The Golem’s Run

It was the furthest north they had ever been. Far from the Josefov Ghetto of Prague where a golem could receive the daily blessing from a rabbi  required to sustain the soundness of the materials and ethos which makes up his body. Sela, who had no such benediction for three days, started to notice the crumbling of his toes and cracking on his ears.

“There.” Barzel pointed to a gloomy silhouette of a lowhung roof under which faint yellow reluctantly shone through the windows. She wrapped her hand around Sela’s thick fingers and led him up the path to the building where, once they entered, were immediately assailed by the scent of rancid beer and slumbering depravity. The tavern keeper was the only person heeded their presence.

Barzel order a stein of pilsner for Sela and advised him to remain in the dimmest corner under the shadow of his tattered tricorn while she tiptoed past the inebriated throng who slackened in their chairs with a few garrulous ones babbling nonsense onto no particular audience.

The one she sought was conveniently soused at the end of the bar, eyes closed, head tilted back against the sooted wall, and hand cradling a half empty mug.

Brazel straightened her collar, tidied her bang, settled next to the drunkard with her back to the rest of the bar and announced herself.

“Sir.  My name is Brazel. My brother Sela and I wish to engage in your service.”

Awoken from his stupor, the man wiped slobber off his beard, leered at Barzel through barely open slits, and sneered. “Sorry slečna - don't work for no Jews.”

“Perhaps this may prevail upon some reconsideration?”

She opened her palm and observed the flickering reflection of a gold coin dancing the waxing pupils of waning inebriation.

“Is it … a Florin?”

“More precisely, my dear sir, one of the two golden Florins coins which will be gingling the tune of Saint John the Baptist in your vest pocket by the morning if you so choose to execute such a banal task as to provide me and my brother with transit across the Vltava river.”

The man surveyed the room and found the stout figure of Sela in the dark corner under his large hat and ill-fitting frock coat. 

“That thing there ain't no brother of yours!” The man crackled. “ Plainly a concoction of river scum and hasidic conjuring he is. Am I correct to surmise that this has much ado about that defenestration two evenings before last? Done by a golem they said it was. And those grenadier goons from the Lord Regent’s office kicking down doors in torchlights since then seeking to apprehend the culprit?  There is even the rumor of  a  reward on your heads.” 

The man then fixed his gaze on the glowing coin and grinned. “Well, fret not, slečna. Us protestant hoi pollois are all secretly applauding the deed of throwing those corrupt popish Lord Regents out of windows of Prague Tower- quite a proud Bohemian tradition defenestration is, no? Fine, fine, we have business then. We should meet in the morning under the wall of Staroměstská Castle where I will ferry you to the north bank.”

He tried to lift the mug to drain the rest of the beer but found his wrist held firmly on the bar under Barzel’s slender fingers.

“Sir, scores of ferrymen cross the Vltava during the daylight whose service can be had for pittens. In that case we have no need for your particular aptitude and could spare the two Florins to procure a nice turnip farm in Libenznice.”

Barzel was referring to the raging Vltava River which curves sharply eastward just north of Prague, creating a severe loop which spawn ferocious eddies and vortices, shattering watercrafts and trapping the drowned.  Few boatmen dared to cross during daylight, and almost none at night - except for the bigoted sot sitting in front of Barzel, who was known as the best ferrier in Prague who knew each shoal and maelstrom like the cracks and stains on his old mug.

“Joshing, slečna, just joshing. Of course I grasp it’s now you want - a nocturnal trespass to avoid the Lord Regency’s rabid minions and the prying eyes of reward seekers - must earn my keep mustn’t I?” 

Barzel let go and the boatman rubbed his smarting wrist while glancing at Sela’s motionless wide shoulders. “If your … um, brother … has had his fill with libation, we best get a move on then.”

The trio exited the tavern and trudged through the thinly forested riverbank where the dampened earth released peaty redolence of decaying vegetation with each of their steps. Barzel peered into the woods as if looking for something in the faint illumination of an unenthusiastic gibbous. 

Upon reaching the river’s edge the boatman untied his skiff, pushed it on to the water, and instructed Sela to climb in forward while he and Brazel stayed aft to counter his weight . The golem scaled the gunwale with sluggish rigidity.

