Far Fetched Fables No. 59 John D. Brown

Story: “From the Clay of His Heart” by John D. Brown


The golem was a thief. Nothing in the village, nothing in the whole vale for that matter, was safe. It was forever stealing and bringing its thefts to Braslava’s door, laying them on her step like a cat lays down dead birds and mice.

One day it was the Butcher’s blue and white Turkish stockings, the next it was cranky Petar’s new pitchfork.

And then the golem would stand there, looking down upon her, and all she could say was, “You think you’re doing me favors? Take your inscrutable face and go sit.”

And the golem would go and sit in the shade of her spruce, the sap sometimes falling to speckle the red clay of its bald head and shoulders.

Braslava did not know, was this God’s curse? Was it his blessing?

The golem was anatomically correct in every way, except for the missing belly button. But if God was going to go to all that trouble, why not just send a man instead?

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