The Book of the Unknown: Tales of the Thirty-six Read Online Free PDF Page A

wife in sight, surrounded by sacks such as those she’d seen ragpickers carry. She asked if he was a beggar.
    — You can’t help me.
    — Who says I’m offering? I have troubles of my own. What’s in the sacks?
    — The weight of my misfortune.
    Chaya was a strong girl, given her slight build. She tried to lift a bag. She strained. She swore. She couldn’t budge it. So she looked inside, and was blinded.
    While sight seeped back into Chaya’s eyes, she reached into the sack and scooped out a palmful of coins. They were unlike any she’d ever seen, even the ancient and arcane denominations in the synagogue coffers. She could not decipher the inscriptions on them, nor could she identify the species of beast adorning the face of each. Curiouser, though, was the substance, as soft and sticky as honey.
    As the bullion warmed in her palm and trickled through her fingers, she marveled at the purity of the metal.
    — It’s twenty-five-karat gold. That’s what I get for selling my soul.
    — Then you, too, visited the dybbuk last night?
    — Last night? I was there a decade ago. It’s taken ten years just to haul my hoard this far into the forest.
    — Why don’t you leave it, if it’s only a hindrance?
    — Without my soul, this burden is all I’ve got. The burden of my greed. And what did you take in exchange for your soul?
    — I didn’t sell.
    — Then you’re a very fortunate girl. All through these woods, you’ll come across folks who bartered theirs.
    — Are they hard to find? Do you know them well?
    — What do I have to share with other people? We keep to ourselves.
    Chaya soon found that the man had spoken truly. She saw many folks, always alone, some up in trees, others huddled on the ground. They shied like untame animals as she passed. She paused to gaze at a woman crouched in a bush. The girl wore nothing but dust and shadows. Blackberry brambles grew in her hair. Yet, even at a distance, Chaya could see that the girl’s softness would be the envy of a princess, and that her ripe lips could seduce a king. Chaya remarked that the girl was more beautiful than any she’d ever met, and felt tingling inadequacy in her own flesh. Glancing back at Chaya, the girl began to weep.
    — What’s the matter?
    — You can’t help me.
    — I met a man who sold his soul for gold too heavy to carry. But what could be the burden of beauty?
    — You’ve no idea. Before I went to that cursed dybbuk, I was an old hag. I lived by a lake, and I’d spit at my ugliness every day when I knelt to drink. Sometimes at dusk, peasant girls would come to bathe. They’d splash and play, and I’d imagine what a happy life I’d lead if I were pretty. That demon didn’t just snatch my soul, you see. When he gave me this flesh, he took away my dreams.
    — But you could go to town and marry any man you wished.
    — Marry? I’m a hundred years old, girlie.
    Slowly she stood. Her back was bent, her legs bowed. She clamped a hand on Chaya’s arm, brittle bones quivering in their new skin.
    — Do you still think I’m such a beauty? When the dybbuk took my soul, he left an emptiness. The ugliness festers there, where I can’t even spit on it.
    Chaya shuddered. She pulled away and hurried home, horrified by the miseries that Alef must be suffering as his soul-lessness sank in. She steadied herself as she neared their hovel. Whatever his condition, she vowed not to put him down: Irredeemably foolish as he’d been in his diabolical dealings, she would not call him a fool again. She opened the door. And found him humming to himself, cooking up a bouillabaisse.
    Was Alef so stupid as not to be afflicted? Was he so smart? Chaya was befuddled, and more so by the bouillabaisse, which wasn’t even native to their region. She asked if he knew what he was doing. He shrugged and made her sushi.
    He did not inquire where she’d been all night long. After supper, he simply brought her to bed and showed her how much he’d missed her. What