The Collected Stories

matters into their own hands. Everyone was afraid for his kin and possessions. No one wanted to pay for the sins of another. Henne went to the rabbi’s house and wailed, “Where am I to go? Murderers, robbers, beasts!”
    She became as hoarse as a crow. As she ranted, her kerchief took fire. Those who weren’t there will never know what the demons can do.
    As Henne stood in the rabbi’s study, pleading with him to let her stay, her house went up in flames. A flame burst from the roof and it had the shape of a man with long hair. It danced and whistled. The church bells rang an alarm. The firemen tried their best, but in a few minutes nothing was left but a chimney and a heap of burning embers.
    Later, Henne spread the rumor that her neighbors had set her house on fire. But it was not so. Who would try a thing like that, especially with the wind blowing? There were scores of witnesses to the contrary. The fiery image had waved its arms and laughed madly. Then it had risen into the air and disappeared among the clouds.
    It was then that people began to call her Henne Fire. Up to then she had been known as Black Henne.
    II

    When Henne found herself without a roof over her head, she tried to move into the poorhouse but the poor and sick would not let her in. Nobody wants to be burned alive. For the first time she became silent. A Gentile woodchopper took her into his house. The moment she crossed the threshold the handle of his ax caught fire and out she went. She would have frozen to death in the cold if the rabbi hadn’t taken her in.
    The rabbi had a booth not far from his house which was used during the Sukkoth holidays. It had a roof which could be opened and closed by a series of pulleys. The rabbi’s son installed a tin stove so that Henne would not freeze. The rabbi’s wife supplied a bed with a straw mattress and linen. What else could they do? Jews don’t let a person perish. They hoped the demons would respect a Sukkoth booth and that it would not catch fire. True, it had no mezuzah, but the rabbi hung a talisman on the wall instead. Some of the townspeople offered to bring food to Henne, but the rabbi’s wife said, “The little she eats I can provide.”
    The winter cold began immediately after the Sukkoth holiday and it lasted until Purim. Houses were snowed under. In the morning one had to dig oneself out with a shovel. Henne lay in bed all day. She was not the same Henne: she was docile as a sheep. Yet evil looked out of her eyes. The rabbi’s son fed her stove every morning. He reported in the study house that Henne lay all day tucked into her feather bed and never uttered a word. The rabbi’s wife suggested that she come into the kitchen and perhaps help a little with the housework. Henne refused. “I don’t want anything to happen to the rabbi’s books,” she said. It was whispered in the town that perhaps the Evil One had left her.
    Around Purim it suddenly became warm. The ice thawed and the river overflowed. Bridge Street was flooded. The poor are miserable anyway, but when there is a flood at night and the household goods begin to swim around, life becomes unbearable. A raft was used to cross Bridge Street. The bakery had begun preparing matzos for Passover, but water seeped into the sacks and made the flour unusable.
    Suddenly a scream was heard from the rabbi’s house. The Sukkoth booth had burst into flame like a paper lantern. It happened in the middle of the night. Later Henne related how a fiery hand had reached down from the roof and in a second everything was consumed. She had grabbed a blanket to cover herself and had run into the muddy courtyard without clothes on. Did the rabbi have a choice? He had to take her in. His wife stopped sleeping at night. Henne said to the rabbi, “I shouldn’t be allowed to do this to you.” Even before the booth had burned down, the rabbi’s married daughter, Taube, had packed her trousseau into a sheet so she could save it at a moment’s notice in case of fire.
    Next day the community elders called a meeting. There was much talk and haggling, but they couldn’t come to a decision. Someone proposed that Henne be sent to another town. Henne burst into the rabbi’s study, her dress in tatters, a living scarecrow. “Rabbi, I’ve lived here all my life, and here I want to die. Let them dig me a grave and bury me. The cemetery will not catch fire.” She had found her tongue again and everybody was surprised.
    Present at the meeting was