“Judging from his lethargy I reckon the thing ain’t been getting his daily blessing from his rabbi? Did the good teacher of the five books of Moses intend to cast him aside like a tattered ragdoll after his usefulness was done for?” The ferryman asked while pushing off.

“You are correct sir. My father constructed Sela solely for the purpose of performing the defenestration, after which he was to be allowed to expire and be disposed of.” 

Maneuvering between the sedimentary knolls with his long oars, the boatman continued with his inquiries. “So what aberration transpired on the forging of him then?” 

“My father, having not erected a golem for sometime, erred in the formulation and gave Sela a conscience.”

Tsk tsk noises came from the boatman’s shaking head.

“Realizing his task was to kill by defenestration, he cried nonstop for days - unable to disobey the rabbinical command for the purpose of his creation and yet unwilling to commit murder.”

“Let me venture a guess - he wept like a babe until you devised a solution to his conundrum.”

“Indeed I have. His injunction dictated pitching specific Lord Regents out of the window of the Prague Tower without specifying killing. I arranged it so the task is fulfilled without loss of life.”

“So you are the sharp one who orchestrated the heap of human manure compiled below the Prague Tower, into which the Regents plunged after they were launched from the window, and walked away merely in severe need of scrubbing and new wardrobes?

 Smirking, Barzel nodded.

“Bravo slečna! For your trouble people have not stopped laughing for the past three days with the story of frightened Lords scarpering home covered in excrement. Haven't seen this much joy since the last pope croaked,  and all this achieved by a two-Florin golem.”

“Actually, it was five Florin coins my father received from Count Jindrijh of Thurn, the protestant nobleman who was dispossessed of Karlstejn Castle by decree of the Lord Regents. Jindrijh requested the  composition of  Sela to avenge the loss of  his honor and power.  Of the five Florin, one I left for my father - the roof of the synagogue is long overdue for a proper mending. The remaining four I pilfered, of which one I paid the egoutiers - to dispose their entire daily haul of sewage under the Prague Tower to good effect, the additional two will be yours - as we agreed, and the remainder we gave to the captain of the Prague Castle guards.”

The boatman was perplexed. 

Sela’s gruff voice emanated from the front of the vessel.“I do empathize with your befuddlement as to why a bribe was passed into the hand of the soldier whose master was the subject of our assassination attempt.” 

Sela elaborated on the course of the events which led to such an arrangement, recalling that on the day of the planned execution, the Prague Castle guards scattered as soon as they witnessed Sela marching through the front gate, realizing a raid by a golem was afoot.  Only one nimble-minded  guardsman jumped onto Sela’s back, looped a satchel of gunpowder around his neck, and tried to ignite it with a match.

Flicking the match away, Sela hoisted the soldier up by his collar and asked for his name, then tied him to a column with his own bandelier.  The golem then proceeded up the tower and kicked in the door to the chancellery office unimpeded. 

Philip Fabricius, the secretary to the Regents, was the first out of the window after shattering the blade of his saber on Sela’s chest.

Then Count Vilem Slavata went, after firing both of his pistols at Sela to no effect. 

The last target, Count Jaroslav Borita, already knew the two previous defenestratees survived the falls from their angry clamor arising from below the tower, did not put up muh a s resistance. 

Dangling him by his belt just outside of the window, Sela counseled the nobleman, “All your soldiers dispersed as soon as they saw me, except for Svejk who was quick witted and brave enough to try to stop me with a gunpowder explosion. If I were you I would marry him my daughter or make him the captain of the guards.” Then he let the count go.

The ferryman, listening attentively while working his oar, asked, “So, Captain Svejk owes his new position to your obliging words. But to what end does he deserve further beneficence of a golden Florin?”

“Realizing he was promoted upon Sela’s recommendation, he was kind enough to hide us in his stable for the past two days. As for the coin, it was offered to him to ensure our safe conduct across the Vltava. At this moment, the good captain is standing amongst the trees by the riverbank with a crossbow, overseeing our trespass. Our safe landing on the opposite bank would conclude our arrangement with the captain. Any deviation from the expected course of events would require the captain to resort to his armament.”

