On a cloudless night, ink dark, with only a rind of a moon above, the Golem and the Jinni went walking together along the Prince Street rooftops. The Golem had never been on a rooftop before. She’d protested briefly when the Jinni arrived at her boardinghouse and told her their destination. “But is it safe up there?”
“As safe as walking anywhere in this city at this hour.”
“That’s not very comforting.”
“For you and me, it’s perfectly safe. Come on.”
She could tell, from his posture and his voice, that he was in one of his restless, obstinate moods. Reluctantly she fell in next to him, deciding that if she found it dangerous, she’d make him turn around.
She followed him up a back staircase. Emerging onto the high, tar-papered expanse of a tenement rooftop, she realized he’d gotten the better of her: the scene was far too fascinating to leave. The rooftops were like a hidden thoroughfare, bustling with nighttime traffic. Men, women, and children came and went, running errands, passing information, or simply heading home. Workingmen in greased overalls held parliament around the rims of ash-barrels, their faces red and flickering. Boys idled in corners, eyes alert. The Golem caught the sense of borders being guarded, but the Jinni, it seemed, was a familiar face. Mostly their doubts were directed at herself: a strange woman, tall and clean and primly dressed. Some of the younger boys took her for a social worker, and hid in the shadows.
The Golem began to realize that if she knew which route to take, she could walk the entire Lower East Side without once touching the ground. Many rooftops stretched for an entire block, divided only by the low walls that marked where the tenements met each other. Where one building was taller than another, rope ladders hung between the roofs. In some places there were even plank bridges spanning the narrow gaps of the alleyways. The Jinni crossed the first of these with indifference, not even glancing at the four-story drop, and then turned around and waited for the Golem to follow. Thankfully, the bridge proved thick and sturdy enough for her to cross without fear. He raised his eyebrows, impressed, and she shook her head at him. She wasn’t sure which was more irritating: his thinking the feat might be beyond her, or her own folly at rising to his bait.
They were navigating a crowded passage when a shout turned all heads. A man was tearing toward them across the rooftops, pursued by a uniformed policeman. The policeman was quick, but his quarry was quicker, vaulting ledges and barrels like a horse at a steeplechase. All stepped aside as the man raced past. He jumped the bridge and ran to the stairwell door, wrenched it open, and disappeared.
The policeman huffed to a stop near them, clearly not relishing the thought of following the man down into a darkened tenement. Sourly he glanced about at the spectators, all of whom found their attention drawn elsewhere. Then he noticed the Jinni, and smiled, touching the brim of his cap in jest. “Well, it’s the Sultan. Good evening to ya.”
“Officer Farrelly,” the Jinni replied.
“Ye’re getting slow in yer old age, Farrelly,” said a grizzled, drunken-looking man who sat slumped against the wall nearby.
“I’m quick enough for the likes of you, Scotty.”
“Go on, bring me in then. I could do with a hot meal.”
The officer ignored this, nodded to the company, and began to trudge back the way he’d come.
“Hey, Sultan,” said the man called Scotty. “Who’s yer lady-friend?” His rheumy eyes went to the Golem, and without waiting for a reply, he said, “Now, missy, if yer friend here is the Sultan, I suppose that makes you a sultana!” And he wheezed with laughter as they continued on their way.
They walked until they found what the Jinni was looking for: a particular well-placed rooftop with a tall water tower at its corner. To discourage climbers, the tower’s ladder ended about six feet off the ground; the Jinni jumped, caught the bottom rung easily, and pulled himself up, hand over hand, landing on a broad ledge that ringed the tower at its middle. He leaned over the railing. “Are you coming?”
“If I don’t, you’ll say I haven’t the nerve, and if I do I’m only encouraging you.”
He laughed. “Come up anyway. You’ll like the view.”
Looking around to make sure no one was watching, the Golem jumped and caught the ladder. She felt ridiculous, with her skirt billowing out beneath her, but it was an easy climb, and soon she joined the Jinni on the ledge. He was right, the view was beautiful. The rooftops lapped each other into the distance, like an illuminated spread of playing cards. Beyond them, just visible, the Hudson was a black band dividing the harbor lights from the glow of the farther shore.
She pointed to the river. “That’s where I came ashore, I think. Or farther south. I can’t tell.”
He shook his head. “Walking across the bottom of the river. I can barely think it, much less do it.”
