Ghetto Tragedies. Israel Zangwill

      "Nothin' is a harrd wurrd! If he was my bhoy, the darlint, I'd cure him, aisy enough, so I wud."

      Zillah's sobs ceased. "How?" she asked, her eyes gleaming strangely.

      "I'd take him to the Pope, av course."

      "The Pope!" repeated Zillah vaguely.

      "Ay, the Holy Father! The ownly man in this wurruld that can take away the Evil Oi."

      Zillah gasped. "Do you mean the Pope of Rome?"

      She knew the phrase somehow, but what it connoted was very shadowy and sinister: some strange, mighty chief of hostile heathendom.

      "Who else wud I be manin'? The Holy Mother I'd be for prayin' to meself; but as ye're a Jewess, I dursn't tell ye to do that. But the Pope, he's a gintleman, an' so he is, an' sorra a bit he'll moind that ye don't go to mass, whin he shpies that poor, weeshy, pale shrimp o' yours. He'll just wave his hand, shpake a wurrd, an' whisht! in the twinklin' of a bedposht ye'll be praisin' the Holy Mother."

      Zillah's brain was whirling. "Go to Rome!" she said.

      The Fire-Woman poised the poker.

      "Well, ye can't expect the Pope to come to Dalston!"

      "No, no; I don't mean that," said Zillah, in hasty apology. "Only it's so far off, and I shouldn't know how to go."

      "It's not so far off as Ameriky, an' it's two broths of bhoys I've got there."

      "Isn't it?" asked Zillah.

      "No, Lord love ye: an' sure gold carries ye anywhere nowadays, ixcept to Heaven."

      "But if I got to Rome, would the Pope see the child?"

      "As sartin as the child wud see him," the Fire-Woman replied emphatically.

      "He can do miracles, then?" inquired Zillah.

      "What else wud he be for? Not that 'tis much of a miracle to take away the Evil Oi, bad scran to the witch!"

      "Then perhaps our Rabbi can do it, too?" cried Zillah, with a sudden hope.

      The Fire-Woman shook her head. "Did ye ever hear he could?"

      "No," admitted Zillah.

      "Thrue for you, mum. Divil a wurrd wud I say aginst your Priesht—wan's as good as another, maybe, for ivery-day use; but whin it comes to throuble and heart-scaldin', I pity the poor craythurs who can't put up a candle to the blessed saints—an' so I do. Niver a bhoy o' mine has crassed the ocean without the Virgin havin' her candle."

      "And did they arrive safe?"

      "They did so; ivery mother's son av 'em."

      IX

      The more the distracted mother pondered over this sensational suggestion, the more it tugged at her. Science and Judaism had failed her: perhaps this unknown power, this heathen Pope, had indeed mastery over things diabolical. Perhaps the strange religion he professed had verily a saving efficacy denied to her own. Why should she not go to Rome?

      True, the journey loomed before her as fearfully as a Polar Expedition to an ordinary mortal. Germany she had been prepared to set out for: it lay on the great route of Jewish migration westwards. But Rome? She did not even know where it was. But her new skill in reading would, she felt, help her through the perils. She would be able to make out the names of the railway stations, if the train waited long enough.

      But with the cunning of the distracted she did not betray her heretical ferment.

      "P—o—p—e, Pope," she spelt out of her infants' primer in Brum's hearing. "Pope? What's that, Brum?"

      "Oh, haven't you ever heard of the Pope, mother?"

      "No," said Zillah, crimsoning in conscious invisibility.

      "He's a sort of Chief Rabbi of the Roman Catholics. He wears a tiara. Kings and emperors used to tremble before him."

      "And don't they now?" she asked apprehensively.

      "No; that was in the Middle Ages—hundreds of years ago. He only had power over the Dark Ages."

      "Over the Dark Ages?" repeated Zillah, with a fresh, vague hope.

      "When all the world was sunk in superstition and ignorance, mother. Then everybody believed in him."

      Zillah felt chilled and rebuked. "Then he no longer works miracles?" she said faintly.

      Brum laughed. "Oh, I daresay he works as many miracles as ever. Of course thousands of pilgrims still go to kiss his toe. I meant his temporal power is gone—that is, his earthly power. He doesn't rule over any countries; all he possesses is the Vatican, but that is full of the greatest pictures by Michael Angelo and Raphael."

      Zillah gazed open-mouthed at the prodigy she had brought into the world.

      "Raphael—that sounds Jewish," she murmured. She longed to ask in what country Rome was, but feared to betray herself.

      Brum laughed again. "Raphael Jewish! Why—so it is! It's a Hebrew word meaning 'God's healing.'"

      "God's healing!" repeated Zillah, awestruck.

      Her mind was made up.

      X

      "Knowest thou what, Jossel?" she said in "Yiddish," as they sat by the Friday-night fireside when Brum had been put to bed. "I have heard of a new doctor, better than all the others!" After all it was the doctor, the healer, the exorcist of the Evil Eye, that she was seeking in the Pope, not the Rabbi of an alien religion.

      Jossel shook his head. "You will only throw more money away."

      "Better than throwing hope away."

      "Well, who is it now?"

      "He lives far away."

      "In Germany again?"

      "No, in Rome."

      "In Rome? Why, that's at the end of the world—in Italy!"

      "I know it's in Italy!" said Zillah, rejoiced at the information. "But what then? If organ-grinders can travel the distance, why can't I?"

      "But you can't speak Italian!"

      "And they can't speak English!"

      "Madness! Work, but not wisdom! I could not trust you alone in such a strange country, and the season is too busy for me to leave the factory."

      "I don't need you with me," she said, vastly relieved. "Brum will be with me."

      He stared at her. "Brum!"

      "Brum knows everything. Believe me, Jossel, in two days he will speak Italian."

      "Let be! Let be! Let me rest!"

      "And on the way back he will be able to see! He will show me everything, and Mr. Raphael's pictures. 'God's healing,'" she murmured to herself.

      "But you'd be away for Passover! Enough!"

      "No, we shall be easily back by Passover."

      "O these women! The Almighty could not have rested on the seventh day if he had not left woman still uncreated."

      "You don't care whether Brum lives or dies!" Zillah burst into sobs.

      "It is just because I do that I ask how are you going to live on the journey? And there are no kosher hotels in Italy."

      "We shall manage on eggs and fish. God will forgive us if the hotel plates are unclean."

      "But you won't be properly nourished without meat."

      "Nonsense; when we were poor we had to do without it." To herself she thought, "If he only knew I did without food altogether on Mondays and Thursdays!"