Rabbi Ben Loew had arrived from Prague a year and a half earlier. His destination was Odessa, but he had not taken the most direct route. He lodged for a few nights at the Sonntag hostel, in the bend of the stream. He asked after his co-religionists in somewhat broken Hungarian-with soft h' h's behind his t t-sounds. He was pointed in the direction of Hegyhat. There the first house he knocked at happened to be the Sterns'. He was made to feel very much at home and asked to stay for the meal. The Rabbi, however, wanted to see only the local house of Jewish prayer and was much astonished to learn from Aaron Stern that there was not one in this neck of the woods.

"No-o? Then where do our people gather for Shabbos?"

"Well ... here, in the garden." Aaron Stern was reluctant to admit that they did not gather at all. The Jews here are just glad they have a hole in their arse and can work hard; they have no wish to antagonize the nobility by building a synagogue.

Rabbi Ben Loew could read between his lines. "I tell you there is synagogue here. Today."

"How do you mean?"

"We shall build one, all of us together. Just meet me all of you this afternoon, by the bank of the stream."

The Sterns alerted their friends and acquaintances. As they reached the site, Rabbi Ben Loew was already stripping the eight acacias he had felled with a handsaw and tying their ends together. The eight-cornered shape thus obtained had then to be covered with wattle and daub. Only above the ark of the covenant did they hammer together a roof when-as Rabbi Ben Loew's generous gift-the ark was unloaded from his cart and put in its place. Later the members of the community raised the building a little higher and added a layer of thatch.

The service that first night was somewhat protracted, as the congregation's grasp of the Hebrew language and ritual was rather uncertain. Rabbi Ben Loew was tense and tore at his beard: "Not ever I have seen such a thing! You are not knowing anything!"

"Don't screech! Teach!" hissed Aaron Stern.

And so it came to pass that the Rabbi stayed longer than planned on the banks of the Hegyhat stream, where his congregation soon built him a house so that he would always remain there. News of his wisdom spread rapidly, and Jews from far afield came to him for advice, for teaching, or even simply to touch the fringes of his caftan, which was widely thought to ensure a life of plenty. It became the custom for couples about to wed to make his house their first port of call before the wedding ceremony. The nobility of the county tried more than once to have the synagogue closed down and to withdraw the right of assembly, but the Rabbi managed to frustrate their plans every time, by persuasion or guile or courage. Nor was it a disadvantage that one of the two landowners in the area, Baroness Sigray, took the Jews under her wing: "What harm does it do to anyone if the Jews praise their god? Especially if they make such excellent wine!"

Rabbi Ben Loew was able to continue to preach his faith unmolested.

Aaron Stern knew that he would not find it easy to gain access to the Rabbi's person; the queue wound its way from the garden all the way down to the willows on the bank. Aaron Stern had helped to build the Rabbi's house and knew the layout well: he led Istvan Sternovszky directly to the back door. He made as if he were heading for the tiny servant hut but at the last minute veered right into the kitchen of the big house. Istvan Sternovszky followed him hesitantly. In the kitchen the Rabbi's Polish servant Igor was making coffee on the stove. He shook his head, but motioned with his eyes that Aaron Stern should go ahead. Inside the Rabbi had just completed a session with his visitor, a small, plump, doddery old fellow.

"I don't understand either," whispered Aaron Stern. "It's Yiddish."

Istvan Sternovszky nodded; in his excitement he had not even noticed that they were speaking another tongue. As soon as the old man bowed and left, Rabbi Ben Loew offered them a seat. Turning his face towards Aaron Stern, he asked: "And what can I do for you?"

"Rabbi, this young man can see into the caverns of the past; he knows things that he cannot have learned from us, either in whole or in part. I would be glad to know what you think of him."

Rabbi Ben Loew looked Istvan Sternovszky up and down with great thoroughness. Finally he said: "Is it as Mr. Stern said?"

"In essence, yes."

"Well then, tell me how I came to live in this part of the world."

"I would not know. I can only see the past of those who are close to me."

Rabbi Ben Loew looked even more closely at the young man. Istvan Sternovszky stood his ground unblinkingly. The Rabbi gave a nod. "That's fair enough. And are the Sterns close enough to you?"

"As close as can be, almost."