“No doubt you would’ve escaped some other way.”
At that, he grinned. “Oh, no doubt.”
A cold, steady breeze was whipping her hair about her face, carrying the smells of coal dust and river silt, the smoke of a thousand chimneys. She watched the Jinni roll a cigarette, touch its end, and inhale. “That policeman,” she said. “Do you know him?”
“Only by name. The police leave me alone, and I do likewise.”
“They call you the Sultan.”
“I can’t say I encouraged it. But it’s no less my true name than Ahmad.” A bitter note had crept into his voice; the issue was newly painful, for some reason. “And now you have another name as well. Though I think the man meant it as a joke, and I’m not sure why.”
“A sultana is a queen, but also a kind of raisin,” she said.
The Jinni snorted. “A raisin?”
“We use them at the bakery.”
He laughed, and then leaned back and regarded her. “Can I ask you a question?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Certainly.”
“You have such amazing abilities. Doesn’t it gall you to spend your days baking loaves of bread?”
“Should it? Is baking bread less worthy than other work?”
“No, but I wouldn’t call it suited to your talents.”
“I’m very good at it,” she said.
“Chava, I’ve no doubt you’re the best baker in the city. But you can do so much more! Why spend all day making bread when you can lift more than a man’s weight, and walk along the bottom of a river?”
“And how would I use these abilities without calling attention to myself? Would you have me at a construction pit, hauling blocks of stone? Or should I license myself as a tugboat?”
“All right, you have a point. But what about seeing others’ fears and desires? That’s a more subtle talent, and might be worth a lot of money.”
“Never,” she said flatly. “I would never take advantage like that.”
“Why not? You’d make an excellent fortune-teller, or even a confidence-woman. I know a dozen shops on the Bowery that would—”
“Absolutely not!” Only then did she see the smile hidden at the corner of his mouth. “You’re teasing me,” she said.
“Of course I’m teasing. You’d make a terrible confidence-woman. You’d warn off all the marks.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Besides, I like my job. It suits me.”
He leaned on the railing, propped his chin in his hand; she wondered if he knew how human he looked. “And if you could do whatever you wanted, without worrying about staying hidden? Would you still work at a bakery?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Perhaps, I suppose. But I can’t do whatever I want, so why dwell on it? It’ll only make me angry.”
“And you’d rather blinker your own thoughts than be angry?”
“As usual you put it in the worst way possible, but yes.”
“Why not be angry? It’s a pure, honest reaction!”
She shook her head, trying to decide how best to explain. “Let me tell you a story,” she said. “I stole something once, on the day I came to New York.” And she laid out the tale: the starving boy, the man with the knish, the shouting crowd. “I didn’t know what to do. I only knew that they were furious, they wanted me to pay. I took it all in, and then . . . I wasn’t there anymore.” She frowned, remembering. “I was standing outside myself, watching. I was calm. I didn’t feel anything. But I knew that something awful was about to happen, and that I would be the one to do it. I was only a few days old, I didn’t know how to control myself.”
“And what happened?”
“In the end, nothing. The Rabbi rescued me, and paid for the man’s knish. I came back to myself. But if he hadn’t been there . . . I don’t like to think about it.”
“But nothing happened,” the Jinni said. “And you have more control now, you’ve said so yourself.”
“Yes, but is it enough? All I know is that I must never hurt another person. Never. I’ll destroy myself first, if I have to.”
She hadn’t meant to say it. But now that it was out, she was glad. Let him see how strongly she felt, how much this mattered.
“You can’t mean that.” He seemed horrified. “Chava, you can’t.”
“I mean it absolutely.”
“What, at the first sign of anger? A man bumps into you on the street, and you destroy yourself?”
She shook her head. “No, none of your what-ifs. I won’t argue about this.”
They stood in tense silence.
“I imagined you to be indestructible,” he said.
“I think I am, almost.”
His eyes went to her neck—and she realized that she had, without thinking, reached for her locket. Quickly she dropped her hand. Both glanced away in something like embarrassment. It was growing colder; the wind had picked up.
“I forget sometimes,” he said, “how different we are. I would never talk of destroying myself. It would feel too much like giving up.”
She wanted to ask, And there’s nothing you’d give yourself up for? But perhaps that was going too far, prying too deep. One of his hands was twisting idly at the cuff at his wrist. She could see its outline, through the fabric of his shirtsleeve. “Does it hurt?” she asked.
