Another Me by Eva Wiseman Read Free Book Online Page B

the truth,” Elena cried. “He’ll speak to Ammeister Schwarber on our behalf.”
    “I wouldn’t advise it,” Rabbi Weltner said. “Even if your father accepts that Natan has somehow taken over Hans’s body—which, as a Christian, he will not be disposed to do—he will be furious about your relationship with the son of Simon the Jew.”
    “But my papa is a just and fair man who treats everyone equally. He doesn’t hate anybody,” Elena countered.
    “You’re his daughter,” said the rabbi, smiling sadly. “Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. You wouldn’t be doing your father a favor by involving him in Natan’s predicament.”
    Elena fell silent. Rabbi Weltner turned to me again.
    “I have had dealings with the Ammeister in the past about the fines levied against us in return for his protection. I’ve always found him to be tolerant and a man of his word. I’ll try to arrange an interview for you with him.”
    “Thank you, Rabbi.” I bowed deeply.
    “Natan,” he said, taking my hand in his and looking earnestly at my face, “you must understand that the future of our people rests upon your shoulders.”
    I nodded. “I’ll strive somehow to make the Ammeister listen to me, I promise. But first, I must go to my parents and convince them that I’m still amongthe living. Can you come with me? They’re more likely to listen to you.”
    “I’ll go with you to see your parents, Natan, but you must accept that you aren’t among the living. Not really.” A deep sadness suffused Rabbi Weltner’s face.
    From the corner of my eye, I saw Elena’s shoulders slump. I turned to her and said, “You must come too. You give me great courage.”
    She smiled sweetly, pulled the hood of her cloak low over her face and followed us into the street.
    —
    Mama’s eyes grew larger as Rabbi Weltner patiently explained that I had become an
ibbur
. My father’s face turned scarlet, and I feared that he would suffer an attack of apoplexy.
    “Do you take us for fools, Rabbi?” he roared. “Do you expect us to believe that our son’s spirit took over this Christian?” He pointed an angry finger at me.
    “I too find it most strange that Natan occupied the body of a person who isn’t one of us. The only explanation I can offer is that Hans must number Jews among his ancestors, perhaps unbeknownst even to himself.”
    “Please listen to our rabbi, Papa!” I pleaded.
    “Don’t call me ‘Papa’!” he raged.
    I took a step toward him and lowered my voice. “It’s me,” I began. “It’s your son talking to you—theson who learns with you every Shabbos, who folds the clothes you buy and loads them into your cart to sell. The son who found you broken and beaten in the alley. Who stayed by your bedside for three days with Mama, cooling your feverish brow and applying poultices to your wounded skin.”
    My father turned his head away, but my mother drew closer. She ran her fingers over my face like a blind woman. I stood very still, afraid even to breathe.
    “Could it possibly be?” she whispered. “Simon, what if Hans and the rabbi are telling the truth?” She grasped my father’s hand and put it against my face. “Don’t you understand what this means? Our Natan is still alive!”
    But Papa tore his fingers away as if bitten by a rabid dog. “Don’t be foolish, woman!” he cried.
    “No! No!” the rabbi said. “You misunderstood my words, mistress. I never said that your son lives. It’s only his soul that has moved into the body of another.”
    I began to entreat them again. “Please, Mama. Please, Papa. You know your own son!”
    “Listen, Hans, do you think my brain is addled?” my father growled. “You don’t look like my son. You don’t sound like my son. You’re
not
my son! Stop this nonsense and let my poor Natan rest in peace.”
    “But it’s me, Papa,” I insisted. “It’s another me!” But I knew my pleas were to no avail.
    “Out with you, you spawn of the