"Would you be aware of a contract that they might hold particularly dear?"

Istvan Sternovszky nodded and began to recite: "On the sixteenth day of January in the year of our Lord 1759 the general store of the lord of the manor in Hegyhat is hereby leased to the Jew Aaron Smorakh in accordance with the points of the contract agreed as stated hereunder-"

"Stimmt! Word-perfect!" said Aaron Stern. Word-perfect!" said Aaron Stern.

"Right." This interpellation disturbed Rabbi Ben Loew. He placed a hand on Aaron Stern's shoulder. "It does not matter if there are those who know more than you do about your past. There is no cause for concern. You may believe this fine young man. But do not shout it from the rooftops that he has such extraordinary powers." With these words and a determined shake of their hands he bade them farewell. They were outside the house when he called after them: "Next time you have a question for me, use the main entrance and wait your turn."

"Yes, Rabbi," said Aaron Stern bowing low from the waist. Arm in arm with Istvan Sternovszky they walked home. "A real wonder rabbi," he said in a low voice.

It was thus decided that Istvan Sternovszky could marry into the family. But the negotiations concerning which house of God was to be the venue took a great deal longer. Aaron Stern insisted on the synagogue, but Istvan Sternovszky was Calvinist and wished to employ the rites of his faith; moreover, he intended that his future offspring also be brought up in that faith and therefore sought from his intended as part of their nuptial vows the usual reversalis reversalis to this effect. While Eva was inclined to sign a to this effect. While Eva was inclined to sign a reversalis reversalis, her father threatened to disinherit her if she did.

"Now that truly is excellent," Istvan Sternovszky exclaimed. "This wedding will mean that both families disown us." He had not seen or heard from his mother and younger brother since he had taken himself off to Hegyhat.

They might have argued for years if the Calvinist minister of Tokay had not declared that not for all the gold in the Erzgebirge would he marry a Jewish girl to such a fine upstanding Christian as Istvan Sternovszky.

"All right, reverend sir, you will not have to do any such thing!" Istvan Sternovszky said, leaving the minister standing. He galloped back to Hegyhat. Bursting in once again through the back door on Rabbi Ben Loew, who was in the middle of his evening meal, a batiste napkin tucked under his chin, he exclaimed: "Rabbi, how can you make me a Jew?"

"This second? Or can you wait until I have taken my dinner?"

Istvan Sternovszky was covered with embarrassment and began to back away, but the Rabbi cordially invited him to join him and share his stuffed neck of goose. By the time they had consumed the delicacy, they had agreed on how Istvan Sternovszky might join the Jewish community of Hegyhat. For half a year he visited the Rabbi's house three times a week to learn all that a good Jew must know. Of course, Ben Loew explained, he could not become a Jew in the eyes of the secular world, but the law was not everything.

The house on the hillside that was Aaron Stern's gift to the young couple was readied in time for the wedding. In the garden of this building, furnished with every comfort, there was not only a pavilion suitable for concerts and other entertainments, as well as a fountain, but also a comfortable bathhouse. Istvan Sternovszky's eyes clouded over with tears when his father-in-law conducted them and the wedding party on a tour of their new residence-he had managed somehow to keep the building works secret from the couple. Istvan Sternovszky could not think what he might offer in exchange. In a voice trembling with emotion he declared: "From today in your honor I shall shorten my name to Stern!"

This declaration was applauded by all the relatives present (all the Sterns, that is, since no one came from the family of the groom).

In the mornings Istvan Stern always bade his wife farewell with the words: "Have a happy day, my darling!"

Eva planted a rose bower in the garden, and along the fence bushes of lavender. Their tickling fragrance penetrated the whole house and there was always a bunch or two in the vases on the table. Istvan Stern put great effort into his work selling the white and red wines of his father-in-law. He managed to secure markets for them in places so far away that the Stern family had not even heard of them. He was masterly at talking the tradesmen into contracts, and when they had signed on the dotted line and drunk on it, they often remarked: "Huh! Never get involved with a Jew!" Istvan Stern pretended not to hear such talk.

Once, as a substantial shipment was setting off for Lemberg, Aaron Stern shook his head incredulously: "How in the name of all that's holy can this be? They hounded our people out of there and now they'll pay a good price for our wine? It's a crazy world we're living in!"

