Read Online The Golem and the Jinni by Helene Wecker - Free Book Online
Authors: Helene Wecker
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wasn’t careful, he’d fall to chasing his own mind, trapped in the maddening game of don’t think about that . He’d have to be completely honest and unabashed, and hide nothing. It wouldn’t come easy. But any misplaced courtesy would do her a disservice. The larger world would not be so accommodating.
There would be consequences to his actions, to his sheltering of her: he had known this from the moment he’d recognized her nature and decided not to destroy her. Childless, retired, a widower for close to ten years, Rabbi Avram Meyer had planned for himself a quiet old age and an uneventful death. But the Almighty, it seemed, had planned otherwise.
In a nondescript tenement hallway, Boutros Arbeely opened a door and stepped back to allow his guest admittance. “Here it is. My palace. I know it’s not much, but you’re welcome to stay here until you find a place of your own.”
The Jinni gazed inside with alarm. Arbeely’s “palace” was a tiny, dim room barely large enough for a bed, a miniature armoire, and a half-moon table pushed up against a dingy sink. The wallpaper was pulling away from the wall in thick ripples. The floor, at least, was clean, though this was something of a novelty. In honor of his guest, Arbeely had kicked all his laundry into the armoire and leaned against the door until it shut.
Eyeing the room, the Jinni felt a claustrophobia so strong he could barely bring himself to enter. “Arbeely, this room isn’t fit for two inhabitants. It’s barely fit for one.”
They’d been acquainted for little more than a week, but already Arbeely had realized that if their arrangement was to work, he’d have to curb his irritation at the Jinni’s offhand slights. “What more do I need?” he said. “I spend all my time at the forge. When I’m here, I’m asleep.” Gesturing to the walls, he said, “We could string a sheet across, and bring in a cot. So you don’t have to sleep in the shop anymore.”
The Jinni looked at Arbeely as though he’d suggested something insulting. “But I don’t sleep in the shop.”
“Then where have you been sleeping?”
“Arbeely. I don’t sleep. ”
Arbeely gaped; for he hadn’t realized. Every evening when he left the shop, the Jinni would still be there, learning to work the delicate tinplate. And each morning, on returning, he’d find the Jinni hard at work again. Arbeely kept a pallet in the back room, for the nights when he was too tired to drag himself to his bed; he’d simply assumed that the Jinni was using it. He said, “You don’t sleep? You mean, not at all ?”
“No, and I’m glad of it. Sleep seems like an enormous waste of time.”
“I like sleeping,” Arbeely protested.
“Only because you tire.”
“And you don’t?”
“Not in the way you do.”
“If I didn’t sleep,” Arbeely mused, “I think I’d miss the dreams.” He frowned. “You do know what dreams are, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know what dreams are,” the Jinni said. “I can enter them.”
Arbeely paled. “You can ?”
“It’s a rare ability. Only a few clans of the highest jinn possess it.” Again Arbeely noted that casual, matter-of-fact arrogance. “But I can only do so in my true form. So there’s no need to worry, your dreams are safe from me.”
“Well, even so, you’re more than welcome—”
Irritated, the Jinni cut him off. “Arbeely, I don’t want to live here, awake or asleep. For now, I’ll stay in the shop.”
“But you said—” Arbeely paused, not wanting to go on. I’ll go mad if you keep me caged here for much longer , the Jinni had said, and it had stung. Their plan required that the Jinni be kept out of sight until Arbeely had taught him enough to pass as a new apprentice; but this meant that the Jinni was forced to stay hidden in the back of the shop during the day—a space nearly as small as Arbeely’s bedroom. Arbeely understood that the Jinni chafed at the restriction, but he’d been hurt by the
There would be consequences to his actions, to his sheltering of her: he had known this from the moment he’d recognized her nature and decided not to destroy her. Childless, retired, a widower for close to ten years, Rabbi Avram Meyer had planned for himself a quiet old age and an uneventful death. But the Almighty, it seemed, had planned otherwise.
In a nondescript tenement hallway, Boutros Arbeely opened a door and stepped back to allow his guest admittance. “Here it is. My palace. I know it’s not much, but you’re welcome to stay here until you find a place of your own.”
The Jinni gazed inside with alarm. Arbeely’s “palace” was a tiny, dim room barely large enough for a bed, a miniature armoire, and a half-moon table pushed up against a dingy sink. The wallpaper was pulling away from the wall in thick ripples. The floor, at least, was clean, though this was something of a novelty. In honor of his guest, Arbeely had kicked all his laundry into the armoire and leaned against the door until it shut.
Eyeing the room, the Jinni felt a claustrophobia so strong he could barely bring himself to enter. “Arbeely, this room isn’t fit for two inhabitants. It’s barely fit for one.”
They’d been acquainted for little more than a week, but already Arbeely had realized that if their arrangement was to work, he’d have to curb his irritation at the Jinni’s offhand slights. “What more do I need?” he said. “I spend all my time at the forge. When I’m here, I’m asleep.” Gesturing to the walls, he said, “We could string a sheet across, and bring in a cot. So you don’t have to sleep in the shop anymore.”
The Jinni looked at Arbeely as though he’d suggested something insulting. “But I don’t sleep in the shop.”
“Then where have you been sleeping?”
“Arbeely. I don’t sleep. ”
Arbeely gaped; for he hadn’t realized. Every evening when he left the shop, the Jinni would still be there, learning to work the delicate tinplate. And each morning, on returning, he’d find the Jinni hard at work again. Arbeely kept a pallet in the back room, for the nights when he was too tired to drag himself to his bed; he’d simply assumed that the Jinni was using it. He said, “You don’t sleep? You mean, not at all ?”
“No, and I’m glad of it. Sleep seems like an enormous waste of time.”
“I like sleeping,” Arbeely protested.
“Only because you tire.”
“And you don’t?”
“Not in the way you do.”
“If I didn’t sleep,” Arbeely mused, “I think I’d miss the dreams.” He frowned. “You do know what dreams are, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know what dreams are,” the Jinni said. “I can enter them.”
Arbeely paled. “You can ?”
“It’s a rare ability. Only a few clans of the highest jinn possess it.” Again Arbeely noted that casual, matter-of-fact arrogance. “But I can only do so in my true form. So there’s no need to worry, your dreams are safe from me.”
“Well, even so, you’re more than welcome—”
Irritated, the Jinni cut him off. “Arbeely, I don’t want to live here, awake or asleep. For now, I’ll stay in the shop.”
“But you said—” Arbeely paused, not wanting to go on. I’ll go mad if you keep me caged here for much longer , the Jinni had said, and it had stung. Their plan required that the Jinni be kept out of sight until Arbeely had taught him enough to pass as a new apprentice; but this meant that the Jinni was forced to stay hidden in the back of the shop during the day—a space nearly as small as Arbeely’s bedroom. Arbeely understood that the Jinni chafed at the restriction, but he’d been hurt by the
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