The Collected Stories

window, she on a straw pallet by the oven. On a rope that stretched from wall to wall hung shrouds she had made for them.
    They had been married for three years, but Zemach still had not approached her. He had confessed that he, too, was dipped in sin. While he had a wife, he had lusted for Akhsa. He had spilled his seed like Onan. He had craved revenge upon her, had railed against the Almighty, and had taken out his wrath on his wives, one of whom died. How could he be more defiled?
    Even though the hut was near a forest and they could get wood for nothing, Zemach would not allow the stove to be heated at night. They slept in their clothes, covered with sacks and rags. The people of Holishitz maintained that Zemach was a madman; the rabbi had called for man and wife and explained that it is as cruel to torture oneself as it is to torture others, but Zemach quoted from
The Beginning of Wisdom
that repentance without mortification is meaningless.
    Akhsa made a confession every night before sleep, and still her dreams were not pure. Satan came to her in the image of her grandmother and described dazzling cities, elegant balls, passionate squires, lusty women. Her grandfather had become silent again.
    In Akhsa’s dreams, Grandmother was young and beautiful. She sang bawdy songs, drank wine, and danced with charlatans. Some nights she led Akhsa into temples where priests chanted and idolators kneeled before golden statues. Naked courtesans drank wine from horns and gave themselves over to licentiousness.
    One night Akhsa dreamed that she stood naked in a round hole. Midgets danced around her in circles. They sang obscene dirges. There was a blast of trumpets and the drumming of drums. When she awoke, the black singing still rang in her ears. “I am lost forever,” she said to herself.
    Zemach had also wakened. For a time he looked out through the one windowpane he had not boarded up. Then he asked, “Akhsa, are you awake? A new snow has fallen.”
    Akhsa knew too well what he meant. She said, “I have no strength.”
    “You had the strength to give yourself to the wicked.”
    “My bones ache.”
    “Tell that to the Avenging Angel.”
    The snow and the late-night moon cast a bright glare into the room. Zemach had let his hair grow long, like an ancient ascetic. His beard was wild and his eyes glowed in the night. Akhsa could never understand how he had the power to carry water all day long and still study half the night. He scarcely partook of the evening meal. To keep himself from enjoying the food, he swallowed his bread without chewing it, he over-salted and -peppered the soup she cooked for him. Akhsa herself had become emaciated. Often she looked at her reflection in the slops and saw a thin face, sunken cheeks, a sickly pallor. She coughed frequently and spat phlegm with blood. Now she said, “Forgive me, Zemach, I can’t get up.”
    “Get up, adulteress. This may be your last night.”
    “I wish it were.”
    “Confess! Tell the truth.”
    “I have told you everything.”
    “Did you enjoy the lechery?”
    “No, Zemach, no.”
    “Last time you admitted that you did.”
    Akhsa was silent for a long time. “Very rarely. Perhaps for a second.”
    “And you forgot God?”
    “Not altogether.”
    “You knew God’s law, but you defied Him willfully.”
    “I thought the truth was with the Gentiles.”
    “All because Satan braided you a crown of feathers?”
    “I thought it was a miracle.”
    “Harlot, don’t defend yourself!”
    “I do not defend myself. He spoke with Grandmother’s voice.”
    “Why did you listen to your grandmother and not to your grandfather?”
    “I was foolish.”
    “Foolish? For years you wallowed in utter desecration.”
    After a while man and wife went out barefoot into the night. Zemach threw himself into the snow first. He rolled over and over with great speed. His skullcap fell off. His body was covered with black hair, like fur. Akhsa waited a minute, and then she too threw herself down. She turned in the snow slowly and in silence while Zemach recited, “We have sinned, we have betrayed, we have robbed, we have lied, we have mocked, we have rebelled.” And then he added, “Let it be Thy will that my death shall be the redemption for all my iniquities.”
    Akhsa had heard this lamentation often, but it made her tremble every time. This was the way the peasants had wailed when her husband, Squire Malkowski, whipped them. She was more afraid of Zemach’s wailing