Goslin
Day

 

by
Avram Davidson

 

 

It
was a goslin day, no doubt about it, of course it can happen that goslin things
can occur, say, once a day for many days. But this day was a goslin
day. From the hour when, properly speaking, the ass brays in his stall, but
here instead the kat kvells on the rooftopto the hour when the cock crows on
his roost, but here instead the garbage-man bangs on his caneven that early,
Faroly realized that it was going to be a goslin day (night? let be night:
It was evening and [after that] it was morning: one day. Yes
or no?). In the warbled agony of the shriekscream Faroly had recognized an
element present which was more than the usual ketzelkat expression of its
painpleasure syndrome. In the agglutinative obscenities which interrupted the
bang-crashes of the yuckels emptying eggshells orangerinds coffeegrounds there
was (this morning, different from all other mornings) something unlike their mere
usual brute pleasure in waking the dead. Faroly sighed. His wife and child were
still asleep. He saw the dimlight already creeping in, sat up, reached for the
glass and saucer and poured water over his nails, began to whisper his
preliminary prayers, already concentrating on his Intention in the name
Unity, but aware, aware, aware, the hotsticky feeling in the air, the
swimmy looks in the dusty corners of windows, mirrors; something a tension,
here a twitch and there a twitch. Notgood notgood.

 

In short: a goslin day.

 

Faroly decided to seek an expert
opinion, went to Crown Heights to consult the kabbalist, Kaplánovics.

 

Rabbaness Kaplánovics was at the
stove, schauming off the soup with an enormous spoon, gestured with a free
elbow toward an inner room. There sat the sage, the sharp one, the teacher of
our teachers, on his head his beaver hat neatly brushed, on his feet and legs
his boots brightly polished, in between his garments well and clean without a
fleck or stain as befits a disciple of the wise. He and Faroly shook hands,
greeted, blessed the Name. Kaplánovics pushed across several sheets of paper
covered with an exquisitely neat calligraphy.

 

“Already there," the kabbalist
said. “I have been through everything three times, twice. The NY Times,
the Morgen Dzshornal, I. F. Stone, Dow-Jones, the Daph-Yomi, your
name-Text, the weather report, Psalm of the Day. Everything is worked out, by
numerology, analogy, gematria, noutricon, anagrams, allegory, procession and
precession. So.

 

“Of course today as any everyday
we must await the coming of the Messiah: ęawaitłexpect? today? not
today. Today he wouldnłt come. Considerations for atmospheric changes, or
changes for atmospheric considerations, notbad. Notbad. Someone gives
you an offer for a good airconditioner, cheap, you could think about it. Read
seven capitals of psalms between afternoon and evening prayers. One sequence is
enough. The day is favorable for decisions on growth stocks, but avoid
closed-end mutual funds. On the corner by the beygal store is an old woman with
a pyshka, collecting dowries for orphan girls in Jerusalem: the money, she
never sends, this is her sin, itłs no concern of yours: give her
eighteen cents, a very auspicious number: merit, cheaply bought (she has sugar
diabetes and the daughter last week gave birth to a weak-headed child by a
schwartzer), what else?" They examined the columns of characters.

 

“Ahah. Ohoh. If you get a chance
to buy your house, donłt buy it, the Regime will condemn it for a freeway,
where are they all going so fast?every man who has two legs thinks he
needs three automobilesbesideswhere did I write it? oh yes. There. The
neighborhood is going to change very soon and if you stay you will be killed in
three years and two months, or three months and two years, depending on which
system of gemátria is used in calculating. You have to warn your brother-in-law
his sons should each commence bethinking a marriagematch. Otherwise they will
be going to cinemas and watching televisions and putting arms around girls, wonłt
have the proper intentions for their nighttime prayers, wonłt even read the
protective psalms selected by the greatgrandson of the Baalshemtov: and with
what results, my dear man? Nocturnal emissions and perhaps worse; is it for
nothing that The Chapters of the Principles caution us, ęAt age eighteen to the
marriage canopy and the performance of good deeds,Å‚ hm?"

