Servant of the Bones

"Rachel Belkin is dead," I told him in Yiddish. "She took her own life."

"The news says you took her life!" said the Rebbe in Yiddish. The other men murmured, nodding.

A very very old man, balding and thin with a head like a skull covered in black silk, came forward and looked into my eyes. "We don't watch television; we don't do it. But the news spread fast. That you killed her and you killed her daughter."

"That is a lie," I said. "Esther Belkin met Nathan, Gregory's brother, in the diamond district. She bought a necklace from him. I believe Gregory Belkin had her murdered because she knew of his family and in particular of his twin brother. Nathan is in danger."

They all stood motionless. I couldn't predict what was going to happen. I knew I made a strange sight in the dark red velvet with so much gold ornament on the cuffs and with my dark hair and long beard, but so did they make a strange sight, all of them bearded and wearing hats, either small- or large-brimmed, and in long black silk suits all their own style.

They gradually formed a circle around me.

They began to hurl questions at me. At first I didn't realize what this was. Then it became clear that it was a test. The first question was, Could I quote from this or that book of the Torah. They used . letters and names I understood completely. I answered all their questions, throwing out the quotations first in Hebrew and then in Greek, and then sometimes, to really startle them, in older Aramaic.

"Name the prophets," they said.

I did, including Enoch, who had been a prophet in my time in Babylon, whom they didn't know. They were shocked at this.

"Babylon?"

"I can't remember!" I said. "I have to stop Gregory Belkin from hurting his brother, Nathan. I'm convinced he killed Esther because she met Nathan and knew of Nathan, and there are other suspicious things."

Now they began to question me on the Talmud: What were the Mitzvot? I told them there were 613, and they were laws or rules in general concerned with attitude, what one does, good behavior, and what one says.

The questions went on and on. They had to do with ritual and cleanliness, and what is forbidden, and with the heretic rabbis, and with the Kabbalah. I answered everything rapidly, lapsing into Aramaic over and over, then coming back to Yiddish. When I quoted from the Septuagint, I used the Greek.

I referred sometimes to the Babylonian Talmud and sometimes to the old Jerusalem Talmud. I answered all questions about sacred numbers, and the points of discussion became finer and finer. It seemed each man was trying to outdo the other with the delicacy of his question.

Finally I became impatient.

"Do you realize while we carry on like this, as if we were in the yeshiva, that Nathan may be in danger? What is Nathan's name among you? Help me save Nathan, in the name of God."

"Nathan is gone," said the Rebbe. "He is far far away, where Gregory cannot find him. He is safe in the Lord's city."

"How do you know he's safe?"

"The day after the death of Esther he left here for Israel. Gregory cannot find him there. Gregory could never track him down."

"The day after . . . you mean then the day before you first saw me?"

"Yes, if you aren't a dybbuk, what are you?"

"I don't know. What I want to be is an angel and that is what I intend to be. And God will judge whether I have done His Will. What made Nathan go to Israel?"

The old men looked at the Rebbe, obviously confused. The Rebbe said that he wasn't sure why Nathan wanted to take the trip just then, but it seemed in his grief for Esther, Nathan was eager to go and said something about doing his yearly work early in Israel. His work had to do with copies of the Torah which he would bring back. Routine.

"Can you reach him?" I said.

"Why should we tell you more?" said the Rebbe. "He's safe from Gregory."

"I don't think so," I said. "Now that you are all here, I want you to answer. Did any of you call upon the Servant of the Bones? Did Nathan?"

They all shook their heads and looked at the Rebbe.

"Nathan would never do such an unholy thing."

"Am I unholy?" I lifted my hands. "Come," I said, "I invite you. Try to exorcise me, try in the name of the Lord God of Hosts. I'll stand here firm in my love for Nathan and for Esther and Rachel Belkin. I want to avert harm. I will stand firm. Go on, give me your abracadabra Kabbalah magic!"

This roused them all to whispering and murmuring, and the Rebbe, who was still furious, did begin a loud chant to exorcise me, and then all the men joined in and I watched them, feeling nothing, not letting any anger come to the fore, only feeling love for them, and thinking with love of my Master Samuel, and how I had hated him for something perhaps that was only human. I couldn't remember it. I remembered Babylon. I remembered the prophet Enoch, but each time sadness or hate or bitterness came to me I pushed it away and thought of love, love profane, love sacred, love of the good . . .

I still could not recall Zurvan distinctly, only the feeling, but I quoted him now out loud as best I could. Each time it seemed I used new words but it was the same quote: "The purpose of life is to love and to increase our knowledge of the intricacies of creation. Kindness is the way of God."

They kept up the exorcism, and I searched my mind, closing my eyes, and sought for the proper words, calling to the world to yield to me the proper words that would quiet them, just the way that it yielded to me the clothing I wore, or the skin that appeared human.

Then I saw the words. I saw the room. I didn't know where it was then. Now I realize that it was the scriptorium in my father's house. All I knew was that it was familiar and I began to sing the words, as I had sung them long ago, with the harp on my knee. As I had written them over and over.

I sang them now in the ancient tongue in which I learned them, loudly and with rhythm, rocking as I sang:

I will love thee, 0 Lord, my strength.

The Lord is my rock, and my fortress and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust, my buckler and the horn of my salvation and my high tower.

The sorrows of death compassed me, and the floods of ungodly men made me afraid

The sorrows of bell compassed me about: the snares of death prevented me In my distress I called upon the Lord, And cried unto my God; he heard my voice . . .

This silenced them. They stood staring in wonder, not afraid and not full of hate. Even the Rebbe's soul was stilled and had lost its hate.

I spoke in Aramaic: "I forgive those who made of me a demon, whoever they were, and to whatever purpose. Learning to love from Esther and Rachel, I come in love and to love Nathan and to love God. To love is to know love, and that is to love God. Amen."