Another Me (4 page)

A
s we left the synagogue, Papa was debating Rabbi Weltner's Torah lesson with our fellow congregants and Shmuli was running around in the snowy street with his friends, so neither of them noticed when a very dirty urchin bumped against me.

“Hey, watch where you're going!” I cried.

Something was pressed into my palm, and then he was gone. I opened my fingers to find a tiny piece of rolled-up parchment. I knew that only one person would be sending me notes. It had to be Elena. I tightened my fingers around it without showing it to anybody.

The smell of cholent greeted us as we arrived home, making my mouth water.

“Lunch will be ready in a few moments,” Mama said. “Before we eat, Natan, could you please pick some herbs for me in the garden?”

In addition to weaving beautiful tapestries, helping Papa with his cloth trade and taking care of our family, Mama was also well versed in the healing arts. She grew herbs and other medicinal plants in a small patch of green at the back of our house. Some of the herbs were so hardy that they sprouted through the snow. Mama ground them up, boiled them and mixed them with secret ingredients to turn them into potions and poultices for members of our community. She was respected far and wide as a healer.

I told her that I would get the herbs and hurried to the garden. I made sure that nobody was around before I unrolled the parchment. It was short and to the point:

This was the first time Elena had written to me. What could have happened that she had to see me so urgently?

I knew it wouldn't be easy to leave our house at midnight. The hatred against us had increased with the growing rumors that Jews were responsible for the plague. In response, our city government had sent armed sentries to guard both ends of Judenstrasse.
We were told that this was done for our own protection, but the sentries didn't allow anybody to leave the street after curfew.

In spite of the risks, I was determined to go. If Elena needed me, there was no other choice. I knew I wouldn't be able to figure out a way to elude the sentries, so I hoped that I'd be lucky and not meet them.

I waited until my family was asleep before I wrapped myself in my warmest cloak against the bitter cold and slipped out of our home, quiet as a mouse. I was careful to press myself into the shadows as I made my ghostly way through the darkness. I didn't come across the night watchman, but as I approached the end of the street, I heard voices. I stopped, melting into the building behind me. There were two sentries leaning against the wall of the house on the corner, across from the half-open gate that marked the street of the Jews. I stood there listening to them, my heart beating so loudly that I was amazed they couldn't hear it. The men were drinking, laughing, clinking their cups of ale. The curved blades by their sides glistened in the darkness.

The cathedral bell rang twelve times. I was late. Elena would think I wasn't coming, but I had to bide my time until the sentries were ready to leave. It seemed like hours but it must have been mere minutes until the taller sentry put away his cup.

“Time for our rounds,” he said to his companion. “You go left and I'll go right.”

The second man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “All right, all right. But I don't know why you care so much what happens to these damned Jews.” The first sentry snorted. “I couldn't care less what happens to them! The sooner they depart to hell, the better I'll like it. What I do care about is the money the Ammeister is paying us to guard them. So let's go!”

As soon as they left, I went through the gate and broke into a run for Elena's house. She was waiting for me, her pale, anxious face barely visible in the darkness. She drew me into the kitchen building.

“I was afraid you wouldn't come,” she whispered.

I touched her shoulder. “Nothing will keep me from you. Not all the sentries in the city. But what's wrong? Why did you send for me?”

“I overheard my father talking to the Ammeister, Peter Schwarber. He told Papa that an assembly was held in the Alsace region. There were delegates there from the cities of Bern and Zofingen, and they claimed that the Jews in their towns had poisoned the wells, causing an outbreak of the Black Death. They said that these Jews confessed to this crime under torture.”

I nodded. “Yes, Mama told me that our rabbi received a letter about this same terrible situation.
No wonder those poor Jews confessed. Wouldn't you confess to anything if you were tortured?”

“Anybody would! I'm only telling you what I overheard. Schwarber also told my father that these delegates convinced the representatives from the cities of Basel and Freiburg to join them in killing all the Jews in their own communities.” She grasped my arm. “They asked the Ammeister and the other Strasbourg envoys to do the same,” she whispered.

“What did Schwarber say?”

“He refused. He said that the Jews of Strasbourg pay dearly for letters of protection from the city. He also said that the Jews pay higher taxes than any other citizens, and that they are important to the wealth of Strasbourg. He refused to harm the Jews in our city.”

I took both her hands in mine. “Why are you so worried, then? The Ammeister stood up for us. He'll protect us.”

“He did, but he also told my papa that he will order the well in the town square covered so that nobody will be able to use it. Why is he planning on such an action if he is so certain of your innocence?” She stepped so close that her breath fanned my face. “How long can he keep you safe? I'm so frightened! You and your family must leave Strasbourg. It's dangerous for you to remain here.”

