"She returned to the mountains, to the little cabin, and said, 'Akiba, I have some food for your mouth, but your soul is hungry, and for it I cannot get food! Go into the world and nourish your soul with great wisdom which flows from the mouths of wise people. I will remain here. I will sit at the threshold of the house; I will spin wool, and take care of the herds, ad look on the road by which you will return, like the sun which returns to the sky to chase away the darkness of the night.'"
"And Akiba went."
Here the voice of the young man became silent, and he cast his eyes on the leaves of the book, for near his shoulder was heard a voice full of astonishment.
"Akiba went?" asked Golda, and her eyes were widely opened, and the breath seemed to stop in her breast.
"Akiba went," repeated Meir, and began to read farther.
"The beautiful Rachel sat at the threshold of the house, span the wool, took care of the herds, and looked at the road by which he must return, shining with great wisdom."
"Seven years passed, and there came an evening when the moon at her full pours on the earth a sea of silvery light, and the trees and herbs stand still and do not move, as though the spirit of the Eternal breathed on them, and brought to the world peace and tranquillity."
"That evening, from behind the mountains, a tall pale man appeared.
His feet trembled like leaves when the wind shakes them, and his hands from time to time were raised to the heavens. And when he saw the small, poor cabin, a stream of tears flowed from his eyes--for it was Akiba, the husband of the beautiful Rachel."
"Akiba stopped at the open window, and listened to the talk that was going on within. His wife, Rachel, was talking with her brother, whom her father sent to her. 'Return to Kolba Sabua's house,' spoke her brother, and she answered, 'I am waiting for Akiba, and taking care of his house.' The brother spoke, 'Akiba will never return--he has left you, and he is a disgrace to you.' She answered, 'Akiba has not left me. I, myself, sent him to the fountain of wisdom, that he might drink from it.' 'He drinks from the fountain of wisdom, and you bathe yourself in tears, and your flesh dries from misery!' 'Let my eyes flow out with my tears, let my flesh be eaten with misery, I shall watch the house of my husband. And if that man, for whom I fed love in my heart, shall come back to me and say, 'Rachel, I come back to you that you may not weep any more, but I have not drunk enough from the fountain of wisdom,' I would say to him, 'Go and drink more.''"
"The pale traveller, who stood at the window, which was open, became still paler, and trembled still more when he heard what Rachel said.
He left the small cabin, and returned whence he came."
"Again seven years passed by. And there came a day when the sun pours streams of golden brightness, and the trees rustle, and the flowers blossom, and the birds sing, and the people laugh, as though the spirit of the Eternal breathed on them, and brought to them life and joy."
"On the road which led up the mountain to the shepherd's little cabin a great crowd of people was roaring. Amidst them a tall man was walking. His face shone like the sun with great wisdom, and from his mouth fell words sweet as honey and fragrant as myrrh. People bowed low before him, seizing every word, and crying with great love to him, 'Oh, Rabbi!'"
"But through the crowd of people a woman rushed, and falling on the ground, she seized the master's knees. She still held a spindle in her hand. She was covered with rags; her face was thin and her eyes deeply sunken, for during fourteen years they had flowed with tears."
"'Go away, you beggar!' the people shouted to her, but the master raised her from the ground and pressed her to his breast; for the man was Joseph Akiba, and the woman was his wife Rachel."
"'Behold the fountain which supplied my sad heart with the drink of hope, when my head was in the depths of great loneliness and work.'"
"Thus spake the master to the people, and wished to place on Rachel's head a crown of gold and pearls."
"'Thou, Rachel,' said he, 'hast taken from thy head thy beautiful hair, in order to nourish my hungry mouth. Now I will ornament thy forehead with a rich garland.'"
"But she stopped his arm, and raising to him her eyes, which had again become as beautiful as of yore, she said to him, 'Rabbi, your glory is my crown.'"
The young man finished the story, and turned his eyes on the girl sitting beside him.
Golda's face was all aflame, and her eyes were full of tears.
"Do you find my story beautiful?" asked Meir. "Yes; beautiful indeed!" she answered, and with her head leaning on the palm of her hand she balanced her slender figure to and fro for a while, as if under the influence of ecstasy and drowsiness. Suddenly she grew pale, and drew herself up.
