Malia dips her finger in.
What if we mix it? she says.
I mean, what if we just take
the clay from the pool,
pour some of it into the jar,
say all the stuff?
I don’t think you can just do that, I say.
Why not?
I don’t know. You just … I mean …
But why not. Isn’t that the point? she persists.
We walk over to the pool,
kneel down,
and Malia cups water in her hands,
lets it fall gently into the jar.
Like it’s some kind of ceremony.
C’mon, little golem,
if you can hear me,
come out and be free.
The sound of her voice
is like every ounce of this is true.
When the jar is full, we look at it.
Full of water, perfectly still,
a tiny reservoir at the top.
What do we do now? she asks.
Well, I say, if we were making a real golem,
we would need to place a prayer inside it,
and then we would give it a mission.
No problem! I’ve got it!
She walks over to my backpack,
finds a pencil and paper,
looks at the trees,
feels some dirt between her fingers,
quickly scribbles something down.
Here’s the prayer.
I take the paper,
roll it into a tiny scroll,
slip it into the jar.
Now … we need a mission.
We think for a while,
I know, says Malia.
Little golem, can you find
Etan’s important green rock
and bring it back to us?
I laugh. My bareket?
It would be nice
to have that again.