The Oath Read Online Free PDF

quiet. A whisper: “No, Azriel, no … don’t …” And because he wanted to absorb every word, every sound, he let the moment go by. By the time he had regained his senses, the Angel had already struck. Was she aware of leaving a world which until then had turned around her? Possibly. Azriel does not think so. The last glance cast is still that of a living conscience. The eyes of the dead are empty.
    Azriel and his companion turn back to the waterfront. It is getting late. Empty, the terraces. Dark, the cafés. The buildings along the street are no longer streaked by shafts of light. One last couple embraces one last time before separating; thewoman pushes the gate and disappears, her friend waits a moment before turning to go home. A hobo stares at his empty bottle; his companion sneers. Over there a solitary stroller converses with himself, shaking his head from side to side: he disagrees with his thoughts, his life style, his role in society. He disagrees with his fate.
    And Azriel wonders: Send the boy home? Tell him never to try again? How can one be sure? One should get a good grip on him, make him come to his senses. One should, one should. Have I lived and survived only for this encounter and this challenge? Only to defeat death in this particular case? Could I have been spared in Kolvillàg so I could help a stranger? Were I younger, I would suggest a pact of friendship: Whatever I can do for you, I shall try to do with you. We shall share adventures, face enemies together; we shall learn to rule them without their knowledge, obtain obedience without raising our voices, explore the universe without moving. But I am too old.
    “Listen,” he says. “One day the famous Rebbe Moshe-Leib of Sassov received a visit from his friend, the well-known miracle maker, the ‘Seraphin’ Uri of Strelisk. Finding him sad, dejected, he asked him the reason. True, I am depressed,’ the visitor confessed. ‘For weeks and weeks I have traveled through the land, knocking at every door, imploring every faithful in every hamlet, harassing the rich and reasoning with the less affluent to extract from them a few coins. I need money to marry off orphans, free prisoners, feed homeless children. I don’t know what else I can do, to whom else I can turn. And these poor people waiting; I am their only chance, their only hope. How can I help being distressed?’
    “ ‘I understand you,’ said Moshe-Leib of Sassov, ‘how I understand. It often happens to me. I ache and I feel like howling with helplessness. We are not rich, you and I, we attract only the poor who come to pour out their grief. I would love tohelp you, my friend, I would love to do something for you, only I myself need help … If you only knew how happy I would be if I could lighten your burden … But how?’ Over and over he repeated these last words. And then he began to cry, to meditate. After what seemed an endless time, he shook himself and shouted, struck by sudden inspiration: ‘Uri, my friend, I’ve got it, I’ve found the solution, I know how I can help you, friend! I shall dance for you, my friend, I shall dance for you!’ ”
    Azriel pauses, a smile on his face. “Would you like me to dance for you?” He laughs. “No, don’t take me at my word. I am too old to dance. But I can tell stories. Would you like me to tell you a story?”
    And to himself: Yes, that is the best method; it has been tested and proved. I’ll transmit my experience to him and he, in turn, will be compelled to do the same. He in turn will become a messenger. And once a messenger, he has no alternative. He must stay alive until he has transmitted his message. Azriel himself would not still be alive if his father the chronicler, his friends and his teacher Moshe the Madman had not made him the repository of their tragic and secret truths. By entrusting the Book to him, his father doomed him to survival. So this is the example to follow, Azriel pondered. I shall hold him