"Meir," she exclaimed, "if you were Akiba, and I the daughter of the rich Kolba Sabua, I would do for you the same as the beautiful Rachel did for him!"
She seized her superb tresses, black as ebony, which hung carelessly down her back, and twisting it around her head, she said:
"I have exactly the same black crown as Rachel!" Then she raised her deep, fiery eyes to Meir, and said boldly, gravely, without a smile, blush, or exaltation:
"Meir, for you I would take my eyes out of my head! I would not have any use for them if I could not look at you."
A strong flush covered the young man's face, but it was not mere bashfulness, but emotion. The girl was so naive--so wild, and at the same time so beautiful, with her luxuriant, dishevelled tresses piled above her forehead, and with passionate words on her grave and daring lips.
"Golda," said Meir, "I will come to your house and pay a visit to your old grandfather."
"Come," said she; "with you there will enter into our house a great light."
The sun had almost set behind the high scarlet and purple clouds. A little pond shone from beyond the high osiers. In that direction Golda's looks went, and stopped at the water and surrounding bushes.
"Why are you looking at the pond?" asked Meir, who could no longer keep his eyes from the girl's face.
"I would like to get as many as I could of those branches growing over there," answered the girl.
"What for?"
"I would carry them home. Zeide makes baskets of them, then he sells them in the market and buys bread, and sometimes fish. For a long time zeide has had no willow to make baskets, and he grieves."
"Why don't you take them if you need them?"
I am not permitted.
"Why not? Everyone from the town may cut the branches. This meadow and that grove belong to the whole community of Szybow."
"It doesn't matter; I am not permitted. We don't believe in the Talmud; we don't light candles on the Sabbath--nothing is allowed us."
Meir rose suddenly.
"Come," said he to Golda, "I will be with you, and you may cut as many branches as you like. Don't be afraid of anything."
Golda's face shown with joy. She took from Meir's hand a jack-knife and rushed toward the pond. Now, when she felt safe under the protection of a strong arm, when there was hope of giving pleasure to the old grandfathers she lost the gravity which gave her the appearance of a matured woman. She ran along, looking from time to time at Meir who followed her, calling her she-goat, who turned toward her from the opposite side of the meadow. They stopped on the shore. The most flexible willow grass grew in the water, a few steps from the bank. In the twinkling of an eye Golda threw off her low shoes, and rolling up her dress she entered the water. Meir remained on the shore and watched the girl, as raising her arms, she began to swiftly cut the pliable branches. In the mean time she laughed, and her parted lips disclosed rows of teeth as white and beautiful as pearls. The glare of the last dazzling rays bathed her swarthy face with a pinkish light, and gilded the black crown of hair twined above her brow.
Meir did not lose sight of her, and smiled also. Suddenly Golda set up a cry.
"What is the matter?" asked Meir.
From the green thicket, in which the girl's figure was hidden, a joyful voice resounded.
"Meir, what beautiful flowers are here!"
"What flowers?"
The tall figure thrust aside the green bushes, bent toward the shore, and stretching out her arm handed the young man a broad-leaved yellow pond lily. Meir bent over a little in order to reach the flower, but all at once Golda's arm trembled, her pink, face grew pale, and her eyes dilated with dread.
"The black man!" she whispered, dropping the flower, and with a soft exclamation of fear she retreated and hid herself in the willow copse.
Meir looked behind him. Some distance off he saw emerging from the grove, and passing swiftly across the meadow, a strange figure walked swiftly. It was a medium-sized man, very thin, with a dark face, gray hair and a dark, dullish beard falling to his waist. He was robed in a long dress made of rough woven cloth, and his yellow, bare neck was thrust from an open shirt of rough material. He stooped in the shoulders and his steps were noiseless, as he wore low, woven slippers. In either hand he carried a big bunch of variegated herbs.
When that man, without looking at Meir, passed him at a distance, the youth mechanically bent low his head in sign of humility and reverence Soon, however, he raised it. His face was pale, and expressed suppressed grief. He looked gloomily at the black figure passing swiftly across the meadow, and through his teeth set in either grief or anger, he said:
"Rabbi Isaak Todros!"