The Golem and the Jinni (24 page)

The new girl?
After a moment he realized, and smiled. The cook’s eyebrow went up.

“A tall woman?” he asked, and the cook nodded. “She’s a friend of my uncle’s. I was the one who suggested she go to Radzin for a job. Most likely she meant these as a thank-you.”

“Oh, most likely,” she replied airily.

“Dora, I only met her once. And she’s a widow. A recent one.”

The cook shook her head at his naïveté, and plucked a cookie from the box as she left.

He lifted a macaroon in his palm. It was thick and slightly domed, but felt light as air. The top was decorated with almond slivers, arranged in a circle like flower petals. He popped it in his mouth, and felt happy for the first time in weeks.

Slowly the Golem grew more accustomed to the bakery and its rhythms. Her turns at the register were no longer so frightening. She was beginning to learn which customers bought the same thing every day, and which of them appreciated it when she made up their order in advance. She smiled at all of them, even when she didn’t feel like it. Led by a hundred little prompts, she very carefully tried to give each of them exactly what they wanted from her. And when she was successful, they would step away from the register with a lighter heart, glad that at least one thing, this one simple errand, had gone right that day.

There were still problems to solve. She tended to work too quickly, and the customers would grow anxious or irritated, thinking that she was rushing them: and so she trained herself to slow down, and ask after their health and their families, even when the line was long. She even learned to deal with those customers who were perpetually indecisive, who stood at the counter debating the merits of this or that. The breakthrough came when one day, a woman told her to simply choose for her, from what she herself liked best. But the Golem had no particular favorites: she had tried all the pastries, and could distinguish one from another, but for her there was no like or dislike. Each was merely a different experience. She thought of choosing at random—but then, in a moment of inspiration, she did what she rarely allowed herself to do. She focused on the woman, and sifted through the tangle of her conflicting desires.
Something economical would be best, but she also wanted something sweet . . . she had been feeling so low this week, what with the landlord raising the rent and then that awful argument with her Sammy, so didn’t she deserve something nice for herself? But then it would be gone, and she would feel no better, only poorer . . .

“I like the raisin challah on days like this,” the Golem said. “It’s sweet, but it’s filling. And one challah lasts a long time.”

At once the woman beamed. “That’s it,” she said. “That’s exactly what I wanted.” And she paid for the challah and left, her spirits lifted.

Happy with her success, the Golem tried this technique on other indecisive customers. She was right more often than not, and tried not to take her failures personally. She was coming to realize that some people, for whatever reason, would never be satisfied.

She still made mistakes on occasion, especially at the end of the day when a mental fatigue would set in, and her thoughts would drift. She’d reach for the wrong thing, or call someone by the wrong name, or make some other silly little error. Once in a while a customer would walk out with the wrong order, and then come back to complain. She would apologize profusely, horrified by her poor performance—but it was just as well, for otherwise her employers might have thought her too good to be true. Mr. Radzin was a meticulous accountant, and he had been over the figures repeatedly. There was no question: sales were up, and for no good reason, while on the other side of the ledger his costs were shrinking. Intuition told him it had to do with the new girl. She might make a mistake or two at the register, but she never misread a recipe, or added the salt twice by accident, or left a sheet of cookies too long in the oven. She was never sick, never slow, never late. She was a miracle of productivity.

Though there were also times when she acted as though she was from another world. One morning Mrs. Radzin caught her peering oddly at an egg. “What’s wrong with it, Chavaleh? Is it bad?”

Still staring at the egg, the girl had absentmindedly replied, “Nothing—it’s only, how do they make them the exact same size and shape, every time?”

Mrs. Radzin frowned. “How do
who,
dear? The chickens?”

At her table, Anna gave a snort of laughter.

The girl carefully put down the egg and said, “Excuse me,” and disappeared into the back.

“Don’t tease, Anna,” scolded Mrs. Radzin.

“But what an odd question!”

“Have some compassion, she’s a widow in mourning. It does strange things to the mind.”

Ignoring the women, Radzin went into the back for more flour. The door to the water closet was closed. He listened for the sounds of crying—but what he heard instead was her voice, in a whisper: “You must be more careful.
You
must
be
more careful
.” He fetched the flour and left. A few minutes later she emerged from the back as though nothing had happened, and went to her silent work, ignoring Anna’s periodic giggles.

“What do you suppose is wrong with her?” Radzin asked his wife that night.

“There’s nothing the matter with Chava,” she snapped.

“I have eyes, Thea, and so do you. She’s different, somehow.”

They were in bed together. Next to the wall, Abie and Selma lay curled on their pallets, sunk in the bone-deep sleep of the young.

“I knew a boy, growing up,” Thea said. “He couldn’t stop counting things. Blades of grass, bricks on a wall. The other boys would gather round and yell numbers at him, because if he lost his place he had to start all over again. He would just stand there counting, with tears rolling down his face. It made me so angry. I asked my father why he couldn’t stop, and he told me there was a demon in the boy’s mind. He said I should stay away, in case he did something dangerous.”

“Did he? Do anything dangerous?”

“Of course not. But he died, the year before we left. A mule kicked him in the head.” She paused, and then said, “I always wondered if he provoked it. Deliberately.”

Radzin snorted. “Suicide by mule?”

