death, I gasped in shock though I had been expecting it all along. For agonizing moments he lay there, unmoving, and I thought this time, surely, he will not get up. He will not get up. I tried to accustom myself to the thought. It was unbearable.
But he did rise, and smile, and it was more miraculous than before.
I clapped and clapped, but it was not enough.
Afterward I walked outside and looked at the stars. My cheeks were wet again and I could not understand why I felt so happy and so sad at the same time.
People passed me on the way to their houses, eyes thoughtful and faces slack.
Women balanced babies on their hips in that universal posture. I had seen it a thousand times, but tonight it seemed noble and beautiful.
Little boys, jousting with sticks. Some things were the same everywhere.
I felt a touch on my arm.
You must have liked it very much to see it twice, he said.
Yes, I said.
Here he was. I could not stop looking at him, it was almost unbearable to have him so close, like staring at a very bright light. The blue eyes were calm, quizzical; he worked his eyebrows up and down until I laughed. He looked so young to me, I was accustomed to seeing men with beards. I looked at his jaw, the cords standing out on his neck.
His black hair hung long in his face and around his ears, his features were sharp and pale from the cold. His clothes were still gaudy with blood from the performance.
I like to watch you come back to life, I said.
He smiled.
I could do it again if you like, he said. As many times as you want.
He clutched his heart and collapsed at my feet.
And as he lay there in the snow, spattered with blood, his head tipped back, I saw that he was like the bandit I had met in the woods, years ago, who was perhaps even now lying there buried in the snow with teeth marks on his throat like a ruby necklace.
Hey there, hey now, he said jumping up. Why are you crying now? he said. I’m all right, see?
He took my hands. His were impossibly warm.
I was looking away, trying to shake my hair forward to hide my face. I felt safe in the thicket, it was dark.
He pushed my hair back. The bells tinkled faintly.
He grasped my hands again and held them to his chest. I almost jerked them away in surprise for I could feel his heart thumping so strongly it felt like a bird trapped beneath the cloth of his shirt.
Snow was falling, again. I could see the black forest, beyond the town, creeping subtly closer.
Where are you from? he asked.
I did not know how to answer that.
Have you been in school? he asked.
From the way he asked I thought school was the name of a town. I shook my head.
I tried then to tell him the places I had been. It took a long time. Snow clung to his black hair and gave his jacket white epaulettes. It buried our feet. He waited until I was finished.
I think you have been to school, after all, he said finally. It sounds more difficult than the usual kind.
He took my arm then, and we went to the rooms where the actors were sleeping for the night. It was too cold to remove our clothes and I slept with my head tucked beneath his chin, where he had rested his violin. I could feel his heart beating through his shirt.
The next morning I woke with a start and sat up. I looked at the white vulnerable curve of his neck, his hand cupped beside his face. I did not like to see him with his eyes closed, so still. I touched him and felt the slow thud of his heart and was reassured.
He opened his eyes then, saw my hands pressed against his chest, and he reached up and pressed his against mine. He smiled. Then the actors came shouting and pounding the walls: it was time to leave.
We rode in the back of the last wagon, lurching and jerking from side to side, our legs dangling. He cradled the violin against his belly, plucking tiny tunes from it with his fingers. His hands were as callused as mine, but in different places.
His name was Shmuel.
He asked me where I was headed. I told him about the place
But he did rise, and smile, and it was more miraculous than before.
I clapped and clapped, but it was not enough.
Afterward I walked outside and looked at the stars. My cheeks were wet again and I could not understand why I felt so happy and so sad at the same time.
People passed me on the way to their houses, eyes thoughtful and faces slack.
Women balanced babies on their hips in that universal posture. I had seen it a thousand times, but tonight it seemed noble and beautiful.
Little boys, jousting with sticks. Some things were the same everywhere.
I felt a touch on my arm.
You must have liked it very much to see it twice, he said.
Yes, I said.
Here he was. I could not stop looking at him, it was almost unbearable to have him so close, like staring at a very bright light. The blue eyes were calm, quizzical; he worked his eyebrows up and down until I laughed. He looked so young to me, I was accustomed to seeing men with beards. I looked at his jaw, the cords standing out on his neck.
His black hair hung long in his face and around his ears, his features were sharp and pale from the cold. His clothes were still gaudy with blood from the performance.
I like to watch you come back to life, I said.
He smiled.
I could do it again if you like, he said. As many times as you want.
He clutched his heart and collapsed at my feet.
And as he lay there in the snow, spattered with blood, his head tipped back, I saw that he was like the bandit I had met in the woods, years ago, who was perhaps even now lying there buried in the snow with teeth marks on his throat like a ruby necklace.
Hey there, hey now, he said jumping up. Why are you crying now? he said. I’m all right, see?
He took my hands. His were impossibly warm.
I was looking away, trying to shake my hair forward to hide my face. I felt safe in the thicket, it was dark.
He pushed my hair back. The bells tinkled faintly.
He grasped my hands again and held them to his chest. I almost jerked them away in surprise for I could feel his heart thumping so strongly it felt like a bird trapped beneath the cloth of his shirt.
Snow was falling, again. I could see the black forest, beyond the town, creeping subtly closer.
Where are you from? he asked.
I did not know how to answer that.
Have you been in school? he asked.
From the way he asked I thought school was the name of a town. I shook my head.
I tried then to tell him the places I had been. It took a long time. Snow clung to his black hair and gave his jacket white epaulettes. It buried our feet. He waited until I was finished.
I think you have been to school, after all, he said finally. It sounds more difficult than the usual kind.
He took my arm then, and we went to the rooms where the actors were sleeping for the night. It was too cold to remove our clothes and I slept with my head tucked beneath his chin, where he had rested his violin. I could feel his heart beating through his shirt.
The next morning I woke with a start and sat up. I looked at the white vulnerable curve of his neck, his hand cupped beside his face. I did not like to see him with his eyes closed, so still. I touched him and felt the slow thud of his heart and was reassured.
He opened his eyes then, saw my hands pressed against his chest, and he reached up and pressed his against mine. He smiled. Then the actors came shouting and pounding the walls: it was time to leave.
We rode in the back of the last wagon, lurching and jerking from side to side, our legs dangling. He cradled the violin against his belly, plucking tiny tunes from it with his fingers. His hands were as callused as mine, but in different places.
His name was Shmuel.
He asked me where I was headed. I told him about the place
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