Black Fire

Hutchinson paused at the entrance to the cave, disturbed to see that Starsky wasn't in the outer chamber. He let the dead chamois slide off his shoulder to the cave floor, then he slipped through the hidden passageway, into the chamber of stalagmites. Starsky was sitting by the pool. His left hand lay open on his lap, and he was staring into the palm.

Hutchinson turned to leave, but Starsky sensed his presence as always. 'Hutch,' he said. He looked up and smiled.

'I'm sorry,' said Hutchinson. 'I didn't mean to interrupt your prayers. You were gone. You weren't where I left you.'

Starsky got to his feet, and came over to put his arms around Hutchinson.

'I'm the one who's sorry. I know how worried you are about me. But you didn't interrupt prayer. I was meditating.'

'Meditating?' Hutch asked.

'There hasn't been time to meditate properly for so long. I wanted to try again, but my mind was a jumble of fears, and bad memories. I couldn't clear it until I came back here. Did you have a successful hunt?'

'Yes. I drained the blood the way you told me. The best I could, anyway.'

Hutchinson was more worried about Starsky breaking Jewish dietary laws, than Starsky was himself. Starsky had told him that he hadn't eaten Kosher for an entire year. Eating non-Kosher food was preferable to dying of starvation.

Hutchinson followed Starsky's directions about draining the animal's blood, and washing it in water, but nothing could change the fact that he was a hunter who had killed his prey, not slaughtered it under the direction of a rabbi.

They walked together to the front of the cave. Hutch cut up the meat, reserving the hindquarters for himself, and the front of the antelope for Starsky. There was enough meat for a number of meals. It was cold this high in the mountains, and Hutch stored any leftovers high in the branches of a nearby tree.

They sat around the fire, talking after dinner. 'Tell me about meditating,' said Hutchinson.

Starsky smiled. 'It's been so long, as I said. I didn't get very far, but my mind is a little clearer, now. And I shouldn't say that I haven't meditated at all in the last year. That is wrong. I meditated about you, which was very secular of me. Now that I have you in the flesh, I should get back to meditating on the name of God.'

'Yes. That would be better for your soul.'

'Not at all. You are very good for my soul, Herr Hutchinson.'

Hutch smiled. 'You meditated on my name?' he asked.

'On your name. On your skin. On your hair. On your cock...'

'How devoutly religious of you.'

'On your voice. How you touched me. How you filled me....'

'Starsky,' Hutch whispered.

Starsky went on, undeterred. 'God sent you to me, to be my lover. Making love with you is a sacred act.'

'Yes.'

************************

They lay together, before the fire. Starsky didn't have the energy for long, passionate acts of love yet, and their lovemaking was slow and sweet. Hutchinson gave his lover everything he asked for. The soft sighs, the moans and cries of pleasure. The tastes and smells. Most of all the sight of his naked body, his erect cock pulsating in orgasm. Starsky glutted himself on all this joy, after such long deprivation.

'You are a sensualist,' said Hutchinson. 'A sybarite.'

'But only with you. It's allowed, with your soulmate. I asked the Lord for you, remember?' 'Yes. But I have trouble believing it, sometimes.' 'It goes against everything you've been taught, I know,' said Starsky.

'Teach me. Teach me your beliefs about the nature of God.'

'You want to learn about the Kabbalah?'

'I think so. Is that what you believe in?'

'What do you know about the Kabbalah, Herr Hutchinson?'

'Not much. But enough to know that it isn't a plot to take over the world.'

'It could be, I suppose. In a way. Some people find it dangerous. Heretical. It teaches that God is both male and female. Androgynous. We are made in God's image, so we are androgynous. This frightens some people, especially men.'

'But not you?' Hutch asked.

'No. I realized that meant it made no difference whom I loved. I could lie with a man, which is my desire, without committing a terrible abomination. But most men want to preserve the superiority of their manhood at any cost. They find the image of God as male and female threatening.'

'And is that the only reason the Kabbalah is seen as dangerous?'

'Of course not. It was secret knowledge for so long. Anything secret is dangerous. Some Kabbalistic rites were seen as sorcery. As alchemy was.'

'Alchemy. Rabbi Loew.'

'Yes, yes. The Golem. Rabbi Loew's golem wasn't the only one, you know.'

'You talk as if it were real, Starsky.'

Starsky looked up, surprised. 'Hutch. The Golem of Prague is real. I've seen it.'

Starsky stared down into Hutchinson's face. There was an odd feeling growing in his belly. He realized that it was the urge to laugh, something he hadn't done in a long time. He gave in. What came out of his mouth was something more akin to a cackle than a laugh, but it felt good, so he went on doing it, until the tears streamed down his face.

'Starsky? What's wrong?' Hutchinson pulled him down into his arms, and stroked his hair.

'Nothing,' Starsky managed to gasp. 'Just the look on your face. I haven't gone mad, Hutch. I tell you, I've seen the Golem of Prague.'

'Of course you have,' Hutchinson said, gently, and stroked his hair again.

'My mother's maiden name was Loew.'

'Yes?' Hutchinson sounded curious, now.

'She was Rabbi Loew's granddaughter. That makes me a member of the family,' said Starsky, reasonably.

'So, they showed you the Golem?' Hutchinson sat up, and looked at Starsky. He was smiling. 'Starsky, first of all, the Golem doesn't exist. And secondly, even if it did, it's been hidden away in Rabbi Loew's attic ever since he... killed it, or whatever he did to it.'

'He removed the aleph from the Golem's forehead, leaving the word 'met', meaning dead.'

'Oh. Very useful, I'm sure. The point is, the attic has never been opened since then. So, how could you have seen it, even if it did exist?'

'There's another way in. A secret way. You're not the only one who knows secret ways, Herr Hutchinson. My cousin, Rachel Loew, showed me the way when I was a little boy, and dared me to sneak into the attic at night, and sleep beside the Golem.'

'So you did?'

'Naturally. She'd done it. I couldn't let a girl be braver than me.'

'I see your point. So, you saw the Golem? It was there? This isn't a joke?'

'It was real,' said Starsky. 'It must still be there.'

'Yes. Because when the Nazis took the city, they destroyed many of the synagogues, and Jewish houses, but left Rabbi Loew's house standing, by order of Hitler.'

'Why?'

'Hitler believes in the Kabbalah, you know. Or at least his own version of it, as a way to gain magical powers. His astrologers told him that if Rabbi Loew's house was destroyed, and the Golem was let loose, he would be defeated. The Golem is indestructible, according to legend, so he ordered it left untouched.'

'That was wise. The Golem cannot be destroyed, only turned off. It was created to defend the Ghetto against the pogroms, but it got a little out of control. It would be dangerous if it was awakened.'

'How dangerous?'

'How dangerous? I don't know, Hutch. I wasn't around back in the nineteenth century. Dangerous enough to frighten Hitler, it seems. Why?'

'Dangerous enough to frighten Hitler.'

'Herr Hutchinson? What are you thinking? I don't like that look in your eyes.'

'Starsky, the Golem is dangerous enough to frighten Hitler.'

'Yes. We are agreed on that.'

'So, why hasn't anyone thought of setting it free, and turning it on Hitler?'

'For one thing, you'd need someone who knew how to bring it back to life.'

'Could you do this?'

'I've never made a Golem, but I know the theory. But Hutch... the Golem is in Prague. We're in the Swiss Alps.'

'I can get us to Prague. Let me worry about that.'

'You know of a secret way? A tunnel, maybe?'

'I know how to get us there,' said Hutch, firmly. 'How do you bring the Golem back?'

'What do you know about the Golem, Hutch?'

'Why?' Hutch asked. 'What does that matter?'

Starsky studied his lover's face. He wanted to touch him, but didn't quite dare. He hadn't seen Hutch so cold and closed off, since that first night they spent together.

'You want to use the Golem as a weapon. It's dangerous to use a weapon without knowing how it works.'

Hutch sighed. 'You're right, of course. I'm sorry. Your grandfather made the Golem out of clay. He used some magical words in Hebrew to bring it to life, and ordered it to protect the Ghetto. That's all I know.'

Starsky sat up, and pulled Hutch's greatcoat around him. He stared into the fire for a long moment.

'The Kabbalah isn't a book of directions on how to perform magic. Shh. Don't interrupt, Herr Hutchinson. Just listen to your teacher. The Kabbalah is a book of instructions on how to become one with God, and the world around us. We come from God, and the universe. We are intended to be one with God and the universe, but we've become separated.'

'Yes?'

'In the beginning was the word. Isn't that what your Bible says?'

'I think so. I haven't read it for a while.'

'God created the universe with words. By using the right words, we can take part in the creation process of God. We can right wrongs, fix things that have been broken. That is one thing we do when we pray. I'm simplifying this, Hutch.'

'Good. I'm still not sure I follow you.'

'The creation of a Golem isn't evil. We were made in the image of God, and that includes the ability to create. But it's dangerous.'

'Yes. And the Golem is dangerous. But so is Hitler, and his whole Nazi party. How could the Golem be more dangerous than that?'

'Because once you start creating more and more powerful weapons to fight evil, where do you stop? And because when you create a Golem, you are supposed to be participating in the creation process of God, as I said. Not the creation of a dangerous weapon.

'My great grandfather took clay, and water. Clay represents woman. Water represents man. He molded it into the shape of a human, and wrote a word in Hebrew on its forehead. The word was emet.'

'Truth.'

'Yes. Then he gave it orders. To protect the Ghetto from the pogroms. But also to do little chores around the house. He was practical, after all. For a time, all went well. Then, the Golem got out of hand. It began to think for itself. To go on rampages. Finally, the good Rabbi had to shut it down.'

Hutch was silent for a long time. Starsky dared to look up from his contemplation of the fire.

'Hutch? What's wrong?' He reached out and wiped away the tears.

'My parents made me. They made me to be their good little Aryan boy. To protect the Aryan race against the evil Jews.'

'Hutch.'

'Then I started to think for myself. I realized they were mistaken, that Jews weren't evil. I thought they would listen to me, when I explained....'

'Hutch....'

'They didn't listen, Starsky. They.... It doesn't matter what they did. But they sent me to the Hitler Youth camps. I had to listen to the lies. Day after day. Year after year. I couldn't do anything to stop them.'

'Hutch. Beloved. None of this is your fault.'

'No. But whose fault is it?'

'I don't think anyone really knows.'

'Is there nothing in the Kabbalah that explains?'

'Explains what?'

'How to stop people like Hitler. What can you do? How did he spread his lies so far? How could my parents....'

'Hutch. Come here. Come here! There. Better. Don't pull away from me. God has given us free will, remember? And that includes the will to lie, to do evil things. But anyone can come back from evil. Anyone can find God again, and be one with Him and the universe.'

'That doesn't exactly answer my question.'

'No. The answer is that there is no answer. We can't stop people like Hitler, because they have free will, just like ourselves.'

'But we can fight them, Starsky. That's what I've been trying to do. If the Golem would help, I want to use it. I want to set it free.'

Starsky sat staring into the fire. He stroked Hutch's hair, gently.

'Yes,' he said, finally. 'If that is what you want.'

******************

They crossed the border into France a month later. Hutch had tried, several times, to persuade Starsky to stay behind.

'You're safe here. Once we cross into occupied territory, or Germany itself, you could be identified as a Jew at any moment. I'm pretty safe as long as I don't meet someone who knows I'm AWOL, and a filthy traitor. Tell me how to revive the Golem.'

'Safe? You call being alone without you safe? I'd rather die, so you do this with me, or not at all.'

Hutch wasn't very happy, Starsky thought. It made no difference. He was going along.

'You could live without me, Starsky. You're young. You could find someone else. Maybe even marry and have children. No, stop laughing and listen to me. You're intelligent, good looking, brave -- you'd be a wonderful father.'

