he sank back relieved.
The hunchback leaned over the bed till his gigantic brow almost
touched the sick man's, till his wonderful eyes lay almost on his.
"And yet you will not let me hasten on your recovery in the way I
proposed to you."
"No, no," Moshe said, trembling all over. "What matters if I lie here
a week more or less?"
"Lie here!" hissed his friend. "In a week you will lie rotting."
A wild cry broke from the blood-bespattered lips! "I am not dying! I
am not dying! You said just now I should be better soon."
"So you will; so you will. But only if we have money. Our last
farthing, our last means of raising a farthing, is gone. Without
proper food, without a spark of fire, how can you hold out a week in
this bitter weather? No, unless you would pass from the light and the
gladness of life to the gloom and the shadow of the tomb, you must be
instantly baptized."
"_Shmad_ myself! Never!" said the sick man, the very word conjuring up
an intolerable loathing, deeper than reason; and then another violent
fit of coughing shook him.
"See how this freezing atmosphere tells on you. You must take
Christian gold, I tell you. Thus only shall I be able to get you
fire--to get you fire," repeated the hunchback with horrible emphasis.
"You call yourself a disbeliever. If so, what matters? Why should you
die for a miserable prejudice? But you are no true infidel. So long as
you shrink from professing any religion under the sun, you still
possess a religion. Your unfaith is but foam-drift on the deep sea of
faith; but lip-babble while your heart is still infected with
superstition. Come, bid me fetch the priest with his crucifix and holy
water. Let us fool him to the top of his bent. Rouse yourself; be a
man and live."
"No, no, brother! I will be a man and die."
"Fool!" hissed the hunchback. "It fits not one who has lived for
months by Christian gold to be so nice."
"You lie!" Moshe gasped.
"The seven months that you and I have known each other, it is
Christian gold that has warmed you and fed you and rejoiced you, and
that, melted down, has flowed in your veins as wine. Whence, then,
took I the money for our riotings?"
"From your father, you said."
"Yes, from my spiritual father," was the grim reply. "No, having that
belief, which _you_ still lack, in the hollowness and mockery of all
save pleasure, I became a Christian. For a time they paid me well, but
as soon as I had been put on the annual report I had served my purpose
and the supplies fell off. I could be converted again in another town
or country, but I dare not leave you. But you are a new man, and
should I drag you into the fold they will reward us both well. Instead
of subsisting on dry bread and milk you will fare on champagne and
turtle-soup once more."
Moshe sat up and gazed wildly one long second at the Tempter. He
looked at his own fleshless arms, and shuddered. He felt the icy hand
of Death upon him. He knew himself a young man still. Must he go down
into the eternal darkness, and be folded in the freezing clasp of the
King of Terrors, while the warm bosom of Life offered itself to his
embrace? No; give him Life, Life, Life, polluted and stained with
hypocrisy, but still Life, delicious Life.
The steely eyes of the hunchback watched the contest anxiously.
Suddenly a change came over the wildly working face--it fell back
chill and rigid on the pillow, the eyes closed. The room seemed to
fill with an impalpable, brooding Vapour, as if a thick fog were
falling outside. The watcher caught madly at his friend's wrist and
sought to detect a pulsation. His eyes glowed with horrible exultant
relief.
"Not yet, not yet, Brother Azrael," he said mockingly, as if
addressing the impalpable Vapour; "Thou who art wholly woven of Eyes,
canst Thou not see that it is not yet time to throw the fatal pellet
into his throat? Back, back!"
The Vapour thickened. The minutes passed. The hunchback peered
expectant at the corpse-like face on the dingy pillow. At last the
eyes opened, but in them shone a strange, rapt expression.
"Thank God, Rivkoly!" the dying lips muttered. "I knew thou wouldst
come."
As he spoke there was a frantic beating at the door. The hunchback's
face was convulsed.
"Hasten, hasten, Brother Azrael!" he cried.
The Vapour lightened a little. Moshe Grinwitz seemed to rally. His
face glowed with eagerness.
"Open the door! open the door!" he cried. "It's Rivkoly--my Rivkoly!"
The vain battering at the door grew fiercer, but none noted it in the
house. Since the shadow of the hunchback had first fallen within that
thickly crowded human nest, the doves had become hawks, the hawks
vultures. All was discord and bickering.
"Lie still," said the hunchback; "'tis but your fevered imagination.
Drink."
He put the jug to the dying man's lips, but it was dashed violently
from his hand and shattered into a hundred pieces.
"Give me nothing bought with Christian money!" gasped Moshe hoarsely,
his breath rattling painfully in his throat. "Never will I knowingly
gain by the denial of the Unity of God."
"Then die like a dog!" roared the hunchback. "Hasten, Brother Azrael!"
The Vapour folded itself thickly about the room. The rickety door was
shaken frantically, as by a great gale.
"Moshe! Moshe!" shrieked a voice. "Let me in--me--thy Rivkoly! In
God's name, let me in! I bring thee a precious gift. Or art thou dead,
dead, dead? My God, why didst Thou not cause me to know he was ill
before!"