“We have nowhere else to go.”

“I will pray every night that you find a safe place.” Her face was drained of color.

I pulled her into my arms. “You worry too much.” I smoothed away the furrow between her brows until she gave the ghost of a smile. Then I kissed her and told her I loved her. She told me she loved me back. We were alone in the world. Nothing else mattered—not my parents' anger if they found out about us, and not the punishment of the law that forbade us to be together. I kissed her again and drew her so close that I could feel her heart beating.

She pushed me away. “I can't,” she whispered. “I want to, but we mustn't.”

“But, Elena—”

She backed even farther away from me.

“Tell me a poem. I love to hear you talk.”

So I repeated to her the words my mother sang to me every night when she settled me into bed when I was but a babe:

She laid her head on my shoulder.

“So beautiful,” she whispered. “Nobody else I know has words like you.” She snuggled against me. “Please be careful. I'd be lost without you.”

Her concern imprisoned my heart. I swore to myself never to disappoint her. We talked and the hours passed and we didn't even notice. She began to weep when I said that it was time for me to leave her.

“Don't cry! I have to go home before my parents awake.”

“I suddenly feel as if I'll never see you again,” she said.

“I'll come again tomorrow at the same time.”

“But if the sentries catch you…”

I stroked her cheek. “Don't worry. I'll be here. Nothing can keep us apart.”

Then I left her.

T
he Angel of the Night was hovering over Strasbourg as I made my way home. It was so dark that I could barely see my feet as I scurried across the town square. My mind was full of her. I could still feel the silkiness of her hair beneath my fingers, still see the dimples quivering at the corners of her lips as she smiled. I could still hear her sweet voice soothing my spirits.

The cathedral bells broke my reverie. I was so startled that I stopped in my tracks, almost slipping on the icy cobblestones. Then I saw them on the other side of the plaza—three shadowy figures heading directly toward me. I hoped that they wouldn't notice me. My clothes were dark and I pulled down the hood of my cloak to cover my face. Just then, the moon
escaped the clouds and kissed the yellow badge on my chest. I clamped my hand over it to make it disappear and willed myself to stand completely still, just another shadow in the vast square.

“Who's there?” cried a harsh voice.

“What's the matter with you, Anselm? You're seeing ghosts,” said a voice full of ale. “You're afraid of your own shadow!”

I broke into a run. Feet came pounding over the cobblestones behind me. I sprinted past the town well and shrank down into the shadows cast by the cathedral beyond it. How I wished for a knife in my grasp, but Jews were forbidden from carrying weapons.

I peeked around the side of the building. Three men were standing beside the well. They too were dressed in dark clothes. Two of them were bent under the weight of large sacks, while the third, a giant in the shadows, had a white cat squirming under his arm. I pressed a hand over my mouth, for my breathing was so ragged and so loud that I was terrified they would hear me.

“There was somebody there,” one of the men insisted. “I would bet my last coin on it.”

“Forget about it. Let's do what we came for,” said his companion.

They turned to the well and emptied their sacks into it. My nose twitched from the stink.

“Let the Jews explain this!” shouted the man called Anselm. He sounded deep in his cups. “Your turn,” he said to the third man.

The giant raised the cat high into the air and threw it in the direction of the well. The animal missed its target and landed with a loud thud on the ground beside it. With a mighty yowl, it set off into the darkness, barreling into me in the shadows. I jumped backwards, lost my balance on the slick cobblestones and ended up sprawled on the ground.

As I pulled myself up, I found myself staring into a menacing face pushed close to mine.

“What have we here?” the fellow slurred. He pointed to the yellow badge on my cloak. “A Jew boy!”

“How fortunate,” said the third man.

Now that I could see his face, I knew him right away. It was Kaspar! I could never forget that evil sneer crowning the red goatee.

“You again!” he cackled. “You won't get away this time.” He turned to his accomplices. “We'll leave the Jew by the well,” he said. “We'll tell everybody that we came upon a bunch of them poisoning the well and tried to stop them, but there were too many. We'll say the rest of them ran away, but we caught this one.” He laughed and pointed at me. “We'll be heroes!”

“You'll never get away with it!” I cried. “I'll tell everybody that I saw you throw garbage and even the
live cat into the well. Everyone will know that you poisoned the water and not my people!”

Kaspar gave a harsh laugh.

“You won't have the chance,” he said as he lifted his knife high into the air. It glinted coldly in the moonlight as it descended.