Istvan Stern was inordinately proud of the fact that the family wine business had prospered since he made himself useful in it. He wrote only one letter to his mother, most of it on this topic.

I have not, with the greatest respect, fulfilled my dear mother's words of ill-omen, that I shall be a masterless man and will beg on bended knee to be taken back at home. With the work of my own two hands I have provided for my family. I hope that your anger will in time lessen and that you will kindly visit us. If my good fortune should hold, I expect that by then there will be three of us at least to welcome you.

After Lemberg it was the turn of palates in Tarnopol, Odessa, and Vitebsk to make the acquaintance of the Stern brand. In earlier times it had been difficult to carry wine of quality such distances, or only in barrels. Istvan Stern had special crates made with thin wooden laths separating the twenty-four bottles and holding them secure. The crate lids had a huge S, for Stern, burned into them with an iron like those used for branding animals. To Istvan Stern this was a glittering snake that haunted his dreams.

At the end of their first year of marriage Eva found herself with child. The birth was difficult and protracted, with the midwife as concerned for the life of the mother as for that of the child.

Istvan Stern recorded the birth of his offspring in The Book of Fathers as elsewhere they might in the family Bible.

Our Richard was born on the seventh day of July in the year 1775, one month earlier than expected. He was very small at birth but proved to be a good child; even as an infant he cried only when racked by pain. His small body was well-proportioned and flawless, like a statue. His only weakness, perhaps, is his eyes, which were prescribed eyeglasses by Dr. Rakosfalvy as early as primary school ...Our Robert was born on the last day of the year 1777, much more easily than we had feared. My Eva is in bursting good health ...Our little Rudolf was born on the twenty-third day of March in the year 1779. Like Robert he perhaps takes more after me, at least with regard to build. My wife Eva had a particularly painful time with him. After the birth she recovered the slender figure that she had when I came to know her at the Debreczen ball. Those who do not know often take her for our sons' older sister. I wish everyone the enormous joy that it has been my good fortune to share. Truly, my cup runneth not over only because I have not secured my mother's forgiveness, and would dearly like to see her and my younger brother. I think of them often. I wonder if they ever miss me share. Truly, my cup runneth not over only because I have not secured my mother's forgiveness, and would dearly like to see her and my younger brother. I think of them often. I wonder if they ever miss me.

Twice Istvan Stern rode over to the five-pointed turret, fondly imagining that he might simply knock on the door, but he shrank back each time, fearing Borbala would order him to leave. Around the turret lily-of-the-valley had burgeoned wildly. This caused him a special kind of pain.

On Friday afternoons the extended family would gather in Grandfather Aaron's house, spending the evening and the following day together and passing Shabbos free of work, as prescribed. The three girls-all married by now-took turns to bring dinner in pans, jugs, and dishes whose number increased with the size of the tribe. The food was laid on the table and the candles were lit early in the afternoon, so that when they returned from the synagogue of Ben Loew, there would be nothing left for them to do. After dinner the grandchildren would beg Uncle Aaron to tell them about the old days. These tales had only one listener more attentive than the children, and that was Istvan Stern. He had preserved in his memory many fragments of the past of the Stern (Smorakh) family, whose meaning fell into place only very gradually. Grandfather Aaron reveled in the telling of the tales, with frequent digressions, and returning again and again to certain details. He etched in vivid colors the Smorakh home in Lemberg, which had burned to the ground when hotheaded scoundrels threw flaming torches onto the half-tiled roof. This was a scene Istvan Stern had seen many times, but only later was he to discover why.

The children could not understand who those scoundrels were and why their heads were hot.

"It was a pogrom," said Aaron Stern.

"What's a pogrom?"

"It's when Jews are attacked for no rational reason. People can be very wicked."

"What does rational mean?"

There was no answer to this. The room fell silent, only the crackling of the wood in the grate.

Eva grasped the shoulders of her older sons (the smallest had fallen asleep in her lap): "Don't you worry, there will never be a pogrom here."

