Why the Dear Lord Wants There to Be Poor People

How Treachery Came to Russia

How Old Timofei Died Singing

The Song of Justice

A Scene from the Venice Ghetto

The Man Who Listened to Stones

How the Thimble Came to Be the Dear Lord

A Tale of Death with a Strange Postscript

An Association That Arose Out of a Crying Need

The Beggar and the Proud Maiden

A Story Told to the Darkness

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The Tale of God’s Hands

One morning not long ago I ran into the lady next door We exchanged greetings.

“What a fall!” she said after a moment and looked up into the sky. I did the same. For October it really was a clear and delicious morning. Suddenly, something occurred to me.

“What a fall!” I exclaimed, waving my hands about a little. My neighbor nodded in agreement. I watched her for a moment. Her good, wholesome face was moving up and down so sweetly. It was quite radiant; only around her lips and on her temples were there some little shadowy wrinkles. Where might those have come from?

And then, quite without warning, I asked her, “And your little girls?”

The wrinkles in her face vanished for a second but then immediately gathered again, even darker.

“They’re in good health, thank God, only—” My neighbor set off down the street, and I now took up my place at her left side, in the proper manner. “You know, they’re both now at an age, the children, where they ask questions all day long. What am I saying, ‘all day long’—right on into the night!”

“Yes,” I murmured, “there is a time—” But she paid me no heed.

“And not like: Where does this horse-trolley go? How many stars are there? And: Is ten thousand more than a lot? But quite different things: Does God speak Chinese too? And: What does God look like? Always all about God! But these are things we don’t really know the answers to.”

“No, of course not,” I agreed. “We have certain ideas about them—”

“Or about God’s hands. What are you supposed to—”

I looked my neighbor in the eyes. “Allow me,” I said in a very polite manner. “The last thing you said was ‘God’s hands,’ is that right?” She nodded. I think she was a little surprised. “Yes,” I hastened to add, “the hands of God is something I do know a little about. By coincidence,” I remarked quickly, as I saw her eyes begin to widen. “Entirely by coincidence . . . I just . . . well . . .” Then I concluded with resolve: “I will tell you what I know. If you have a minute, I’ll keep you company on the way back to your house; that will be just enough time.”

“Fine,” she said, still surprised, when I finally let her get a word in. “But wouldn’t you maybe want to tell—?”