He opens the door for them himself—they are here, after all, by his invitation. First they had to wait a long time in front of the office of the Lwów monastery; that time spent waiting wiped out the last of their self-confidence. A good thing—that’ll make his job easier. He has seen a lot of them lately. They pray fervently at every mass in the Lwów cathedral and still call attention to themselves in spite of the new clothing they have purchased to replace their heavy kapotas and cropped pants. Now they look like people, thinks Gaudenty Pikulski, gesturing politely to their places at the table, gazing intrigued at Shlomo Shorr—he’s shaved his beard. The skin exposed is pale, almost completely white, and in this way his face is divided into two halves: the upper half is dark, tanned, while the lower half is childlike, or as if straight out of a cellar—that’s the description that pops into Father Pikulski’s head. The man who has emerged from Shlomo Shorr, and who is now called Franciszek Wo?owski, is a tall, thin person with a long, kind face, expressive dark eyes, and strong brows. Long hair, with a little bit of gray mixed in, falls over his shoulders and poses an amusing contrast to the tobacco-honeycolored brand-new ?upan with the red Turkish belt tied around his slender waist.
They came to him of their own volition, although of course he had encouraged them, telling them at every opportunity that if they did wish to confess . . . So he recruited two secretaries, both now at the ready with their set of sharpened goose feathers and waiting for his signal.
At first they say the Lord must already be in Warsaw, seeing the king. Then they glance at one another and the one who said “Lord” corrects himself and says: Jacob Frank. The name sounds very important, as if Jacob Frank were a foreign ambassador to whom the regular laws cannot possibly apply. Father Pikulski tries to be sympathetic:
“We have heard so much about your decision to adopt the Christian religion, and the fact that that decision was made long ago, and your fervor is proverbial and brings tears to the eyes of Lwów’s townspeople, and our nobility . . .”
Servants come in with refreshments, also arranged by Father Pikulski: sugared fruits, ordinary dried apples and pears, raisins and figs. All paid for by the Church. They don’t know what to do with this; they look at Shlomo-Franciszek Wo?owski, who makes it seem completely natural to reach out for a raisin.
“. . . for many of you this is a completely different life, and in addition to that, those of you who have been successful in business are quickly becoming ennobled, like yourself, Mr. Wo?owski, isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” answers Franciszek, swallowing. “You have it right.”
Father Pikulski would like for them to start speaking on their own initiative. He passes them some little plates, intending to embolden them, particularly since both secretaries’ pens are hovering over their papers now, like hail clouds that will soon release a blizzard.
The old man who has been carefully monitoring Father Pikulski as if reading his thoughts is Joseph of Satanów, who has very pale blue eyes submerged in his dark, gloomy face. “Defend me, Lord Jesus, from any form of charm,” the priest prays silently, managing to not move his lips or give any outward sign of it. He turns to the whole crew of them:
“Kindly congratulate your people on their wisdom, their prudence, and the zeal of their hearts. You have now been welcomed among us, but a great curiosity still pervades our thoughts regarding how this all happened. What path did you travel to reach the true faith?”
Those who speak the most are the two Shorr brothers, Rohatyński and Wo?owski, who are also the ones with the best Polish. Their Polish is actually quite proficient, only slightly shaky sometimes, and a little ungrammatical—Father Pikulski wonders who their teacher was. The remaining four join in from time to time; they haven’t yet been baptized, which might be making them feel more insecure: Jacob Ty?mienicki, Joseph of Satanów, an elderly man, Jacob Szymonowicz, and Leyb Rabinowicz politely wait their turns for the delicious figs and dates, passing them from their fingertips into their mouths.
Joseph of Satanów starts:
“Anyone who really studies the Zohar will find in it warnings about the mystery of the Holy Trinity, and from then on the issue will pervade his thoughts. That was the way it was with us. There is a great truth in the Trinity, and the whole heart and mind respond to it. God is not one person, but—in some godly, unfathomable way—manifested in three figures. We have that, as well, so that the Trinity comes as no surprise to us.”
“It suited us very well,” Shlomo, or rather Franciszek Wo?owski, takes over. “It truly is nothing new to us, for there are, after all, three revelations, three kings, three days, three swords . . .”
Pikulski looks expectantly at Wo?owski, hoping he’ll say more. Although he does not expect they’ll tell him everything he wants to know.
Little Turkish stoves with glowing coals have just been brought in, and everyone’s attention is now on the progress of the servant setting the stoves around on the floor.
“When Jacob Frank went to Turkey in 1756, he brought news of the Trinity and was able to convey it successfully to others, as he was already proficient in Kabbalah. And then, when he started riding all over Podolia, I also turned to convincing them that God was in three persons,” says Franciszek Wo?owski, pointing at his chest.
And he goes on to say that Jacob first told just a few chosen ones, never saying it in public, that this teaching about the Trinity is best laid out in the Christian religion, and that for this reason, this was the true faith. He also told them in secret that when he came to Poland again, they would all have to be baptized and become Christians, but he said to keep this to themselves till his return. And so they did, because they liked this plan very much, and slowly they began preparing for it, learning the language and the principles of the faith. But they also knew that it would not be easy, and that the rabbis would have trouble accepting it, and that they would have to endure a great deal, which is as it happened. They all exhale and reach for the figs.
Pikulski wonders whether they are really this naive or are merely pretending, but he can’t quite penetrate their thoughts.
“And this leader of yours, Jacob, what is he like, what made you follow him with such utter dedication?”