The Golem of Hollywood

Chapter thirty-eight

The likeness of the face in Jacob’s hands to Samuel Lev was close to perfect. It was a face he loved, the face of a man who had kissed him, blessed him. The face of a man who had died four hundred years ago.

He said, “How did you get this?”

Peter Wichs said, “It’s always been here.”

“Where did it come from? Who made it?”

“Nobody knows, Jacob Lev.”

“Then how do you know it’s the Maharal?”

“How do we know anything? We tell our children, who tell their children. My father worked at the shul, his father before him. I grew up hearing their stories, passed down from generation to generation.”

“A myth.”

“You may call it that, if you prefer.”

Jacob’s arm began to cramp, and he looked down to see the muscles in his forearm quivering; he had the object in a split-fingered grip, as though to pulverize it. He relaxed his hand, leaving red dents in the flesh of his palm.

“Do me a favor,” Jacob said. “Stand back.”

Peter obliged.

He appeared as short as Jacob remembered.

Not much faith in his memory, though. “Are you one of them?”

“One of whom?”

“Special Projects.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Peter said.

“A police division.”

“I’m not a policeman, Jacob Lev,” Peter said. “I have one job, and that is to stand guard.”

Jacob looked again at the face. It was so vivid that he expected it to open its mouth and speak in Sam’s voice.

You can’t go. I can’t allow it. I forbid it.

You can’t do this to me.

You’re leaving me.

Jacob said, “Why did you let me up here?”

“You asked.”

“I’m sure a lot of people ask.”

“Not a lot of policemen.”

“Who else?”

Peter smiled. “Tourists.”

“Did you let Lieutenant Chrpa up?”

The guard shook his head.

“Then who.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Detective.”

“You said this place affects everyone differently. Who else has it affected?”

“This is an ancient place, Jacob Lev. I can’t claim to know everything that has gone on here. I know that, of those who come, some find happiness, and peace. Others leave bitter. For a few it can be too much to handle, enough to drive them mad. All leave changed.”

“What about me,” Jacob said. “What’s happening to me.”

“I can’t read your mind, Detective.”

A wild laugh. “That’s good to know.”

“I think it’s time for us to leave now, Jacob Lev,” Peter said.

He plucked the clay head from Jacob’s limp hand, began to rewrap it.

“Why do you keep calling me that.”

“What?”

“Jacob Lev.”

“It’s your name, isn’t it?” Peter got on the stool and put the bundle back on the top shelf. “Your name, it means ‘heart’ in Hebrew, I think. Lev.”

“I know what it means,” Jacob said.

“Ah,” Peter said. “Then I think perhaps I have nothing more to offer you.”

Their descent was quick, no different from climbing down any moderate flight of stairs. Jacob’s limbs worked smoothly, his chest felt open. His mind? Another matter.

Moments after they’d reemerged through the purple curtain, a woman in her forties, modestly clad in dark knits, entered, a prayer book tucked under her arm.

“Gut Shabbos, Rebbetzin Zissman,” Peter said.

“Gut Shabbos, Peter.”

“Gut Shabbos,” Jacob said.

The woman took in Jacob’s dusty, uncovered head. “Mm,” she said.

A bearded man in a fur hat and a black satin caftan waited expectantly by the sanctuary entrance. Peter greeted him in Czech, and Jacob heard his own name spoken.

“Rabbi Zissman apologizes for his poor English and invites you to join us for services.”

“Maybe another time. Thanks, though. Gut Shabbos.”

The rabbi sighed, shook his head, and disappeared into the sanctuary.

“You were smart to say no,” Peter said. “He speaks forever.”

Outside, Ya’ir sat on the curb, reading Forbes. He stood up to shake Jacob’s hand.

“I hope you luck finding this person.”

“Thanks,” Jacob said.

“Go take a break,” Peter said.

Ya’ir shrugged. “Okay, boss.”

He tossed Peter the magazine and trotted down the block to light a cigarette.

When they were alone, Peter said, “What’s next for you, Detective Lev?”

“Go to England. Find out more about Reggie Heap.”

“As I said, I’m no policeman. But if that’s your instinct, I’d say you should heed it.”

“My instincts made me want to throw myself out a window.”

Peter smiled. “You’re down here, now.”

He patted Jacob on the shoulder and went to take up his watch.

Jacob glanced at the Hebrew clock tower. Once again, he needed a moment to be certain he wasn’t reading it wrong. But his phone agreed. It was 6:16 p.m.