“Hello, little one.”
“Hello, Father.”
“Tell me your name.”
“I’m Josef.”
“And why are you here on this lovely afternoon?”
“My mother washes linens.”
“Ah, yes.” The old man turned his head and seemed to focus on the wall opposite, if he could see that far.
“Father, can I ask you a question?”
“Yes. What is it?”
“Can you read?”
Without turning his head back to the boy, the priest answered, “No, it was not deemed necessary for me to read. My work has always been with the sick and the lame and the poor. It’s only those who teach or copy books or intone Scripture who require the skill of reading.”
“Didn’t you want to learn?”
“There was a time, when I was young, when I thought it would be wonderful to read the Scriptures and other works of literature as well. But it was not the will of God. My superiors determined I was to be a humble servant and not a scholar.”
“Did you try to change their minds?”
“No, it was the will of God. I learned the prayers and doctrines and memorized certain formularies I would need in my work. The Father provides all that we need.”
Josef mumbled quietly under his breath, “I haven’t got a father.”
The man turned and looked directly into Josef’s face. “Nonsense, boy. You have a Father in heaven.”
“I mean I haven’t got a father at home.”
“That may be so, but your heavenly Father loves you and cares for you just the same. And remember you call me ‘father,’ and the other priests.”
Now Josef turned his head and looked intently at the wall. Should he ask Father Albert what a bastard was? He still was not sure what the word meant, although he suspected it had something to do with his mother. Would this simple old man recognize the word, and even if he did, would he explain it to a boy? No, it would be better not to ask a priest, in case it was a sin to say the word. Besides, if Josef asked about it, Father Albert might tell his mother.
When Josef looked up again at the old man, his eyes were closed. He seemed to be deep in thought or asleep. Josef remained silent until his mother came to get him and they went home.
•
Ever since he met Mosche, Josef was approached less often in the Market Street by those horrible boys. They stayed away from him entirely whenever Mosche was with him. Even when Josef ran errands alone, his schedule and his route were less predictable now, and he was frequently able to sneak through their territory unobserved.
One Saturday morning, however, they met him as he returned from the market. The tall boy stepped in front of him and walked backwards in Josef’s path. “Well, if it isn’t the bastard! What have you been up to, bastard?”
Josef kept walking.
“Hey, boys, look what I found!” Three others came out and walked alongside, chanting the usual refrains. “Bastard, bastard.”
“Who’s your father?”
“Tell us who sleeps with your mother!”
Josef stopped abruptly and looked straight into the tall boy’s face. The others ceased their taunts and stared down at him. Josef said quietly, “My father is God.”
The boys exchanged uncertain glances until the tall one burst out laughing. “His mother slept with God! Can you believe it?”
“Or maybe she slept with the bishop!”
“Naw, he’s too good for her. I’ll bet she sleeps with Jews. That’s why this kid smells so bad.”
Josef pushed his way forward and resolved to say no more. Some day he would understand the words they used and then he would be able to refute them. But now it was useless. He would just try to pretend they were not there.
As he walked down the block, the boys followed close behind. Josef could hear them talking about what they would do to anyone who gave them trouble in their territory. They would beat him until his eyes bulged out of his head. They would tear his arms out of their sockets. They told each other they were stronger and meaner than anyone else in the city. Josef was relieved when he crossed the next square and could no longer hear their boasting.
•
Late one morning the following week, Josef was resting in the courtyard by his house. He had already made deliveries and done a lesson with Mosche, and had just finished hauling water to the shops around the courtyard.
Now he was playing with the blacksmith’s cat. He happened to look up and see Father Matthias, the young priest from St. Paul’s Church, peering over the gate. Father Matthias lifted the latch and came through. He was a stocky, red-faced man with straight black hair.
“Hello, young man. You are Josef, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Father.”
The priest sat on a ledge of the stone wall and motioned for Josef to sit beside him. “I was passing through your neighborhood and thought I might have a word with you.”
“With me, Father?” the boy asked incredulously.
“Yes. Old Father Albert spoke to me the other day and said you seemed to be interested in books and reading and that sort of thing.”
“Yes, Father.” Josef looked up at him eagerly.
“Perhaps some day you would like to be a priest and a learned man?”
“I want to learn as much as I can. If I didn’t have to work all the time, I could go to school.”
“There are no schools in Worms.”
“The Jews have schools.”
Father Matthias narrowed his eyes. “Who told you that? What do you know about Jews?”
“A boy I met. He said all the boys in his street start school when they’re six.”
Father Matthias assumed a serious tone. “Now, listen. You must not mingle with Jews. They are infidels and Christ-haters. We allow them to live near us because they are masters of commerce. It’s all right to buy and sell with them but not to talk to them about other things. Do you understand?”
“I guess.”
“And besides, it’s not necessary for all boys to learn to read. In fact, it would be harmful. Most of what has been written is utter trash. The common people get all the learning they need from the creeds and what the priests teach them. Anything else is likely to undermine their faith.”
Josef remained silent.
“Here is what we will do. In two years you may commence your study of Latin. I myself will instruct you. In the meantime, Father Albert will teach you creeds and doctrines so that you may be ready to read Holy Scripture with the right understanding.” As he said this, Father Matthias leaned closer, and Josef could smell his breath. “If you make good progress in Latin, perhaps you may someday study with the monks at the cloister. We’ll see if we can make a scholar of you.”
The priest rose and opened the gate. As he was leaving the courtyard he said, “You may speak to your mother about this, but no one else. And, mind you, stay away from Jews.”
Chapter 2
What was Josef to do now? His best friend Mosche was a Jew, and