that."
"You and I must be practical, dear. We must start with pants."
Braslava returned the Magyar's goat and then moved in with Anja. She made the golem pants. Up to this point she had not touched the creature. But it did not know how to pull the pants on. So Anja held the pants while Braslava lifted one of the golem's legs, and then the other. Braslava felt first-hand the suppleness of the clay skin and the surprising fact that the legs and the spot on the golem's back where she'd braced herself were warm.
For two days the thing ran about in sackcloth. But it did not improve the situation. The golem ceased its visits to Braslava's house and now appeared at Anja's. On the third day it came home from its thieving with nothing but shreds of cloth hanging about its loins.
Braslava made it another pair, and then another. They abandoned sackcloth then and tried leather, which was not inexpensive. They dressed it together and fastened the pants with a sturdy belt. They stepped back to examine their work, the clay dusting their hands. The golem stood before them, handsome in its way, looking like a red barbarian.
A slip of pride flittered through Braslava's mind: perhaps men did not have eyes for her, but it was possible this holy thing did. She wondered how she might determine the truth of it.
Such a thought, she realized, and immediately squashed it.
The next day the creature returned with a teacup that had tiny red flowers painted on the side. The leather pants and belt were gone.
Anja threw up her hands. "This one is like Adam before he ate the fruit." She sighed and looked up. "You could help," she said, apparently addressing the Lord himself.
This could not continue. Braslava was not made of gold. Anja had even less.
Braslava took the teacup and shooed the golem away. A part of her felt sorry for the creature. But then holy things were probably made to withstand continual rejection.
Anja clapped her hands. "Of course, it
is
like Adam. And that is precisely what we shall tell them: this thing was created to be naked and unashamed."
"That does not help me," said Braslava. "We must fetch the Rabbi from Zagreb."
"What will he do that the Priest from Draga cannot?"
"Since when has a priest known how to deal with a golem?"
"Who is going to go with the mountains between here and Zagreb full of bears and Turks?" asked Anja.
"We must do something."
"You don't have to do anything," a man said.
Both women turned.
Mislav stood in the yard, his beard tucked into his tunic. "The Ban's men are in the vale; I saw them cross the ridge only minutes ago."
"The Lord be blessed," said Anja.
But Braslava felt a small pang of loss. Of course, it was ridiculous. It was wrong. It was an evil thought. And she would not be an unstable woman.
The Ban's men rode in on horses slick with exertion, their sides lathered in sweat. A four-horse team drew a sturdy wagon with a cage bolted to its bed. The wagon clattered and rumbled down the rutted road and rolled to a stop by the well. A number of the villagers had gathered.
The soldiers wore padded, surcoats of blue and carried shields with the gold fleur-de-lys and blue field of the Croatian Ban. The captain of this crew addressed the villagers. "Where is the Byzantine priest?"
Mislav stepped forward. "I am here, Captain."
"Bring us the golem and the witch."
Mislav bowed. "There is no witch, sir. But I can lead you to the golem."
"My orders, you heretic, are for a golem and a witch."
Mislav bowed even lower. "I cannot deliver what does not exist."
The captain's eyebrows rose in annoyance. He picked up his riding crop and urged his horse forward.
Mislav was going to get whipped by that crop in the face.
Nobody moved.
Braslava wondered, what were they doing? Protecting her? She opened her mouth to speak. But Anja grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her back.
"You want a witch?" Anja asked. "I'll be your witch."
"No," Braslava said.
Anja strode up to the captain boldly. "My
"You and I must be practical, dear. We must start with pants."
Braslava returned the Magyar's goat and then moved in with Anja. She made the golem pants. Up to this point she had not touched the creature. But it did not know how to pull the pants on. So Anja held the pants while Braslava lifted one of the golem's legs, and then the other. Braslava felt first-hand the suppleness of the clay skin and the surprising fact that the legs and the spot on the golem's back where she'd braced herself were warm.
For two days the thing ran about in sackcloth. But it did not improve the situation. The golem ceased its visits to Braslava's house and now appeared at Anja's. On the third day it came home from its thieving with nothing but shreds of cloth hanging about its loins.
Braslava made it another pair, and then another. They abandoned sackcloth then and tried leather, which was not inexpensive. They dressed it together and fastened the pants with a sturdy belt. They stepped back to examine their work, the clay dusting their hands. The golem stood before them, handsome in its way, looking like a red barbarian.
A slip of pride flittered through Braslava's mind: perhaps men did not have eyes for her, but it was possible this holy thing did. She wondered how she might determine the truth of it.
Such a thought, she realized, and immediately squashed it.
The next day the creature returned with a teacup that had tiny red flowers painted on the side. The leather pants and belt were gone.
Anja threw up her hands. "This one is like Adam before he ate the fruit." She sighed and looked up. "You could help," she said, apparently addressing the Lord himself.
This could not continue. Braslava was not made of gold. Anja had even less.
Braslava took the teacup and shooed the golem away. A part of her felt sorry for the creature. But then holy things were probably made to withstand continual rejection.
Anja clapped her hands. "Of course, it
is
like Adam. And that is precisely what we shall tell them: this thing was created to be naked and unashamed."
"That does not help me," said Braslava. "We must fetch the Rabbi from Zagreb."
"What will he do that the Priest from Draga cannot?"
"Since when has a priest known how to deal with a golem?"
"Who is going to go with the mountains between here and Zagreb full of bears and Turks?" asked Anja.
"We must do something."
"You don't have to do anything," a man said.
Both women turned.
Mislav stood in the yard, his beard tucked into his tunic. "The Ban's men are in the vale; I saw them cross the ridge only minutes ago."
"The Lord be blessed," said Anja.
But Braslava felt a small pang of loss. Of course, it was ridiculous. It was wrong. It was an evil thought. And she would not be an unstable woman.
The Ban's men rode in on horses slick with exertion, their sides lathered in sweat. A four-horse team drew a sturdy wagon with a cage bolted to its bed. The wagon clattered and rumbled down the rutted road and rolled to a stop by the well. A number of the villagers had gathered.
The soldiers wore padded, surcoats of blue and carried shields with the gold fleur-de-lys and blue field of the Croatian Ban. The captain of this crew addressed the villagers. "Where is the Byzantine priest?"
Mislav stepped forward. "I am here, Captain."
"Bring us the golem and the witch."
Mislav bowed. "There is no witch, sir. But I can lead you to the golem."
"My orders, you heretic, are for a golem and a witch."
Mislav bowed even lower. "I cannot deliver what does not exist."
The captain's eyebrows rose in annoyance. He picked up his riding crop and urged his horse forward.
Mislav was going to get whipped by that crop in the face.
Nobody moved.
Braslava wondered, what were they doing? Protecting her? She opened her mouth to speak. But Anja grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her back.
"You want a witch?" Anja asked. "I'll be your witch."
"No," Braslava said.
Anja strode up to the captain boldly. "My
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