'Thanks for the sweet words. When do we start out for Prague? I need to search my memory for everything I know about the Golem. It's been a while since I studied the Kabbalah, you know.' Starsky wasn't happy with Hutch either, for that matter.

'I want to make love with you.'

'We have been making love.'

'I want to make love properly. I want you to fuck me.'

'When you're stronger.'

'When I'm stronger? What's strength have to do with it? I'm asking you to do most of the work. All I'm going to do is lie there.'

'You're still too thin.'

'Too thin? I'm too thin to get fucked? You have to be fat to get fucked? Since when? I've known lots of thin people who got fucked every night.'

'Starsky.'

'I have. A friend of mine, his name was Israel. No, I'm serious. His name was Israel, and he was very skinny. He only liked it one way.'

'Yes? Which way was that?'

'Come here and I'll show you.'

'When you're stronger, and put on a little more weight.'

'God, you're stubborn.'

So they weren't exactly happy with each other. Still, they were together, and they could put aside their grievances well enough, at least once a night.

It was May, and the nights were beautiful. Or they would have been, without the bombers flying overhead. No one actually wasted bombs by dropping them out in the country without good reason, so there was little chance of dying in a raid. But the bombers were a constant reminder of their mission, and of the fact that they probably wouldn't survive it.

They came down out of the pass and spent a day hiking through the French countryside. Starsky found that his time in the mountains had strengthened his lungs and heart, and he kept up with Hutch more easily than either of them had hoped.

It was full night when Hutch called a halt, and they made a little camp in a sheltered place among the trees.

'We're not far from the end of this part of our journey,' Hutch announced.

'Ah. Very enlightening of you.'

'I'm sorry. It's the way of the Resistance cells. You are only told what you need to know. That way, if you're captured, they can't even torture information out of you. I wish you'd agreed....'

'Hutch.'

'I know. And don't worry. I won't let them take you. I'll kill us both. Does that make you happy?'

'I wouldn't use the word happy in that context, but....'

'Shh.'

Starsky fell silent. Hutch listened for a moment, then got to his feet carefully. He motioned to Starsky to stay put, but Starsky ignored him, and followed him out into the clearing. In a moment they were surrounded by men, and a few women, all pointing guns in their faces.

'Hello,' said Hutch, pleasantly. 'I'm the White Wolf. I'm looking for the Pilot. Who knows how to contact him?

'You're the White Wolf?' someone asked.

'That's me.'

One of the Resistance fighters waved his gun at Starsky.

'Then who's this?' he asked.

'Me?' Starsky said. 'I'm the Red Baron.'

Starsky heard Hutch choke. Someone at the edge of the crowd chuckled.

'Funny.' he said. 'Wolf? That is you, isn't it? I didn't recognize you out of your uniform.'

'Georges?'

'In person. What can we do for you?'

'As I said, we're looking for the Pilot. I've lost touch with him, but I know he's still in operation.'

'Yes. We can contact him for you. But why do you need him, if you travel with the Red Baron here?'

'I'm grounded. Out of fuel,' Starsky explained.

'That's a pity. Well, come and join our little band for now. We'll send someone after your friend, Wolf.'

'Thanks, Georges.'

********************

Hutchinson and Starsky sat huddled under the greatcoat, drinking coffee, or something that tasted vaguely like coffee. It was hot, at least, and Starsky was long past complaining about the taste of anything. He leaned against Hutch, soaking up his warmth.

'Who's this Pilot you want to meet?' Starsky whispered. 'A Resistance fighter?'

'Of a sort. If he's nearby, and we can contact him, he'll help us.'

'He's a friend of yours?'

'Yes,' said Hutchinson, shortly.

Starsky shifted a little closer to Hutch. He thought for a moment that Hutch would draw away, but he put his arm around Starsky's shoulder and pulled him nearer instead.

'You'll understand when you meet him,' he said. 'You're worried about me being tortured for information again?'

'No,' Hutchinson laughed. 'It's habit with me. That's all.'

One of the Resistance fighters had been watching them for a while. Now he spoke to Hutch, nodding at Starsky.

'Is he your catamite?'

'My what?'

'Your bum boy, you know?'

'No, I don't know,' said Hutch. 'Explain what you mean.'

'Do you fuck him?'

'Mind your own business.'

'That looks like an SS uniform coat.'

'It is,' said Hutch.

The man looked him over more carefully. 'Where did you get it?' he asked.

'I killed an SS officer for it.' Hutch said, smiling.

The man got up from the fire, and went to join his friends.

'You don't actually fuck me these days, Hutch. That's the problem.'

'Shut up, Starsky.'

'Oh. We're going to have our first fight, are we?'

'No. We're not.' Under cover of the coat, Hutchinson let his hand slide down to Starsky's thigh. He rubbed it, firmly. 'You did really well, hiking all this way. Standing up to those cutthroats.'

'Cutthroats?'

'They are. I should know. I've cut more than one throat in my time.'

'I guess that's why they don't intimidate me.'

'No one does,' Hutch observed.

Starsky was about to comment, but a stir at the edge of the camp distracted him. Two men had joined them. One was clearly a member of the band of 'cutthroats'. The other was not.

He was tall and blond. A little like an older version of the White Wolf, but he wore the Luftwaffe uniform. The Pilot, thought Starsky.

The man looked around the camp, and noticed Hutch sitting by the fire. His eyes seemed to narrow a little when he saw Starsky, nestled against Hutch's side. Hutch got up, carefully shifting Starsky away so as not to jostle him. Starsky smiled up at his lover.

'Here's our ride to Prague,' Hutch whispered.

Starsky watched Hutch walk to meet his friend. Friend? He wasn't sure what their relationship was. Coldness and warmth. Love and hate. Fire and ice.

They look so alike, he thought. Almost like brothers. Could they be brothers? The resemblance is there. They could be cousins. Or simply of the same ethnic background, I suppose.

They could be lovers.

He watched them clasp hands, then move apart slightly. He watched them talking in low voices. The Pilot turned to look at Starsky, briefly. His eyes were hostile, even at this distance. He shook his head at Hutch.

No to what, Starsky wondered. No to me? Hutch cannot leave me behind. I can't live without him. But he can live without me. He's been doing fine the last year, while I've been a slave. Lower than a slave. Is that really why he wanted to leave me behind? I'm slowing him down.

Hutch and the other man walked toward Starsky. Starsky got to his feet, unwilling to sit on the ground while they talked over his head.

'David,' said Hutchinson. 'This is the Pilot.'

Starsky nodded. 'Hello,' he said, curtly. He didn't offer to shake hands. It was rude, he knew, but the man was wearing a German Armed Forces uniform, after all. He was staring at Starsky in a manner too familiar. At any moment he'd say....

'Hello. You are a Jew, are you not?'

'Pilot! I told you....'

'Wolf, this man is Jewish. He looks Jewish. You can't just waltz into Prague with someone who looks Jewish. It's too dangerous.'

Dangerous? Dear God, thought Starsky. I'm a danger to Hutch. Why didn't I think of that? Because I've only been thinking of myself. Of my own selfish needs and desires. He forced himself to look up at Hutch, into his eyes.

'Hutch,' he whispered. 'I'm sorry. I didn't understand. I didn't think. Why didn't you say something?'

'Don't be ridiculous. You, a danger to a Nazi? It's the other way around. Pilot, stop looking for excuses. If you're too cowardly to fly us into Czechoslovakia, just say so. But don't put the blame on David.'

'Cowardly? Mein Gott! I'd shoot you for that, if you weren't.... Never mind. If you're intent on committing suicide with this Jew, go ahead. I just hope you don't take me with you. But come along, both of you. It's getting late.'

He stomped off, and Hutch gestured for Starsky to follow. They said a brief goodbye to the Resistance cell, and caught up with the Luftwaffe officer.

'Where are we going?' Starsky whispered.

'To his house,' said Hutch. 'There's a car waiting not far from here. He's going to put us up for the next day or two, until he can arrange to fly us to Prague.'

'Oh,' said Starsky, helplessly. Nothing seemed to be under his control, not even Hutch's love.

There was indeed a car waiting for them. A driver, as well. The driver was armed, and pointed his gun at them, until the Pilot assured him all was well. His assurances didn't bring an end to the driver's suspicious looks, however.

The ride from the forest to their destination was silent, for the most part. The Pilot seemed lost in his own thoughts. His driver cast occasional looks over his shoulder. Looks which consigned Starsky and Hutchinson to some deep region of Hell.

Hutch sat beside Starsky, but he might as well have been on the moon.

The car pulled up at the gate of a villa, or country house. It was secluded, and very quiet. Starsky thought it was the sort of place that should have been taken over by the Army, or the Luftwaffe. He wondered how it had escaped that fate. Perhaps it was too far out in the country?

Hutch shook himself out of his trance, and they got out of the car.

'So,' he commented. 'You moved back here?'

'I'm here for a few days. You caught me at a busy time, but I can fit you into my schedule,' the Pilot answered, his voice dripping sarcasm.

'Good,' Hutch answered with mock cheerfulness. 'When do we leave?'

'I have some things to arrange first. Excuses to come up with. Such as, for example, why I'm taking a sudden interest in Prague.'

'Well, if anyone can come up with excuses, you can.'

'Wolf.... Never mind. Let Hans show you to your quarters. I have to get working on those excuses.'

The Pilot stalked off, without saying goodbye. Starsky didn't bother either. Hutch was already following their silent guide, down a dark hallway to their rooms.

There was a large bedroom, with a bed, some chairs and a table in front of the window. The window, of course, was covered with blackout material. There was a private bathroom, as well. The door was open, slightly.

Starsky stood in the doorway, watching Hutch stroll around the room, as if he were examining an apartment he was thinking of renting. The bed looked comfortable. Starsky had not slept in a real one since before the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. That was more than a year ago, he thought. He wasn't sure. At the moment, it seemed like years since they had been safe in their cave. Why had they left? Something about going to Prague.

Starsky felt a little dizzy. The bathroom was right next door. Maybe there was running water. He pushed the door open all the way, and turned on the light.

Someone was already in the room. Someone pale, with scraggly, uncombed hair, and clothes that were far too large for his skeletal frame. Starsky stared at this apparition for a long, terrified moment, before realizing that he was looking at his own reflection.

O my dear God, he thought. Even Mother wouldn't recognize me. But Mother is dead. I know that. I saw her die....

....Starsky was marching from the Warsaw Ghetto to the Umschlagplatz. The streets were on fire, from one end of what was left of the Ghetto, to the other. Smoke and dust swirled around them, as they marched on toward death, or toward whatever the Nazis decreed.

Starsky looked at every Nazi who passed by, wondering if Hutch would be the next. Wondering what Hutch would do, if he were. Wondering what he himself would do.

Hutch could not save him. Not now, surrounded by so many hundreds of his armed compatriots. They had discussed this, several times. Starsky knew Hutchinson's dangerous position. He knew that maintaining his cover was essential to the German Resistance. But Starsky couldn't help but wonder what would happen if Hutch actually saw another Nazi about to shoot him.

A number of women and older men had been rounded up, and sent off to the side of the road. Some of the men were Rabbis. One of the women was his mother. Shots rang out. The women and old men all fell to the pavement and lay still.

'Mother,' Starsky whispered.

An SS officer came up to the line of marching Jews, and barked an order to keep marching. Starsky marched on. Far ahead, he could see the lines of German soldiers and the Waffen SS. Would they all be shot? Or sent to the camps? Which would be the worst fate? What would happen to his Hutch without him? Darkness rose from the ground, and swallowed Starsky. Far off in the distance he could hear Hutch's voice.

'David Starsky's people are my people.'