He looked down, surprised. “No,” he said. “Not physically.”
“May I see?”
He paused a moment—was he ashamed to show her? Then he shrugged and rolled up his sleeve. She peered at the cuff in the dim light. The wide metal band fit close to his skin, as though it had been made to measure. It was crafted in two half-circles held together by two hinges. One hinge was thick and solid; the other one was much thinner, and fastened with a slender, almost decorative pin. The pin’s head was flat and round, like a coin. She tried to pull it out, but it held tight.
“It doesn’t move,” he said. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“The pin should be the weakest point.” She looked up at him. “I can try to break it, if you’d like.”
His eyes widened. “By all means.”
Carefully she worked her fingers around the edges of the cuff. His skin was shockingly warm. He started at her touch and said, “Are your hands always so cold?”
“Compared to yours, they must be.” She gripped the metal with her fingertips. “Tell me if I hurt you.”
“You won’t,” he said, but she could feel him tense.
She began to pull, steadily, and with growing force, up past the point where ordinary metal would’ve given way. But both pin and cuff held fast, without bending even a fraction of an inch. The Jinni was bracing against her, his free hand around the railing; and she began to realize that the railing or else the Jinni would break long before the cuff did.
She slackened and stopped, looked up into his face, saw the hope there fade away. “I’m sorry,” she said.
His dark eyes stared unseeing and unguarded—but then he pulled his hand from hers and turned away. “I doubt any amount of strength would do it,” he said. “But thank you, for trying.” He busied himself with rolling another cigarette. “It’s getting late,” he said. “I expect you’ll be wanting to go back soon.”
“Yes,” she murmured.
Together they walked back across the rooftops, past men eating early breakfasts of bread and beer, past young boys curled together under blankets, past Scotty asleep against his wall. Near her boardinghouse they found a fire escape and descended, navigating splintered and missing steps. In the alley they said their usual good-byes. She glanced back as she rounded the corner and was surprised to find him still there, gazing after her, as though deeply perplexed: a tall man with a shining face, the strangest and most familiar of the city’s sights.
Arbeely had been right about the interest that the tin ceiling would generate. Word had spread through the neighborhood that Arbeely’s Bedouin apprentice was creating a bizarre metal sculpture and meant to hang it in Maloof’s new lobby. The little shop grew crowded with visitors. The Jinni was less than thrilled with the constant interruptions, and soon abandoned all attempts at politeness. Eventually Arbeely closed the shop to all but their paying customers.
The one person granted an exception was young Matthew Mounsef. The boy had begun spending his after-school hours in the shop, watching the Jinni as he worked. Against all expectations, the Jinni seemed to genuinely take to Matthew, perhaps helped by the boy’s habitual silence. Occasionally the Jinni assigned him minor tasks and errands, which freed him up to use his hands while Matthew wasn’t watching. For these services the Jinni paid the boy in pennies, the occasional nickel, and, when he was feeling indulgent, small tin animals rendered out of scrap.
In that first frenzy of the ceiling’s construction, the Jinni had thought to be done in four days, five at the most, but reality proved far different. Never before had he worked to such demanding specifications. It wasn’t enough to measure the ceiling roughly; it must be exact to within a fraction of an inch, or else it simply wouldn’t fit. One entire day was spent perched on a ladder in the lobby, measuring and double-checking and shouting numbers to Matthew, who wrote them down carefully in a little notebook. After that, he pulled down the old tiles, a grimy job that coated him in cobwebs and plaster dust. Then the ceiling was replastered and carefully smoothed. It was all painstaking, arduous work. More than once the Jinni thought about abandoning the project entirely, even melting it down, but something always stopped him. The ceiling seemed to belong to everyone now—Maloof, Matthew, Arbeely, the tenants, the well-wishers who stopped him on the street and asked how it was coming. In an odd sense, it was no longer his to destroy.
At last, the preparations were complete. As Arbeely watched, his nerves fraying, the Jinni carved the finished ceiling into large irregular pieces, following the lines of the valleys and steep cliffs, turning it into a gigantic puzzle made of tin. They loaded the pieces into a straw-packed cart, and pulled it to Maloof’s building. Matthew was waiting for them, excitement on his face, and Arbeely hadn’t the heart to ask if he shouldn’t be at school. Soon Maloof arrived as well. The Jinni was surprised to see the landlord roll up his sleeves and prepare to lend a hand.