"Your husband is dying," said the hunchback. "When he is dead, you
shall look upon his face. But he may not look upon your face again.
You have sworn it."
"Devil!" cried the fierce voice of the woman. "I swore it on _Kol
Nidre_ night, when I had just asked the Almighty to absolve me from
all rash oaths. Let me in, I tell you."
"I will not have a sacred oath treated thus lightly," said the
hunchback savagely. "I will keep your soul from sin."
"Cursed be thou to eternity of eternities!" replied the woman. "Pray,
Moshe, pray for thy soul. Pray, for thou art dying."
"Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one," rose the sonorous
Hebrew.
"Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one," wailed the woman.
The very Vapour seemed to cling round and prolong the vibrations of
the sacred words. Only the hunchback was silent. The mocking words
died on his lips, and as the woman, with one last mighty blow, dashed
in through the flying door, he seemed to glide past her and melt into
the darkness of the staircase.
Rivkoly heeded not his contorted, malignant visage, crowned with its
serpentine wreath of fiery hair; she flew straight through the heavy
Vapour, stooped and kissed the livid mouth, read in a moment the
decree of Death in the eyes, and then put something small and warm
into her husband's fast chilling arms.
"Take it, Moshe," she cried, "and comfort thy soul in death. 'Tis thy
child, for God has at last sent us a son. _Yom Kippur_ night--now six
long months ago--I had a dream that God would forgive thee, and I was
glad. But when I thought to go home to thee in the evening, I learnt
that thou hadst been feasting all that dread Day of Atonement with the
_Satan Mekatrig_; and my heart fell, for I knew that my dream was but
the vain longing of my breast, and that through thine own misguided
soul thou couldst never be saved from the eternal vengeance. Then I
went away, far from here, and toiled and lived hard and lone; and I
believed not in my dream. But I prayed and prayed for thy soul, and
lo! very soon I was answered; for I knew we should have a child. And
then I entreated that it should be a son, to pray for thee, and
perhaps win thee back to God, and to say the _Kaddish_ after thee when
thou shouldst come to die, though I knew not that thy death was at
hand; and a few weeks back the Almighty was gracious and merciful to
me, and I had my wish."
She ceased, her wan face radiant. The Shadow of Death could not chill
her sublime faith, her simple, trustful hope. The husband was clasping
the feebly whimpering babe to his frozen breast, and showering
passionate kisses on its unconscious form.
"Rivkoly!" he whispered, as the tears rolled down his cheeks, "how
pale and thin thou art grown! O God, my sin has been heavy!"
"No, no," she cried, her loving hand in his. "It was the _Satan
Mekatrig_ that led thee astray. I am well and strong. I will work for
our child, and train it up to pray for thee and to love thee. I have
named it Jacob, for it shall wrestle with the Recording Angel and
shall prevail."
The hue of death deepened on Moshe Grinwitz's face, but it was
overspread by a divine calm.
"Ah, the good old times we had at the _Cheder_ in Poland," he said.
"The rabbi was sometimes cross, but we children were always in good
spirits; and when the Rejoicing of the Law came round it was such fun
carrying the candles stuck in hollowed apples, and gnawing at your
candlestick as you walked. I always loved _Simchath Torah_, Rivkoly.
How long is it to the Rejoicing?"
"It will soon be here again, now Passover is over," she said, pressing
his hand.
"Is _Pesach_ over?" he said mournfully. "I don't remember giving
_Seder_. Why didst thou not remind me, Rivkoly? It was so wrong of
thee. Thou knowest how I loved the sight of the table--the angels
always seemed to hover about it. _Chad Gadyah! Chad Gadyah!_" he
commenced to sing in a cracked, hoarse whisper. The child burst into a
wail. "Hush, hush, Yaankely," said the mother, taking it to her
breast.
"A--a--ah!" A wild scream rose from Moshe Grinwitz's lips. "My
_Kaddish_! Take not away my _Kaddish_!" He sat up, with clammy,
ghastly brow, and glared with sightless eyes, his arms groping. A thin
stream of blood oozed from his mouth.
"Hear, O Israel!" screamed the woman, as she put her hand to his mouth
to stanch the blood.
He beat her back wildly. "Not thee! I want not thee! My _Kaddish_!"
came the mad, hoarse whisper. "I have blasphemed God! Give me my
_Kaddish_! give me my _Kaddish_!"
She put the child into his arms, and he clutched it in his dying
frenzy. As he felt its feeble form, the old divine peace came over his
face. The babe's cries were hushed in fear. The mother was dumb and
stony. And silently the Vapour crawled in sluggish folds through the
heavy air.
But in a moment the silence was broken by a deep, stertorous rattle.
Moshe Grinwitz's head fell back; his arms relaxed their hold of his
child, which was caught with a wild cry to its mother's bosom. And the
dark Vapour lifted, and showed the three figures to the baleful,
agonized eyes of the hunchback at the open door.
* * * * *