(Such delicacy. He is sparing us the details.)
"Death by starvation," from the cautious voice of Chaim, "in many places is reserved for liars and traitors. They are left to feed forever on their own falsehood."
"That is a great truth, noble Chaim," said Baruch. "But 1 was unable to trust the Gentiles and lived in a state of uncertainty. For that reason 1 had to hide my true faith and try to carry out my master's errands so that 1 could leave the city, which was dangerous to those who are not papists."
(How brave. His eyes are blue-gray-green.)
Baruch Anslo spent his last night in the holy city of Munster erasing his tracks. First he burned the letter from that disgusting old rat Maarten to his son. Then he hid in the most secret part of his body the list of clients and the names of the contacts so he would have access to the Sublime Portal. He made sure that no condemned paper, no fragment of wax, escaped the flames of the fireplace in his room. Then he made himself some credentials out of ink and his own imagination. By the time he was prepared, night had fallen. He wrapped himself up well and went out into the darkness, down the white streets, holding the reins of the faithful and silent Lambertus that the innkeeper had made ready.
3
"My horse is called Lambertus."
"That's no name for a horse." Chaim, distant and cold.
"An innocent joke of Master Maarten's. The animal knows no other name."
(Lambertus, what a pretty name for a horse. If someday 1 have a horse he will be called Lambertus and Chaim can be angry if he wants. Lambertus.)
"I've been lucky with Lambertus. He's a faithful and humble animal who has twice saved me from certain death."
(What!)
ltshak Mattes offered a challah to his guest, as if inviting him to rest a little or perhaps to make up for the danger to which he had exposed himself in carrying those precious documents. Baruch broke the braided bread tenderly. It seemed to Sarah that Baruch was not breaking the challah with his delicate hands but stroking its braids, and she shivered.
"Twice. Because in addition to helping me escape from thieves, one night, close to Scharmutelsee, which was completely iced over, 1 fainted in the saddle from cold and fatigue, and all by himself, stepping carefully to keep me from falling off, he took me in the dark to a post-house and neighed until they came out and helped me.
"What thieves? Why were they after you? Weren't you ever afraid?"
"1'm only afraid of the darkness of the tomb," he said in a brave voice. He smiled and looked around for something, and Temerl guessed that he needed a little wine to go with the challah. She served it to him herself.
He entered the square of Saint Paul's Cathedral at the agreedupon time. As they had promised, on the north side of the building, by the cloister, a shadow was waiting, immobile, leaning against the wall. He tied Lambertus to a spindly tree and approached the shadow.
"Well?" he said by way of greeting.
"His Excellency was willing to pay only four thousand florins."
"In that case, you will have to give back the painting."
"No. He's kept it. He likes it."
"It's worth five thousand!"
"No. It's worth what a buyer gives for it."
"1 will go to the authorities, Monsignor."
"Go ahead. Where will you begin? Where did you steal it from?"
"That is insulting. I work in the studio of…"
"Do you want the three thousand florins or not?"
"Didn't you say four?"
"Now it's three."
The shadow stretched out a hand with a full purse. Baruch Anslo took it nervously and opened it. By the cold brightness of the white snow, he estimated that there were perhaps two thousand five hundred florins in gold coins. A shot of rage ran up his spine. He smiled.
"It has been a pleasure to deal with you, Monsignor."
First he slipped the purse into his girdle, and then he took out the stiletto and thrust it, through layers and layers of clothing, into the episcopal secretary's stomach. It all happened so fast that when the monsignor was on the ground, darkening the snow around him, he had not lost the ironic smile with which he had handed over the purse containing two thousand florins to the swindled swindler. Aware that the man was still alive, Baruch Anslo took off his clothes. The secretary made a moan that turned into a death rattle.
"Don't bother to scream because 1 know you came alone."
"Call someone. 1 don't want to bleed to death. You can still get away.
"First give me the money."
The episcopal secretary said, Don't kill me, and fainted. Baruch Anslo finally found the purse. It was fuller than the other. It made him so furious that he stabbed the episcopal secretary in his noble gut once more. He left him convulsing against the wall of the cathedral. A few steps away, struck perhaps with compassion for such useless suffering, he went back to where his victim lay. With the stiletto he opened a sinister smile in his throat, and the monsignor, the swindler swindled by the swindled swindler, finally stopped trembling, infinitely weary.
Instead of taking the road for Frankfurt, which would lead him straight to the Danube, instead of turning onto the route which would have taken him to Istanbul, as he had mentioned two or three times to the innkeeper, Baruch turned the horse towards the rising sun, on the old road to Warendorf, in search of revenge. Goodbye, Rachel Sorgh. I'll find you again in Magdeburg or farther to the east, I'm sure.
When the sun came up over the snowy road, he stopped Lambertus and opened the monsignor's purse. That stinking thief had been good at milking the vanity of the most illustrious Bishop of Munster; in the pouch, in the form of a few heavy coins, was the equivalent of more than thirteen thousand gold florins. Never trust anyone.
4
"But what thieves?"
"It was after Munster."
"Please don't be so impatient, dear Temerl. You have to give him time to explain himself."
(As far as I'm concerned, he has all the time in the world.)
Baruch Anslo thanked ltshak Mattes for his assistance. He took a drink of wine and continued.
"After I'd carried out the errands, there was no reason to stay in a city so harsh to foreigners, and following my venerable master's instructions I went east, towards still distant Lodz."
(How well he speaks. He has a poet's mouth. And poetic eyes.)
"It is in Elohim that 1 place my trust. So when 1 met up with the thieves 1 was telling you about, in an inn outside of Magdeburg, it was the Lord's will that they did not find the little money 1 had on me and left me for dead."
He pointed to the scar on his left arm that he'd gotten in a canal in Amsterdam three years ago, and a pair of blue-green bottomless eyes filled with tears.
(If 1'd been there to defend him or cry out for help…)
"Three cruel bandits." Baruch found the memory upsetting. "I took one of them down. But the other two ran off, and since 1 was wounded… But that wasn't the worst of it. When I was going through the forest that they call Schonenbaumgarten, a dense, dark place where the trees stand close together, those two wretches were waiting to get their revenge. I've made this journey unarmed, and I was at the mercy of their hatred."
(Oh, Lord God in heaven. And 1 was here, not even worried…)
"And then Lambertus saved me. Without my telling him to, he took off, leaving the road, and went right through the forest as if he'd known it all his life, and managed to leave them behind, We didn't get lost because he smelled the high road after a few hours. 1 never saw them again, those awful men."
(Whoever says Lambertus isn't a good name for a horse has no feelings at all.)
Lambertus raised his head. He seemed extremely fatigued, though Baruch had not pushed him. He snorted in the direction the post house. No doubt the odor of burning wood reminded him of a place to rest, away from the infinite snow of that white plain. The poor beast was sweating copiously despite the cold, and Baruch, perhaps with a bad conscience, patted him reassuringly on the neck.