The Elixir of Immortality Read online

  Baruch was perplexed. Was the old man speaking the truth? Should he really believe everything in the curious message he had just heard? It occurred to him that he should ask his father for counsel, for the rabbi always knew what was true and what was false. His father was always ready to set aside trivialities and deliver a sage verdict in any matter of contention.

  In his complete innocence Baruch answered, “In any case, first I have to discuss it with my father and hear what he has to say—”

  The old man interrupted him sharply. “Neither you nor your offspring may ever speak a single word of this to anyone. Only the eldest son of each generation is to be initiated into the great secret. That is the pledge. The Almighty has now shown you the way. Submit yourself to the will of the Lord.”

  “But what great mystery is this? I beg you to reveal it to me. Otherwise—”

  “You will discover the mystery, just wait and see. You will encounter it when the time is ripe.”

  The ancient man said nothing more; he continued along his way. It seemed to Baruch that the man was moving along the road slower than a lame turtle. It took a very long time for him to disappear from sight over the far side of the hill.

  In the meantime Baruch scarcely dared to breathe. Everything around him lay still and not even the slightest wind was stirring. The heat was unbearable. Suddenly his head began to ache and a throbbing terror crept forth from his insides. He felt confused and his thoughts were distracted. Could that old wanderer carrying the stone tablets really be Moses? Or was he the devil, resident in the fellow’s scrawny body and trying to entice him away from his father’s house? He took several deep breaths and thought of his father. Baruch had always been a well-behaved son, as obedient as a lamb. Never had he hidden anything from his father, never had he been burdened by any secrets. He felt a strong urge to hurry home and report that remarkable encounter, but he realized that by doing so he would expose his father to great danger. The ancient man’s words could be true and all their family would be obliterated from the earth.

  As the evening fell, Baruch could find no reason to doubt. He was convinced that the aged one who had addressed him really was Moses. He realized that it would be best for everyone if he obeyed the prophet’s instructions and abandoned Espinosa. Earlier in life he had longed to leave his home, to escape the round of strictly defined rituals that made the days seem more and more alike. He was ready to be called forth from the lair of his winter hibernation to leave the house of his father.

  He went to bed early that evening and muttered prayers for himself as long as he was able to stay awake. In the middle of the night it seemed to him that the room was filled with dazzling light. Once again Baruch heard the prophet say that he must abandon his home and his descendants would be free men for a thousand years. With that he understood his calling and saw the possibilities of his future so clearly that he could almost touch them.

  ALTHOUGH BARUCH WAS more apprehensive than ever before in his life, the next morning he went straight to his father and told him of the remarkable dream that had swept him away, a vision that he wished more than anything else to obey. He intended to leave home immediately and take the road toward the west. When his father asked about the details of the vision, Baruch flushed red to the tips of his ears and started stammering. Seized for a moment by the demon of self-doubt, he was almost ready to change his mind and stay forever captive in the doldrums of Espinosa, helpless and bound to his father for life. Trying to summon his courage, he worriedly stroked the fuzz of his adolescent chin with the fingers of his right hand. I must be true to my life, he thought. Then he replied, guided by some unknown power, that the vision entailed a journey to Lisbon.

  Judah Halevy earnestly considered his son. He could see his own young self in the figure of that awkward nineteen-year-old—a restless young man in the village of Gayonga standing before his father and declaring, not without a certain amount of anguish, that he did not want to follow the family tradition of becoming a tailor. He wanted to become a rabbi instead, so he would have to leave home to study in Espinosa. It occurred to Judah that Baruch, always a dreamer interested in nothing but plants, was completely devoid of useful skills and had absolutely no knowledge of the wider world. He was still nothing but a boy with none of the maturity of a young man on the way to adulthood. The rabbi tried to persuade his son not to leave, in any case not yet, certainly at least not until after the Pesach holiday; together they could work out a future for him. But his arguments fell on deaf ears. Finally he saw no other choice for his own peace and for the well-being of his son than to try to accommodate Baruch’s wishes.

