Another Me (9 page)

T
he winter fair was always important to my father. It was the time when he purchased a great deal of our merchandise from drapers who came from as far away as Toledo in the Iberian Peninsula. It was also the time when he sold the visiting merchants a lot of our own goods. I was always pleased when Papa asked me to help him in the tent we set up on the fairground next to the River Ill. He also asked Natan to help him.

After a few hours of work had passed, Papa told me to take a break. He rubbed his stomach. “Delicacies from all over the world can be had for a few coins at the fair.”

“I don't care about the food. I want to see the stilt walkers and the fools.”

“I'll come with you,” Natan said.

He glanced at Papa, afraid that he would stop him. Fortunately, my father was in a jovial mood.

“Go, go!” he said. “You're young only once.”

Natan and I wrapped ourselves in our cloaks against the wintry breeze from the river. We had walked but a few steps when a minstrel began to follow us, strumming his lute and singing a melancholy tune:

Natan began to smile and strut. I looked around quickly. Did I want the other fairgoers to think I was Hans's beloved? They didn't know he was really Natan in Hans's skin.

We strolled about, admiring the skill of the tumblers. We had just passed the money changer's booth when Natan stepped very close to me. I could see by the desire in his eyes that he was about to kiss me. The cold rays of the winter sun highlighted every mark on his pallid skin. As I searched my mind for a way to cool his ardor, I noticed a bear on a chain in the distance.

“Look!” I pointed. “Let's see the bear dance.”

Had it not been so sad to see Natan's face fall, I might have laughed at the sight.

“Play your fiddle,” I told the animal trainer when we drew near. “I want to see what your bear can do.”

The shaggy-haired ruffian coaxed a lively tune out of his dilapidated instrument, and the bear began to lumber about. I clapped my hands in false gaiety.

Suddenly, without warning, the bear lowered one of his mighty paws onto my shoulder, ripping my cloak. He opened his great jaws as if to swallow me. His teeth were enormous and his spittle ran down my garments. Natan jumped in front of me and pushed the animal away with all his might before his trainer could shorten the leash.

“Down! Down!” the man cried, pulling on the chain around the bear's neck and forcing it onto all fours.

When the animal was subdued, he turned to me.

“I'm so sorry, mistress!” he pleaded. “I assure you he's never done that before!”

Natan began to berate him, but I pulled him away.

“Are you all right?” he asked with concern.

We had already attracted the attention of several fairgoers.

I nodded, tears streaking my face. “Let's go somewhere where I can compose myself.”

“Come with me,” he said, leading me toward the riverbank.

In the February cold, we were the only visitors on the banks of the river. We walked along the path by the frozen water until we came to some bulrushes. Natan parted them to reveal a clearing by the shore. He sat on a large boulder next to the water and pulled me down beside him. I dried my tears and took a deep breath to calm down.

“We can't stay here for long. My papa needs our help with his customers.” I was glad that my voice was calm.

“He'll manage without us for a bit,” Natan said. He looked around the riverbank. “This is one of the few places where we can talk without being overheard.”

He reached for my hand and started stroking my fingers. His own fingers felt damp and sticky. I pulled my hand away and wiped it surreptitiously on my skirt.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing. I'm just tired.” I looked away at the frozen water.

He put his arm around me and pulled me closer. His touch repulsed me. He must have noticed how I had stiffened, because he let me go.

“What's the matter?”

“I've already told you—nothing!”

I closed my eyes. When I couldn't see him, he sounded just like my Natan. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't convince myself that he was the same
boy I had once loved, the boy I had longed for with every bone in my body.

“You seem distracted,” he said. “Is your father working you too hard?”

I shook my head sadly. “I haven't been sleeping soundly because Kaspar keeps interrupting my dreams. I'm also worried that another week has passed and the Ammeister still hasn't contacted you. I don't understand why. He's usually a man of his word.”

“His silence is my reply,” Natan said.

Suddenly, there was the crunch of twigs being broken and snow being trampled. Natan put a finger to his lips.

“Hush!” he whispered. “There is somebody coming!”

The bulrushes parted and there she was—Natan's mother.

S
he didn't realize that I saw her wipe her fingers on her skirt after I touched her. I felt the stiffening of her spine when I embraced her. Did she no longer love me? How could that be? Such a short time ago, she was eager for my kisses. Did she not realize that I was still the same boy she once said she loved?

But then I touched my face with my hands and felt every bump and groove on my skin, and I couldn't blame her.

I feared that she would think I was weak if I told her how difficult it was to be trapped in
his
body with my own thoughts, my own love, my own desires. Would I be trapped in
his
body for the rest of my life? Where was he? And where would I go if he ever returned and claimed his own vessel? I could never tell her my
thoughts, though, for I feared her pity. I craved her love—a love she had given so easily to my other self.

Even in the depths of my misery, I heard the sound of approaching footsteps. The bulrushes parted and there was my mother. Her eyes were red and her face blotchy. I couldn't find the right words to say, so I just stared at her. Elena's eyes were like saucers, her fist at her mouth as if to stifle a scream.

“Forgive me for following you, but I had to speak to you,” Mama said.

She looked at my face for a long, long moment, as if she wanted to memorize my features. Her gaze roamed over my stocky frame, my ample paunch and my skinny legs. I didn't mind, so long as she kept looking at me.

“Who are you?” she finally whispered. She reached out shyly and touched my pockmarked face. Then she answered her own question. “Your eyes…they are my Natan's eyes. Your words are my Natan's words. Rabbi Weltner must have been telling us the truth. You
are
my Natan, the son I gave birth to. The son I raised. The son I buried.”

Her hand passed over her eyes as if to obliterate painful memories.

“I'm still here, Mama.”

Then I told her everything again. Amazement, horror, resignation—all ran across her face. When I
finished speaking, she pulled me close.

“Natan,” she said, patting my hair, “you're really my Natan. Baruch Hashem, he returned you to me.”

Tears of joy ran down her cheeks. Elena was crying too.

“I'm ashamed,” Mama said. “I should have believed you from the start. When you told me in the town square that you were Natan and not Hans, I looked into your eyes and saw you there, but I was afraid. I should have known you right away.”

“You know me now. That's all that matters.”

She wiped away her tears. “What should I tell your father to make him believe you? When you came home with Rabbi Weltner, your papa was beyond anger. He said that the rabbi must have been possessed by evil spirits to desecrate your memory so. He hasn't gone to synagogue since. I don't know how he'll react if I tell him that I believe your story.”

“So don't tell him, Mama. Not yet. There is a right time for everything.”

She nodded reluctantly. “You may be right,” she said, but I sensed that she wasn't fully convinced.

I kissed her cheek. “I missed you so much.”

“And I missed you, my son.” She turned to Elena. “Natan is fortunate to have a loyal friend like you. Somebody told me that they saw you watching his funeral with him from behind a tree.”

I told her about my visit to Ammeister Schwarber and the council.

“We still don't know if they believed Natan's story or the lies of that murderous Kaspar,” Elena said.

Mama smiled bitterly. “You aren't one of us, Elena, so you don't understand. Jews like us, we can never win. I agree with Natan that the silence of the Ammeister is its own reply.” She sighed. “I'm afraid that tough days are facing our people. We are no longer safe in Strasbourg. But where can we go?”