It took almost the whole day to install the ceiling. The difficult part came in holding the pieces steady enough to nail in place. In the end it required the Jinni, Arbeely, and Maloof each on their own ladders, with much repositioning and arguing and displays of temper. Every time someone wanted to pass through the lobby, two of the ladders would have to come down, leaving the Jinni to hold up the half-attached piece. As the day wore on, more and more people gathered to watch them work. Even Matthew’s mother came down, taking the stairs slowly, one hand on the banister. Apparently her health was no better.
At last the Jinni drove the final nail home, to a spontaneous thunder of applause. For half an hour he shook hands with what felt like every Syrian in New York. Afterward they all milled about, gazing up at the ceiling. Many laughed and stretched their hands into the air, as if trying to touch the mountains. A few older residents grumbled of vertigo and went upstairs to supper. The children spun about with upturned faces, and crashed into their parents’ legs. Finally, one by one, they all drifted away until Arbeely and the Jinni were left alone.
All at once the Jinni felt drained to his depths. It was over, finished. He looked up at his masterpiece, trying to decide what he’d accomplished.
“Everyone adores it,” Arbeely said next to him. “It’s only a matter of time before you have your own shop.” Then he noticed the expression on the Jinni’s face. “What’s the matter?”
“My palace,” the Jinni said. “It isn’t there.”
Arbeely glanced around quickly, but they were alone. “You could still put it in,” he said quietly. “Call it a stroke of artistic whimsy, or what have you.”
“You don’t understand,” the Jinni said. “I did it deliberately. It’s only fitting that you can’t see it, that they can’t see it. But I should see it. It should be there.” He gestured to a spot near the center of the ceiling. “Just beyond that ridge. The valley looks empty, without it.”
Something came together in Arbeely’s mind. “You mean this is a map?”
“Of course it’s a map. What did you think it was?”
“I don’t know—a work of imagination, I suppose.” He looked up at it with new appreciation. “And it’s accurate?”
“I spent two hundred years traveling every inch of these lands. Yes, it’s accurate.” He pointed to a mountain in the corner near the stairwell. “I mined a vein of silver on that mountainside once. A group of ifrits tried to steal it from me. I fought them off, though it took a day and a night.” His finger moved to a narrow plain, deep in shadow. “That’s where I met up with a caravan bound for ash-Sham. I followed them invisible until they reached the Ghouta. It’s the last thing I can remember, from my life before.”
Arbeely listened with chagrin. He’d hoped that the Jinni would’ve found some solace by now: in his work, the life he’d built for himself, the nighttime excursions that still gave Arbeely palpitations. But how could that replace the life he’d led for centuries? He put a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “Come on, my friend,” Arbeely said. “Let’s go open a bottle of araq, and drink to your success.”
The Jinni consented to be led outside, into the falling night. And behind them, Matthew crept down the staircase and stared up at the ceiling again, his eyes wide with wonder at what he’d overheard.
Passover approached, and the daily offerings at Radzin’s Bakery began to change: from braided breads to flat matzos, rugelach to macaroons. But even with the Passover selections and wholesale orders, business at the bakery turned woefully thin. Since Mr. Radzin didn’t like his employees to appear idle, they had to work as slowly as they could, stretching each task to near-absurd lengths. For the Golem, it was like moving through glue. Minor annoyances magnified themselves: the jangling bell over the door, the shuffling and coughing of the customers. Their thoughts rang out in the silence, hopelessly monotonous and self-absorbed.
After days like this, the long nights were a relief and a torture both. She was thrilled to be alone, but her accumulated tension had nowhere to go. She would’ve tried quiet exercises—once, casting about from boredom, she’d spent an hour lifting her desk above her head like a circus strongman—but she needed all her time for sewing. Anna had let it slip to the customers that the Golem was an expert seamstress, and now the Golem was inundated with repairs. She kept the damaged clothing in a teetering stack in the corner until her landlady complained that it was impossible to clean around—“and besides, Chava dear, this is a respectable boardinghouse, not a sweatshop.” She’d apologized and stuffed the clothing in her armoire. She sewed as quickly as possible, irked by the monotony. Why on earth couldn’t men keep their trousers whole? Why were they constantly losing their buttons?
