eye, then pecked once at her fingers, as though she were simply another patch of earth. For a moment they regarded each other; and then it gathered itself and flew away.
Startled, she turned to track its path—and saw an elderly man watching her from the shadow of a grocer’s cart. Like her, the man was dressed in a black wool coat despite the heat. A white fringe peeked out from underneath the hem. He wore a white beard, neatly trimmed, and his face beneath his hat was a net of deep lines. He watched her calmly, but the thought she heard was tinged with fear: could she be what I think she is?
Hurriedly the Golem stood and walked away, not looking back. Ahead of her was a crowd of men and women, passengers from the Second Avenue Elevated. She tried to lose herself among them, following the main part of the crowd as small groups splintered away at corners and doorways. At last she ducked into an alleyway, then dared to look out. The man in the black coat was nowhere to be seen.
Relieved, she emerged from the alley and continued east. Now the air smelled of the sea again, of salt and coal smoke and engine grease. The shops were mostly closed, and the pushcart vendors were packing up their suspenders and cheap trousers, their pots and pans. What would she do once night fell? Find a place to hide, she supposed, and wait for morning.
A stab of reflected hunger struck her. A scrawny, dirt-stained boy was loitering on the sidewalk ahead, eyeing a nearby vendor who stood sweating over his cart. As she watched, a man in shirtsleeves approached the vendor and gave him a coin. The vendor plucked up a sheet of waxed paper, dipped into his cart, and emerged with a doughy disk the size of his fist. The man bit into it as he walked toward the Golem, fanning the steam from his mouth. The boy’s hunger rose, desperate and all-consuming.
If the boy were not starving, if the man had not passed so near—if, most of all, her experiences that day had not drained her so—she might have controlled herself, and walked away. But she was not so lucky. The boy’s visceral plight had transfixed her. Didn’t he need the meal more than the man did?
No sooner had she formed this thought than her hand reached out, plucked the man’s meal from his grasp, and handed it to the boy. In the next moment he was running away down the street, as fast as his legs could carry him.
The man grabbed her arm. “What did you mean by that?” he snarled.
“I’m sorry,” she began, about to explain; but the man was red-faced and furious. “You thief!” he shouted. “You’ll pay for that!”
Others were beginning to notice. An older woman stepped to the man’s side. “I saw the whole thing,” she said, glaring at the Golem. “She stole your knish and gave it to the boy. Well, girl? What do you have to say for yourself?”
She looked around, bewildered. Men and women were forming a crowd around her, eager to see what would happen. “Pay up,” someone called.
“I don’t have any money,” she said.
A hard laugh ran through the crowd. They wanted her to be punished; they wanted her to pay. They were flinging their angry desires at her like stones.
Panic filled her—and then, strangely, it ebbed away. She felt as though time was slowing, stretching. Colors grew sharper, more focused. The low sun seemed bright as noon. Fetch a policeman, someone called, and the words were slurred, elongated. She closed her eyes, feeling as though she were on the edge of an abyss, teetering, about to fall.
“That won’t be necessary,” said a voice.
Instantly the crowd’s attention shifted—and the Golem felt the abyss recede. Relieved, she opened her eyes.
It was the old man in the black coat, the one who’d been watching her. He was coming quickly through the onlookers, concern on his face. “Will this pay for your knish?” he asked, and handed the man a coin. Then, slowly, as though not to startle her, he placed a hand on the Golem’s arm. “Come with me, my dear,” he said. His voice was quiet, but firm.
Did she have a choice? It was either he, or the crowd. Slowly she stepped toward the old man, away from her accuser, who stood frowning at the coin.
“But this is too much,” her accuser said.
“Then do something good with the rest,” replied the old man.
The crowd began to disperse, some clearly feeling they’d been robbed of entertainment. Soon it was just the two of them, together on the sidewalk.
He regarded her again as he had in the cart’s shadow. Then he leaned forward, and seemed to sniff the air around her. “As I thought,” he said, a touch regretful. “You’re a golem.”
Shocked, she took a step back, ready to run. “No, please,” he said. “You must come with me, you can’t be wandering the streets like this. You’ll be discovered.”
Should she try to lose him again? But then, he had just saved her; and he seemed neither angry nor accusatory, only concerned. “Where will you take me?” she asked.
“My home. It’s not far from here.”
She didn’t know if she could trust him—but he was right, she couldn’t keep wandering forever. She decided she must trust him. She must trust someone.
“All right,” she said.
They began to walk back the way she had come. “Now tell me,” the old man said, “where is your master?”
“He died at sea, two days ago. We were crossing from Danzig.”
The man shook his head. “How unfortunate,” he said. Whether he referred to Rotfeld’s death, or the larger situation, she wasn’t certain. “Is that where you lived, before this?”
“No, I wasn’t alive,” she said. “My master didn’t wake me until the crossing, just before he died.”
That surprised him. “You mean to say you’re only two days old? Extraordinary.” He rounded a corner, and the Golem followed. “And how did you make it through Ellis Island, on your own?”
“I was never there. An officer on the ship tried to question me, because I had no ticket. So I jumped into the river instead.”
“That showed quick thinking on your part.”
“I didn’t want to be discovered,” she said.
“Just so.”
They walked on, back the way the Golem had come. The sun had long since ducked behind the buildings, but the sky still shone, brassy and thick with the day’s heat. Children began to emerge from the tenements again, looking for one last adventure before bedtime.
The man was quiet as they walked. She realized she didn’t even know his name, but she hesitated to ask—he was lost in his thoughts. She could feel the questions circling in his mind, all with herself at their heart: what should I do with her? And in one brief flash, she saw an image of herself struck down, turned to a formless heap of dirt and clay in the middle of the street.
She halted, stock-still. But instead of panic, she only felt a deep weariness. Perhaps it would be for the best. She had no place here, no purpose.
He’d noticed she was no longer at his side and doubled back, concerned. “Is something wrong?”
“You know how to destroy me,” she said.
A pause. “Yes,” he said, guarded. “I have that knowledge. Few do, these days. How did you know this?”
“I saw it in your mind,” she said. “You considered it. For a moment, you wanted it.”
Confusion furrowed his brow—and then he laughed, without mirth. “Who made you?” he asked. “Was it your master?”
“No,” she replied. “I don’t know my maker.”
“Whoever it was,” he said, “was brilliant, and reckless, and quite amoral.” He sighed. “You can feel others’ desires?”
“And