“Surely you must help me,” he said. “I don’t need to be your Master. I need you! I need you to witness and understand. Oh, but this is too remarkable that you came alive to see Esther murdered, and to kill those three, you did say that to me, that you killed those three.”
“You loved Esther, didn’t you?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, very much,” he said. “But Esther had no vision. Neither does Rachel. That’s why you’ve come. That’s why you were given to our people, to my grandfather’s father, don’t you see? You were meant to appear before me in all your glory. You are the witness. You are ‘He who will understand everything.’ ”
I was puzzled by his words. Plan, scheme, design. “But what is it I am to witness?” I asked. “You have your church. And what does Esther have to do with it?”
He thought a long moment, and then he said with innocent candor:
“Of course, you were meant for me. No wonder you struck down others.” He laughed. “Azriel, you’re worthy of me, don’t you see? This is what’s so supremely beautiful, you’re worthy of me, of my time, my brilliance, my effort. We are on a par. You are a prince of ghosts, I suspect. I know it.”
He reached to touch my hair.
“I’m not so sure.”
“Hmmm, a prince, I’m sure, and you’ve been sent to me. All those old men; they kept you, passed you down through the generations. It was for me.”
He seemed almost moved to tears by his own sentiment. His face was soft and radiant and confident.
“You have the pride and decisiveness of a king, Gregory.”
“Of course I do. What does the Master usually say to you, Spirit?” he asked. “What do you remember?”
“Nothing,” I said adamantly. A lie of my own. “I wouldn’t be with you if I could,” I said. “I stay with you now because I’m trying to remember and to know. I should kill you now. That would probably be like your precious Alexander when he cut the Gordian knot.”
“No, that won’t happen,” he said calmly. “That cannot possibly be meant. If God wanted for me to die, anyone could do it. You don’t realize the scale of my dreams. Alexander would have understood.”
“I am not yours,” I said. “I know that much. Yes, I want to know the scale of your dreams, yes. I don’t want to kill you without understanding why you had Esther murdered. But I am not yours. Not meant for you. Not necessarily meant…for anything.”
Somewhere the mother was crying again. That I’m sure I could hear. I turned my head.
“Do as I say,” he said, touching me again, clamping his hand on my arm.
I pulled away. I hurt him a little.
My strength had gone past exhilaration. I was restless. I wanted to walk, to touch things. I wanted to touch these couches of velvet, and run my hand on the marble. I wanted simply to look at my hands. I was holding utterly fast. I wasn’t sure that I could dissolve now if I wanted to.
It was a strange feeling, to be so strong, and not to know if the old tricks would work. But then I had only lately made myself Esther. I was tempted…
…But no, this was not the time.
I glared at the bones. I reached down and covered up the bones with the fragile lid. There lay the Sumerian letters for me to read.
“Why did you do that?” he demanded.
“I don’t like the sight of the bones,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because they’re mine.” I looked at him. “Somebody killed me. Someone did it against my will. I don’t like you either, necessarily. Why should I believe you that I am something worthy of you? What is your scheme? Where is your Alexandrian sword?”
I was sweating. My heart was pounding. (I didn’t really have a heart but it felt like it was pounding.) I peeled off this coat, admiring my own handiwork as I did it. I could see how different it was from his clothing, though modeled completely upon it.
Perhaps he noticed the difference too.
“Who sewed these clothes for you, Azriel?” he ordered. “Were they done by invisible angels on invisible looms?” He laughed as if this was the most preposterous idea.
“You’d better think of clever things to say. I may not kill you, but I very well may leave you.”
“You can’t! You know you can’t!”
I turned my back on him. Let me see what else I could do.
I looked at the walls, the ceiling, the peach silk of the drapes, and the great tree of life blazing in the carpet. I drew near the window and the air moved my hair. The coolness came down on my skin and on my hair.
Slowly, I closed my eyes, though I could still take small steps, for I knew where everything was, and I clothed myself, envisioning a robe of red silk, with a sash of silk, and jeweled slippers. I took
It was conceivable.
I heard him sigh. I heard his shock. I saw myself reflected in the mirrored panes of the ornate doors, a tall, black-haired youth in a long, red Chaldean robe. No beard, no, no hair on the face. I liked the smooth face. But this would not do, these garments, too antique; I needed freedom and power.
I turned around.
Again, I closed my eyes. I imagined a coat of his cut in this brilliant red but of the finest wool, tailored as his coat was tailored, with buttons of simple and perfect gold, almost pure gold. I imagined the trousers looser and smooth, as a Persian would want them to be, and the slippers I stripped of their embroidery.
Beneath the coat, I drew to myself, against my skin, a shirt like his, only of far whiter silk even than his, its buttons made of gold as well, and round my neck on my chest, beneath the wings of this coat, against the shirt, I brought two full strands of beads which I took from all the opaque stones of the world I loved—jasper and lapis lazuli, beryl, garnet, jade, and ivory. I put amber with this, on these two strings, until I felt the weight against my chest, and then I raised my hand and touched the beads, and when I let my shoulders fall easy, the coat almost closed over this secret bit of vanity, these ancient beads. My shoes I made identical to his shoes, only of the softest cloth, and lined with silk.
He was shocked by these simple magic acts. I had found them easier than ever.
“A silken man,” he said. He said it in Yiddish.
“Shall I cap it off?” I asked. “By walking out of here?”
He drew himself up. His voice was shaky now. If it was not humility, it was some form of respect.
“There’s time for you to show me every trick you know, but for now, you must listen to me.”
“More interested in your schemes than seeing me vanish?” I asked.
“Alexander would be more interested in his own schemes, wouldn’t he? Everything is ready. Everything in place, and now you come, the right hand of God.”
“Don’t be so hasty. What God!”
“Ah, so you despise your origins and all the evil you’ve done, do you?”
“I do.”
“Well, then, you should welcome the world that I place in your hands. Oh, I see more by the moment. You are here to teach us after the Last Days, I see it.”
“What Last Days! When the hell are mortal men going to shut up about the Last Days! Do you know how many centuries ago men yammered on about the Last Days?”
“Ah, but I know the very dates of the Last Days,” he said calmly. “I’ve chosen them. I see no reason to delay in telling you the whole scheme. I see no reason not to make it all known. You recoil from me, deride me, but you’ll learn. You are a learning spirit, aren’t you?”
A learning spirit.
“Yes,” I said. I liked this concept.
I listened to the sound of steps in the passage. I thought I heard the mother’s voice, low and urgent, and I didn’t like it that she was still crying.
Coldly, I observed that his proximity to me did not matter. He could be one foot away or ten. I was just as strong. I was quite independent of him, which was perfect. As he watched, I covered my fingers with gold rings,