****************

The blessed, peaceful darkness into which Starsky had fallen was disturbed by angry voices. One of them sounded like Hutch's voice, but it was speaking German, something Hutch rarely did, at least around Starsky. Hutch spoke Yiddish to him, or French. Sometimes Polish. But never German. Why was Hutch speaking German?

Someone else was speaking German too, in an even louder, angrier voice.

'I might be, as you so often point out, a sick, evil Jew-hating Nazi son of a bitch, but even I wouldn't do a thing like this. Are you insane? What a stupid question. Of course you are. Here. Give him this.'

'Don't touch him.'

'I'm not touching him. Why would I want to touch him? He'd probably break. What were you thinking of?'

Hutch ignored this last question, and stroked Starsky's hair. He propped Starsky's head on his arm, and pressed a glass to his lips.

'Neshomeleh?' Hutch whispered. 'Can you try to drink this?'

Starsky opened his eyes. Hutch was kneeling beside him on the bathroom floor. Another man -- the Pilot, that was his name -- was standing over them. He looked angry and disgusted. No wonder, thought Starsky. I must look so foolish lying here. How did I get down here, anyway? He struggled to sit up, but Hutch pushed him back.

'No,' he said. 'Don't try to move. Just drink this. Please, Starsky.'

Starsky swallowed, obediently. It was whisky. Strong whisky. Starsky coughed, and spit most of it up again. But his head felt clearer.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered.

'It's not your fault,' Hutch objected.

'No,' said the Pilot. 'It isn't his fault. It's yours. Why did you drag him along on this foolish mission? Whatever the hell it is?'

Starsky was tired of people talking to Hutch about him, over his own head.

'Hutch didn't drag me along. I'm perfectly capable of going on foolish missions on my own.'

'Are you? You don't look capable of anything but lying in a hospital bed.'

'Well, there's not much chance of that, here and now. Is there?' Starsky asked, reasonably.

'What happened, Starsky? Did you have pain anywhere? Your heart, maybe?'

'No, Hutch. It wasn't that. I'm sorry I frightened you.'

Starsky felt ashamed. I have to be stronger than this, he thought. Dear God, help me to be stronger. Kenneth Hutchinson's lover must be very strong.

'Starsky?'

Hutch's voice sounded frightened again, and Starsky realized he had closed his eyes to pray. He opened them again, quickly.

'I had a memory, that's all.'

'A memory?'

'I'd forgotten. The day they rounded us all up and sent us to the camps. I saw them shoot my mother.'

'I'm so sorry, Starsky.'

'It's not your fault. It wasn't you. They shot some old Rabbis, too. A young girl... I'll be all right, Hutch. I've seen worse things since then.'

'I'm sure you have,' said the Pilot. 'But how can you say you'll be all right? How do you know this won't happen again?'

'I won't let it,' Starsky said. 'I'll be all right.'

'Wolf....'

'Pilot, I've seen Starsky stand up to trying conditions, when he was in worse shape than this.'

'Worse shape? Mein Gott!'

'Look. Please. Let's discuss this in the morning, after we've all had some sleep. How does that sound?' Hutch asked them both.

'Very well,' said the Pilot. 'Go to bed. Get some sleep in it. Good Night.'

Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel and stalked off.

***************

They were alone now. Hutch fussed over Starsky, getting him undressed, bathing him, helping him to comb his unruly hair. Finally, Hutch settled him in bed, and sat beside him, fussing with the pillows. He was muttering something under his breath, in a language Starsky didn't know. Norwegian, probably. Starsky caught Hutch's hand in his own, and held it tightly.

'Hutch. Listen to me. No, really listen to me. That wasn't your fault, what happened.'

'You're wrong. The Pilot was right. I shouldn't have let you come.'

'Let me? Let's get something cleared up between us, Hutch. You're not my boss, my commanding officer, or my master. What I said to the Pilot stands. I'm capable of doing foolish things on my own. I chose to come with you. And I don't want to hear another word about how I'm wrong and he's right.'

'No?'

'No. Your friend doesn't like me much, in case you hadn't noticed.'

'He doesn't like anyone much,' said Hutch. 'Including himself. Or make that especially himself.'

'It may have been foolish of me to insist on coming with you. But I didn't realize, until I saw myself in the mirror, Hutch. It was so frightening. No wonder you don't want me.'

'What? What do you mean, I don't want you? I want you like I want my next breath. Starsky, I've been afraid of hurting you, I told you that.'

'Hutch, you couldn't hurt me. You've never hurt me.'

'That was before.... Starsky, you saw yourself in the mirror, and passed out. How do you think I've felt, every time I looked at you?'

'If we go on this 'mission', as the Pilot calls it, we could die. Even if we survive, I might never be completely well again, Hutch. We don't know what will happen tomorrow. I want to be one with you, just once more before I die. Please, Hutch.'

'God help me. Pilot was right. I am insane.'

****************

Hutch was so gentle, it almost hurt. At first he wanted to do it from behind, with them both lying on their sides. He claimed this would be easier on Starsky.

'Easier? I hate it that way. I want to watch. Otherwise, what's the point?'

'You'd still feel me there.'

'I want to watch.'

Hutch put pillows under Starsky's hips. He gave detailed instructions on what Starsky was to do. Which was nothing, essentially, except to breathe. And to let Hutch know if he felt any pain or discomfort.

'Immediately. Do you understand?'

'Yes, sir. Can we get on with it?'

'Sorry.'

'You're taking all the fun out of it, Hutch. Will you relax? You're acting like it's your first time, or something. It's not my first time, either.' Hutch wouldn't even let him put the oil on his cock, as if that was too much work.

'Just lie there, and enjoy yourself.'

'I intend to, if we ever get around to.... Hutch!'

'What? Did that hurt?'

'No! Don't stop. Hutch! Do that again. That's what I want.'

Hutch put his fingers back where they belonged. Inside. Stroking in imitation of what his cock would soon be doing, if Starsky had anything to say about it.

'That's enough of that,' Starsky said, after a few minutes of sweet torture. 'Let's get to the main event.'

Hutch pulled Starsky's legs up around his shoulders, and pressed himself against Starsky's relaxed opening, very gently. He was watching Starsky's face for any sign of pain. But Starsky had been right. They were one. Hutch slid inside him, sweetly. Home where he belonged.

************************

They were rather late for breakfast the next morning. The Pilot was finishing his coffee, and reading some official-looking papers. He gave them one swift glance, and went back to his reading, without any comment. His silence spoke volumes, however.

Starsky wondered how quiet they had been. Not very, he thought. Hutch seemed unabashed.

'How are you, this morning?' he asked, cheerfully.

'Not as happy as you, it seems,' was the Pilot's reply.

Hutch shrugged, and poured himself some coffee. He took a sip, and stared at his cup in astonishment.

'Starsky! Try some of this. Tell me what you think.'

Starsky poured a cup for himself and tasted it. 'It... it tastes like coffee, Hutch.'

'Mine tasted the same. I wonder what it could be?'

'It's coffee, you idiots,' their host informed them. 'It can't be,' said Hutch. 'I didn't think there was such a thing as real coffee left in the world. Well, not in our part of the world, for some reason. Maybe because we're at war?'

The Pilot gathered his papers together, finished his own cup of coffee, and got to his feet.

'I have to go out for a while. I'm not sure when I'll be back. Help yourself to anything you like, including more coffee. But I suggest you stay inside.'

'Thanks. We will. We'll find ourselves something to do. Perhaps you have copies of the few good books that survived the Nazi's attempt to wipe out all beauty and goodness in the world.'

The Pilot left without another word. Hutch ignored this, and persuaded Starsky to eat a good breakfast.

'You need to put on some weight, neshomeleh.' There was toast, and jam made from some sort of local berries. Hutch spread lots of butter on his toast for him.

'Hutch?'

'Yes, beloved?'

'Your relationship with your friend isn't any of my business....'

'But?'

'But, well, is it a good idea to bait him? Isn't it dangerous?'

'Dangerous for whom? He won't betray us, Starsky.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes. I'm sure. You see, under that uniform, is an honourable man. He has faults, but betraying his friends isn't one of them. I know that for a fact.'

Starsky ate his toast, and drank some coffee. He gathered his courage, then asked the question he'd been wanting to ask since the night before.

'Hutch? Is he your lover?'

'No,' said Hutch, simply. 'You're my lover.'

*************

They found the Pilot's private study, and Hutch marched in as if he owned it. There were several shelves of books. Hutch muttered in Norwegian when he read some of the titles, but eventually he found a book of poetry that met with his approval.

Starsky found a copy of the Bible. It was the Christian Bible, with the Old and New Testaments. Starsky leafed through it, until he found the Psalms.

He knew many of them by heart, but still it was wonderful to read the words. David's words. He wondered if David had ever recited them to Jonathan.

....The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul....

Yes, thought Starsky. He has restored my soul to me.

He looked up. Hutch was standing in the window, and the morning light was streaming in. It lit his golden head, like a candle flame. Starsky had had little time to enjoy Hutchinson's physical beauty. He had noticed it the moment he had laid eyes on the man, and that had been the initial basis of his attraction to him. His first sight of Hutchinson's naked body had nearly driven him mad with lust. But there had been few opportunities since then to indulge all his senses in a purely physical way. They had been rushed, afraid, tired to the core. Even when they found their haven in the Swiss Alps, Starsky had spent little time simply looking at his lover.

'Hutch,' he whispered.

Hutch turned, and saw Starsky watching him. He smiled, and held out his hand.

************

Hutch locked the study door. He left the curtains open so the sunlight streamed in. He found a blanket on the couch, and spread it on the floor, then piled it with cushions.

Starsky undressed with trembling hands, then let Hutch arrange him on the cushions.

'You are so beautiful,' said Starsky.

'So are you,' Hutch replied.

'Not now,' said Starsky.

'Yes. Now. You're pared down to the bone. It's the monsters who did this to you who are ugly. You are beautiful.'

They had never made love in sunlight. It melted over Hutch's shoulders as he rose over Starsky's body. All the little, golden hairs on his arms, and his legs, and around his cock, seemed to sparkle and dance, as if they had their own independent life.

Starsky watched Hutch filling him. Hutch moved inside Starsky's body for a while, gently, then drew out, slowly.

'Hutch,' Starsky protested.

'Shh. Relax. It's still here. See?'

Starsky stroked Hutch's cock for a while, looking into his lover's eyes. After a few minutes, Hutch entered him again. Memory and anticipation had aroused his body's sensitivity. He groaned with pleasure. Hutch slid in and out, slowly. So slowly.

Ah, thought Starsky. This is the way it's going to be, isn't it? This is what you really like.

***************

It was a key turning in the lock that woke Starsky. He raised on one elbow, and looked up at the Pilot. The man stood in the doorway for a moment, looking down at his guests, who were naked and twined together on his study floor.

'Dinner is in half an hour,' he announced. 'I suggest you get dressed.'

The door closed behind him.

'Hutch?'

'Yes, Starsky?'

'Your friend is very strange for a German. Most Germans I know go on and on. Greetings. Farewells. They take forever.'

'Yes, well. He's just very strange.'

Starsky sighed. Hutch was truly a font of information.

****************

After dinner they returned to the study. Hutch had replaced the sofa cushions, and they sat side by side, while the Pilot lit a fire. He took the large armchair, and looked at them.

'I can probably fly you to Prague in two days. Are you going to tell me why we're going, so we can make plans? Or are you going to spend the entire time fucking? It's nothing to me, one way or the other, but I'd like to know.'

'We'll tell you. But I want to bring Starsky into our pact first.'

'What? A Jew?'

'He's my lover. We're doing this together. He has a right to know about you. About us. He has the right to the same vows and promises that Christoph had.'

