The gold
was reflected in Busie's eyes. They were bathed in gold.

* * *

I want very much to surprise Busie with Sheika's tricks which I can
imitate by means of "_Kaballa_." But they do not surprise her. On the
contrary, I think they amuse her. Why else does she show me her
pearl-white teeth? I am a little annoyed, and I say to her:

"Maybe you do not believe me?"

Busie laughs.

"Maybe you think I am boasting? Or that I am inventing lies out of my
own head?"

Busie laughs louder. Oh, in that case, I must show her. I know how. I
say to her:

"The thing is that you do not know what '_Kaballa_' means. If you knew
what '_Kaballa_' was you would not laugh. By means of '_Kaballa_,' if I
like, I can bring your mother here. Yes, yes! And if you beg hard of me,
I will bring her this very night, riding on a stick."

All at once she stops laughing. A cloud settles on her beautiful face.
And I imagine that the sun has disappeared. No more sun, no more day! I
am afraid I went a little too far. I had no right to pain her--to speak
of her mother. I am sorry for the whole thing. I must wipe it out. I
must ask her forgiveness. I creep close to her. She turns away from me.
I try to take her hand. I wish to say to her in the words of the "Song
of Songs": "'Return, return, O Shulamite!' Busie!" Suddenly a voice
called from the house:

"Shemak! Shemak!"

I am Shemak. My mother is calling me to go to the synagogue with father.

* * *

To go to the synagogue with one's father on the Passover eve--is there
in the world a greater pleasure than that? What is it worth to be
dressed in new clothes from head to foot, and to show off before one's
friends? Then the prayers themselves--the first Festival evening prayer
and blessing. Ah, how many luxuries has the good God prepared for his
Jewish children.

"Shemak! Shemak!"

My mother has no time.

"I am coming. I am coming in a minute. I only want to say a word to
Busie--no more than a word."

I confess to Busie that I told her lies. One cannot make people fly by
means of "_Kaballa_." One may fly one's self. And I will show her, after
the Festival, how I can fly. I will rise from this same spot on the
logs, before her eyes, and in a moment reach the other side of the
clouds. From there, I will turn a little to the right. You see, there
all things end, and one comes upon the shore of the frozen ocean.

* * *

Busie listens attentively. The sun is sending down its last rays,