One night, in the slow hours before dawn, a stray thought snuck into her mind: the Jinni was right. These occupations weren’t enough to hold her interest, not for the long years that her clay body promised. “Go away,” she muttered, and forced her thoughts elsewhere. It was all his fault, of course. She’d been content enough before; now she was turning as moody as he.
She was wallowing in these preoccupations at the bakery, and trying to ignore Mrs. Radzin’s small talk with a customer, when a burst of pure panic drove all other voices aside. Anna was standing stock-still at her table, her face white as wax. She put down her rolling pin and walked to the back room as casually as she could; but the bakery’s low chatter couldn’t mask the sound of her vomiting in the water closet. She emerged a few minutes later and went back to work as though nothing had happened; but the Golem knew the truth of it, for the girl’s thoughts were a jumbled torment: Oh God, there’s no doubt now. What if the Radzins heard? What will Irving say? What am I going to do? And all the rest of that day Anna proved that she might’ve had true success as an actress, for she chatted and smiled as though all was well, with no outward clue to the terrified din in her head.
While the Jinni had been preoccupied with Maloof’s tin ceiling, spring had taken root in Manhattan. In the desert he’d seen the seasons change countless times, but this one felt like a magic trick. A day of hard rain washed the garbage from the half-frozen gutters, and then, improbably, the sun emerged. The filthy snowdrifts that had sat on the corners since November began to crater and dissolve. Windows shuttered for months were flung open, clotheslines restrung. Rugs and counterpanes were hauled onto the fire escapes and joyously beaten. The air began to smell of dust and sun-warmed cobblestones.
As the Jinni walked to the Golem’s boardinghouse that week, he tried to decide whether to tell her about the tin ceiling. Usually he made a point of saying little about his daytime work, but this she would want to hear about. She’d praise him, tell him how glad she was for his success; and something in him rebelled against it. He didn’t want praise from her, not for this. Not when she knew how much more he’d once been capable of. To even mention the ceiling felt dangerously close to giving in, settling, declaring this life to be good enough, in a way that it hadn’t with Arbeely.
He reached her boardinghouse and found that, as usual, she’d been watching for him. But instead of her usual caution, she wrenched open the front door and barreled down the steps as though fleeing a terrible argument. She cast no worried glance at her neighbors’ windows; she didn’t even bother to put up her hood. “Where are we going?” she asked by way of greeting.
“Central Park,” he said, taken aback.
“Will it be a long walk?”
“I suppose, but—”
“Good,” she said, and set off without waiting. He hurried to catch up with her. Every line of her body spoke of frustration. She walked with her head down, impatiently jumping the maze of puddles, apparently forgetting she’d once scolded him for doing the same. Her hands flexed at her sides. He’d never seen her like this.
They walked for some blocks, and at last he said, “If it’s myself you’re furious with, please let me know. I’d rather not go on guessing.”
Instantly her anger turned to chagrin. “Oh, Ahmad, I’m sorry! I’m poor company, I shouldn’t have come. Except I might have torn down the house rather than stay inside another minute.” She pressed her hands to her forehead, as though fighting a headache. “It’s been a terrible week.”
“How so?”
“I can’t say much. There’s a secret that isn’t mine to tell. Someone at the bakery is extremely frightened, and trying to keep it hidden. I’m not even supposed to know.”
“I can see how that would distract you.”
“I can barely think of anything else. At least a dozen times I’ve had to stop myself from saying the wrong thing.” She hugged herself, scowling. “I’ve been making so many mistakes. Yesterday I had to throw away an entire batch of dough. And then today I burned all the butter-horns. Mr. Radzin shouted at me, and Mrs. Radzin asked me if everything was all right. Asked me! While Anna goes on smiling as though nothing—”
She stopped, hands flying to her mouth. “There, you see? Oh, this is intolerable!”
“If it helps, I’d already guessed it was Anna. You don’t have that many colleagues.”
“Please don’t tell anyone.”
“Chava, who would I tell? What would I tell? I don’t even know the secret!”
“And I’m not going to say it,” she muttered.
At length the gates at Fifty-ninth Street appeared, and they entered the park along the darkened path, leaving the streetlights behind. Twigs and branches shivered above them in the sudden hush. The Golem slowed and looked around with fascination, her ill mood visibly fading. “I’ve never seen so many trees.”
“Just wait,” he said, smiling.