 

Faroly cleared his throat. “Something
else is on your mind," said the kabbalist. “Speak. Speak." Faroly confessed his
concern about goslins. Kaplánovics exclaimed, struck the table. “Goslins! you
wanted to talk about goslins? Itłs already gone past the hour to say the Shema,
and I certainly didnłt have in mind when I said it to commence constructing a
kaméa" He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Am I omniscient?" he demanded. “Why
didnłt you let me know you were coming? Man walks in off the street, expects to
find"

 

But it did not take long to
soothe and smooth himWho is strong? he who can control his own passion.

 

And now to first things first,
or, in this case, last things first, for it was the most recent manifestation
of goslinness which Faroly wished to talk about. The kabbalist listened
politely but did not seem in agreement with nor impressed by his guestłs
recitation of the signs by which a goslin day might make, itself known. “ Ä™Show
simonim,Å‚ “ he murmured, with a polite nod. “This one loses an object, that one
finds it, let the claimant come and ęshow simonim,ł let him cite the signs by
which his knowledge is demonstrated, and, hence, his ownership . . ." but this
was mere polite fumfutting, and Faroly knew that the other knew that both knew
it.

 

* * * *

 

On
Lexington a blackavised goslin slipped out from a nexus of cracked mirrors
reflecting dust at each other in a disused nightclub, snatched a purse from a
young woman emerging from a ribs joint; in Bay Ridge another, palgpink and
blond, snatched a purse from an old woman right in front of Suomi
Evangelical Lutheran. Both goslins flickersnickered and were sharply gone. In
Tottenville, a third one materialized in the bedroom of an honest young woman
still half asleep in bed just a second before her husband came back from the
nightshift in Elizabeth, New Jersey; uttered a goslin cry and jumped out the
window holding his shirt. Naturally the husband never believed herwould you?
Two more slipped in and out of a crucial street corner on the troubled
bordermarches of Italian Harlem, pausing only just long enough to exchange
exclamations of guineabastard!/goddamnigger! and goslin looks out of the
corners of their goslin eyes. Goslin cabdrivers curseshouted at hotsticky
pregnant women dumb enough to try and cross at pedestrian crossings. The foul
air grew fouler, thicker, hotter, tenser, muggier, murkier: and the goslins,
smelling it from afar, came leapsniffing through the vimveil to nimblesnitch,
torment, buffet, burden, uglylook, poke, makestumble, maltreat, and
quickshmiggy back again to gezzle guzzle goslinland.

 

The kabbalist had grown warm in
discussion, eagerly inscribed circles in the air with downhooked thumb apart
from fist, “ Ä™. . . they have the forms of men and also they have the lusts of
men,Å‚ “ he quoted.

 

“You are telling me what every
schoolchild knows," protested Faroly. “But from which of the other three
of the four worlds of Emanation, Creation, Formation, and Effectationfrom
which do they come? And why more often, and more and more often, and more
and more and more often, and"

 

Face wrinkled to emphasize the
gesture of waving these words away, Kaplánovics said, “If Yesod goes, how can
Hod remain? if there is no Malchuth, how can there be Quether? Thus one throws
away with the hand the entire configuration of Adam Qadmon, the Tree of Life,
the Ancient of Days. Men tamper with the very vessels themselves, as if they
donłt know what happened with the Bursting of the Vessels before, as though the
Husks, the Shards, even a single shattered Cortex, doesnłt still plague and vex
and afflict us to this day. They look down into the Abyss, and they say, ęThis
is high,ł and they look up to an Eminence and they say, ęThis is low.ł . . .
And not thus alone! And not thus alone! Not just with complex deenim, as, for
example, those concerning the fluxes of womenno! no! but the simplest of the
simple of the Six Hundred and Thirteen Commandments: to place a parapet around
a roof to keep someone from falling off and be killed. What can be simpler?
What can be more obvious? What can be easier?

 

“but do they do it? What, was it
only three weeks ago, or four? a Puertorican boy didnłt fall off the roof of an
apartment house near here? Dead, perished. Go talk to the wall. Men donłt want
to know. Talk to them Ethics, talk to them Brotherhood, talk to
them Ecumenical Dialogue, talk to them any kind of nonsenseness: theyłll
listen. But talk to them, Itłs written, textually, in the Torah, to build a
parapet around your rooftop to prevent blood being shedno: to this they wonłt
listen. They would neither hear nor understand. They donłt know Torah,
donłt know Text, donłt know parapet, roof this they never heard
of either"

 

He paused. “Come tomorrow and IÅ‚ll
have prepared for you a kamea against goslins." He seemed suddenly weary.