  “If you truly honor the father who all alone has devoted his life to raising you, then you will stay here in Espinosa,” Judah told him.

  The boy replied, “Father will surely forgive me for letting him down. But I must go away, leave him, and no longer be a burden to him. I know that Father is a patient man; Father’s love for me fills my heart and overflows. But I have seen a dazzling light, and I must allow myself to be swept away by that vision to meet my future.”

  Baruch was astonished by his own words; he had no idea where they had come from. But those words presented themselves to him with amazing ease when he needed them, whenever they had to be there. Nothing he had ever experienced could compare with the expectant clarity and the great sensation of elevated purpose that now enveloped him. Baruch peered intently into his father’s face and saw suddenly that his father understood.

  A FEW HOURS LATER the rabbi’s friends and neighbors assembled at his house for a brief session of prayer. A number of fervent psalms were recited and everyone prayed to the Almighty to look down with fatherly benevolence on this young man and protect him.

  His father smoothed Baruch’s hair with his palm and enjoined him to remain a good Jew, to observe the Sabbath, and to wear his prayer shawl. He reminded his son that it is not just the skullcap on the head that makes a good Jew. Then Judah recited a short passage in Aramaic from the Talmud and translated the phrases of the centuries-old advice from a learned rabbi to a young man obliged to set out to face life: Be ready for many difficult trials; but when you demonstrate your charity toward the weak, you need never live in fear of the strong.

  “If someone casts a stone at you, you should respond by offering him bread.” Those were the last words Baruch ever heard his father say.

  His father bent his wrinkled face to give Baruch a kiss of farewell, embraced him, and held him tight as if he wished never to release him. Baruch felt great pain at this parting, above all as he saw his father’s drooping shoulders, his bent back, and his face wet with tears. Even so he felt that he had no choice. His future was set, though for him it was still wrapped in an obscurity as impenetrable as night. He walked away with firm steps and did not pause until he reached the old oak tree on the hill outside the city. There he turned around and cast a last glance at Espinosa. From that vantage point the town looked small and insignificant.

  FOR TWENTY DAYS Baruch followed the river toward Lisbon. He made his way through forests of billowing beech trees and leafy valleys filled with the perfume of wildflowers. He crossed bubbling brooks and foaming watercourses. He watched wide-eyed as birds flew between tree trunks flexing their wings, and he scrutinized the beetles and ants busily crossing the mossy ground. He felt a keen curiosity about the fantastic world that presented itself to him, all the time trying to imagine what he might accomplish with his young life. The waters of the river quenched his thirst. As for bread, he purchased it from peasants who were often stubborn and churlish; when they discovered that Baruch was a Jew, they treated him as a disgusting forest monster, shouting to drive him away. Once, in a forest clearing, he tried to shoot a hare and felt unexpected joy when the quick-footed little creature neatly avoided his arrow.

  He collected various types of medicinal herbs a neighbor woman had taught him to recognize. She had been like a mother to him; in her own childhood she had traveled around León and Castile
with her father, the two of them making their living by selling miracle-working concoctions and medicines. Several times Baruch took wrong turns in the darkness of night and no longer knew exactly where he was. Once he asked a peasant the way to Lisbon; as a practical joke the man sent him in a completely different direction. Baruch was furious when he realized he’d been tricked. But for the most part he experienced a remarkable feeling of freedom.

  THE LAST THREE DAYS of his journey were as difficult as a hike up a long steep slope into a strong wind. Baruch arrived in Lisbon exhausted but joyful. His joints ached and his back was stiff, but he quickly forgot his fatigue. The rays of the morning sun pierced the heart of the city, lighting up the towering tops of the ancient palm trees. Umber-colored walls glowed quietly beneath the blue heaven. As Baruch entered the city gate his heart began to race. He saw women on their way back from the market with baskets full of vegetables, plenty of aggressive beggars, a one-legged boy who lay stretched out on the ground, an old man leading a scrawny cow, thin apprentices carrying heavy building stones, and merchants busily haggling with itinerant salesmen; he saw monks, drinkers, and soldiers. Loud curses came ringing out from a blacksmith’s shop. The city was teeming with life and seemed at least ten times larger than his hometown.

