The Last Demon by Isaac Bashevis Singer Page A

saw a man dressed in a skunk’s coat. He had a black beard and wavy sidelocks; an amber cigar holder was clamped between his lips. Across the street from him an official’s wife was walking, so it occurs to me to say, “That’s quite a bargain, don’t you think, Uncle?” All I expected from him was a thought. I had my handkerchief ready if he should spit on me. So what does the man do? “Why waste your breath on me?” he calls out angrily. “I’m willing. Start working on her.” ’
    ‘What sort of a misfortune is this?’
    ‘Enlightenment! In the two hundred years you’ve been sitting on your tail here, Satan has cooked up a new dish of kasha. The Jews have now developed writers. Yiddish ones, Hebrew ones, and they have taken over our trade. We grow hoarse talking to every adolescent, but they print their kitsch by the thousands and distribute it to Jews everywhere. They know all our
tricks – mockery, piety. They have a hundred reasons why a rat must be kosher. All that they want to do is to redeem the world. Why, if you could corrupt nothing, have you been left here for two hundred years? And if you could do nothing in two hundred years, what do they expect from me in two weeks?’
    ‘You know the proverb, “A guest for a while sees a mile.” ’
    ‘What’s there to see?’
    ‘A young rabbi has moved here from Modly Bozyc. He’s not yet thirty, but he’s absolutely stuffed with knowledge, knows the thirty-six tractates of the Talmud by heart. He’s the greatest Cabalist in Poland, fasts every Monday and Thursday, and bathes in the ritual bath when the water is ice cold. He won’t permit any of us to talk to him. What’s more he has a handsome wife, and that’s bread in the basket. What do we have to tempt him with? You might as well try to break through an iron wall. If I were asked my opinion, I’d say that Tishevitz should be removed from our files. All I ask is that you get me out of here before I go mad.’
    ‘No, first I must have a talk with this rabbi. How do you think I should start?’
    ‘You tell me. He’ll start pouring salt on your tail before you open your mouth.’
    ‘I’m from Lublin. I’m not so easily frightened.’
II
    On the way to the rabbi, I ask the imp, ‘What have you tried so far?’
    ‘What haven’t I tried?’ he answers.
    ‘A woman?’
    ‘Won’t look at one.’
    ‘Heresy?’
    ‘He knows all the answers.’
    ‘Money?’
    ‘Doesn’t know what a coin looks like.’
    ‘Reputation?’
    ‘He runs from it.’
    ‘Doesn’t he look backwards?’
    ‘Doesn’t even move his head.’
    ‘He’s got to have some angle.’
    ‘Where’s it hidden?’
    The window of the rabbi’s study is open, and in we fly. There’s the usual paraphernalia around: an ark with the Holy Scroll, bookshelves, a mezuzah in a wooden case. The rabbi, a young man with a blond beard, blue eyes, yellow sidelocks, a high forehead, and a deep widow’s peak sits on the rabbinical chair peering in the Gemara. He’s fully equipped: yarmulka, sash, and fringed garment with each of the fringes braided eight
times. I listen to his skull: pure thoughts! He sways and chants in Hebrew, ‘
Rachel t’unah v’gazezah
,’ and then translates: ‘A woolly sheep fleeced.’
    ‘In Hebrew Rachel is both a sheep and a girl’s name,’ I say.
    ‘So?’
    ‘A sheep has wool and a girl has hair.’
    ‘Therefore?’
    ‘If she’s not androgynous, a girl has pubic hair.’
    ‘Stop babbling and let me study,’ the rabbi says in anger.
    ‘Wait a second,’ I say. ‘Torah won’t get cold. It’s true that Jacob loved Rachel, but when he was given Leah instead, she wasn’t poison. And when Rachel gave him Bilhah as a concubine, what did Leah do to spite her sister? She put Zilpah into his bed.’
    ‘That was before the giving of Torah.’
    ‘What about King David?’
    ‘That happened before the excommunication by Rabbi Gershom.’
    ‘Before or after Rabbi Gershom, a male is a