After the children had gone to bed Grandfather Aaron told his sons-in-law how the family's library of books, collected over four generations, went up in flames in Lemberg's Haymarket. "Two of the curs threw the books out of the window, the pages sizzling as they flew; another two made a bonfire and shoveled the knowledge of the world onto it: literature, holy scripture, everything. The paper quickly caught fire; the bindings burned more slowly, giving off thick smoke, and the choking smell penetrated our clothes; we could smell it for days. Elise's mother herded everyone behind the house and took them over to the Market Place where a cart was waiting for us ... Yes, that's how it was. I have never since felt like buying books, as my first thought is: what if the fire gets it ... stupid notion."

Indeed, Aaron Stern's house contained very little reading matter; his library consisted of yearbooks and almanacs. The Torah rolls that had been Rabbi Ben Loew's gift, he kept in a locked chest.

Though regularly invited, the Rabbi was not a frequent visitor to the Sterns' house. But he was a weekly institution at the Istvan Stern household. The latter had never been called the Stern house: after the avenue of trees before it the house was always called the Chestnuts. The Rabbi's preference for Istvan Stern was all the more curious because, in the words of Grandfather Stern, "He isn't really a Jew, we just sort of took him in."

In fact Aaron Stern was beginning to take offense at the Rabbi, who had, when all was said and done, him, Aaron, to thank for settling there, but preferred to give his attention to a person who had also him, Aaron, to thank for settling in Hegyhat. Istvan Stern was aware of the tension and even mentioned it to the Rabbi, who replied: "I am not in the debt of Aaron Stern, nor of any other local, just as they do not owe me anything either. We all of us owe thanks only to Him whom we cannot mention by name."

Conversation flowed easily in the Chestnuts, at the ash table with wine bottles and peeled fruit, in the reed armchairs lined with soft lambskins. Rabbi Ben Loew told parables from the Talmud that Istvan Stern, who still considered himself a tyro in matters of the history and traditions of his chosen people, was happy to make notes of in his head. In the company of the Rabbi he became unusually loquacious and found himself gabbling, as he had in his childhood. Often he would disrespectfully interrupt the Rabbi, of which he was much ashamed.

Not infrequently he would complain how hard it was to assimilate into their community. In the synagogue he was never sure whether he had to bow or stand and some of the Hebrew texts had never been explained to him, and he mouthed them without knowing what they meant. The long and short of it was that he still felt himself a stranger among the Jews.

"Everyone is a stranger in this world," said the Rabbi. "Above all the Jews. The pharaohs drove them from their ancient homeland, they dispersed to all points of the compass. They are to this day not allowed to buy land in many places. If, after all that, you have asked to join them, why should they not accept you?"

"Perhaps it's not their fault. Maybe I have no talent for something that you have to be born for."

"And what might that be, that you have to be born for? Look around: which Jew lives a life more Jewish than you? You do not have to tell me. Many of them eat forbidden meats, for example Aaron Stern does ... they fail in kashruth, mixing milky and meaty plates and cutlery, they are strangers to the synagogue. It is not a very attractive thing, being Jewish, you may be assured of that."

Another of their recurrent topics was Istvan Stern's miraculous gift of memory. The Rabbi wanted to understand exactly how the past began to stream for him. Could it be induced or accelerated by any particular type of behavior? Could he influence the periods that unreeled? Istvan Stern could not supply satisfactory answers; all he could say with any confidence was that when he was agitated or excited, the images came more frequently and in greater numbers. If he was calm, say after a good meal, he could not even remember what he previously wrote in the Book of Fathers.

Rabbi Ben Loew asked to see The Book of Fathers. He wanted to borrow it, but Istvan Stern would not let him take it. "Begging your pardon, but I don't want to be parted from it for a moment."

"Understandable. May I look at it here, in your presence?"

"As long as you please."

The more the Rabbi read, the more questions he asked. As if he were writing a history of the Sternovszky/Csillag family. Istvan Stern readily responded to every query, thinking ruefully meanwhile that neither his dear mother nor his younger brother, nor even his good wife, had expressed so much interest in his forebears. Nor his own sons, though perhaps their interest would develop later; after all, even the oldest was just coming up to seven.

"My dear Stern, I wonder: have you ever tried to look ahead?"

"Ahead?"

"Into the future."

Istvan Stern stared at Rabbi Ben Loew in astonishment. After a while he said: "That perspective is the privilege of Him whom we do not call by name."

