Paris: The Novel

to a little child, he was gentleness itself. Each night he would come in to little Jacob as he was going to bed, and say the nighttime Shema with him:
    Shema Yisrael Adonai eloheinu Adonai ehad
    Hear O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is One
    And each morning he would repeat the prayer with his son again. His father also had many friends. And as he treated prominent Christian families as well as Jewish, and was well liked, young Jacob had grown up in an easygoing environment. His best friend, Henri, a handsome boy with dark red hair and alert brown eyes, was from a rich Christian family of merchants called Renard.
    As far as Jacob could remember, his destiny had been decided from his birth. He was going to be a physician like his father. His father was quietly proud of the fact. His family and friends all understood it. As a little boy, the thought had been delightful to him. Everyone respected his father. All he had to do was follow in his footsteps, and he’d have a wonderful life.
    He was twelve years old when he began to have doubts. He hardly knew why himself. Perhaps it was a talent he had for mathematics thatdid not find much outlet in the physician’s art. Perhaps there were other causes.
    And then there were the patients. Sometimes his father would take Jacob on his visits, and let him watch him examining people; and afterward he’d explain to him the treatment he was recommending, and why. Jacob became quite good at spotting ailments and suggesting remedies. His father was pleased with his progress, and Jacob was proud.
    Yet as time went on, he began to find that he didn’t enjoy it. First he was surprised, then concerned. The fact was, he didn’t want to spend his life with sick people. He admired his father very much, and he’d always hoped to be like him. But perhaps he wasn’t.
    What should he do? He had no idea. And since he couldn’t explain his feelings in a satisfactory way, he’d felt too embarrassed and guilty to mention them to anyone. Certainly not his father.
    So he tried to put the matter out of his mind. He told himself that he was being childish. And this was no time to behave like a child. For very soon he was to become a man.
    The bar mitzvah that lay ahead of him was a serious but simple observance. All the Jewish families he knew celebrated it the same way. On the Sabbath following his thirteenth birthday, he would be called in the synagogue to read from the Torah and to recite the blessings. Unlike in some other communities, this would be the first time he’d be allowed to do so. Afterward, at the family house, there would be a small gathering of family and friends to celebrate the occasion.
    Jacob was looking forward to it. He was well prepared for the religious part of the proceedings. He could read Hebrew just as well as he could Latin. From that day, in theory at least, he could be considered an adult. He was determined, therefore, to put aside these foolish uncertainties about his life before the day arrived.
    It was a month before his bar mitzvah that he went for a walk with his mother’s cousin Baruch.
    His father didn’t like Baruch. Jacob could see why. Baruch was about his father’s age, but there all resemblances ended. Baruch was corpulent and inclined to be loud and argumentative. He had little respect for scholarship. But he wasn’t stupid. Jacob knew that his mother’s cousin was richer than his father. Baruch was a moneylender.
    He didn’t often come to their house, but he’d looked in to see Jacob’smother that day, and as he was leaving he’d said: “So why don’t you walk with me, Jacob?” He’d turned to his cousin. “Your son never talks to me.”
    “I never see you,” replied Jacob.
    “Go and walk with your cousin Baruch,” his mother told him.
    It was a fine afternoon. They’d walked out through the nearby postern gate and followed a lane that led toward the big compound of the Templars. Trying to make conversation, Jacob had asked Baruch about what he did.
    “I lend money,” said Baruch. “Then I try to get it back.”
    “I know this,” said Jacob.
    “So what do you want to know?”
    “I don’t know. How you do it, I suppose.”
    “How does your father cure people? He gives them medicines they think they need. Then they get better. He hopes. I give people money they need. Then they get richer. They hope. I hope. Otherwise they can’t pay me back. It’s obvious.”
    Jacob considered.
    “So how do you decide whether