"Why did you do that?" he demanded.
"I don't like the sight of the bones," I said.
"Why?"
"Because they're mine." I looked at him. "Somebody killed me. Someone did it against my will. I don't like you either, necessarily. Why should I believe you that I am something worthy of you? What is your scheme? Where is your Alexandrian sword?"
I was sweating. My heart was pounding. (I didn't really have a heart but it felt like it was pounding.) I peeled off this coat, admiring my own handiwork as I did it. I could see how different it was from his clothing, though modeled completely upon it.
Perhaps he noticed the difference too.
"Who sewed these clothes for you, Azriel?" he ordered. "Were they done by invisible angels on invisible looms?" He laughed as if this was the most preposterous idea.
"You'd better think of clever things to say. I may not kill you, but I very well may leave you."
"You can't! You know you can't!"
I turned my back on him. Let me see what else I could do.
I looked at the walls, the ceiling, the peach silk of the drapes, and the great tree of life blazing in the carpet. I drew near the window and the air moved my hair. The coolness came down on my skin and on my hair.
Slowly, I closed my eyes, though I could still take small steps, for I knew where everything was, and I clothed myself, envisioning a robe of red silk, with a sash of silk, and jeweled slippers. I took her shade of red, wrapped myself in it, and brought the gold to me for the sleeves and for the hem and for the slippers. I was now clothed in her violent red. Perhaps the mothers here mourned in red.
It was conceivable.
I heard him sigh. I heard his shock. I saw myself reflected in the mirrored panes of the ornate doors, a tall, black-haired youth in a long, red Chaldean robe. No beard, no, no hair on the face. I liked the smooth face. But this would not do, these garments, too antique; I needed freedom and power.
I turned around.
Again, I closed my eyes. I imagined a coat of his cut in this brilliant red but of the finest wool, tailored as his coat was tailored, with buttons of simple and perfect gold, almost pure gold. I imagined the trousers looser and smooth, as a Persian would want them to be, and the slippers I stripped of their embroidery.
Beneath the coat, I drew to myself, against my skin, a shirt like his, only of far whiter silk even than his, its buttons made of gold as well, and round my neck on my chest, beneath the wings of this coat, against the shirt, I brought two full strands of beads which I took from all the opaque stones of the world I loved-jasper and lapis lazuli, beryl, garnet, jade, and ivory. I put amber with this, on these two strings, until I felt the weight against my chest, and then I raised my hand and touched the beads, and when I let my shoulders fall easy, the coat almost closed over this secret bit of vanity, these ancient beads. My shoes I made identical to his shoes, only of the softest cloth, and lined with silk.
He was shocked by these simple magic acts. I had found them easier than ever.
"A silken man," he said. He said it in Yiddish. "Zadener yinger mantchik."
"Shall I cap it off?" I asked. "By walking out of here?"
He drew himself up. His voice was shaky now. If it was not humility, it was some form of respect.
"There's time for you to show me every trick you know, but for now, you must listen to me."
"More interested in your schemes than seeing me vanish?" I asked.
"Alexander would be more interested in his own schemes, wouldn't he? Everything is ready. Everything in place, and now you come, the right hand of God."
"Don't be so hasty. What God!"
"Ah, so you despise your origins and all the evil you've done, do you?"
"I do."
"Well, then, you should welcome the world that I place in your hands. Oh, I see more by the moment. You are here to teach us after the Last Days, I see it."
"What Last Days! When the hell are mortal men going to shut up about the Last Days! Do you know how many centuries ago men yammered on about the Last Days?"
"Ah, but I know the very dates of the Last Days," he said calmly. "I've chosen them. I see no reason to delay in telling you the whole scheme. I see no reason not to make it all known. You recoil from me, deride me, but you'll learn. You are a learning spirit, aren't you?"
A learning spirit.
"Yes," I said. I liked this concept.
I listened to the sound of steps in the passage. I thought I heard the mother's voice, low and urgent, and I didn't like it that she was still crying.
Coldly, I observed that his proximity to me did not matter. He could be one foot away or ten. I was just as strong. I was quite independent of him, which was perfect. As he watched, I covered my fingers with gold rings, and those fine stones I liked for rings, emeralds, diamonds, Eye of the Sea, or pearl, and ruby.
The mirrors were mil of us. I would have bound my hair with a leather thong, and should have done it, but I didn't care just now, and again, I felt my face, to be sure it was smooth as was his face, because for all my love of a long beard, I liked this naked skin better.
He walked around me. He took his steps silently and made a circle as if he could close me in this way, with my power. But he knew nothing of magic, circles, pentagrams.
I asked my memory: Had ever I seen a Master more excited than he was, more proud, and more hot for glory? I saw crowds of faces. I heard songs. I saw ecstasy; but those had been masses and masses, and it had been a lie. And my god had been weeping. That was no answer.
The answer was this: I couldn't kill him, not yet. I couldn't. I wanted to know what he had to teach. But I had to be certain of the limits of his power. What if he were to command me now as the Rebbe had done?
I moved away from him.
"You fear me suddenly?" he asked. "Why"
"I don't fear you. I've never served a King, not as a spirit on any account. I've seen them. I saw Alexander when he was dying ..."
"You saw this?"
"I was there in Babylon and I walked past him with his men, guised as one of them. He lifted his left hand again and again. His eyes were completely ready for death. I don't think he had any more great dreams in his head. Maybe that's why he died. But you are fall of dreams. And you do burn bright like Alexander, that is true, and I fight you yet I ... I think I could love you."
I sat down and remained still on a hassock of velvet, and I thought. I sat there, elbows on my knees. He took his stand in front of me, allowing plenty of room, perhaps ten paces, and then he folded his arms. Take charge.