“What’s Hebrew?”
“Forget it. How about keeping kosher?”
“What are they? I’ll keep them if it’s part of the program. After all, when you’ve been a Rock, eating bugs all your life, keeping some kind of pet doesn’t sound too difficult.”
It was hopeless. For a minute there I gave it a maybe, you know what I mean. But the more I thought about it, even if I could summon up the chutzpah to go back to Reb Jeshaia with a rock, not with a Kadak, it wouldn’t work. This Rock was a nice enough fellow, you know what I mean, but even as I sat there pondering, he shot out that ick tongue of his, and snared a buck-fly and whipped it in that move he thought was such a sensational thing, and splatted it all over the place, and started eating it. And clearly, very clearly, Genesis 9:4 forbade animal blood to all the seed of Noah, so how could I bring a Rock back and say, here, I freed this Slave of the Rock, and he’ll be the tenth man, and then right in the middle of Adonai, out would come that crummy tongue and eat a bug off the wall. Forget it.
“Listen,” I said, as gentle as I could, I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, “it’s a strictly great offer you’ve made, and under other circumstances I’d take you up on that, you know what I’m saying? But right now I’m really pressed for time and it would take too long for you to learn Hebrew, so let’s let it sit for a while. I’ll get back to you.”
He wasn’t happy about that, I could tell. But he was a real mensch. He told me he understood, and he wished me good luck with the Fleshists, and he let me run away fast. I could see his point, though, and I was very sorry about his not being a possible. I mean, how would you like it to sit all day baking in the sun, with birds making pish in your face, and the best you got to look forward to is a juicy bug.
And if I’d known what I had coming, what tsuris, I’d have gladly only, happily yet, you can believe it, taken that Rock back with me, bug dreck and all. Believe me, there are worse things than a rock that eats bugs.
I’ll make a long story short. I followed the trail of that putz Kadak from the pit of the Fleshists (where I lost the use of my pupik, all my coin, the sight of one eye in the back, the second arm on the left side, and my yarmulkah), to the embarkation dock at the spaceport where the sect called the Denigrators were getting on board ships for that Bromios (where I got beat up so bad I crawled away), to the lava beds where the True Believers of Suffering were doing their last rites before leaving (where I suffered first degree miserable and such a pain you wouldn’t accept over half my poor body), to the Tabernacle of the Mouth (where some big deal prophet that was all teeth bit off the tip of one antenna, God knows why, maybe out of pique at being left behind), to the Caucus Race of the Malforms (where I fit right in, as crapped up and bloody as I was), to the Lair of the Blessed Profundity of the Unspeakable Trihll (which I could not, even if I had several mouths, pronounce… but they punched and kicked me anyhow, really sensational people), to the Archdruid of Nothingness, always following that miserable creep Kadak from religion to religion—and let me tell you, no one had a good word for that schmuck, not even the worst of those heathens—and it was there, kayn-ahora, that the Archdruid told me the last he’d seen of Kadak was ten years earlier, when he had changed him into a butterfly, and sent him out into the desert to hopefully drop dead in the heat.
Which is why, finally, I’m standing here talking to you, dumb creep butterfly. So now I’ve told it all, and you see what a puke condition I’m in, don’t for a minute think that Avram or those others will respect me for what I did, they’ll only nuhdz me about how long it took, and that’s why you got to come back with me.
Not a word. Not a sound through all this. Not a flap or a flitter or a how are you Evsise. Nothing.
Look. I’m not going to tummel with you, Mr. I-Can’t-Make-Up-My-Mind-What-Kind-of-Religion-I-Want-To-Be butterfly.
You think I stood here all this time, sinking in up to my rims in sand, just to tell you a cute story? I know you’re Kadak! And how do I know?
Go ahead, snuffle like that again and ask me how I know!
Come on. You’ll come either by yourself or I’ll drag you by your wings, you know for a butterfly you’re not even a nice-looking butterfly? You’re an ugly, is what you are. And as for being a Jew, only that by birth, such a disgrace to the entire blue Jews on Zsouchmuhn.
As you can see, I’m getting angry. You’ve gotten me raped, crapped on, burned, maimed, crippled, blinded, insulted, run around, exposed to heathens, robbed, sunburned, covered with bug shmootz, altogether miserable and unhappy, and I’ll tell you, very frankly, you’ll come with me, Mr. Kadak, or I’ll choke you dead right here in this farblondjet desert!
Now what do you say?
I thought that’s what you’d say.
“Here he is.”
Yankel didn’t believe it. Chaim laughed. Shmuel started to cry, his nose running green. Snodle coughed. And Reb Jeshaia hung his head. “I should have sent Avram,” he said.
Avram looked away. Like a dead leaf it should fall off.
“Here he is, is what I said, and here he is, is what it is,” I said. “This is your Kadak, may he rot in his cocoon.”
Then I told them the whole story.
At least they had the grace to be amazed.
“This is what makes the minyan?” Moishe said. “This?”
“Make him change back, and that’s him,” I said. “I wash my hands of it.” I went over in a corner of the shoul and settled down. It was their problem now.
For hours they went at him. They tried everything. They threatened him, they begged him, they implored him, they intimidated him, they cajoled him, they shmacheled him, they insulted him, they slugged him, they chased his tuchis all over the shoul….
Sure. Of course. Wouldn’t you know. That rotten Kadak wouldn’t change back. At last, he found a thing he wanted to be. A dumb creep butterfly.
With a snuffle. Still with a rotten snuffle. Did you ever know how much worse a butterfly snuffles than a person?
You could plotz from it.
And finally, when they couldn’t get him to change back—and if you want to know the truth, I don’t think he could change back after that weirdnik buhbie Archdruid changed him—they held him down and Reb Jeshaia made the rabbinical decision that his presence was enough, in this great emergency. So Meyer Kahaha sat on him, and we started to sit shivah, finally, for Zsouchmuhn and for Snodle.
And then Reb Jeshaia got a terrible look on his face and he said, “Oh my God!”
“What!? What what!?” I yelled. “What now, what?”