The Witch of Cologne

‘Dying? He will be well by morning.’

‘Rosa, this is not a fever. Go, go!’

After she leaves Tuvia stirs. ‘Water…water…’

Carefully Elazar pours out a glass and holds it up to the young man’s lips. He drinks feebly then collapses back on the pillow, clutching at Elazar’s hand. Elazar, battling horror, lets Tuvia pull him to his skinny sweaty chest.

‘I saw them, Reb, together.’

‘Who, my son?’

‘Ruth and the cleric, the German cleric…they have lain together…’

‘These are the illusions of Bileth the devil, Tuvia. You must resist. And you must rest.’

As Tuvia slips back into unconsciousness the old man covers his head with his prayer shawl. Binding his Tefillah around his forehead he begins to berate God for his injustice.

The razor-sharp blade cuts into the puffy sore leaving a scarlet path behind it. The green-yellow pus welling out of it immediately fills the room with a foul stink. Working quickly Ruth drains the pustule and wipes down Tuvia’s shaking torso; his protruding ribs are a pitiful birdcage of pain.

‘Have you told the elders?’ She dares not look at her father who sits at the end of the bed rocking in his grief.

‘The declaration has been made. The door is bolted, the sign is hung.’ He in turn is unable to meet her eyes.

‘We shall isolate the sick if it spreads.’ Isaac Schlam, the doctor, his face a map of anxiety, speaks in a resigned voice. ‘What more can we do?’ he continues, handing Ruth a poultice which she places carefully on the incision.

‘Pray,’ Elazar replies.

Suddenly Tuvia’s eyes fly open, pale blue coals in a face of grey, his pupils unfocused dancing black beads. He sits bolt upright in the bed and points wildly at the door.

‘The Messiah is here! Reb Zevi, I honour you!’ he shouts.

Immediately the old rabbi is by his side. ‘Tuvia, you must stay calm. Rest, my son.’

‘But Zevi is there, in the burning chariot! He has heard my prayers, he has the angels with him. They are here to take me to the Holy Land!’ He twists violently, calling out, ‘Welcome!’

‘Lie still, do not waste your strength.’

But Tuvia pays no heed, gazing with absolute certainty into space.

‘The burning chariot is so beautiful, Reb Saul, I can feel its glory hot on my skin and the angels are huge with arms that could carry a nation. Adiriron, Zoharariel, Zavodiel and Ta’zash with his long black beard—they are here for all of us! To free us at last! Take me! Take me!’

With one supreme effort he raises himself up towards his vision, his eyes fastened on nothing but the evening’s shadows, then falls back against the pillows, dead.

The contraption, made of light wood with black woollen fabric stretched across its frame and leather bindings, lies on the table like the abandoned false limb of an amputee. The strong smell of herbs—rosemary, cloves, aniseed—and the pungent scent of civet fills the whole chamber. Detlef, his morning robes thrown on, stands near the window trying to breathe what little clean air is filtering in. Heinrich enters hurriedly followed by two valets and a sombre-looking man Detlef recognises as a medic.

Heinrich marches straight over to the table. ‘Is this it?’

The medic lifts the device and now Detlef can see that it is some form of headpiece in the shape of a long beak, the straps of which are to be fastened around the head.

‘Yes, your grace, fashioned in the London style. They swear that it renders the wearer completely impervious to both the stench and spore of the scourge.’

The archbishop clicks his fingers and the two valets move forward. Together they lift the contraption and fasten it carefully around Heinrich’s head. In his long green robe he looks like the mad offspring of a parrot and a demonic rook.

‘Heinrich, at what strange pageant do you intend to wear this mask?’

Detlef, amused, steps forward.

Heinrich, swinging around to face his cousin, almost knocks the head off one of his long-suffering valets with the long beak. He makes a muffled comment, realises that he cannot be heard and pushes the contraption up to his forehead where it sits like a flaccid cockscomb.