“By installing the tip of an arrow in my skull you mean.” The oarsman laughed.  “Have no fear slečna, for I am a businessman with a reputation to safeguard. It would ill-behooves my notoriety were things untoward befell my customers. So what plans have you once you reach the opposite shore? Do you in truth fancy that turnip farm in Libenznice? ”

“Actually we are continuing onto Mělník to find my uncle, who is also a rabbi, and ask him to bless Sela. “

“Mělník you say? Isn’t that a 20 mile trek? Can the golem make it? He could hardly climb into the boat earlier.”

“Fatigue he is indeed. But he was built robustly and I am certain he could endure.”

“Chiseled out of rock he was, wasn't he? Instead of the usual river mud they craft them other golems with. That’s why he is so sturdy. Sela means rock in Hebrew - yeah I know the lingo and there is no need to be nonplussed - let you in on a secret slečna - my babichka was a zadi herself - and she taught me the idioms. We shrouded jews are burdened with the need to be more bellicose toward our own kind due to a sense of insecurity. So, is it your intention then to remain with your amenable uncle?”

“Yes. I intend to study with my uncle and become a rabbi which my father has forbidden me to do, despite the fact that I have been writing all his sabbatical sermons for the past seven years.”

• “Hmm, a woman rabbi.” Mused the ferryman while deftly manipulating the oars as they entered the turbulent water near the north bank. “I suppose there ain’t nothing in talmudic liturgy forbidding such a notion, don’t see why not - truth be told, I believe you will make a right good one, slečna.”

With graceful efficiency the boatman negotiated the rapids and eventually the soft scrapping in the bottom of the hull over the shallow bank announced their arrival. 

Sela held the side of the vessel to jump off, breaking his pinky in the process. The golem mumbled some grievance under his breath, fished his digit out of the water and put it in his coat pocket. 

Brazel presented the two Florin as agreed, but the ferryman took only one.

“Keep the other gold piece and hire an oxcart to carry you to Mělník. I don't reckon he is going to make it on foot. In exchange I have a miniscule request.” He pulled out a pencil and a notebook and handed them to Barzel. “A note of introduction to the good Captain Svejk, for I reckon I have profitable enterprise with him.”

“Doing business with a Catholic?”

Leaning on his oar the man smirked. “There will be war comin’, a right vicious one just you wait and see. You plonked Catholic Regents into dung piles, ergo insulting the Holy Roman Emperor and the pontiff.  Some grand strategist types in Vienna and Rome will come to the conclusion that such an affront, if unpunished, will lead to the crumbling of their authorities, and judge it’s necessary to send  tens of thousands into the battlefield. By the same token, them Protestant lots in Stockholm, Copenhagen, and London would arrive at the deduction that such a belligerent apostolic mobilization should be responded to by fielding just as many men.” 

Slipping his gold coin into vest pocket he continued. “So in wars they need conveyance - ferries, to move their soldiers, cannons, provisions, and the generals’ fancy ladies, up, down, and across the river. And who would be in the position to rack in coins from such a fool's errand?  The best ferrier in Prague, that's who, provided I have a mate amidst the military lots such as the captain of the guards. So if the good captain is a pragmatist who can pocket a gold coin to provide protection for the ones who hurled his superior into the muck, I assume some mutually beneficial cooperation may be in the offing.”

With an elegant calligraphic hand Barzel jotted down the note, returned the notebook, jumped into the shallow water of the Vltava, and helped Sela onto shore.

“ Ahoj slečna, Ahoj golem. Best of luck to you … Wait!” The boatman paused in the midst of pushing off. “Just came to me this - Brazel means iron in Hebrew, are you …?”

Barzel turned back and smiled. “Yes, made of iron, before the compulsory expiration ordinance. The man I called my father is actually the great grandson of my creator.”

The ferryman chuckled and started rowing back toward Prague while shouting, “There ain’t no rule against golems becoming a rabbi either in the Torah.”

Holding Sela's shoulder with one arm, Brazel waved without looking back.

Pulling on the oar, the ferryman uttered to himself, “Daft of me. Naturally she would have known that already.”