The Pilot flinched at the name. He got to his feet and walked about the room for a moment. But he came back to his chair, and sat staring into the fire.

'I don't like Jews,' he said.

Hutch was silent. The Pilot turned and looked at Starsky.

'I don't like Jews. I've never liked them. I don't want to be friends with any of you. I don't think you're good for Germany. That's why I joined the Hitler Youth. You have to understand, Herr Starsky, that I said I don't like Jews. I didn't say that I hate them. I didn't wish to kill all of you. To send you to those camps to die. That was not how it was supposed to be. That wasn't what I meant.'

'No. I believe you.'

'You do? That's strange, because the Wolf doesn't believe me.'

'The Wolf... Hutch loves you. You disappoint him. To me, you're a stranger, and I can see you objectively.'

'Indeed?'

'Yes. I see that you had an idea of how the world should be. That the world should work the way you wished it to work. You thought you could fix it to suit yourself, with the help of the Fuehrer, and all your Aryan brothers. Make the world over in your own image. Everything would be wonderful. The people you didn't like would just disappear, and everything would be beautiful. The Third Reich would last for a thousand years. Once you got rid of the Jews. That little problem that was in the way. But you didn't mean all this....'

Starsky waved his hand to indicate the current state of Germany and the rest of Europe. The death camps. The bombers flying overhead as they spoke, carrying destruction into the heart of the Fuehrer's Third Reich.

'I can understand you, yes. The way I understood my family.'

'Your family?'

'When I was sixteen, I had my first male lover. My brother found out, and he told my father. They took me to the Rabbi. He said I was committing a terrible abomination. If I could desire a woman at all, I should get married as soon as was fitting. If I could not desire a woman, then I must be celibate. But celibacy was not the way of Jews, so perhaps a psychiatrist could help me. Either way, I must keep my mouth shut about my sinful desires for men, and not bother the nation of Israel with them.'

Hutch had moved nearer to him on the sofa, and he took his hand, but neither he nor the Pilot spoke. They had both probably had similar experiences, thought Starsky.

'My parents took me to a psychiatrist. He told me I was very sick, mentally, but he could cure me, since I was so young. He would track down the source of my illness through the darkness inside me, and burn it out.

'I told him, he would do no such thing. My love of men is part of my soul. It's a gift from God. I told him, and the Rabbi, and my parents to look around them. We were backed to the walls of the Ghetto, and the Nazis were goose-stepping around just outside. Why were they calling me evil and sick for loving other men? They didn't listen.'

The Pilot turned from his contemplation of the fire, to look at Starsky.

'Who is the real source of darkness in your life, Pilot? It's not me, is it?'

The Pilot stared into Starsky's eyes for a long, silent moment. His own eyes were filled with pain, but he said nothing.

'It's a human trait, you know,' said Starsky. 'Looking around for someone else to blame for your own misery. My family did it. My own brother once told me that God had let the Nazis send us to the camps, because of sinners like me. I've heard that some people blame homosexuals for earthquakes, and floods.'

'Do you blame anyone for your misery?'

'I try not to. It's a temptation at times, but I have God to protect me, and he sent me Hutch.'

The Pilot got to his feet again, this time to pour himself a drink. He waved the gin bottle in their direction, in silent invitation.

'Thank you,' said Starsky.

'I don't think it's kosher,' Hutch said, and Starsky smiled.

The Pilot came back to his chair, and handed them their drinks. Starsky slid down off the sofa, and sat at Hutch's feet, nestled between his legs. He rested his head on Hutch's thigh. The Pilot gazed at them, his eyes still showing that deep pain.

'I think in your case, Herr Starsky, that you would be justified in blaming someone for your sufferings. There was someone who planned them, and carried them out. I was, as you said, fooled by him once. But I learned better.'

'Our great Fuehrer?'

'Yes. Of course, he's not the only one to blame. He has many followers, even now. But his enemies grow. I was one of the first of those.' The Pilot was staring into the fire, again. His voice was soft, almost nostalgic.

'You may not remember, being so young, but once there was a movement in Germany to liberalize the laws against homosexuality. To bring them back in line with the Code Napoleon. We had some hopes, my lover and I. Roland was in the SA.'

'The SA?' Starsky asked.

'The Stormtroopers,' Hutch explained. 'Ernst Rohm.'

'Ernst Rohm was my friend. He, and Roland began to question Hitler's plans. They didn't like his extreme anti-Semitism. Roland argued with me over it. I didn't think Hitler was truly serious. I thought his statements were mostly for effect. Merely to stir the people up. Germany had fallen into such depression after the Armistice. We needed to recover our strength, our soul.

'But Ernst and Roland were right. And I was wrong. They paid for their prescience with their lives.'

'The Night of the Long Knives,' said Hutch. 'Hitler sent the SS to arrest Rohm, and to kill off most of the SA.'

'I managed to escape the Blood Purge. It wasn't widely known that I was friends with Rohm. Nor that I was homosexual. I'd mostly kept that a secret. Also, there is my father. Hitler is insane, never doubt it, but even he knows which side his bread is buttered on. He needs my family's wealth and power behind him. So I survived.'

'A few years later, he met me,' Hutch added. 'And Christoph.'

The pilot had fallen silent. Hutch was taking up the tale.

'Christoph and I were, well, not lovers exactly, but more than friends.'

'Fuck buddies,' offered the Pilot.

'He was in the SS. That's how we met. He wasn't involved in the Resistance, but he was sympathetic. The Night of the Long Knives, and the subsequent laws against homosexual thoughts had tipped him off that we were as vulnerable as any Jew. He knew about some of my activities, and kept quiet. After all, we both had something to hide, once we were screwing each other. Then, I met the Pilot. We were working on the same project.'

'Killing Hitler,' the Pilot murmured, helpfully.

Hutch nodded, and went on. 'It didn't work, obviously. The man is worse than Rasputin. But we survived, as well. I introduced him to the Pilot, and I lost my fuck buddy. Both of them, actually. They took one look at each other, and I was the third wheel.'

Hutch sounded amused. The Pilot was still gazing into the fire. Starsky could begin to see where this story was heading, and wondered what his host was seeing in that fire.

'Christoph began to get more involved in our discussions about Hitler and where he was leading Germany. Eventually, he said he wanted to help. The three of us decided to form our own little Resistance cell. We took vows. We swore them in blood, and all that sort of cloak and dagger stuff. But we meant them.'

The Pilot turned from the fire once more. Starsky could see the signs of tears in his eyes.

'We were in that plot to kill Hitler last year,' he said.

'The bomb plot?' Starsky asked.

'Yes. Christoph wanted to prove himself to us. He became deeply involved in that. As you know, Hitler survived. Again.'

'And Christoph died,' said Starsky.

'Yes. He died,' Hutch said. 'I was sent to arrest him, and I killed him.'

Starsky sat up, quickly. He looked back and forth between his Hutch and the Pilot. His mind was echoing with Hutch's words.

Hutch had killed Christoph.

'I told you. I've done terrible things,' said Hutch.

Starsky climbed back up on the sofa beside his lover, and pulled him into his arms. Hutch shuddered, and almost pulled away, but then relaxed against Starsky, as though a great fear had proven to be groundless. Starsky drew Hutch's head down on his shoulder, and closed his eyes. They sat there for a moment, peacefully.

The Pilot said, 'What would have happened to Christoph if you hadn't killed him, Wolf?'

'I don't think anyone here needs me to expound upon that.'

'No.'

Starsky felt the sofa sink down a little, and realized that the Pilot had joined them. He opened his eyes in surprise, and met those of Hutch's friend. They shared a strange moment of solidarity and understanding. Then the Pilot reached out and stroked Hutch's hair.

'It was part of our pact. We all agreed that if one of us was in danger of capture, and subsequent torture and execution, the others would remove that danger, in whatever way necessary. What you did was necessary, wasn't it?'

'Of course. But that didn't make it any easier. It doesn't make me feel any less like a murderer when I look at you.'

'It should, because I thank you for it. What would you have me do if Herr Starsky were about to be arrested by the SS, and I couldn't help him escape?'

'The same thing. And I would thank you for it. That's the reason I want Starsky to join our pact. I want him to have the right to that protection from both of us.'

'But could he do the same for us?' the Pilot asked.

'I think so,' said Starsky. 'But I'm not sure. I've never killed anyone in cold blood. I shot people during the Warsaw Uprising, but that's different.'

'Yes, it is different. But you have killed. Once you've gone over that line, you're forever changed. It's not so big a step to killing calmly and coldly. I know,' said the Pilot.

Starsky thought for a moment, then made his decision. 'I'll make the pact,' he said. 'Whatever you want me to promise. But I don't know if I can do it. I'll try.'

'You have to do more than try. You have to be strong.'

Yes, thought Starsky. Kenneth Hutchinson's lover must be very strong. God meant for this to happen, so I must be prepared for whatever he needs from me.

'I will be strong,' he said.

The Pilot got to his feet, and searched in the liquor cabinet. He found a bottle of red wine, and opened it, then poured some into a goblet. Hutch drew out one of his deadly knives. He pricked his own finger, and squeezed out a drop of blood to mix with the wine. The Pilot did the same, then handed the knife to Starsky. He looked a little pale as Starsky let a drop of his own blood mix with theirs.

'Don't worry,' said Starsky. 'Hutch drank my blood a year ago, and he hasn't turned Jewish. Yet.'

**************

'I suppose we're now the Three Musketeers,' Starsky commented. 'All for one, and one for all.'

Hutch smiled a little. The Pilot stared morosely into the empty wine goblet.

'If you're not satisfied yet, we can do it again.' Hutch actually sniggered this time. The Pilot sighed, and got up to refill the goblet.

'I wasn't serious about doing it again,' said Starsky. 'Once is enough. You're not getting any more blood out of me.'

'Certainly not,' Hutch said. 'You don't have any to spare. Aren't you hungry again? I'll go find you something to eat.'

Hutch started to get up, but Starsky pulled him back.

'Later,' he said. 'Before we go to bed. Now, if we're the Three Musketeers, we need to find D'Artagnan.'

'We need to discuss our mission, now that we've settled the vows unto death part,' the Pilot observed.

'Yes. Our mission.' Hutch cleared his throat. 'First of all, I want you to hear me out.'

'Oh, no. This is not a good beginning.'

'Perhaps not. But still, I want you to do me that courtesy. Yell at me afterwards, if you like.'

'I will. Continue.'

'Starsky and I are going to revive the Golem of Prague.'

Clearly Hutch didn't believe in long preambles, thought Starsky. Well, not outside of the bedroom, at least.

'I'm waiting for your description of our mission, Wolf.'

'I just gave it to you.'

'This is a joke, no?'

'No. It is not a joke,' Hutch stated.

'Then you are mad, the both of you.'

'Why do you say that?' Hutch asked.

'Why? Why are you mad, you ask? Wolf, why aren't you mad? You expect me to risk my life, all our lives, over a fantasy? There is no Golem. There never was a Golem.'

'It doesn't matter if there never was a Golem. Hitler believes there was a Golem, and he fears it. He believes that if it is reborn, he will be defeated. All we have to do is play on that fear. It doesn't matter if there is a real Golem, or not. We only have to make Hitler believe that there is one, and that we are going to use it.'

'Then what? What happens when we cannot produce one?'

'That's a good question. But it might be a question we don't have to answer. You know, do you not, that the Allies are planning an invasion?'

'Yes. And I have mixed feelings on that score. I hate Hitler and his vile government. Hitler killed both my lovers, and one of my dearest friends. I have vowed to join with Satan himself, if necessary, in order to bring him down. But still it galls me. To stand by and let another power invade Germany? Even to help them to invade? It scalds my soul.'

