The cat, now — there’s someone with brains! People say cats are dirty. Take it from me, it isn’t true. A cat is a real clean animal. And don’t believe what they say about them getting into trouble. They’re as easy as pie to get along with. A dog will suck up to you and wag its tail. A cat just sits licking itself and shuts its eyes and purrs when you pet it. I like cats.
But try to explain that. Talk to the boys at school and they’ll tell you the craziest things about cats. Touch one, they say, and you have to wash your hands. Hold one and you’ll lose your memory. They’re full of it. Still, they’ll give a cat a good kick every time they walk past one. I can’t stand seeing that. They just laugh at me, though. That’s because they have no feelings for animals. They’re murderers. And they call me Peglegs because of my new pants. They call my mother names too. “There goes your cry mama,” they say.
That’s her now, coming to bring me to my swell new job.
As we walked to old Luria’s my mother complained how “sad and dreary” life was. (Just plain sad isn’t enough for her!) God had given her two children and now she would be left without both. My brother Elye, she said, had married well — he was swimming in chicken fat, knock wood — but his father-in-law was a lout. A baker, God help us! What could you expect from a baker? She kept grousing, my mother did, all the way to my swell new job at old Luria’s. Old Luria, she told me, lived in a palace. That’s something I’d always wanted to see.
Meanwhile, all I was seeing was the kitchen. But that wasn’t bad, either. The stove was so white that it sparkled, the dishes sparkled too, and so did everything else. We were asked to have a seat. My mother remained standing. Not me! After a while a woman dressed like high society arrived. She spoke to my mother and pointed at me. My mother nodded and dabbed her lips. Before leaving, she told me to be good. Then she cried a little and dried her eyes. In the morning, she said, she would come to take me to school.
I was given my supper: soup with hallah bread — hallah in the middle of the week! — and meat, a whole bunch of it.
After supper, I was told to go upstairs. The cook showed me where that was. Her name was Khaneh and she was dark with a long nose. The stairs had soft padding. I’d have loved to walk on them barefoot.
Even though it wasn’t dark, the lamps were already lit. There were more of them than you could count. The walls were hung with all kinds of things, even pictures with little people in them. The chairs were made of leather. The ceiling was painted like our synagogue’s. But I don’t mean to compare them. Old Luria’s ceiling is nicer.
I was shown into a big room. It was so big that if only I had been alone, I’d have run from wall to wall and rolled on the nubby rug that covered the floor. It looked perfect for rolling on. For sleeping on, too.
A tall, nice-looking man with a high forehead, gray beard, silk house robe, velvet skullcap, and embroidered slippers: that was old Luria. He was sitting over a big book from which he didn’t look up. He just went on reading while chewing his beard, tapping his foot, and humming to himself. A strange Jew, old Luria! I couldn’t tell if he knew I was there. Most likely he didn’t, because no one had introduced us and he didn’t glance my way. The door shut behind me. All at once he called out, still without looking up:
“Come over here, please. I’d like to show you something in the Rambam.”
Who was he talking to? Me? No one ever said “please” to me. I looked around. There was no one else in the room. Old Luria growled again in a deep voice:
“Please come and have a look at the Rambam.”
I wanted to know what that was and stepped up to him. “Are you talking to me?”
“You, you! Who else?”
So he said, old Luria, looking at his big book and taking my hand and running my finger across the page to show me what was written in the Rambam. Once he got started, his voice grew higher and shriller. He actually turned red from excitement. He jabbed the air with a thumb, poked me in the ribs, and said: “Well, what do you say to that? Not bad, eh?”
It could even have been very good. How was I supposed to know? I kept my mouth shut tight and let him carry on. The more he did, the tighter I kept it.
A key scraped in the door. It opened and in came High Society. She went over to old Luria and spoke in his ear. He must have been deaf to make her shout like that. She told him to stop bothering me because it was my bedtime. Then she took me by the hand and led me to a couch with springs. The sheets were white as snow. The blanket was soft as silk. What heaven!
The woman tucked me in, left the room, and locked the door from outside. Old Luria rose and paced back and forth with his hands behind his back. He looked down at his slippers and hummed to himself and had this strange frown on his face. I was so sleepy my eyes shut by themselves. Suddenly he came over and said:
“You know, I’m going to eat you.”
I opened my eyes and stared.
“Get up! I’m going to eat you.”
“Who? Me?”
“You! You! I have to eat you. It’s only logical.”
That’s what he said to me. Then he went back to frowning and pacing, head down and hands behind his back. He was talking more softly now, as though to himself. I held my breath and listened. He kept asking questions and answering them:
“The Rambam says the universe was created. What is the proof? The proof is that every consequence has its cause. And how can this be demonstrated? It can be demonstrated by the power of my will. In what way? By eating him! What are the counterarguments? Compassion? But compassion has nothing to do with it. It’s purely a matter of will. The will must will something. And I will to eat him. I will eat him, I must! …”
A fine state of affairs! Old Luria was going to eat me. What would my mother say? I shook so hard from fear that the couch moved from the wall. Little by little, I worked my way into the space that this made and dropped to the floor. My teeth were chattering. I wasn’t long for the world. How could he do such a thing? I cried for my mother, the silent tears rolling down my cheeks and into my mouth. They tasted salty. I had never wanted her so badly. And I missed my brother Elye, though not as much as I missed our neighbor’s calf Menye. I thought of my father too. I was still saying the kaddish for him. Who would say it for me when I was eaten?
I must have slept well because I awoke with a start. I touched the wall and then the couch and peeked out to see where I was. The big room was full of light. The nubby rug was still on the floor and the pictures were still on the walls. Old Luria was reading the big book he called the Rambam. I liked that name. It sounded like a bell.
Suddenly I remembered the night before. Suppose he still wanted to eat me? I dove back into my hiding place as quietly as I could. Soon a key scraped and the door opened. It was High Society with Khaneh the cook, carrying a tray. On it was coffee, a pitcher of hot milk, and fresh butter rolls.
“Where’s the young man?” Khaneh asked, looking around.
She spotted me.
“A proper rascal you are, I declare! What are you doing down there? Come with me to the kitchen. Your mother is waiting.”
I leaped from my hiding place and bounded barefoot down the padded stairs, singing ram-bam, bim-bam, ram-bam, bim-bam all the way to the kitchen.
“Where are you rushing off to?” I heard Khaneh ask my mother. “Let the boy have some coffee with a butter roll. And you might as well have some, too. No one will hold it against you. We’re not about to run out of food.”
My mother thanked her and sat down. We were brought hot, delicious coffee and fresh butter rolls.