They rounded a corner, and the full scope of the park came into view, the rolling stretches of lawn and distant groves. She turned around as she walked, trying to see the whole panorama at once. “It’s enormous! And so quiet!” She put her hands over her ears and uncovered them again, as though to make sure her hearing hadn’t deserted her. “Is it always like this?”
“At night, it is. During the day it’s full of people.”
“I never would’ve thought the city could be hiding this. How far does it go?”
“I’m not sure. It would take weeks to explore properly. Months, perhaps.”
They walked north toward Sheep Meadow. He’d hoped to take her off the main carriage drive, but the lawn had thawed to a swamp, and the smaller paths were submerged. The sheep were nowhere to be seen; he supposed they’d been stabled somewhere less muddy.
“I feel different here,” the Golem said suddenly.
“How so?”
“I don’t know.” She shivered lightly once, then again.
He frowned. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” But her voice was distracted, as though she were listening for something far away.
They left the carriage drive, and descended the steps to Bethesda Terrace. The fountain had been stilled for the evening. Coins lay scattered at the bottom of the basin, dark and perfect circles. The water was so transparent that it seemed an illusion.
The Golem looked up at the winged statue. “She’s beautiful. Who is she?”
“She’s called the Angel of the Waters,” the Jinni said, recalling that first conversation with Sophia. How long had it been since he’d seen her last? He remembered the locked door, the draped furniture, and felt a vague unease.
The Golem said, “I read about angels, once. In one of the Rabbi’s books.” She glanced at him. “You don’t believe in them, I suppose.”
“No, I don’t,” he said. He thought she might be waiting for him to return the question; but he didn’t want to talk about angels, or gods, or whatever else the humans had invented that week. The park was too calm, too hushed, for an argument. He thought again of bringing up the tin ceiling but could see no graceful way to do it. She’d think he was a child, hunting for praise.
For a while they sat against the basin’s rim—the Jinni ever mindful of the water behind him—and watched the lake as it lapped against the terrace. The night had grown heavy with fog, and it set his skin prickling. The Golem was a cool and solid presence at his side. Her head was tilted upward; she was looking at the sky. Even this far into the park, the city’s lights illuminated the haze of clouds, giving them depth and texture.
“I wish my life could always be like this,” the Golem said. “Calm. Peaceful.” She closed her eyes, and again it seemed she was listening for something.
“You should come here on one of your Saturdays,” he said. “It’s different here, during the day.”
“I couldn’t come alone,” she said absently.
He wanted to protest this, but then he recalled how noticeable Sophia had been, a solitary woman by the fountain. The Golem didn’t have Sophia’s beauty, but she drew the eye nonetheless. Perhaps a chaperone wasn’t the worst idea. “What about that friend of yours, Michael? You could bring him.”
She opened her eyes, gave him an odd look. “I’d rather not.”
“Why, have you quarreled?”
“No, not as such. I haven’t seen him since we went to Brooklyn. But he might . . . misconstrue the invitation.”
He frowned, not understanding, but then remembered what he’d forgotten: this friend wanted more from her, and it made her uneasy. “It would be an afternoon in a park, not a lifelong mating.”
She winced at this. “He’s a good man. I wouldn’t want to lead him on. ”
“So you’ll avoid him for the rest of his life, to keep him from getting the wrong impression.”
“You don’t understand,” she grumbled. “He has desires for me. And they’re very loud.”
“And you have no romantic feelings for him at all?”
“I don’t think so. It’s hard to tell.”
He snorted. “Maybe you should lie with him. It might clarify things.”
She jerked as though he’d slapped her. “I would never!”
“Never? You mean with him, or with anyone?”
She turned away. “I don’t know. It’s difficult to think about.”
It was a clear signal, but he decided to ignore it. “It should be easy. They’re the ones who complicate it beyond reason.”
“Of course you would say so! And I suppose I should follow your example, and take all the pleasures I can!”
“Why not, when there’s no harm done?”
“By which you mean that you aren’t harmed, and that’s what matters!” She’d rounded on him, full of ire. “You go here and there leaving God knows what in your wake, and then you think less of them for worrying about the consequences. Meanwhile, I have to hear every I wish I hadn’t and what’ll I do now! It’s selfish and careless, and inexcusable!”
Her startling anger seemed to have run its course. Frowning, she turned away in stony silence.