Then pain and darkness, and finally…oblivion.

“Good riddance,” Kaspar said, kicking my body on the ground. He pressed his knife into my palm and closed my fingers around the handle. “Anselm,” he barked at his friend, “go for the night watch. I'll stay here with Bertrand to guard the dead Jew.” He snickered. “We'll tell the watchman our story when you bring him back with you.”

Anselm obeyed without hesitation. Kaspar and Bertrand remained by the well. They jumped up and down and rubbed their hands together to stave off the bitter cold.

I stood beside them, looking down at myself. I—Natan, son of Simon the Jew—looked so peaceful on the icy cobblestones. I was lying on my side, my eyes tightly shut. The knife that had killed me was clutched in my hand. I hunkered down, bending over my own body in the darkened square, and traced the outline of the round badge of the Jews on my cloak.
I could see that the yellow cloth had been stained bright crimson.

Just then, footsteps shattered the silence. Hans appeared, staggering and singing:

He stumbled over and dropped to his knees at my side.

“What have we here?” he asked, leaning over me. “It cannot be! It cannot be!” he cried.

“Get away from the Jew!” Kaspar roared.

“Kaspar, may God forgive you, what have you done?” Hans cried.

He struggled unsteadily to his feet. He turned as if to run, but then sank down again to the ground beside me.

“Leave him alone, Kaspar,” Bertrand slurred. “He can attest that the Jew was already dead when he got here.”

Hans didn't seem to hear them.

“Could he be alive? I must see if he's breathing!” he muttered. He stretched out his hand as if to touch me, but then pulled it back quickly. Then—slowly—he
stretched out his hand again and rested it against my heart.

Suddenly, the world became brighter than the sun and I had to cover my eyes with my hands. Fire ran through my body. There was just one thought in my mind—I must save my people! When I dropped my hands, the town square was bathed in gentle morning light. And I was there and wasn't there at the same time. I was gone yet I was not gone. I lifted up my hands—stubby fingers with hair on their backs. I ran them over my paunchy stomach and fingered my pockmarked skin. I leaned over the well to catch my reflection in the water…

Hans, the journeyman draper, was staring back at me.

What was happening?! I looked like Hans but I felt like me. I
was
me. Me. Natan, son of Simon the Jew. I was never more certain of anything in my entire life. And yet another me was staring back at me from the well water. Natan, with his long fingers and curly hair and upright carriage, was curled up on the ground in eternal sleep. And Hans…where did he go?

“Sweet Jesus, what happened here?”

The night watch arrived with Anselm in tow. The watchman was clutching his knife. Did he think that I had committed murder? That
I
had killed
me
?

I opened my mouth to tell him that Kaspar was the guilty one, but then I saw the oaf's malignant stare and
thought better of it. “He was like this when I got here,” I blurted. “I-I didn't see what happened.” I immediately wished that I could take back what I'd said, but it was too late.

“The draper is telling the truth,” Kaspar said. “The Jew was throwing garbage into the well when we got to the square. We tried to stop him, but he attacked us with his knife. We had to kill him. There was no other way.” He pointed to the weapon he had put into my hand. “See? He is still holding the knife he used against us.”

“The other Jews who were with him ran away,” Anselm said. He spat on the ground. “Cowards!”

I wanted to challenge what they'd said, but then I reconsidered. Who would take my word over that of Kaspar? He was a Christian and not a hated Jew like me. He was a master butcher, and both respected and feared throughout the city. And even if the night watch would listen to me, what could I say? That Kaspar and his friends had killed me and my soul now resided in the body of Hans? Nobody would believe it. They'd think that the devil had possessed me. I had to come up with a more convincing story if I wanted to save my people. So I decided to keep my own counsel until I could formulate a better plan.

By now, a crowd had gathered around us. The merchant, the tanner, the mason, the knight on his
horse, the lady in her litter—all were whispering and pointing at me. At the other me. At the body lying on the ground.

The night watch sent a lad to fetch my parents. Mama and Papa came running. Shmuli was behind them, crying. None of them had even bothered to don their cloaks in the bitter cold. Mama threw herself over my body, keening. Papa dropped to his knees beside her, tears running down his face.

“Natan! Natan! My beautiful boy. What have they done to you?”

I could no longer bear it. I bent over her.

“Don't cry, Mama! Don't be distressed!” I whispered. “I'm here. Still here. Look at your loving Natan, the oldest child of your loins.”

She stared into my eyes, and then shuddered and pushed me away. “It cannot be,” she whispered.

“Hans, have you no heart?” Papa cried. “Is this your idea of a jest? Leave her alone!”