Three Letters of Cabala
IS THERE any news?’ asked Adam Besso of Issachar, the son of Selim, the most cunning leech at Aleppo, and who by day and by night watched the couch which bore the suffering form of the pride and mainstay of the Syrian Hebrews.
‘There is news, but it has not yet arrived,’ replied Issachar, the son of Selim, a man advanced in life, but hale, with a white beard, a bright eye, and a benignant visage.
‘There are pearls in the sea, but what are they worth?’ murmured Besso.
‘I have taken a Cabala,’ said Issachar, the son of Selim, ‘and three times that I opened the sacred book, there were three words, and the initial letter of each word is the name of a person who will enter this room this day, and every person will bring news.’
‘But what news?’ sighed Besso. ‘The news of Tophet and of ten thousand demons?’
‘I have taken a Cabala,’ said Issachar, the son of Selim, ‘and the news will be good.’
‘To whom and from whom? Good to the Pasha, but not to me! good to the people of Haleb, but not, perhaps, to the family of Besso.’
‘God will guard over his own. In the meanwhile, I must replace this bandage, noble Besso. Let me rest your arm upon this cushion and you will endure less pain.’
‘Alas! worthy Issachar, I have wounds deeper than any you can probe.’