The Collected Stories

hundred converts in Warsaw and the Polish press attacks them constantly. And what would conversion accomplish? We have to remain a people.”
    “Where can I get the book?” the rabbi asked.
    “Who knows. It’s out of print. Anyway, it only states that the universe evolved. As to how it evolved, how life was created, and all the rest, nobody has an inkling.”
    “So why are you unbelievers?”
    “My dear man, we have no time to engage in discussions with you. I have one copy and I don’t want to stir the dust,” the owner said. “Come back in a few weeks when we redo the window. The universe won’t turn sour in that short a time.”
    “Please forgive me.”
    “My dear fellow, there are no unbelievers any more,” said the man in the cape. “In my time there were a few, but the old ones have died and the new generation is practical. They want to improve the world but don’t know how to go about it. Do you at least earn a living from your store?”
    “So-so,” the rabbi muttered.
    “Do you have a wife and children?”
    The rabbi didn’t answer.
    “What is the name of your village?”
    The rabbi remained silent. He felt as timid as a cheder boy. He said, “Thank you,” and left.
    VI

    The rabbi continued to walk the streets. Dusk was falling, and he remembered that it was time for the Evening Prayer, but he was in no mood to flatter the Almighty, to call Him a bestower of knowledge, a reviver of the dead, a healer of the sick, a freer of the imprisoned, or to implore Him to return His holy presence to Zion and to rebuild Jerusalem.
    The rabbi passed a jail. A black gate was opened and a man bound in chains was led in. A cripple without legs moved about on a board with wheels. A blind man sang a song about a sunken ship. On a narrow street, the rabbi heard an uproar. Someone had been stabbed—a tall young man with blood gushing from his throat. A woman moaned, “He refused to be robbed, so they attacked with their knives. May hell’s fire consume them. God waits long but punishes well.”
    Why does He wait so long, the rabbi wanted to ask. And whom does He punish? The stricken, not the strikers. Police arrived, and the siren of an ambulance wailed. Young men in torn pants, the visors of their caps covering their eyes, rushed out from the gates, and girls with their hair disheveled, worn-out slippers on their bare feet. The rabbi was afraid of the mob and its noise. He entered a courtyard. A girl with a shawl over her shoulders, her cheeks as red as though painted with beets, said to the rabbi, “Come in, it’s twenty groschen.”
    “Where shall I go?” the rabbi asked uncomprehendingly.
    “Come right downstairs.”
    “I’m looking for a place where I can lodge.”
    “I will recommend you.” The girl took his arm.
    The rabbi started. For the first time since he had grown up, a strange woman was touching him. The girl led him down dark steps. They walked through a corridor so narrow that only one person could pass at a time. The girl walked ahead, dragging the rabbi by his sleeve. A subterranean dampness hit his nostrils. What was this—a living grave, the gate to Gehenna? Someone was playing on a harmonica. A woman was ranting. A cat or a rat jumped over his feet. A door opened and the rabbi saw a room without a window, lit by a small kerosene lamp, its chimney black with soot. Near a bare bed that had only a straw mattress stood a washbasin of pink water. The rabbi’s feet stuck to the threshold like those of an ox being led into the slaughterhouse. “What’s this? Where are you taking me?”
    “Don’t play dumb. Let’s have fun.”
    “I’m looking for an inn.”
    “Hand over the twenty groschen.”
    Could this be a house of ill repute? The rabbi trembled and withdrew a handful of change from his pocket. “Take it yourself.”
    The girl picked up a ten-groschen coin, a six-groschen coin, and a four-groschen coin. After some hesitation she added a kopeck. She pointed to the bed. The rabbi dropped the remaining coins and ran back through the corridor. The floor was uneven and full of holes. He nearly fell. He bumped into the brick wall. “God in Heaven, save me!” His shirt was drenched. When he reached the courtyard, it was already night. The place stank of garbage, gutter, and rot. Now the rabbi deplored that he had invoked the name of God. His mouth filled with bile. A tremor ran through his spine. These are the pleasures of the world? Is this what Satan has to sell? He took