"Let me be the judge of that, and answer my question."

"No, I have never looked into the future."

"You cannot or you will not?"

"I would hardly dare to try."

"Pity. What pain and suffering you could spare yourself and all your loved ones!"

This remark set Istvan Stern thinking. That night, after the Rabbi had departed, he stayed on the veranda as darkness fell, watching the shadows lengthen along the avenue of chestnut trees and by the three small silver firs that he had planted when each of his sons was born. The chestnut trees had grown taller than the average man (not as tall as Istvan himself), while the firs, like organpipes, were respectively only a few inches ahead of his Richard, Robert, and Rudolf. How tall would the chestnuts be in ten years' time? Twice this height, perhaps. And the firs? We shall see. Hopefully ...

Were he able to do what the Rabbi suggested, he could find out now what awaited him-awaited them all. The thought made him break out in a cold sweat. He recalled the Gypsy who had told his fortune in Tokay. The entire family had gone by cart to the fair and everybody got a souvenir. Richard got the little monkey that a large Gypsy family was exhibiting for a fee; it was no bigger than a medium-sized hare. Aaron Stern thought it must be a baby monkey, but the Gypsies swore it was twelve years old and called it Aster. After this, only the haggling separated Richard and the frightened little creature, which had now settled on his shoulder and clung to him like a baby to the breast. Aaron Stern gave up the haggling more than once, but each time Istvan Stern resumed it and in the end it was he who paid. He was ashamed to admit that he was taken with the little monkey perhaps even more than was his son. From that night onwards, despite his mother's protestations, he slept with the little creature in his bed, cuddling and kissing it constantly through the day, calling it Aszti, my little Aszti.

The oldest female member of the Gypsy family, a vast rotund creature dressed in red silk from top to toe, inhabited the darkness of the tent and would read one's fortune from one's palm, using cards, or her glass ball. To general surprise Aaron Stern paid for all the male members of the family to have their fortunes told. Istvan Stern was the last to reach the fortune-teller's table, which was host to a lazy black cat curled around the iron base of the magic ball.

"What's it made of?" asked Istvan Stern, thinking of the mysteriously shining ball.

"Just show me your palm!" said the Gypsy, grasping his hand and drawing the palm into the pool of light under the oil-lamp suspended close to her head. For a long time she studied the various lines and grooves, touching here, prodding there. Istvan Stern thought her stocky fingers were sticky and wanted to draw back his hand, but the fortuneteller would not let it go. "I see great fires," she declared at length with some solemnity.

"What sort of fires?"

"Blazing fires, flames as tall as a human being."

"What is ablaze? Stubble? Logs of wood? Or a roof?"

"Snow-white, square birds tumble into the flames, burning to death."

Istvan Stern could extract nothing more from the Gypsy. Later he asked his father-in-law: "What can it mean?"

"Nothing good."

"I still don't understand it."

Aaron Stern grimaced: "And for this I paid good money!"

Istvan Stern imagined the scene a hundred times. He saw the snow-white birds as doves; it was his own house that had burst into flame, the wings would be trying to extinguish the fire-that's why they dive onto it in suicidal frenzy, the smoke darkens the tapestry of the heavens. But he kept coming up against one thing: who has ever seen a rectangular dove?

One summer night, when a seasonal storm burst over the house with ear-splitting rolls of thunder and heavy rain, the past was again summoned up in Istvan Stern's mind and when he had again lived through what he had lived through so many times before, the Rabbi's question occurred to him, as well as the Gypsy's prophecy. Now, he thought, now or never! Eyes shut, he waited for the superhuman powers to launch in him the visions, this time the visions of the unknown regions of tomorrow. As his heartbeat accelerated, so it grew louder and began to shut out the roaring of the heavens. Then, then, oh, there came shreds of the first tableau, which eerily resembled the Gypsy's prophecy: vast flames leaped from somewhere and white blotches flew about, which perhaps resembled scraps of white lawn more than birds. But he had no chance to make them out properly. He could not even be sure that what he had been vouchsafed was indeed some tiny fragment of the future and not just images of the Gypsy's prophecy.

Rabbi Ben Loew hummed as he listened to Istvan Stern's account, as if he both believed it and did not. "Was that all?"

"That's all I saw."

