English: I was circumlocuitously ascending the mountain as per Rabbi Mashanovich's instructions, his ploy to keep me out of the few strands of hair he had left, I realize, when I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the sweet scent of white lilies. I reach for one, then stop myself lest I mash it with my poorly designed, heavy hand. You see, Rabbi Mashanovich intended me to be nothing more than his water carrier. Regardless, Saturday’s well is always decorated with a fragrant, vibrant wreath. There, Athanasia awaits, looking up from her big book, patiently watching my lumbering stature approach from the horizon, growing light as a feather, “Do you know what I think?” she enquires, “Rabbi Mashanovich placed the Egyptian shen ring in your mouth!” she laughs, running up to greet me, skipping around me seven times, enunciating the uncanny, giggling mischievously as if we share a secret, which is positively charming emanating from a precocious child, and certifiably mad when previously invoked by Rabbi Mashanovich and his brothers.

Therefore, is it any wonder why Rabbi Mashanovich prefers this “shtinker golem” mute and out of the public eye? It’s the same reason he’s kept every single mirror in his house completely covered since the day his great grandfather died. Regardless, although Rabbi Mashanovich ordered me not to touch those dark curtains, I peeked, anyway, sometimes pulling them down all together. Surprisingly, the more I saw, the more heartily I laughed. Of course, it didn’t take Rabbi Mashanovich long to figure out what I was doing; I, too, had left my imprint. The accumulated dust couldn’t be replaced, and the truth is I rather enjoy observing all those particles circulating wildly through the sunbeams of Rabbi Mashanovich’s musty old study, especially when he does his best to avoid them, either pretending not to notice or feigning indifference, choosing to hurry along the shadows instead. I dare say, for a while there, I made it a point to follow in his footsteps, scrutinizing his every move, winding up in periodically remote, often absurd places, if nowhere else but the imagination. Hence, it was a proactive, reactive form of entertainment, to say the least.

“My deeds are righteous in the great balance,” I whisper into his right ear, “no sin has been found in me, I did not destroy what had been made, I did not go about with deceitful speech while I was on earth. You shall not be permitted to have power over me.” Swiftly, Rabbi Mashanovich lunges at me, grabbing ahold of the shen ring, the symbol for eternity and divine protection, the loop of rope fastened to my tongue, seizing his opportunity to safely rub out Hebrew EMET/Truth inscribed above my brow, leaving Hebrew MET/Death behind, whirling me into an unassuming pile of dust.

Nonetheless, this is when things start to get really interesting, because once the coast is clear, ants emerge, roaming freely, and we’re so tiny, and we’re so quiet, hardly anyone notices us at all.