After a moment he said, “Chava, have I done something I don’t know about? Did I harm someone?”
“Not as far as I know,” she muttered. “But your life affects others, and you don’t seem to realize it.” She looked down to her hands, tangled in her lap. “Perhaps it’s unfair to wish otherwise. We’re our natures, you and I.”
Her words hurt, more than he’d have thought. He wanted to defend himself—but then, maybe she was right, maybe he was selfish and careless. And he was right as well, to think her prudish and overcautious. Both of them had their reasons, as well as their natures. He looked out over the lake, which lay dark and still, somehow unruffled by their argument.
“We can’t seem to talk without fighting.” Her words were uncomfortably close to the drift of his mind; he wondered, sometimes, if he was as opaque to her as she thought. “It’s strange that we can be friends. I hope that you do consider me a friend, and not a burden. I don’t want these walks to be something you dread.” She glanced at him quickly, as if embarrassed. “It feels strange, not knowing. Were you anyone else, I wouldn’t have to ask.”
It took him a moment to respond, and he had to dare himself to match her honesty. “I look forward to walking with you. I think I even look forward to the arguments. You understand what my life is like, even when we disagree. Arbeely tries, but he can’t see it the way you can.” He smiled. “So yes, I consider you a friend. And I would miss this, if we stopped.”
She returned the smile, a bit sadly. “So would I.”
“Enough of this,” he said. “Are we seeing the park, or aren’t we?”
She chuckled. “Lead on.”
They left the terrace and walked up the steps to the Mall. The thickening fog had wiped the world away, leaving only the broad, elm-lined path and a misty horizon. Next to him, the Golem seemed like a manifestation of the landscape. “This place makes me feel strange,” she murmured.
“Strange, how?”
“I’m not sure.” Her hands came up, as if feeling for the words in the air. “Like I want to run and run, and never stop.”
He smiled. “Is that so strange?”
“It is to me. I’ve never run before.”
“What, never?”
“Never.”
“Then you should give it a try.”
She paused, as if considering—and then she leapt from his side. Her legs stretched behind her, her cloak flowed outward like a wing; and for a long moment her body was a dark shape flying away from him at incredible speed.
He stood, stunned, watching; and then he grinned and took off after her, shoes pounding the slate, the trees blurring to either side. Was he gaining on her? He couldn’t tell, she’d disappeared; she’d run from him so quickly!
A copse of trees loomed up out of the fog: it was the end of the Mall. He slowed, came to a stop, looked around. Where was she? “Chava?”
“Come see!”
She was in the middle of the copse, crouching low over something. He stepped across the low fence, and sank up to his ankles in cold mud. Cringing, he picked his way over to her. “Look,” she said.
A thick shoot had poked its way through the mud. At its crown was a knot of petals, tightly furled. He looked around, and saw smaller shoots scattered here and there: the first flowers of spring. “You could see this from the path?”
She shook her head. “I knew it was here. The ground is waking.” He watched as she pressed her hand into the mud. Her hand vanished, then her wrist. For a wild moment he thought she might sink in entirely. He wanted to pull her away, to keep her from disappearing. But then she sat back, and gazed down at the mess of her skirt and shoes, her mud-spattered cloak. “Oh, look what I’ve done,” she murmured. She stood up, becoming again her brisk and businesslike self. “What time is it?”
Together they made their way back to solid ground. His shoes were ruined; he took them off and thumped them on a tree. Next to him, the Golem tried to brush the mud from her cloak. They glanced at each other, smiled quickly and looked away, like children who’d been caught at something.
They took the carriage road south again, and soon they were through the gates and back in the world of granite and concrete. The farther they got from the park, the more the Golem seemed to lose her strange energy. She frowned at her muddy boots, and muttered that she’d have to wash out her cloak. By the time they reached Broadway, she seemed as likely to run for sheer pleasure as to sprout wings and fly. In fact, it was he who was still held by an unreal daze. The familiar streets seemed full of new details: the scrollwork on the lampposts, the carved ornaments above the doorways. He felt as though something inside him was about to break open, or fall apart.
In what seemed no time at all they were in the alley beside her boardinghouse. “We’ll go back again, when it’s warmer,” he said.
She smiled. “I’d like that. Thank you.” She took his hand and squeezed it tightly, her cool fingers around his. And then as always she was gone, and he was left to walk home alone, through streets still hung with morning mist.