'Then you must decide, Pilot. What galls you the more? Germany being defeated by the foreign powers it forced this war upon? Or Hitler continuing to brutalize the world? Choose.'

'I've already chosen,' the Pilot declared. 'I've sided with Satan, against the worse evil. Hitler must die. Germany must be free of his stench, so we can all breathe again. Certainly we must be allowed the freedom to have homosexual thoughts once more.'

'Agreed,' said Hutch. 'Now, listen to me, even if I am mad. Starsky is the great-grandson of Rabbi Loew. He knows a secret way into the attic in which the Golem is hidden. He tells me the Golem does exist, and he thinks he knows how to bring it back to life. Any questions?'

'Yes. I wonder if I have enough alcohol to get thoroughly drunk?'

**********

The Pilot got up from his chair, heading for the liquor cabinet. Starsky stood up, and caught his arm. It was the first time Starsky had touched him, other than their ritual clasp of hands when they had made their vows. For a moment, a flash of anger crossed the Pilot's face.

'I don't think getting drunk will help,' said Starsky.

The Pilot laughed, somewhat bitterly. 'And what will help?' he asked. 'We are all doomed. I agree to do this thing, only because I am outvoted. You were very clever there, Wolf. But I do not see any possibility of success.'

'Perhaps not,' said Starsky. 'But then, what about the other plots you were involved in? They must have been deemed reasonable at the time. The bomb plot, for example. A sure thing? And yet, it failed. Perhaps what we need is something so crazy, no one else would think of it. Who would suspect what we are up to? Hitler? The SS? They are watching the coast, expecting invasion. They are watching for more bomb plots, or for armed assassins.'

'Yes. They wouldn't be watching for a Jew and two Nazis plotting to bring back the Golem,' the Pilot said. 'Because it makes no rational sense.' Starsky smiled. He pulled the Pilot over to the sofa, and made him sit down beside Hutch. Starsky took Hutch's other side.

'So we're not rational. Where has rationality gotten us? Being rational would never have helped me survive the camps. I would have given up in despair, and died, because every rational thought I had told me I was doomed. From the moment the Uprising failed, until Hutch rescued me, I lived every moment expecting to die. And yet I live. I had hope. I trusted in God. I believed in Hutch's words, that my people were his people.'

'What do you suggest I believe in, Herr Starsky?'

'What do you want to believe in? You said we needed to breathe freely again. To be able to love other men freely again.'

'I doubt that will happen, even if Hitler dies.'

'I've been dreaming of what I will do when the war is over, and we survive. I want to live in France, with Hutch. We would not be criminals there. I've been thinking I would like to teach school, or write books, or be a photographer. Or all three. I've been picturing a small flat in Paris. Hutch and I could live there together, without any fear of the police coming to the door to arrest us for making love. What do you think, Hutch?'

'That sounds beautiful.'

'Pilot?'

'Yes. It is a beautiful dream, Herr Starsky. But what does it mean to me?'

'You can have a dream like that. You are worthy of that kind of love, the same as we are. You had such love before, from good men. Brave men, who died trying to free the world from slavery. If you've had such love twice, why not again? To give up in despair, is to dishonour their memories. You've survived because you are very strong. Someone else might need your strength.'

'If you say so.'

'I do say so. In the meantime, we need to make a plan. How well do you know Prague? Hutch?'

'Not very well. I've been there once or twice.'

'So have I,' said the Pilot.

'I was born there,' Starsky told them.

'Ah. So you are Czech?' asked the Pilot.

'I am Jewish. Ashkenazim. Born in Prague. I grew up there. Perhaps you could call me Bohemian. Then we moved to Poland before the Germans invaded Czechoslovakia. I speak Czech, Polish, German, French, Yiddish and Hebrew. Most of the time I just think of myself as human.'

Hutch smiled at him. 'You must know Prague well.' he observed.

'I know Jewish Town well. I know the Old Town. I know many little twists and turns and tunnels around the Vltava -- the Moldau.'

'More secret ways?' Hutch asked, teasingly.

'What would we do without them?' Starsky replied.

Starsky got to his feet, and walked up and down the room for a few minutes, stretching his legs. He was also thinking. It was about time, he said to himself.

'Pilot? How were you planning on getting us into Prague?'

'I wasn't really. This is your plan. You are both mad.'

'We'll take that as a given. But you know, you were right about me being a danger to you.'

'Indeed?'

'You can't land your plane at the airport, and just waltz into Prague with a Jew in tow. It would look suspicious.'

'To say the least.'

'However, you need me. You can't go to Prague alone, and ask around for Rabbi Loew's house. Do you have maps of the region?'

The Pilot searched through his desk, and found a pile of maps. Starsky leafed through them, and discovered some large maps of Bohemia.

'Look. Here is Praha -- Prague. The Vltava River. The Labe -- the Elbe River. There are farms around there. Perhaps a place to land a small plane? Do you have any contacts in the Resistance who may know Resistance members around there? I'll bet you anything there are Jewish partisans operating in that area. What? Why are you looking at me like that? Hutch?'

'You continue to surprise me, neshomeleh. That whole region is swarming with partisans. But mostly to the east.'

'Fair enough. If we can contact someone there, they may be able to help us. We need to hide the plane. Perhaps make it look like we crashed, or were shot down. Hardly a rare occurrence these days, I'm sure. We can move up the river basin, after dark. There are sewers along the river. I used to play there, when I was a boy. We could get inside the city that way.'

'They may be guarded,' said the Pilot.

Starsky said, 'I'm sure the two of you can think of ways to take care of any little problems like that. Once we get inside Rabbi Loew's house, and wake up the Golem -- which does exist by the way -- then what?'

'Could we make it outside the city, the same way we came in?' Hutch wondered.

'Let's get inside first,' the Pilot said. 'Then we can worry about getting out.'

******************

Starsky lay in bed, waiting for Hutch to join him. It was silly to feel jealous that Hutch had accompanied the Pilot to his own bedroom. They were old friends, and had had no chance to talk alone for a long time.

He did feel a little jealous, however. He faced that unpalatable fact, and tried to stare it down. Hutch and the Pilot had been intimate, long ago. Hutch called the Pilot his 'fuck buddy'. Hardly romantic language. The Pilot was still mourning Christoph. Hutch had spent a good part of the day making love to Starsky, and was worn out as a result.

There was nothing to fear.

Why was Hutch taking so long?

The bedroom door opened. Hutch came in, carrying a tray of food.

'Here,' said Hutch. 'Some hot milk. Toast and jam. Eat something.'

********************

Starsky woke up hungry. It was an unfamiliar sensation, and one it took him a few moments to identify. Hutch was deeply asleep, his face smoothed and beautiful after the love they had shared the night before.

Starsky slipped out of Hutch's arms. His lover stirred a little, in protest, and Starsky stroked his hair for a moment to reassure him. Then he started for the kitchen.

That turned out to be unnecessary. It was dawn, and the Pilot was already up, and eating his own breakfast. When he saw Starsky, he pushed the platter of toast toward him.

'There's porridge, as well,' he informed him.

'Thanks,' said Starsky. 'I need to build up my strength, for this mad mission. It's strange, but I seem to have found my appetite.'

'I thought you'd already found it.'

Starsky blushed.

'That was... it's not... we were...'

'Are you trying to tell me something, Herr Starsky?'

'Hutch is a passionate lover. But you knew that already.'

'Not really. I'm surprised, to tell you the truth. He always seemed cold and distant to me. It must be you who are passionate.'

'No. He is passionate. I'm not completely well yet. Mostly, I just enjoy being intimate with him, giving him what he needs. And I'm hardly attractive these days. I don't know how he can stand to look at me.'

'Oh, he looks at you.'

'He makes me feel like the most desirable man on earth. I suppose it's because he loves me. That's what it's about. Not sex.'

The Pilot took a key ring from his pocket, and passed it across to Starsky.

'What's this?' Starsky asked.

'It's the key to a room down the hall. And another key to a locked wardrobe you'll find there.'

'Yes?'

'Christoph left some clothes here. He is... was about your height and build, though of course you are thinner at the moment. That will change if you keep eating the way you are.... Go on eating. I didn't tell you to stop.'

'Pilot. I can't... I couldn't take...'

'Don't be ridiculous. You can't continue to go around dressed like that. Please don't take offense, Herr Starsky, but you look like a refugee from a concentration camp. And that, as I've pointed out before, is dangerous. You couldn't fool a young child for a moment, that you were anything else. Your hair needs cutting, too. Eat up, and we'll see what we can do.'

************

The door opened, and Starsky peeked inside. He was nervous, invading another man's shrine to his dead lover. But there was nothing ghoulish about the small room. A few pictures. The Pilot and his Christoph. Hutch with his friends. No pictures of Hitler. A German flag --- not the Swastika --- hanging on the wall.

They went over to the wardrobe, and Starsky unlocked it at a nod from the Pilot. There was one of Christoph's SS uniforms, but the other clothes were casual. They were, however, quite well made, and obviously expensive. Love gifts, perhaps?

The Pilot was rifling through them. He didn't seem upset at the idea of giving them away. Soon, there were several pairs of trousers and some shirts, a couple of pullover sweaters, and some underwear and socks, piled on the chair by the door.

'Now this,' said the Pilot. He pulled out a leather jacket. Starsky stared. It was dark brown, very well cut and lined. It looked rich.

'That coat you've been wearing is far too big for you, and it will be too warm this time of year. But the nights are chilly. Don't argue, Herr Starsky. Christoph doesn't need it now. You do.' They went back to the dining table, and the Pilot hunted up a pair of scissors. Starsky's hair had been shaved in the camps, but had started to grow out again as he was being shunted about on the trains. For the last two months it had grown quite long, and had not been trimmed.

A half-hour later, Starsky had washed, and tried on some of his new clothes. They did fit much better than the cast offs from the train. He was admiring himself in the dining room mirror, when Hutch came out for breakfast. He stood in the doorway and stared.

'Starsky?' Hutch asked.

A tall thin young man turned to him and smiled. He was handsome, despite the look of having suffered great pain and deprivation. His eyes were deep, filled with boundless joy, and utter adoration.

The Pilot sighed.

'I have to go now. I have work to do. But I'll see you tonight. Try not to miss me too much.'

********************

'A biplane? We're going by biplane? Are you mad?'

'Ha! You now question my sanity, Herr Starsky? You?'

'Yes. You questioned ours. We're returning the favour.'

'I'm beginning to see why you like him, Wolf. But, as you pointed out the value of non-rationality, so do I. Biplanes have their virtues.'

'Name one.'

'They are relatively quiet. They are very light and maneuverable. They are very hard to shoot down, as the Italian Air Force has discovered in Malta. And as the German Navy has learned while fighting the British Navy's Fleet Air Arm. A biplane will seem unthreatening as it flies overhead. Surely it cannot be the Allied invasion force at last? No. Merely a few lunatics out for a little fun in the countryside. Which is essentially what we are.'

'All good points, Herr Pilot.'

Starsky sat back down beside Hutch, and nestled into his embracing arm. Hutch had been appreciative of Starsky's new wardrobe. He had insisted that Starsky try everything on at least twice. The underwear intrigued him, since Starsky had not owned anything so frivolous as underwear in the entire time he'd known him. In the end, Starsky tried on the leather jacket over nothing but his naked skin.

That had been interesting.

Starsky yawned.

'I'm sorry our discussion so bores you, Herr Starsky.'

'Not at all. I'm just sleepy. What sort of biplane is this?'

'A Sopwith Camel.'

'I guess I'm going to be the Red Baron after all,' said Starsky. 'But please. Don't demonstrate too much of that maneuverability. Unless you want me to throw up the entire journey.'

