To go to the synagogue with one's father on the Passover eve--is there in the world a greater pleasure than that? What is it worth to be dressed in new clothes from head to foot, and to show off before one's friends? Then the prayers themselves--the first Festival evening prayer and blessing. Ah, how many luxuries has the good God prepared for his Jewish children. "Shemak! Shemak!" My mother has no time. "I am coming. I am coming in a minute. I only want to say a word to Busie--no more than a word." I confess to Busie that I told her lies. One cannot make people fly by means of "_Kaballa_." One may fly one's self. And I will show her, after the Festival, how I can fly. I will rise from this same spot on the logs, before her eyes, and in a moment reach the other side of the clouds. From there, I will turn a little to the right. You see, there all things end, and one comes upon the shore of the frozen ocean. * * * Busie listens attentively. The sun is sending down its last rays, and kissing the earth. "What is the frozen sea?" asks Busie. "You don't know what the frozen sea is? It is a sea whose waters are thick as liver and salt as brine. No ships can ride on it. When people fall into it, they can never get out again." Busie looks at me with big eyes. "Why should you go there?" "Am I going, little fool? I fly over it like an eagle. In a few minutes I shall be over the dry land and at the twelve mountains that spit fire. At the twelfth hill, at the very top, I shall come down and walk seven miles, until I come to a thick forest. I shall go in and out of the trees, until I come to a little stream. I shall swim across the water, and count seven times seven. A little old man with a long beard appears before me, and says to me: 'What is your request?' I answer: 'Bring me the queen's daughter.'" "What queen's daughter?" asks Busie. And I imagine she is frightened. "The queen's daughter is the princess who was snatched away from under the wedding canopy and bewitched, and put into a palace of crystal seven years ago." "What has that to do with you?" "What do you mean by asking what it has to do with me? I must go and set her free." "You must set her free?" "Who else?" "You need not fly so far. Take my advice, you need not." * * * Busie takes hold of my hand, and I feel her little white hand is cold. I look into her eyes, and I see in them the reflection of the red gold sun that is bidding farewell to the day--the first, bright, warm Passover day. The day dies by degrees. The sun goes out like a candle. The noises of the day are hushed. There is hardly a living soul in the street. In the little windows shine the lights of the festival candles that have just been lit. A curious, a holy stillness wraps us round, Busie and myself. We feel that our lives are fast merging in the solemn stillness of the festive evening. "Shemak! Shemak!" * * *