"Shemak! Shemak!"
I am Shemak. My mother is calling me to go to the synagogue with father.
. . . . .
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.