Judah the Pious by Francine Prose

Author:Francine Prose [Prose, Francine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780701119935
Publisher: Atheneum
Published: 1973-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

XI

“IN THE WORDS OF Judah the Pious,” said Eliezer, aware that the young king was attempting to conceal some new anxiety, “‘Speak your heart and rob the physician of his fee.’”

“All right, then,” sighed Casimir at last. “What bothers me is this: I believe that I can now foresee the outcome of your narrative; and I am wondering how I can sustain my interest when I already know that Judah ben Simon must eventually encounter some great miracle and return home to seek his wife.”

Rabbi Eliezer of Rimanov laughed out loud, then raised his eyes in an expression of suffering patience which the boy had last seen on the painted martyrs in his royal chapel. “Even if you are right,” he said, “what then? I can assure you, there is no reason to fear boredom or disappointment. It is true that my hero will discover untold wonders as my story nears its finish—but why should that upset you? Do you think that a single one of your subjects finds his enjoyment of the Easter plays diminished by the knowledge that they must necessarily conclude in the Passion, the Resurrection, and the Life?”

The king was too stunned by Eliezer’s presumption to reply.

“You see,” continued the old man, interpreting his listener’s silence as a sign of agreement, “it is not such a terrible thing to know the end. Indeed, I am proud of you for having perceived it so soon, and I would hate to punish your foresight and perspicacity by interrupting my narrative in the middle. Therefore, with Your Majesty’s permission, I will resume my tale again.

“Soon after Judah ben Simon left his mother’s house,” continued the Rabbi Eliezer, “he found himself roaming the deserted streets and alleys of his village. He passed by the Rabbi Joseph Joshua’s schoolroom, by the town bakery, the market, and the empty lots in which he had dug for treasure as a boy. He walked out towards the woods, then, thinking better of it, merely skirted the edges of the forest; he revisited the cemetery where his mother had been briefly interred so long ago, and where his father now lay for eternity. Judah did not cease his wandering until daybreak, when the shopkeepers who came out to open their shutters began to whisper and point at him. Then he broke into a run, and instinctively headed back towards the highway from which he had come the previous night.

Just outside of town, Judah ben Simon gazed absent-mindedly towards the hill where he had last met Jeremiah Vinograd—and spotted the embroidered brown velvet cloak and the red turban. Making his way up the incline, Judah noticed the familiar matted hair and streaked beard; but this time, he saw, the mountebank seemed so alert and cheerful that his face appeared to glow with merriment in the pale dawn light.

“Hello!” shouted the herbalist, recognizing the young man at once. “Did you ever succeed in killing that wretched cat?”

“What cat?” asked the other.

“The last time I saw you,” explained

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