"Don't give up hope. Whoever gave you this will give you more, when the time comes."

The profit from the vineyard that year was especially bountiful. The late summer heat had ripened the grapes to bursting and the mountain yielded a superlative nectar. Orders for Istvan Stern's S-branded containers came pouring in from every quarter. Aaron Stern winked happily at his son-in-law: "If it goes on like this, we might even get rich!"

With Istvan Stern it was not only his family, but the entire Jewish community of Hegyhat that was extremely satisfied. He was a model husband, who gave his wife the respect and material security that was her due. A strict but warmhearted father, for whom his sons would give their right arm if necessary. A generous patron of the poor in the whole region. An assiduous visitor to the synagogue. At the forefront of those who observe the law and maintain the customs. Intelligent, comfortably off, yet without putting on airs. There was little evidence that he was nonetheless ... in actual fact ... to put it bluntly: that he joined the community of his own free will. He was equally respected by the Calvinist tenant farmers: in matters viticultural he would be the first they turned to; his word was widely respected even when the issue was the taste of the wine. Some tenant farmers would cheat by sugaring their wine or even watering it: to deal with them the Wine Protection Union of Hegyhat and Tokay was formed, with Tivadar Frank as its president, after Istvan Stern had categorically declined this high office-whereupon he was elected deputy president, by acclamation.

Eva Stern was proud of her husband and liked to say that she was the only woman who gained her own name on marriage for a second time. She admitted to only one weakness in respect of her husband's activities: his visits to the marital bed were not as frequent as she would have liked. This weakness she ascribed to her husband's excessive devotion to the successful business; he often came home late and it was commonplace for him not to join the family at dinner. Eva did not even suspect that it was not always overwork that kept Istvan Stern from the bosom of his family. Not infrequently he spent his evenings in the house of a widow of substance whom he had encountered in the course of plying his trade, since from her late husband she had inherited one of the finest model vineyards of the Tokay region. It was one of Eva's regular pleas to her husband that they should shed the daily yoke of labor and go somewhere where they could take their ease for a while. Istvan Stern was not minded to have his bones shaken on the way to some far-off place. But slowly the whole family came round to Eva's view, and even Grandfather Aaron urged them to take a rest: "Off with you! Years have passed without your taking a rest from your bottles!"

A suitable opportunity arose in the form of a warm invitation from Tadeus Weissberger, a merchant from Lemberg, for Istvan Stern, together with his whole family, to visit him in his castle. "We are but a quarter of an hour from the town, by the shores of the lake, you can swim, sail, enjoy the sun!" he said in his broken German, their common language since Istvan Stern was not able to speak Yiddish.

There were extensive preparations before cart and carriage were filled with the five members of the Stern family, two coachmen, three footmen, a chambermaid, nine travel trunks, six bundles of clothing, three hatboxes, and the small monkey. Eva sat with her two younger sons in the direction of travel on the carriage couch; facing her sat Istvan, Richard, and his little Aszti. There was a footman by each of the coachmen up on the coach-box; the third had to squeeze onto the cart with the chambermaid, among the trunks that they had to constantly watch out for, in case they fell on top of them. The journey took four whole days, the nights spent at unmemorable lodgings.

Tadeus Weissberger received them in the garden of the T-shaped mansion, with a huge bouquet for Madame Eva. Agnieska Weissberger, the lady of the house, did her utmost to ensure that their guests from Hungary enjoyed themselves, her solicitousness going so far as to secure suitable aliment for little Aszti from the tsar's zoological gardens. The Weissbergers' six daughters-the youngest still in swaddling clouts, the oldest highly marriageable-attended to the Stern boys with very similar broad smiles, which did not, however, make the boys feel entirely comfortable, since they were unable to understand their kind and generous hosts.

"At least now you will appreciate how useful it is to speak other languages!" their father pointed out, though in truth even he sometimes had to guess what his hosts had to say. He determined that on their return he and his sons would all take lessons from Rabbi Ben Loew. It was Eva who proved the best conversationalist, as she had a smattering of Yiddish from Elisa, her adored mother, who had perished at one of the stations of the highway of hardships. Her earthly remains were later finally laid to rest in the Jewish cemetery at Hegyhat, thanks to Aaron Stern.