The Collected Stories

Gentile one, so she refrained from praying. Often when Zelig Frampoler came to the estate and Akhsa saw him from the window, she wanted to ask him about the Jewish community, but she was afraid that he might hold it a sin to speak to her, and that Gloria would denounce her for associating with Jews.
    Years rolled by. Gloria’s hair turned white and her head shook. Ludwik’s goatee became gray. The servants grew old, deaf, and half blind. Akhsa, or Maria, was in her thirties, but she often imagined herself an old woman. With the years she became more and more convinced that it was the Devil who had persuaded her to convert and that it was he who had fashioned the crown of feathers. But the road back was blocked. The Russian law forbade a convert to return to his faith. The bit of information that reached her about the Jews was bad: the synagogue in Krasnobród had burned down, as well as the stores in the marketplace. Dignified householders and community elders hung bags on their shoulders and went begging. Every few months there was an epidemic. There was nowhere to return to. She often contemplated suicide, but how? She lacked the courage to hang herself or cut her veins; she had no poison.
    Slowly, Akhsa came to the conclusion that the universe was ruled by the black powers. It was not God holding dominion but Satan. She found a thick book about witchcraft that contained detailed descriptions of spells and incantations, talismans, the conjuring up of demons and goblins, the sacrifices to Asmodeus, Lucifer, and Beelzebub. There were accounts of the Black Mass; and of how the witches anointed their bodies, gathered in the forest, partook of human flesh, and flew in the air riding on brooms, shovels, and hoops, accompanied by bevies of devils and other creatures of the night that had horns and tails, bat’s wings, and the snouts of pigs. Often these monsters lay with the witches, who gave birth to freaks.
    Akhsa reminded herself of the Yiddish proverb “If you cannot go over, go under.” She had lost the world to come; therefore, she decided to enjoy some revelry while she had this life. At night she began to call the Devil, prepared to make a covenant with him as many neglected women had done before.
    Once in the middle of the night, after Akhsa had swallowed a potion of mead, spittle, human blood, crow’s egg spiced with galbanum and mandrake, she felt a cold kiss on her lips. In the shine of the late-night moon she saw a naked male figure—tall and black, with long elflocks, the horns of a buck, and two protruding teeth, like a boar’s. He bent down over her, whispering, “What is your command, my mistress? You may ask for half my kingdom.”
    His body was as translucent as a spider web. He stank of pitch. Akhsa had been about to reply, “You, my slave, come and have me.” Instead, she murmured, “My grandparents.”
    The Devil burst into laughter. “They are dust!”
    “Did you braid the crown of feathers?” Akhsa asked.
    “Who else?”
    “You deceived me?”
    “I am a deceiver,” the Devil answered with a giggle.
    “Where is the truth?” Akhsa asked.
    “The truth is that there is no truth.”
    The Devil lingered for a while and then disappeared. For the remainder of the night, Akhsa was neither asleep nor awake. Voices spoke to her. Her breasts became swollen, her nipples hard, her belly distended. Pain bored into her skull. Her teeth were on edge, and her tongue enlarged so that she feared it would split her palate. Her eyes bulged from their sockets. There was a knocking in her ears as loud as a hammer on an anvil. Then she felt as if she were in the throes of labor. “I’m giving birth to a demon!” Akhsa cried out. She began to pray to the God she had forsaken. Finally she fell asleep, and when she awoke in the pre-dawn darkness all her pains had ceased. She saw her grandfather standing at the foot of her bed. He wore a white robe and cowl, such as he used to wear on the eve of Yom Kippur when he blessed Akhsa before going to the Kol Nidre prayer. A light shone from his eyes and lit up Akhsa’s quilt. “Grandfather,” Akhsa murmured.
    “Yes, Akhsa. I am here.”
    “Grandfather, what shall I do?”
    “Run away. Repent.”
    “I’m lost.”
    “It is never too late. Find the man you shamed. Become a Jewish daughter.”
    Later, Akhsa did not remember whether her grandfather had actually spoken to her or she had understood him without words. The night was over. Daybreak reddened