The Romantic Messiah

The realization that her new career was definitely settled rendered Sarah a little calmer. Was she to be discouraged at the very outset of her journey, when the road which lay before her was long and unknown and perilous? Fear seemed paltry and unworthy of her.

On the contrary, how pleasant, how gay it was to walk along as she was doing! Freedon, the wind, the open road, and each crossroad led her nearer to her destiny.

The wind suddenly descendled. A gentle and prolonged peal of thunder rumbled in the sky. Sarah hastened. From a low, rambling building with lighted windows came the noise of song. It was a tavern.

A flash of lightning, a surly growl of thunder, and rain fell in torrents. Drenched in an instant, Sarah’s thin dress cling to her body. She took shelter under the porch of a prtentious looking house at a short distance from the tavern. The storm had dispersed the night mists and Sarah could see the rain dancing at her feet.

Hugging the walls along the street scurried the crouching figure of a man in a long cape. Evidently realizing where the nearest shelter was, he dashed toward the porch, and in doing so ran into Sarah before she could move out of his way.

“I beg your pardon,” said a cool voice in Dutch.

Sarah stepped back without replying. Fright had recaptured her.

Meanwhile the young man was staring at her attentively. The presence of this apparently decent young lady under this porch and a# this hour of night, seemed to fill him with astonishmont. Her light dress and the little package in her hand suggested she was a discharged servant, but her beauty was not that of the lower classes. Did she realize the infamous reputation of this street, and this house?

If she were unaware of it she must be a stranger, doubtless a runaway.

He resolved to find out Sarah, though she had overcome her fear, was still disturbed. For the first time in her life, and under the strangest circumstances, she found herself close to an unknown man. She would have liked to hurry off.#t the rain had not yet abated. Moreover, she feared that by fiecing she might arouse him to pursue her. Although she was with-out the slightest experience, instinct told her that it would be wiser to remain silent and to stay where she was. At any rate the unknown young man scemed shy.

She imagined he was an artist because of his cape, his broad-brimmed hat adorned with a feather, and his pointed beard.

“You are a stranger here?” he suddenly asked.

Sarah did not respond. After a few seconds the young man, realizing that the silence was deliberate, continued:

“Pardon me for having troubled you. Be quite at ease, I will not bother you again. But if you need anyone to take you where you are going, and to protect you against more venturesome people than I be assured that I am entirely at your service.”

He uttered this long sentence calmly and slowly as if the serenity of his voice might reassure her. Then he took a step back.

Those tacties bore fruit. Sarah was persuaded that this man who spoke so gently must be trust-worthy. An idea strack her; with-out doubt he was a Jew. She considered it necessary to thenk him for his offer, but she did not lmow how to express it. Suddenly she asked:

“Are you a Jew?”

The artist moved a step nearer.

“Yes. My name is Emmanuel Tezkeiro.”

“I am a foreigner,” Sarah said. “A Jewess from Poland.”

The extraordinary simplicity of her remark impressed the young man. Only a child having no suspicion that the world is divided into those one knows and those one does not know, confides in a stranger as this young girl had done.

“Do you know Amsterdam?” the painter asked.

“I know the synagogue and many Jewish houses, particularly that…”

She was about to say. “of Diego,” but she caught herself in time and said:

“What rain!”

“It is holding up a little,” Tezkeiro remarked. “It will soon end. Which way are you going?”

“I do not know,” Sarah thoughtfully replied. “But I know where I am bound, and the particular street does not matter.”

Silence followed this remark. Tezkeiro could understand nothing. This strange young woman. Is she completely sane? he wondered. And who was she?

“Are you staying in Amsterdam?” he asked.

“No. I am trying to find the road to the Orient.”

“To th Orient? The Indies?”

“No. Smyrna, Cairo, or Jerusalem.”

“You are all alone?”

“Yes.”

“But how are you going to find your way there? Do you know the road?”

“No. But I will ask those who do. I will ask in the ports.”

“Do you want me to help you?”

Sarah did not know what to answer. Had she not already said to much? The fact that the young man was a Jew reassured her, but suddenly she thought that perhaps he was not, that perhaps he had been lying to her. But no sooner had the suspicion arisen than she became ashamed of it. Where would she ever end if with her voyage hardly begun, she was already full of distrust. No, it was necessary to believe and have faith.

“I shall be very grateful if you will,” she said.

The rain had ended. In a neigh-boring tower a clock struck.

“There o’clock,” said Tezkeiro.”Morning is still far off. You must have some sleep. I will take you wherever you wish to go, and tomorrow, if you will permit me, I shall help you to find your road.”

“I will go my way,” said Sarah. “And perhaps tomorrow…”

She paused, undecided. How could she find him tomorrow?

Tezkeiro understood. The girl had no home. If he abandoned her she would pass the night in the streets. She would attract attention. No, he could not abandon her.

“I do not know your name,” he began, in a gentle, solicitions voice.

“Sarah,”

“Sarah? Excellent. Very well, Sarah, you have no idea where to go and I will never meet you again if we separate like this. You will fall into the hands of the night patrol, who will take you by force back to the home you ran away from.”

Sarah glanced at the young man, frightened. How did he know that she had run away? To be continued tomorrow