But as the evening wore on, Nathan became aware of two voices loudly raised above the general buzz of discussion in the room. With a sick feeling gathering in his belly, he realized the two voices belonged to Aaron and Isaac. Gradually, the other conversations died away as the whole room stopped to listen. The arguments Isaac and Aaron were posing were so bizarre that several of the older men in the congregation leaped to their feet in outrage, shaking their fists and banging the tables. Finally, Rabbi Elias threw up his hands and ordered an end to the unseemly debate. Glaring furiously at his son, the rabbi dismissed everyone to their homes to let tempers cool. But even so, it wasn’t until Nathan saw the look of undisguised triumph on Aaron’s face that he realized this was exactly the outcome he and Isaac had been planning.
Nathan squeezed past the grumbling elders and bolted out of the door. He had every intention of going to see his beloved Eleanor and trying to forget for a few brief hours that he was a Jew, that’s if her father wasn’t around to prevent it. But Nathan had not gone far along the street before his arms were seized on either side and he found himself being steered around the back of the synagogue to crouch in the darkness under the outside steps to the chamber. All four men waited, shivering in the rain, until they heard the sounds of the synagogue door being locked and footsteps shuffling away across the flagged path. Then they climbed the steps to the study chamber. Nathan knew it was useless to protest. The other three were determined to resolve the riddle of the stone, and even he was forced to admit that there could be no more fitting night on which to do so.
Aaron barred the door between the synagogue and the study chamber in case his father should return, then, taking the stone from Nathan, placed it carefully on the table between two lighted candles. He fumbled at his waist and unfastened a piece of long red cord with which he formed a circle on the table around the stone and candles. When he was finally satisfied that the circle was as perfect as he could make it, the four of them took their places on the stools, one at each corner of the table. The room was in darkness save for the flickering twin flames. No one spoke. They all knew what to do. They concentrated simply on the rhythm of their own breathing until it slowed almost as if they were sleeping.
Then Aaron, keeping his voice low and even, spoke from the shadows. ‘Look at the letters on the stone Hay, Shin, Mem. Stare at each letter in turn until they start to move. Watch them weave in and out of each other, growing bigger and smaller, changing their colours. Let yourself dissolve into the letters — become the letters.’
Nathan knew the meditation well. Their former teacher had often made them practise it, but always before they had visualized words in their heads. They had never stared at letters written on anything. Nathan had never been any good at it, not even when they were students. You were supposed to breathe each word until it lost its meaning and new words and new meanings danced in your head, but the only thoughts that ever came into Nathan’s head were certainly not spiritual. Mostly he spent the time dreaming up ways of being alone with the voluptuous, flaxen-haired Eleanor without her father finding out.
But tonight, as Nathan stared at the stone glistening in the trembling yellow candle flame, it was only too easy to see the letters moving. The letters first began twisting and undulating, then they seemed to be crawling off the stone and scuttling across the table towards him. He could hear the word stalking around him in the darkness, Ha-Sh-em, Ha-Sh-em. His three companions were breathing rhythmically in and out on the syllables of the word. Though he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the letters, Nathan was vaguely aware that the others were standing now, folding and unfolding their bodies to the rhythm of their breath, Ha-Sh-em. The word slithered through the shadows.
The letters were changing colour. Shin was glowing red as if it had caught fire. Mem had turned ice-blue and was running like water over the table, yet where the blue water touched the ruby flame it seemed only to make the flame burn more fiercely.
Aaron’s breathing had deepened as if he was trying to suck all the air from the room. He was chanting a different word now — Raziel, Raziel. The other two joined in, calling on the name of the angel who reveals the secrets of heaven and the knowledge of the future. Raziel, Raziel, Raziel. Nathan became aware of something growing in the corner of the room, blacker than a hangman’s shadow, deeper than the pit of Gehenna, a total absence of light so thick and heavy it was as if the very darkness from which the world had been created was reforming in that room. It was swelling up, uncoiling and reaching out
…
Nathan yelled in panic and dashed his hand across the table, sweeping stone, cord and candles crashing to the floor. For a moment he could see nothing while his eyes adjusted to the thin shaft of moonlight filtering in through the hole in the shutters. But Nathan didn’t need any light to tell him that whatever it was that had entered that room had vanished and the four of them were alone.
‘You clumsy imbecile, Nathan,’ Aaron raged at him. ‘We’d almost succeeded in summoning the spirit that would have given us knowledge of the future. Do you realize what a miracle that was? Not even the greatest mystic teachers have succeeded. Just think what power…’ Words failed Aaron, and he slammed his fist into the table in frustration.
‘But didn’t you see it?’ Nathan asked them. ‘That thing didn’t come from the light… Didn’t any of you see what it was?’
It was too dark to make out the expressions on their faces, but he could sense their anger and bewilderment. But if they hadn’t seen it, how could he begin to explain?
Nathan sank down on the stool, his hands trembling. ‘Just go. Get out of here and leave me alone.’
He heard the door close behind them and their footsteps on the wooden staircase, but he didn’t move. He sat staring into the corner, trying to understand what he had seen. There had been nothing there, and yet that nothing had been so dense, so massive, so full of rage and hate, it felt as if that nothing had been the only solid thing in the room, and the table, the walls, even he himself had been mere wisps of smoke in its presence.
Somewhere out in the city a dog was howling, and then he heard a single set of footsteps slowly climbing the wooden staircase outside. It must be Isaac, Benedict or Aaron come back to see if he was all right and walk him home. Nathan rose and started across the room to meet them. A finger came through the hole in the door, lifting the latch, and the door swung open.
Friday 24 May, the sixth day of Sivan, the Festival of Shavuoth
Judith leaped to her feet almost before she had opened her eyes, startled by the shouts and cries in the street outside. For a moment she thought she had overslept and the market was already open for the day, but then she realized the room was still dark. Isaac was standing by the tiny casement and peering out through the open shutter, shivering in the cold damp air. A thin grey light crawling up over the rooftops showed that dawn was not far off. Judith joined her brother at the casement, draping his cloak around his shoulders against the cold, though it still felt damp from the night’s rain.
‘What’s the noise?’ Judith asked.
Men were spilling out of the houses on either side of the street, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Women and children leaned out of the casements trying to see what was going on.
‘They’re calling the hue and cry,’ Isaac sighed. ‘I’d better go and help.’ He stooped, struggling to pull on his wet shoes. They were caked in mud.