At 31st Street they turned west, and the soaring columns came into view. They passed between them and into the narrow, high Arcade, their reflections keeping pace in the shop windows. Then, down into the vaulted magnificence of the Waiting Room—and she slowed her steps, the better to take in the palatial expanse, the details in every carved inch of marble and travertine. And he smiled to see her upturned face, her wide eyes; glad, despite the occasion, to have brought her here at last.
They reached the Concourse—and now the Golem was struck by the notion that she knew this place, even though she’d never been here before. She knew it by the feel of its rising columns and steel arches, its scent of coal-smoke, its shining grandeur. And she knew the community of travelers, too: strangers, alone and separate, who’d nevertheless come together to share a moment of transition, a brief connection.
They descended to the waiting train. He set his suitcase on the platform, and at last took her in his arms.
“I wish that I had done so many things differently,” he murmured.
“I wish that we both had,” she replied. “Maybe we’ll have a chance to try again, someday.”
He nodded. “Until then,” he said, “would you allow me to renew my promise?”
“No,” she said. “I want to make a different one.”
He pulled back and looked at her, puzzled.
“I love you,” she told him. “And I always will.”
He went still in surprise. Then he closed his eyes, and gathered her close.
“I love you,” he whispered. “And I always will.”
They stood together for a long moment. Then, slowly, they let go. He picked up his suitcase, lifted a hand in farewell, and boarded the train.
He found his seat, and placed his suitcase in the luggage rack above. The conductor came down the aisle, calling for tickets; the Jinni removed his own from his jacket pocket and presented it. A click of the ticket punch, and the conductor moved on.
The Jinni replaced the ticket in his pocket, snug beside the small notebook and pen that he’d begun to carry on his walks. Inside was a collection of sketches: architectural details and rough schematics, buildings that he saw and others that he imagined. Interspersed among them were brief sections of writing, a sentence or two at a time. An unlucky jinni who’d been caught in the rain decided to warm himself inside a Bedu’s cooking-fire. Or, Long ago there lived a jinni-child who found a wizard’s trove of gold and silver, hidden deep in a cave. Many of these lines had been crossed out, rewritten in other languages, crossed out again. He wasn’t satisfied with any of his brief translations, and doubted he ever would be, not completely. He wasn’t even certain who he was writing them for. The work compelled him, nevertheless.
He sat back and gazed out the window. The train jolted once, and then slowly pulled away from the station.
The Golem stood on the platform until the train had disappeared.
She returned to the Concourse’s upper level, and spent a few more minutes admiring the glassed arches, the elegant ironwork. Then she walked through to the Waiting Room, and found an information booth tucked into the shadow of a marble pillar. The booth held a neatly ordered display of printed timetables, and she perused them row by row until her gloved finger landed upon the one labeled New York to Chicago. She plucked the paper from its stack, folded it into her purse, and walked out into the city.
Acknowledgments
First, I have to thank my readers. This book was a long time in coming, and I’m grateful to everyone who read The Golem and the Jinni and was willing to wait for more. And I’m especially thankful for all the booksellers, librarians, teachers, and book club members who helped The Golem and the Jinni find its audience.
My agent, Sam Stoloff, once again delivered much-needed guidance and reassurance in equal turns. Terry Karten, my editor, gave The Hidden Palace enough space and time to come into its own. Coralie Hunter provided stellar notes and advice. Huge thanks to the fantastic team at HarperCollins for all of their hard work, patience, and dedication.
Like its predecessor, this book required quite a lot of research before I could write it properly. My “Asylum for Orphaned Hebrews” is loosely based upon the real-life Hebrew Orphan Asylum, which housed many thousands of Manhattan’s Jewish children from 1884 until it closed in 1941. Hyman Bogen’s history of the H.O.A., The Luckiest Orphans, was invaluable reading as I created my own version. Everything I know about turn-of-the-century lessons in Modern Hebrew comes from Jonathan B. Krasner’s The Benderly Boys and American Jewish Education. For Toby’s escapades, I relied on Gregory J. Downey’s research into the world of bicycle messengers, especially Telegraph Messenger Boys: Labor, Technology, and Geography, 1850–1950. Sophia’s travels and encounters drew from numerous sources, including Jeremy Wilson’s archive of T.E. Lawrence’s documents at telstudies.org; Scott Anderson’s Lawrence in Arabia: War, Deceit, Imperial Folly and the Making of the Modern Middle East; Janet Wallach’s biography of Gertrude Bell, Desert Queen; and Bell’s own The Desert and the Sown. Any errors, stretches, or unlikelihoods are, of course, my own.
Many thanks to Shaina Hammerman, Kara Levy, Ruth Galm, Michelle Adelman, Clare Beams, Julianne Douglas, Kim McCoy, Kelly Brooks, Todd Figlio, Rebecca McLaughlin, Melanie Grossheider, Adam Monkowski, Kari Wilcox, and James Wilcox for their sustaining friendships. Jason Snell of The Incomparable was kind enough to let me join his merry band of podcasters, and they quickly became a treasured community. Kathy Campbell, Lisa Schmeiser, and Aleen Simms gave me world-class support and advice. Antony Johnston, Scott McNulty, and Dan Moren shared great conversations about fandoms, stories, and writing in general.
My family continues to be my life’s greatest blessing. My gratitude to my parents is more than I can say; I hope to
