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

could be said? In the essential respects, she had to confess, Alef was the same.
    Only the implications were different. Instead of giving up one fish, or even a dozen, Alef handed out a hundred. He was equally free with his advice. He showed carpenters how to frame their houses taller, farmers how to plow their fields deeper, and millers how to motorize their operations, a plan that had to be scuttled for want of electricity. Day after day, Chaya watched her husband cure diseases and adjudicate disputes.
    It was harder for her than when he’d been the town laughingstock. Everything he knew taught her all that she did not. And what was the benefit? In the corner of the hovel, stewing like a bouillabaisse, she’d watch him dole out fish by the bucket while giving away ideas that made other folks’ fortunes: An anesthetic. Movable type. An assembly line. By evening her vow would be broken in all but name, as she berated Alef for stupidly helping strangers fleece him while he neglected his own devoted wife. To these complaints he’d respond not with words but with pearls, which he’d string together with kisses until all was well.
    At last a rich merchant from the city, who’d heard rumors of Alef’s genius, paid him a visit, and begged his expertise: The merchant wanted to know how to transmute lead into gold. As the fisherman began to answer, Chaya sprang from her chair, and, screaming obscenities that would turn platinum into iron, chased the knave out the door. She stared at her husband, eyes ablaze. You are a fool, she hissed.
    Alef nodded. A smile enveloped his face.
    — For a long time, I didn’t know, Chaya. You asked me every day, and I couldn’t tell you until finally I went to the dybbuk to find out.
    — You didn’t have to do that.
    — I did, though. It’s no simple question, like how to create gold. To comprehend what I don’t understand depends on knowing all there is to know.
    — Alef, that’s nonsense.
    — To discover the leak in a bucket, you have to fill it, Chaya. At first I thought that the dybbuk had misunderstood my wish, but the more wisdom I dispense, the more I find what my head never held.
    — And you aren’t tormented by that?
    — A fool is never tormented. Torment isn’t about what you don’t know. It’s about what you have and can’t give.
    After that, Chaya no longer interfered with Alef’s generosity. Instead, she tried to emulate it. She found that giving was an effort, that, even with her impressive intellect, she couldn’t do as well as Alef did in his simplicity. She envied his foolishness. All night long she clung to him as her sole source of meaning.
    And in the morning she’d go out into the forest to tend to the soulless. She’d bring them fish, which she taught them how to cook into a bouillabaisse. She’d tell them that they didn’t have to be tortured. She’d patiently explain that the torment they felt, they inflicted on themselves. They consumed her fish, but rejected her logic. They said that to believe the soul was insignificant, she must surely have lost her sense.
     
    One day, after Chaya had given away every fish in her basket, she found herself near where the dybbuk lived. She decided to visit.
    She stepped onto his deck, which seeped through her toes in the afternoon heat. She called out the demon’s name. He opened his door a crack, squinting into the sun, trying to ascertain whether the heavens were in flames. Then he saw, standing on his stoop, hands on hips as if she were a neighbor, little Chaya.
    — Don’t you see that it’s the middle of the day? I’m a creature of the night. What do you have in the basket?
    — It’s empty. There were fish in it.
    — I’ve never tasted fish. You can’t imagine what it’s like having a mouth but no appetite.
    Chaya looked at the demon under the bright sun. His black hide shimmered with sweat, but his mouth was a void that trapped even light. His was a deeper hunger.
    — Do you still want my soul?