Another Me (5 page)

I
t felt strange to see them carry me away on the bier with my parents and Shmuli following. I wanted to go with them, but I knew it couldn't be. I leaned over the edge of the well again. It was still Hans staring back at me.

My head ached abominably. I was going to follow my family home and try once again to explain who I was, but then I remembered how Mama had shuddered and pushed me away. I leaned against the wall of the cathedral to collect my thoughts and decide what to do next. The pain in my head made it difficult to think clearly.

“So, Hans,” came a voice. It was the night watch. “Are you certain the Jew was dead when you found him?”

How should I reply? I couldn't tell him that he was addressing a dead man. He'd never believe me.

“He was dead,” I said simply.

“Go home,” said the watch. “I'll let you know if the Ammeister wishes to speak with you.”

I nodded dumbly. Home? There was only one place I could go.

Elena was weeping in her bedchamber. When she saw me, she ran up and clutched my arm.

“Oh, Hans! He is dead! My beautiful Natan is with the angels,” she cried. “This is my punishment for our secret meetings.”

She sank down into a chair. I sat down across from her and pressed her hands into mine.

“I'm not gone, my love. Your Natan is still here,” I whispered into her ear. “Look into my eyes.”

She seemed horrified. “W-what do you mean?!”

“Look at me, Elena,” I insisted. “Look at me!”

Our gazes locked. A tremor ran through her body, and she tore her hand from my grasp. She ran to the doorway and drew apart the drapes hanging over it.

“Get out!” she shouted. “Get out, Hans! I don't understand why you're behaving so strangely!”

“I'm not Hans,” I spluttered.

“I don't understand what you mean.”

“I am not Hans!” I repeated.

“Of course you are! You have Hans's face, his hands, his body, his voice. You
are
Hans!”

“No, I'm not!” I insisted.

“Then w-who are y-you?”

“It's me, Elena,” I said softly. “It's me. It's Natan.”

She turned her head away, but before she did, I noticed that her eyes were glistening with tears. “You're full of lies!”

I stepped even closer. “It's me, Natan, standing before you. It's me, Natan, loving you, as I always have. Please believe me. Please. I'm the Natan who met you last night when the cathedral bell rang twelve times. The Natan who told you that he loved you. And do you remember what else I told you? That nothing can keep us apart. Well, here I am, Elena.”

Then I recounted what had happened on my way home, and everything that followed.

Her fist was clasped to her mouth and her eyes became dark pools of confusion. “I don't believe you.”

“But you must! You must realize that I could never have come up with such an incredible tale if it wasn't the truth. Why would I?”

She was silent, her eyes tightly shut. Finally, she opened them and peered at me.

“Dear Mother of God,” she whispered. “If you're telling the truth, where did you and I meet last night?”

“I came to your house. After you opened the gate in the fence behind the garden, we sat and talked in the kitchen, as always.”

“Why did you come to me?”

“You sent me a missive. You said you had to see me immediately. When I arrived, you told me about the destruction of the Jews in the cities of Bern and Zofingen, and how Ammeister Schwarber had refused to mete out the same fate to the Jews of Strasbourg.”

She became so pale that I feared she would lose her senses.

“It is you,” she whispered. “It must really be you. Nobody else would know what you just told me.”

“Are you all right? Shall I fetch your father?”

She walked over to me and ran her fingers over my lank hair and my sallow skin. Her touch was as light as a feather. Then she fell into a dead faint.

I
awoke to the sound of his voice calling my name. He dabbed my brow with a damp cloth and warmed my fingers between his hands.

“You finally regained your senses! You frightened me so much, Elena!” he cried.

He gathered me in his arms. His hands felt clammy and his hair was greasy against my cheeks.

“What a fool I was to tell you such news so suddenly,” he said. “But I needed you to know it's me, my love. It's your Natan. You are the sun warming my face and the moon guarding my sleep. I couldn't bear it if you didn't recognize me.”

I disengaged myself as gently as I could. My skin crawled at his touch and all I could see when I looked at him were his yellow teeth and his soft paunch. Where was the curly hair I used to run my
fingers through? Where were the long, tapered fingers that I loved to feel against my skin?

His voice sounded like the voice of Hans, but he spoke as Natan spoke, with the words of a poet. He looked like Hans, but he knew things only my Natan could know. I forced myself to look into his eyes and felt his love surround me. I was finally certain that I was gazing into the eyes of my beloved. There could be no doubt about that.

I forced myself to reach out and touch his hand. “I believe you. You
are
Natan. But I don't understand how you can be both alive and dead, both you and not you. And what has become of Hans?”

“I don't understand it myself, my love. Somehow, in the moment of death, I entered Hans's body. I have heard some of the men at our synagogue talk of such things, but I never believed them to be true.”

I thought for a long moment before speaking. “I can see that I must be satisfied with your answer for now. But what shall we do?”

A sigh of relief escaped his lips. “We must tell the Ammeister what befell me. We must convince him that my people are innocent of the terrible crime they stand accused of.”

“How can we do that? He'll think that an evil spirit possessed you, that it's the devil speaking through your lips.”

“It's not the devil who kept me among the living even after I died,” he said quietly.

He lifted his head and looked to the heavens without uttering another word. He didn't have to. I crossed myself. I knew who he was talking about.

“I must make Peter Schwarber believe me somehow,” he muttered.

“Is there no one who can help you?”

He was lost in thought for a moment, then he jumped up from the bench, grabbed my hands and danced me around the chamber. “Not only are you beautiful, my love, but you're also wise!”

“What did I say?” I laughed.

“I'll go and see Rabbi Weltner. He's very learned. He'll understand what has happened and will tell me what to do.”

“Shall we talk to my father first? He is wise and will help us.”

He dropped my hands. “No, we mustn't. If my own parents didn't believe it was me, your father will be no different. My only hope is Rabbi Weltner. He is well versed in Jewish mysticism, or what we call Kabbalah. He will know what has happened to me.”

“I'll come with you to see him…uh, Natan.”

“Absolutely not,” he said. “I don't want to involve you in my troubles.”

It was so strange to hear Natan's words coming out
of Hans's mouth.

“I'm already involved,” I said firmly, “and I insist you let me help you.”

“People might look askance at a Christian girl like you in the Street of the Jews.”

“I don't care. I'm coming with you, Hans.” I clapped my hand over my lips. “I mean Natan! I'm sorry. Please forgive me.”

I followed him to the street. When we reached Judenstrasse, I pulled the hood of my cloak low over my face in case I met someone I knew. I didn't want anybody to see me on the Street of the Jews. They would wonder what I was doing there.