'Agreed. Though the Red Baron didn't fly a Sopwith Camel. It's a British plane. Now, I sent off a message to the Czech underground. Someone is supposed to be contacting me tomorrow, with their recommendations about where to land, and so forth. Unless they say otherwise, we'll take off the next day.'

'Agreed,' said Hutch. 'Then Starsky and I make for Prague. Are you coming with us, Pilot? Or are you going to fly home?'

'And leave you two lunatics to face the entire German Occupying Force alone? No. I'm declaring my true allegiance. The Allies are going to land soon. If I'm still in the German Air Force, I'll be sent out to fight them. I've decided I can't do that. So, I suppose I'll have to start openly fighting Germans instead. What does that make me? A traitor?'

'Maybe you're human,' said Starsky. 'Like me.'

******************

The next evening, after dinner, Hutch left Starsky alone for a few hours. He carried most of Starsky's new clothes away in a knapsack, and returned dressed in some new clothes of his own.

Hutch told him he had caches of various personal belongings all over Europe. Clothes, money, identity papers, gold, silver and jewels. If they survived this mission, and made it back to France, they could collect Starsky's wardrobe any time he wanted it.

Hutch was now dressed in black trousers and a black sweater. A black leather coat. There was a new gun strapped under his arm, in addition to the ever present knives.

'What do you use that thing for?' Starsky asked when he saw Hutch cleaning it. 'Hunting elephants?'

'Looks like an anti-tank gun to me,' said the Pilot.

'This is a .357 Magnum,' Hutch informed them. 'I bought it in England about a year before the war. It hadn't been on the market long at that time, but I'd heard a lot of good things about it. It has a lot of power, that's for sure.'

'How could you bear to let it out of your sight?' the Pilot asked.

'It's not regulation SS issue. The sound is too distinctive. It was dangerous to let anyone in the SS know I had one. But I have used it on occasion.'

'It looks heavy,' said Starsky.

'Mmm,' said Hutch. 'I like the feel of large, powerful things in my hands.'

The Pilot muttered something in German, and buried his head in a book.

Starsky thought about those hours without Hutch, the first in almost two months. That distressing feeling of being lost in fog was still there. He wondered if it would ever leave him. The Pilot had left him in peace, since both Starsky and Hutch had warned him of what might happen. Starsky had told them it troubled him when he couldn't respond.

Should he just let time and nature try to heal him? Or should someone attempt to violently shock him out of his trances? Hutch couldn't always be there to watch over him. If his life were truly in danger, would that bring Starsky out of his trance in itself?

The next day, they boarded the Pilot's Sopwith Camel, bound for Bohemia. The plane had been altered in a number of ways to meet the Pilot's specifications. Modern guns replaced the World War One weaponry. There was room for a passenger, but only one, so Starsky sat on Hutch's lap.

'We should be wearing those long, white scarves the fighter pilots wear,' Starsky commented.

'Yes,' said the Pilot. 'Let's make ourselves targets. Put ourselves in more danger than we already are.'

'He's right Starsky,' said Hutch. 'We'd better stick to black.'

'You are the two most unromantic people I've ever known.'

'Oh?' Hutch asked, letting his hand trail down along Starsky's hip, dangerously close to his groin.

'That's not what I meant by romantic,' said Starsky.

'We're about to take off, and this plane is no piece of cake to fly,' the Pilot informed them. 'I'd suggest staying nice and still, if you want to live to see Prague.'

***********

They stopped to refuel once, at a small landing strip somewhere in Austria. Both the Pilot and Hutch knew the crew that serviced the plane. When Hutch introduced Starsky as the Red Baron, they all grinned.

They grinned more, when Starsky climbed back up on Hutch's lap, but no one seemed surprised.

It was strange to be flying over Bohemia, looking down at the closest thing to a homeland he had ever known, before becoming a citizen of Hutch's arms.

A handful of Czechs and Slovakians formed their welcoming party. Starsky climbed out of the biplane, on stiff legs, very happy to be back on land. The Resistance fighters pushed the light aircraft into a small thicket, and covered it with tree branches. Starsky stood back, feeling uneasy.

'Hutch,' he murmured.

Hutch was instantly at his side.

'What's wrong?' Hutch asked. 'Feeling dizzy?'

'No. I'm fine. But I think someone's watching us.'

'I'm sure our hosts would have checked the area over, before letting us land,' Hutch said.

'Maybe. Perhaps I'm paranoid. But I feel we're being watched.'

Hutch's head jerked to his right suddenly, and he pushed Starsky to the ground. 'Get down,' he hissed at the others..

The Pilot and the Resistance fighters hit the ground. There was a deep silence in the little thicket.

The Pilot crawled over to Hutch and Starsky. 'What's going on?' he asked.

'I heard something. A footstep. Starsky thought we were being watched.'

'Who do you think it is? Not our Nazi brothers.'

'God, no. They don't sneak around.'

One of the Resistance fighters crawled up to join them. 'Could be a Partisan group. Maybe the Russians. Maybe you're just hearing things.' 'Maybe,' said Hutch. 'I do hear things. It's why I'm still alive.'

Then they all heard something. One of the Czechs suddenly laughed and called out a name. Witch Doctor?

Their friend laughed too. 'It's the Witch Doctor,' he confirmed, and got to his feet. 'Come on, let's all get introduced.'

Hutchinson and Starsky looked at each other for a moment, then shrugged and got to their feet. Their hosts were obviously acquainted with the new arrivals. The Pilot mumbled something, but decided to go with the majority.

Several men and women slithered out from the underbrush, from places where Starsky would not have thought it possible to hide. One of them came forward to clasp hands with the Resistance fighters. Then he looked at Starsky, Hutch and the Pilot with open curiosity. 'They call me the Witch Doctor,' he said, in heavily accented German. 'Who are you?'

Starsky stepped forward, and spoke in Czech. 'This is the White Wolf, and the Pilot. My name is David. I was born here, in Prague. We're on our own private mission. These people were helping us to hide our plane.'

'We know,' the Witch Doctor answered in Czech, with a smile. 'But we're surprised that you knew we were here,' he continued in German. 'That doesn't happen.'

'It did happen,' said Hutch. 'Maybe next time you won't be surprised. Maybe you'll be dead.'

The Witch Doctor laughed. 'That would be a surprise,' he said.

Starsky was watching one of the Witch Doctor's men. He seemed to be eyeing Hutch and the Pilot with suspicion. Starsky edged closer to Hutch and nudged his shoulder. The other man stepped forward.

'Doctor,' he said. 'These men are Germans.'

'Yes, Ivan. I know. I've never met them, but I've heard of them. The White Wolf and the Pilot are well known. If Karel here vouches for them....'

'I do, of course,' said the leader of the band that had first met them.

Starsky was feeling the tension rising. Three groups of desperate men and women. Most of them strangers to each other. All of them nervous and heavily armed. All it needed was a spark....

'They're Nazis,' said Ivan. 'They look like Nazis to me, so they're Nazis. Why should we trust them?'

The man had pulled his gun and was aiming it at the Pilot before the Witch Doctor could turn to stop him. Starsky saw Ivan's finger tighten on the trigger. He shouted for Hutch and pushed the Pilot to the ground. He felt a hot flash across his shoulder as he fell, and heard the loud boom of Hutch's gun. He looked up to see that Hutch was standing over both himself and the Pilot.

Ivan lay dead on the ground.

'Anyone else who doesn't trust us?' Hutch asked. 'Speak now!'

The little thicket was as quiet as the grave.

'Are you all right?' Hutch asked, after a moment. 'Both of you?'

'Of course,' Starsky answered him. 'We're fine, Hutch.'

Starsky managed to get to his feet unaided, not wanting to worry Hutch too much. God only knew what he'd do if he thought Starsky was hurt. The Pilot had gotten to his feet already, and he rested his hand on Starsky's shoulder for a moment, as if to steady him.

The Witch Doctor looked down at his fallen comrade dispassionately, and shook his head. 'Herr David. Herr Pilot. Herr Wolf. My apologies for the behaviour of my former associate. He was a fool who deserved to die.'

No one bothered to dispute this obvious fact.

'I assure that his views do not reflect my own,' the Doctor continued. 'He hated the Germans. I suppose that was because they invaded his country.'

The Witch Doctor's voice was very dry, and he smiled, charmingly.

'You find that fact amusing?' Hutch asked him.

'Not at all,' the Witch Doctor answered. 'Just the opposite. A bit boring, perhaps. You see, my country has been invaded many times over the last few millennia. We have no idea what it is to be a free nation. At the moment, we belong to Hungary, but for the last few months, Hungary has belonged to Germany. Who knows who will invade us next? Russia, probably.'

'Ah. I didn't think you were Czech, though you speak the language well,' said Starsky. 'Slovakian, I thought.'

The Witch Doctor turned his eyes fully on Starsky. They were deep and dark, almost black.

'No,' he said. 'I come from the Carpathian Mountains. As I say, we're not really a country in our own right. But we like to think of ourselves as Transylvanians.'

'Transylvanians?' Starsky asked. 'You come from Transylvania?'

'Yes,' said the Witch Doctor. 'But as you can see, I'm out walking in the daylight, so there's nothing to fear.'

Again, those dark fathomless eyes held his own. Starsky felt dizzy, suddenly. The Pilot gripped his shoulder again, harder this time.

'Herr Wolf,' said the Witch Doctor. 'I think your friend is injured.'

Starsky saw Hutch's face turn to his. It was white with fear. He tried to smile to reassure his lover, but couldn't seem to gather enough strength. The last thing he felt was Hutch's arms catching him as he fell.

*************

....Darkness and silence.

Starsky was floating in a deep pool of warm water. He wanted to open his eyes to see where he was, but he felt so safe and happy, that it didn't seem to be worth the effort.

Something nudged his shoulder. A cold, wet nose. A soft whine, ending on a rising note. He forced his eyes to open. He was back in the cave, lying in the shallow end of the pool. The white wolf who guarded the secret pass was watching over him.

He sat up and looked around for Hutch, but he and the wolf were alone. Fear trickled down his spine. He tried to call Hutch's name, but his throat was too dry to make a sound.

The white wolf licked his face, and Starsky wound his arms around the great animal's neck.

'Hutch,' he whispered in the furry ear....

'Shh. I'm here. It's all right.'

'Hutch?' Starsky managed to speak more strongly.

'Yes. It's me. You weren't badly hurt. Just a graze from the bullet. You only lost a little blood.'

Hutch sounded as if he were trying to reassure himself as much as Starsky. Starsky smiled, and opened his eyes. His lover looked as worried as Starsky had imagined. He was cradling Starsky's head in his lap. This was becoming a habit between the two of them, Starsky thought.

'I'm fine, Hutch. I just felt dizzy for a moment. Let me up.'

'You're not fine. You passed out. Stay where you are.'

'Hutch. I'm alive. Where I was living a few weeks ago, that was a great accomplishment. I'm not about to die over a little bullet graze.'

'Herr David?'

Another voice. Not the Pilot's. Whose? Oh, yes. That strange man with the dark eyes. The Witch Doctor. He knelt down at Starsky's side. 'Herr David, you are indeed not badly injured. It would be best to keep still for a little longer, however. Look into my eyes.'

The tone was commanding. Startled, Starsky obeyed.

'Good. Your eyes are a little dilated. Your friends were telling me that you were in a concentration camp. Were you beaten? Hit on the head?'

'Yes,' said Starsky. Then he added quickly, 'But not often.'

'You didn't tell me,' Hutch complained.

Starsky asked, 'What would have been the point?'

'At the moment?' the Witch Doctor asked. 'Not much point, I agree. I'm forced to do field surgery on badly injured men and women, without anaesthesia. I make all my own medications from the local herbs. In a few moments, if you can sit up, I'll give you something to help with the pain.'