  He felt completely bewildered and scarcely noticed it when he happened to bump into a watchman standing before a house of Moorish aspect. The man responded with a fit of rage, screaming, “You young rascal, who do you think you are?” He demanded an apology and the name of the offender. For a moment Baruch had no answer for him. He stood there speechless and gaped at the increasingly agitated guard who then gave Baruch a push in the chest so violent that he almost fell down. So finally he replied, “Baruch de Espinosa.”

  THAT SAME AFTERNOON Baruch found employment as an assistant to Martes the master blacksmith, feared for his temper but widely respected for his professional ability. No one in the whole country could forge a sword as keen as those he produced.

  Living conditions at the smithy were harsh, the work was wearing, and the food was poor. Baruch lived in perpetual fear of the master smith, who often erupted into towering rages and swore oaths so mighty that they made the place reek of sulfur. Martes was a towering, powerful fellow with a black mustache, enormous hands, and—to make things worse—a predilection for anise brandy. When he drank, he would have sudden fits of anger for no apparent reason. He was a scourge to all about him. He would usually pick a scapegoat among his assistants and torment that individual with gibes and abuse for hours on end. Sometimes he would inflict vicious kicks and punches upon his victim.

  Baruch had always been overly protected by his father, so he suffered the smithy as if it were a compact fiery hell. Hardest of all was getting used to the animosity and distrust directed at him by the other apprentices. Initially, each time he was subjected to humiliation he assumed it was either because he had failed to understand something or because he had trouble with the Lisbon dialect. He supposed that he was just too sensitive and the other apprentices were not really against him. Eventually, however, he came to see that the others were intensely bothered by his presence at the forge and were treating him as an enemy. Only very rarely would they say anything to him, and then they seemed to relish using hurtful words and making disparaging remarks in his presence. This showed no signs of stopping and no one found it unusual. Baruch kept silent and put up with it, for there was no one to whom he could turn. Especially not the blacksmith, whose decided opinion was that no one at his forge had the right to complain unless his head had been half chopped off.

  One of the young men Baruch tried to address told him right to his face that the priest who lived across the street had made all of them swear to shun him because the Jews had crucified Jesus Christ.

  “Treat him like a leper,” the priest lectured them. “Anyone who comes in contact with a Jew will wind up in hell. Poverty, plague, and immorality—every evil we suffer in this world is the fault of the Jews.”

  DURING HIS DISMAL TIME in the workshop Baruch’s only refuge and consolation was the friendship of an older apprentice. Raimundo had been orphaned as a young boy. His father, a clockmaker who also worked as a gravedigger, had beaten Raimundo’s mother to death because she had scandalous love affairs with other men—or so the neighbors said—and he had been obliged to flee to Estremadura. Soon after, he perished in a most unusual fashion, trampled to death by a frightened ox that trapped him against the gate of its pen.

  Raimundo believed that God’s law decreed that those who spill the blood of others will drown in their own blood. Baruch had no opinion on the subject.

  Raimundo was nearsighted and squinted a great deal, a habit that gave him an enigmatic air. He had handsome, delicate features and only a few wisps of beard on his chin. He was as muscular as a bear and had no difficulty lifting stone blocks weighing more than two hundred pounds. Even so, he was unusually nimble, and for a lark he could walk on his hands for thirty feet or more. Baruch was in awe of Raimundo. The reason for their friendship was the fact that Raimundo never joined the wolfish howling of the others but instead defended Baruch against their attacks. Such a response certainly required courage. Raimundo was putting himself at great risk, for his insistent defense of the Jew was in open defiance of most of those in the shop. He took their derision upon himself and became alienated from his former friends.