 

Faroly got up. Sighed. “And
tomorrow will you also have prepared a kamea against goslins for everyone else?"

 

Kaplánovics didnÅ‚t raise his
eyes. “DonÅ‚t blame the rat," he said. “Blame the rat-hole."

 

* * * *

 

Downstairs
Faroly noticed a boy in a green and white skullcap, knotted crispadin coming up
from inside under his shirt to dangle over his pants. “Let me try a sortilegy,"
he thought to himself. “Perhaps it will give me some remez, or hint . . ."
Aloud, he asked, “Youngling, tell me, what text did you learn today in school?"

 

The boy stopped twisting one of
his stroobley earlocks, and turned up his phlegm-green eyes. “ Ä™Three things
take a man out of this world,Å‚ “ he yawned. “ Ä™Drinking in the morning, napping
in the noon, and putting a girl on a wine-barrel to find out if shełs a virgin.ł
“

 

Faroly clicked his tongue,
fumbled for a handkerchief to wipe his heatprickled face. “You are mixing up
the texts," he said.

 

The boy raised his eyebrows,
pursed his lips, stuck out his lower jaw. “Oh indeed. You ask me a question,
then you give me an answer. How do you know IÅ‚m mixing up the texts? Maybe I
cited a text which you never heard before. What are you, the Vilna Gaon?"

 

“Brazen facelook, look, how youÅ‚ve
gotten your crispadin all snarled," Faroly said, slightly amused, fingering the
cinctures passed through one belt-loopthen, feeling his own horrified
amazement and, somehow, knowing. . . knowing ... as one knows the
refrigerator is going to stop humming one half second before it does stop, yet"What
is this? What is this? The cords of your crispadin are tied in pairs?"

 

The filthgreen eyes slid to their
corners, still holding FarolyÅ‚s. “Hear, O Israel," chanted the child; “the Lord
our God, the Lord is Two."

 

The manłs voice came out
agonyshrill. “Dualist. Heresiarch. Sectary. Ah. Ah ah ahgoslin!"

 

“Take ya hands outa my pants!"
shrieked the pseudo-child, and, with a cry of almost totally authentic fear,
fled. Faroly, seeing people stop, faces changing, flung up his arms and ran for
his life. The goslin-child, wailing and slobbering, trampled up steps into an
empty hallway where the prismatic edge of a broken windowpane caught the
sunlight and winkyflashed rainbow changes. The goslin stretched thin as a
shadow and vanished into the bright edge of the shard.

 

* * * *

 

Exhausted,
all but prostrated by the heat, overcome with humiliation, shame, tormented
with fear and confusion, Faroly stumbled through the door of his home. His wife
stood there, looking at him. He held to the doorpost, too weary even to raise
his hand to kiss the mazuzah, waiting for her to exclaim at his appearance. But
she said nothing. He opened his mouth, heard his voice click in his throat. “Solomon,"
his wife said. He moved slowly into the room. “Solomon," she said.

 

“Listen"

 

“Solomon, we were in the park,
and at first it was so hot, then we sat under a tree and it was so cool"

 

“Listen . . ."

 

“... I think I must have fallen
asleep . . . Solomon, youłre so quiet . . . Now youłre home, I can give the
Heshy his bath. Look at him, Solomon! Look, look!"

 

Already things were beginning to
get better. “And the High Priest shall pray for the peace of himself and his
house. Tanya Rabbanan: and his house. This means, his wife. He who
has no wife, has no home." Small sighs, stifled sobs, little breaks of breath,
Faroly moved forward into the apartment. Windows and mirrors were still, dark,
quiet. The goslin day was almost over. She had the baby ready for the bath.
Faroly moved his eyes, squinting against the last sunlight, to look at the
flesh of his first-born, unique son, his Kaddish. What child was this, sallow,
squinting back, scrannel, preternaturally sly? Faroly heard his own voice screaming
screaming changeling! changeling!

 

Goslin!