'Really, it doesn't hurt much,' said Starsky. Actually, his shoulder hurt like Hell.

'I know. But humour us. We'll feel better.'

The Doctor ambled off, perhaps to look for more sources of locally produced aspirin. Starsky took Hutch's hand.

'I was back in the cave. The wolf was there,' he whispered.

'I wish we'd never left. I'm sorry, beloved. We should go back.'

'It's too late for that. Hutch, we can't hide out in a safe place, while the rest of the world suffers in agony. You know that. We're lucky, Hutch. I'm lucky. Almost everyone who was taken that day in the Ghetto is dead. I survived. It must be for a reason. We were meant to do this. And I'm not turning back. Not for a little scratch, that's for certain.'

Starsky watched Hutch's face. He was clearly trying to come up with some sort of rebuttal to Starsky's arguments, without success. This was one area in which they were too much alike.

'Stubborn,' said Hutch.

Starsky smiled as if his lover had paid him a great compliment.

**************

'Herr Starsky!'

'I think we could be on a first-name basis, now that we've been so intimate. Rolling around on the ground together, and so forth?'

The Pilot's lips twitched, and for a moment Starsky thought he might laugh. The moment passed.

'Red Baron!' he said. 'The White Wolf informs me that you intend to go on with this...'

'Madness?'

'...madness. Do you really think that's wise?'

'No. I probably shouldn't walk on my scratched shoulder, so I'll walk the normal way.'

'Do you know a normal way to do anything?'

The Witch Doctor came up to add his own opinion that Starsky shouldn't do anything dangerous.

'Dangerous? It's not like I'm going mountain climbing or anything. We're only going for a walk.'

'Into Prague,' the Pilot pointed out.

'Yes,' said Starsky. 'Into Prague.'

'Why do you want to go there?' the Witch Doctor asked.

'We have something to do there. A personal mission.'

'What sort of a mission?'

'Don't look so worried,' Starsky said. 'We're not going to assassinate anyone important, like Reinhard Heydrich, and get entire villages executed in reprisal.'

'Then why can't you tell me what you are going to do?' the Witch Doctor asked, reasonably. Starsky sighed.

'We're going to wake up the Golem,' he said, finally.

'That's all right,' said the Doctor. 'If you don't want to tell me what you're up to, don't tell me.'

He looked a bit offended, as he stalked off.

******************

'My family left Prague before the invasion,' Starsky informed the Resistance Fighters. 'I knew the city well, because I was born there. But times have changed, and if you've been carrying on guerilla warfare here, you'd know more than me. What's the safest route into the city?'

'The safest route?' Karel asked. 'The safest route is to stay out, but I don't suppose you'd listen to that advice.'

'No,' said Hutch. 'So try something else on.'

'I was planning on using the sewers,' said Starsky. 'We used them in the Warsaw Uprising. Hutch... the White Wolf... and others, smuggled weapons and food in that way.'

'I think the sewers are under constant guard,' said Karel. 'You could kill the guards, I'm sure, but that would be discovered soon enough. Then you'd find yourselves trapped.'

'I might be able to get you in,' the Witch Doctor spoke up, surprisingly.

'Of course,' said Karel. 'If anyone can do it, he can. Why do you think we call him the Witch Doctor?'

'Ah,' said Starsky. 'You know a secret way?'

The Witch Doctor grinned. 'I know lots of secret ways. I also know a Nazi guard who's bribable. And blackmailable.'

'How nice,' the Pilot spoke up. 'But why should we trust you? And please don't say that if you wanted us dead, we'd already be dead.'

'All right. I won't say it. But it's true. I don't want you... dead. What use to me would you be then?'

'I don't see what actual use we are to you now,' said the Pilot.

'That's an interesting question. You are interesting people. You come here with some fantastic story about the Golem. I want to see what you're really up to. So, I'll help you.'

'That's very kind of you, I'm sure.'

'I think so too,' said the Witch Doctor. 'We should start soon, if we don't want to be hiking across country after dark. It will be unpleasant enough crawling around in the sewers.'

'You should know,' the Pilot muttered.

'Excuse me?' asked the Witch Doctor.

'I said it looks like snow.'

*************

It was tremendously amusing, Starsky thought, as he hiked beside Hutch. The Witch Doctor was leading them through the forest toward Prague, the Pilot bringing up the rear. In fact, it had been some time since he found anything quite so funny.

Ever since the Witch Doctor had denigrated their little venture, the Pilot had decided to support it with all he had. The Golem, it appeared, was now the culmination of his life's work. One would imagine the whole thing had been his idea. Soon, the former Nazi would be discovering an ancestry linking him to Rabbi Loew's family. Perhaps a closer link than Starsky's own.

'What's so funny?' Hutch asked, very softly.

'Never mind. I'll tell you later.'

'Okay,' said Hutch. 'Fair enough. How's your back?'

'My back?' Starsky asked, bewildered.

'Yes,' said Hutch. 'Mine's got a hole in it. Perhaps we should move aside, and let the daggers reach their intended victim?'

'No. We need him. He knows which Nazis we can blackmail.'

'Good point.'

The Witch Doctor stopped suddenly, and turned to raise a finger in reproach.

'We're almost at the edge of the forest,' he pointed out. 'Better be quiet from here on.'

Hutch nodded amiably enough. He'd led many missions of his own, but seemed content to let one person after another take over this one. At least for now, thought Starsky. He wondered what would happen when the Golem was let loose.

**************

It was dusk. They stood on the banks of the Vltava River -- the Moldau -- looking towards Prague.

'I'll scout ahead,' said the Witch Doctor. 'When I've contacted my friend in the guard, I'll return, and lead you into the city. After that, it's up to you.'

'I don't know. I don't like the idea of letting you out of our sight.'

'That's very flattering, Herr Pilot. But I assure you, I'm no spy for the Nazis. Why would you even think such a thing?'

'You said they were no worse than any other conqueror of your country.'

'So far, I said. They've only been in power for a few months. Who knows what they have planned. Besides, merely because I don't hate them, doesn't mean I approve of them.'

'Well,' said the Pilot. 'That's a start. Lukewarm resistance is better than nothing.'

'Oh, I'm not lukewarm. Far from it.'

******************

'Starsky? Here, put your head in my lap. Rest before the Doctor gets back.'

Starsky was staring off into the gathering dark, but he let Hutch pull him down, into the warm curve of his body. Hutch began stroking his hair gently, rhythmically, and though Starsky didn't want to fall asleep, he couldn't resist the pull of his own weariness.

....Between wakefulness and sleep, dark and light, sound and silence, warmth and cold...

--- One pillar extends from earth to heaven. Its name is Righteous One, named for the righteous. If there are righteous people in the world, the pillar is strengthened; if not, it is weakened.... So if the world contains just one righteous person, that person sustains the world....

The Kabbalah!

Words were dancing across his mind, as if they were written on the page. He had been struggling to remember, bewailing the fact that he had no book, and that his mind was now so weak. But now, he let himself drift, let the words flow toward him, on the stream of memory.

--- The depth of primordial being is called Boundless. Because of its concealment from all creatures above and below, it is also called Nothingness.... Its existence cannot be grasped by anyone other than it. Therefore its name is 'I am becoming.'

--- Ayin, Nothingness, is more existent than all the being of the world.

--- The scroll of the Torah is written without vowels, so you can read it variously. Without vowels, the consonants bear many meanings and splinter into sparks.... Without vowels, you can understand it in countless, wondrous ways....

'Starsky? Wake up, beloved. It's time to go.' Starsky sat up. The deep night was reeling around them, and the consonants of the Torah had splintered into sparks that lit the heavens. Doubtless some people thought them stars.

--- Think of yourself as Ayin and forget yourself totally. Then you can transcend time, rising to the world of thought, where all is equal: life and death, ocean and dry land....

'Starsky? Are you all right?'

'Of course, Hutch. Let us go, since it is time.'

--- You feel an extra spirit -- arousing you, flowing over your entire body, bringing pleasure.... You are overjoyed, in delight and trembling: the soul in delight, the body in trembling. Like a rider racing a horse: the rider is joyful and exuberant, while underneath, the horse quivers....

************

The ground along the river bank seemed to be rockier and more slippery than Starsky remembered from days when he was younger and stronger. It showed a distressing tendency to slide out from under him. Hutch steadied him, and Starsky stroked his arm in reassurance. I'm all right, he thought at his lover. Don't worry.

Telling Hutch not to worry about him, was like telling the moon not to rise. The moon was rising, bathing the river bank in light that seemed as bright as day. They had to get to the entrance to the tunnel soon. Starsky forced himself to pick up the pace, trusting Hutch to steady his steps.

When this was all over, thought Starsky, he was going to take Hutch away somewhere and give him everything he needed. Intimacy. Tender loving. Sex. Endless opportunities to pamper Starsky. Perhaps after a while, Hutch would stop worrying that Starsky would bleed to death from a scratch.

Starsky gripped Hutch's arm, and stopped trying to watch his own feet. He let Hutch lead him, instead. It reminded him of their march into the mountain pass, and the wolf that had led him into the cave. The Vltava flowed along, as it had for so many millennia. It cared nothing for their fears. No more than did the moon, or the stars, or the rocks under their feet.

---An epiphany enables you to sense creation not as something completed, but as constantly becoming, evolving, ascending. This transports you from a place where there is nothing new to a place where there is nothing old, where everything renews itself, where heaven and earth rejoice as at the moment of Creation....

I have been renewed, thought Starsky. Even I, whom any rational person would have given up for dead. But Hutch never gave up. Now I am blessed with infinite riches.

They entered the tunnel, and the Witch Doctor lit a kerosene lantern that had been left for them. It was cold in the tunnel, and didn't smell as fresh as it had along the river, but the ground was steadier. Starsky let his feet fall into a marching rhythm and his mind wander farther afield.

--- How did God create the world? Like a person taking a deep breath and holding it, so that the small contains the large. Similarly God contracted his light to a divine handbreadth, and the world was left in darkness. In the darkness God carved cliffs and hewed rocks to clear wondrous paths of wisdom....

Will all this darkness lead to wisdom, Starsky wondered. Is God still clearing the paths, or must we do that ourselves this time?

The tunnels ended, and the streets of Prague lay open before them, under the insouciant moon.

'Where do we go from here?' the Witch Doctor asked.

It was Starsky's turn to lead.

It was years since Starsky had lived in Prague. Years since he had walked its streets. In those intervening years, some things had changed. He had changed.

Ever since Hutch had asked to do this thing, Starsky had been trying to revive his memory, which felt as heavy as the Golem, and made as much of clay. Now, Hutch looked at him, his trusting lover, waiting for direction -- come here, move like this.

Starsky turned to his left, and started walking.

--- The essence of serving God and of all the mitsvot is to attain the state of humility, that is, to understand that all your physical and mental powers and your essential being depend on the divine elements within. You are simply a channel for the divine attributes....

Prague was not as damaged as Starsky had feared. But then, Czechoslovakia had not fought the Germans. The Jews of the Warsaw Ghetto, starving and armed with a few smuggled arms, had fought off the Germans longer than had the entire Polish army. The Ghetto had been razed in retribution. What had their resistance won them? Death. Had the fight been worth it?

Well, but even those Jews who had not fought had ended up dying. You might as well go down fighting, if you were a Jew, since you were doomed after all.

Starsky felt Hutch's hand in his, reminding him that he was not doomed, that his city still stood, proud and beautiful, even if it would never welcome him home.

Home. The entrance to Jewish Town. Dark, and mostly deserted, and not at all welcoming. They slipped silently down its ancient streets. Here and there, places of Jewish business and worship had been destroyed, leaving gaps in the landscape, like missing teeth in the mouth of some old fisherman down by the river, in Starsky's childhood. Ancient, droll, and mostly toothless, he had sat and fished in the sun. Had he ever caught anything?