  AT NIGHT when the apprentices were in their bunks in the unlighted cellar that stank of sweat and urine, Isidoro, the oldest of them, would entertain the rest with elaborate stories of his escapades with the most beautiful women of Lisbon. The apprentices enjoyed his racy accounts, even if the truth of them was in doubt. They couldn’t get enough of his tales. Only Raimundo and Baruch, sharing a narrow bunk, thought of anything other than the descriptions of women’s bodies Isidoro used to excite the imaginations of the other apprentices. The two young men felt a strange attraction to each other; this longing that refused to be controlled overwhelmed their senses. After they were sure that the others had gone to sleep, they stroked each other’s genitals. Raimundo always initiated it by taking Baruch’s penis in his hands. Baruch willingly accepted his caresses. His friend’s tender touch made him forget the stinking smithy, if only for a brief moment.

  They solemnly promised that they would keep this a secret. Neither of them had any idea that Isidoro would often pretend to be sleeping and would watch them.

  ONE DAY it was Raimundo’s bad fortune to displease the blacksmith. He watched alertly as Martes, who had spent the morning drinking anise brandy with two merchants, came tottering into the smithy and collapsed onto the ground. Raimundo helped the master smith to his feet again. Instead of thanking him, Martes showered him with abuse and declared that by God he knew exactly what was going on at night in the cellar. Then he shouted so all could hear that he was sick of the obscenities of Raimundo and Baruch, and he felt like showing everyone by sticking the heads of the wastrel and the Jew down the sewer and leaving them there, disgraced in their squalor. Raimundo felt humiliated. Although he was as intimidated as the others by the unpredictable blacksmith, his injured pride asserted itself. He told Martes to be quiet, go to bed, and try to sober up. In response the smith sent a heavy hammer flying at his head. Luckily Raimundo was able to duck, so the hammer went whistling harmlessly past him.

  That evening when everyone in the workshop had gone to bed, Raimundo whispered into Baruch’s ear that he was tired of being treated like a mangy dog. He suggested that the two of them run away from the wicked blacksmith and join the army. Baruch agreed at once, for he was ready to follow his friend to the end of the world. A heavy weight was lifted from them both as they slipped out of the building in the middle of the night and left the blacksmith and the forge behind.

  HAZE STOOD in the morning air. Lisbon lay before them in an undulating, expansive panorama. With their spirits lighter than they’d been for a long time, the friends arrived at the army enlistment office. Raimundo with his impre
ssive physique was immediately accepted, but the officer in charge, a hefty fellow with a threatening air about him, sniffed in derision at Baruch, who was short and frail. The only big thing about him was his nose; that, as if in compensation, was truly gigantic. He was completely unfit to serve as a foot soldier in the proud army of Afonso Henriques.

  Baruch felt ill and frightened when he saw he was likely to be separated from his friend. A great deal was at stake for him. He pleaded passionately to be allowed to serve the king. After a time the officer relented. He assigned Baruch to receive rudimentary training as a medical orderly pending the army’s march against Galicia.

  KING AFONSO HENRIQUES joined his army outside the gates of the city. They were a ragtag bunch, many of whom had volunteered in hopes of reward and promotion. Others came from regions conquered by the king where the male populations were forced to enlist in his service.

  Afonso Henriques was forty years old, a true giant almost seven feet tall and inordinately broad in the shoulders. His skin was tanned a deep brown and he had a dark beard and a black mustache with ends that turned up in sharp points. Everyone revered the king and they were all very circumspect in his presence, for it was common knowledge that he was curt, violent of temper, and cruel toward anyone who failed to obey him. When he became angry, which was often, he would pound anyone at all with his fists even for the most trivial offense.

  The king took his position on a hilltop and with gestures of his powerful fists and palms admonished his soldiers to silence. He harangued his men for a long time in his strong, piercing voice. With great authority he praised the troops and promised them splendid victories. He was assiduous in spurring on any who might have doubts and in infusing them with courage for what lay before them. When he asked whether his men were willing to sacrifice their lives and limbs for their king, most of them shouted their assent. Even Baruch and Raimundo enthusiastically swore their fealty to Afonso Henriques.