“Everyone knew that animal had a temper.”

“There would be a dozen better ways to do it.”

His wife rolled away from him. “Oh, I don’t know why I talk to you. If I say it’s black, it must be white.”

“If I see Chava standing behind any mules, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“Awful man. Go boil your head like a turnip.” They were quiet a moment, and then she said, “I’d like to see a mule try to kick her. She’d braid its legs like a challah.”

Radzin laughed once, loud in the small room. Below them, the boy mumbled something. His sister shifted on her pallet. Their parents waited, tensed—but the children grew silent again.

“Go to sleep,” Thea whispered. “And leave me some covers, for once.”

Radzin lay awake for a long time, listening to the breathing of his children and his wife. The next morning, he took his newest employee aside and told her he was raising her pay by ten cents a day. “You deserve it,” he said, gruffly. “But one word to Anna, and you’ll be splitting it with her. I don’t want her clamoring for money she doesn’t deserve.” He’d expected her to thank him but instead she only stood, looking chagrined. “Well? I just gave you a raise, girl. Aren’t you happy?”

“Yes,” she said immediately. “Yes, of course. Thank you. And I won’t tell Anna.” But she seemed more thoughtful than usual that day; and once or twice he saw her glance at Anna, her face full of a poorly disguised guilt.

“But it isn’t fair that they should pay Anna less money than me,” the Golem protested to Rabbi Meyer. “She can’t work as hard as I can! It’s not her fault!”

The Golem was pacing the Rabbi’s living room. It was a Friday night and the dishes from the small supper were still on the table. The Golem looked forward to her Sabbath evenings with the Rabbi—it was the only time all week when she could ask questions and talk freely. But on this night, her dilemma eclipsed the rest of her thoughts. The Rabbi, concerned, sat watching her pace.

“It’s not as though I
need
the money,” she muttered. “I have nothing to spend it on.”

“Why not buy something nice for yourself, as a reward for your work? Perhaps a new hat?”

She frowned. “I already have a hat. Is there something wrong with it?”

“Not at all,” he said, reflecting that her creator had certainly not given her a young woman’s sense of frivolity. “Chava, I understand why you’re upset, and it speaks well of you. But from Radzin’s perspective, you’re worth more than Anna. To pay you both the same would be dishonest. Say I needed to buy a new kettle, and could choose between a large one and a small one. You’d expect the larger kettle to cost more, wouldn’t you?”

The Golem said, “But what if the man who made the smaller kettle was poorer, and had a larger family to look after? Wouldn’t that figure into your decision?”

The Rabbi sighed. “Yes, I suppose it would. But if these facts were hidden from me, as they so often are, then all I would know is that there are two kettles in front of me, one large and one small. That’s all Radzin knows, as well. And please, Chava, stop pacing. You’re making me dizzy.”

Instantly she stopped, and sat in one of the parlor chairs, watching her hands twist together in her lap. “Perhaps I should give away what I don’t need,” she said. “Or”—the Golem’s face lit with the thought—“I could give it to you!”

Instantly she saw the Rabbi recoil from the idea. “No, Chava. That’s your money, not mine.”

“But I don’t need it!”

“Perhaps not now. But one must always plan for the future. I’ve lived long enough to know that there will come a time when you’ll need it, and probably when you least expect. Money is a tool, and you can do great good with it, for others as well as yourself.”

It sounded like good advice, but the Golem was not completely mollified. All the Rabbi’s answers had been like this lately, pertaining to the matter at hand but also addressing something larger that was yet to come. It made her uneasy. She felt as though he were trying to teach her as much as he could in as little time as possible. His cough hadn’t worsened, but it was no better either, and she’d noticed that his clothing had begun to hang on him, as though he’d shrunk. The Rabbi insisted that all was as it should be. “I’m an old man, Chava,” he’d said. “The human body is like a piece of fabric. No matter how well one cares for it, it frays as it ages.”

And what about a golem’s body
? she wanted to ask.
You say I won’t age—but will I fray?
But she held her tongue. She’d begun to worry that questions such as these were too large a burden for both of them.

“Besides,” the Rabbi went on, “from what you tell me about this Anna, she sounds like a less than serious-minded woman. Perhaps she can learn from your example, even if it doesn’t come naturally to her.”

“Perhaps,” the Golem agreed. “She doesn’t seem to wish me ill as much as before. But then, she’s been preoccupied with her new suitor. She thinks about him quite a lot, and hopes he will walk her home from the bakery, so they can—” Caught up in her description, she bit back the words just in time.

“Yes, well.” The Rabbi had colored slightly. “She’s a foolish girl, if she’s given herself to him before marriage. Or at the very least, before a promise of one.”

“Why so?” the Golem asked.

“Because she has everything to lose. Marriage has many benefits, and one of them is the protection of a child, the likely result of their . . . current behavior. An unmarried man is free to leave a woman, whatever condition she may be in, without consequence to himself. And what of the woman? She’s now burdened, and may not be able to support the child, or even herself. Women in these situations have turned to the ugliest of crimes out of desperation, and then lose whatever virtue they have left. From there, it’s a short journey to disease, poverty, and death. It’s no exaggeration to say that a night of pleasure can cost a young woman her life. I saw it far too often as a rabbi, even among the best families.”