The moonlight caught at a window pane. Caught and held. The window reflected the light in a remembered way. Starsky stopped, and drew the others back, into a deserted doorway.

'That house there,' he said. 'That is Rabbi Loew's house -- the Golem's house.'

'I should scout around a bit, before we try to get inside,' said Hutch.

'That's a good idea,' Starsky said.

'I can see two guards at the front door from here,' the Pilot informed them. 'It's likely there are more at the back.'

'More than likely,' Hutch agreed. 'But there may be other lookouts around the area. Starsky? Will you be all right without me for a few minutes? I won't be long.'

'Of course. Especially if you don't go too far away. I'll just sit down and catch my breath. I'll need it for chanting later.'

'Fair enough,' said Hutch, and turned to leave.

'Wait a moment,' the Witch Doctor spoke up. 'What's really going on? Are you intending to break into that house?'

'That's what we're intending, yes,' said the Pilot. 'Any more questions?'

'Well, one or two. For example, why are you breaking in? What's all this about chanting? Do Nazi rituals involve being hit on the head repeatedly?'

'We already told you why we're breaking in,' said the Pilot. 'Herr David must chant to wake the Golem. Your last question is somewhat personal.'

The Witch Doctor sighed, elaborately. 'I'll help you scout around, Herr Wolf,' he said. 'Might as well be doing something useful.'

Before anyone could draw breath to agree or disagree, he had vanished into the night.

'And I thought you moved silently,' the Pilot commented to Hutch.

But the White Wolf had vanished as well.

'It seems he does,' said Starsky.

Starsky sank down onto the dirty pavement in the dark doorway. The Pilot stood guard beside him, staring off into the night. Starsky tried sending out tendrils of watchfulness after his Hutch. Perhaps he could keep in contact with him mentally, and not fall into one of his trances.

'What do you think?' the Pilot asked.

'Think?' Starsky said, confused. 'About what?'

'About him?'

'Oh,' said Starsky. 'I think he's oxygen, and I need him to breathe.'

The Pilot was silent for a moment, then chuckled. 'No,' he said. 'Not that "him". The other "him".'

'Oh! That "him". Well, I don't know what to think. About him, I mean. I'm not sure whether we can trust him or not. He seems a bit strange. Mysterious. He appears out of nowhere. Disappears back into nowhere. Who knows what he's up to right at this moment.'

The Pilot took a step back and glared at Starsky.

'I don't know if I'd go that far,' he said. 'He led us here safely enough. He could have turned us in at any time, yet we're still free. I think you're prejudiced.'

'Prejudiced? Against what? Vampires?'

'He's not....' The Pilot's voice was rising, just a little. He stopped in time, and stared at Starsky, almost in horror.

Starsky grinned at him. The Pilot sank down on the pavement beside him.

'Mein Gott!' he said.

Starsky patted his arm. 'I know. It happens. Don't worry.'

'How can I help but worry. It's dangerous. I'm losing my judgement already, and we just met.'

'Who just met whom?'

The Witch Doctor had reappeared beside them, without warning. They both jumped slightly.

'Never mind,' said the Pilot. 'What's going on over there? Where's the Wolf?'

'I'm here,' said Hutch. 'You were right about the guards. I don't think we can get in without killing one or two of them. We'll leave that for the last moment, though. Their disappearance would raise the alarm, and we want to be inside the house before that happens.'

'I want to raise the Golem before that happens,' said Starsky.

'Come on. Follow me,' said Hutch, and Starsky followed. The others trailed behind.

Hutch led them on a circuitous route, down alleys and around other buildings. They stopped in other darkened doorways several times, but neither Hutch nor the Doctor heard or saw any pursuit.

Eventually, they were right next door to Rabbi Loew's house. Hutch whispered something in the Pilot's ear, and exchanged some signal with the Doctor. Then, he leaned close to Starsky. 'Stay with the Pilot,' he whispered. 'We're going to take care of the guards. You're doing well, beloved. Get ready to move.'

Starsky squeezed his arm. Hutch squeezed back, and was gone.

Starsky held onto the tendrils of contact, as he had before. Now was not the time to lose control of his faculties. He felt the Pilot touch his shoulder and looked up. The Pilot was holding up three fingers. Then two. Then one. And they were moving. Across the alley. Silently, though not as silently as Hutch.

Silently enough. They were behind Rabbi Loew's house. There were no guards. Hutch was waiting, very still and quiet. Starsky pressed against him, in reassurance. He couldn't speak the words of love that Hutch needed, but he caught the hands with which Hutch had just killed a man, and kissed them.

The Pilot had drawn some thin metal keys from his pocket, and was trying one after another in the door. The third one worked, and the door opened. Fortunately, it didn't creak. They slipped inside, and closed the door behind them.

The Pilot had held onto the kerosene lantern throughout all of this, and now he lit it. It cast a faint light, that was just enough for them to find their way without bumping into furniture and doors.

'Now what?' whispered the Witch Doctor.

'There's a passageway, leading to the attics,' said Starsky. 'There are several ways in, but the closest is in the pantry. This way.'

The lantern light danced over the abandoned rooms, as they made their way through them. The house had not been lived in for several years now. It was cold and dusty, and they could smell rats, and hear them chittering. One ran over Starsky's feet.

The pantry door creaked a little as it opened. It was empty, of course. The house had been left mostly untouched, by order of the Fuehrer, but it seemed the guards had helped themselves to any edible food.

The shelf at the very back swung out, without any protest. More rats. The Pilot kicked out at one, and it squeaked.

'Just up those stairs,' said Starsky. 'Give me the lantern.'

The lantern cast a lurid glow over the long-abandoned stairwell. Starsky led the way, Hutch right behind him. They climbed. One flight. A turn. Two flights. A turn. The last secret doorway. It was locked, and the Pilot reached for his keys.

'No need,' said Starsky, and felt above the door sill for the proper key instead.

'What kind of place is that to hide a key?' Hutch asked.

The door swung open, and the lantern cast its light over their destiny.

The attic room looked no different than it had that night long ago, when Starsky had slept beside the Golem. It was a little dustier, perhaps. Perhaps it smelled a little mustier. The shutters were securely closed.

Starsky put the lantern down on a nearby table, and turned it up to illuminate the room more clearly. He took off his leather jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his sweater and his shirt. Then he turned to the others.

They were, to a man, standing in the attic doorway staring down at the centre of the floor. There was something lying there. Something large, and dark, and impossible to ignore. There was a torso. Just above that, but not attached, lay the head. Its eyes were closed. Beside the torso, but not attached, were the arms, and the legs.

'Starsky?'

'Yes, Hutch.'

'It's... it's...'

'It's the Golem, Hutch. I told you it was real. I knew it was here. I slept beside it all one night.'

Hutchinson frowned.

'In a purely platonic fashion, of course. Not only is it dead, but it's missing a certain body part that...'

'Ahem!' said the Pilot.

'...that I rather like. Come in everyone, don't just stand there. We have things to do.'

'We? I know nothing about all this,' said the Witch Doctor.

'Well, you're going to have to help anyway,' said Starsky. 'No one does this sort of thing alone.'

'What sort of thing?'

'Raise the dead. Give me your canteen. He's probably thirst after all this time.'

The Witch Doctor stared at Starsky for a moment, but he pulled his canteen off his belt, and handed it over.

'Are you really going to....'

'He doesn't eat or drink, if that's what you're wondering. But the clay is dried out, and we need to stick all the body parts together first.'

'First?'

'Before we wake him up,' Starsky said, reasonably. 'It would be a bit disconcerting for him to wake up all in pieces, wouldn't it?'

Starsky poured some of the water over the torso, and then the head and limbs. The clay glistened now in the flickering lantern light. He looked up, and saw that the others were still standing there staring.

'Well?' he asked. 'Aren't you going to help? We might not have all night. The Nazis are still in charge.'

That woke them up.

'Sorry,' said Hutch. 'What do you want us to do?'

'Try sticking it back together. Pick a limb. I'll do the head.'

The Witch Doctor chuckled.

'And no dirty jokes!' Starsky admonished. 'This is serious business.'

When the Golem was reassembled they all stood back, and had a good look.

'It's less gruesome,' Hutch noted. 'But it's still not moving.'

'Of course not,' said Starsky. 'It may be in one piece but it's still dead. See. It says so on its forehead. Met. Dead. I have to change that. But first, I need to write out some directions for when it first awakes. Pilot? Do you have some paper and a pen?'

The Pilot hunted in his jacket pocket and produced a notebook and a fountain pen.

'Good,' said Starsky. He tore out one of the pages, and sat at the table to write. In large Hebrew letters, he wrote:

'I am the great-grandson of your maker. I have awakened you from your sleep. You shall protect me and my friends. You shall obey my commands.'

He placed the slip of paper within the mouth of the Golem.

'Hutch. Give me one of your daggers.'

Hutch pulled one of his deadly knives out of his sleeve, and handed it over, hilt first. Starsky bent over the large clay head, and carved out the Hebrew letters anew.

EMET

TRUTH

'Stand back!' Starsky said. 'We are aysch, mayim, ruach, and aphar. Fire, water, air and earth. All the elements are present for life.'

He began to walk around the Golem, chanting the words of the Kabbalah. >From right to left, seven times he walked.

The room was growing brighter, as if a hundred lanterns had been lit.

The Golem had begun to glow.

Starsky finished his final turn around the Golem. The Golem was bright red, but as Starsky chanted the last words, it turned white. On its forehead the letters of the word EMET glowed -- Black Fire on White Fire.

They could feel the heat from the great clay body now, but the heat was banked, as if the clay held the fire safely within.

'Golem!' said Starsky. 'Open your eyes.' Slowly, the huge eyes opened. They were black. Empty.

'Sit up,' said Starsky.

The great torso lifted, until it was perpendicular to the floor. Starsky knelt in front of the Golem.

'Can you see me?' he asked. 'Can you hear me? Can you understand me?'

The Golem bent his head, once. Yes.

'I am David Starsky, the great-grandson of Rabbi Loew, who first made you. I am the one who has awakened you. You must obey me. Do you understand?'

Another nod. Yes.

'Good. These are my friends. We are all in great danger...'

At that moment, they heard the first shouts from outside.

'There are evil people just outside this house. The evil ones control Prague. They are killing all the Jews they can find. You were created to protect the Jews. Come with me, and protect me and my friends.'

A third and final nod.

The Golem rose to his feet. He was seven feet tall, and his body was thick and heavy, like a brick wall.

Starsky put his jacket back on, and picked up the lantern from the table. 'Follow me,' he said. Starsky started down the attic stairs, back to the pantry. Hutch was at his side. The Golem followed behind them, and the Pilot and the Doctor brought up the rear guard. They could hear the German guards shouting as they searched the grounds for their fallen comrades. The back door of the house opened and the light from several lanterns flooded the kitchen. Hutch pulled Starsky back.

'Let the Golem go first,' he said. Starsky stepped back. He turned to the Golem, and pointed toward the kitchen.

'Our enemies are out there,' he said. 'Take care of them.'

The Golem nodded, calmly. He walked ahead of them, into the brightly lit kitchen. Starsky watched as the two guards turned, startled. He saw them draw their guns. He heard the bullets rattle off the powerful chest of the Golem. The guards continued to fire, as the Golem advanced.

Then the Golem picked them up in his great arms, and knocked their heads together once or twice. He dropped them on the kitchen floor, and they lay still. Very still.

Starsky felt the Pilot's hand drop onto his shoulder.

'Herr Starsky?'

'Yes, Herr Pilot?'

'I've been thinking we should be on a first name basis. I'll call you David. You can call me Viktor.'

***The End***

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