And, regrettably, I did know. His threats were not idle.

  Still, I made one final, feeble attempt to appeal to what scraps of friendship we had left:

  

  
• Raban, buddy! It’s me! Why should we let money come between us?


  

  

  
• This isn’t a quarrel, — he shot back — It’s business. Then he spun on his heel and marched off like a man who owned the ground he walked on.


  

  And once again, fate served me a bitter cocktail with a garnish of humiliation. Here I was, thinking I could outmaneuver the system — dodge the officials, skip the permits, avoid the taxes, and deal solely with a friend. I thought I was clever. A rebel with insider knowledge.

  Turns out I was just another fool playing merchant in a city built on debts.

  So there it was — I’d lost my old job and the sawmill. Maybe my father wasn’t entirely wrong, back when he looked at me like that…

  I breathed in. Breathed out. Then again, and again, and again. Collected my thoughts. Summoned my courage. And then… sat down. Crossed one leg over the other, and made the solemn decision to wait for Avdei, so I could inform him that he was fired. Though, to be fair — so was I. Tomorrow, I’d begin the search for a buyer. Hopefully someone desperate, blind, or drunk. Preferably all three.

  Not that I feared the future — but its smile was full of rotten teeth. I didn’t fear it. I just… regarded it with caution.

  By dusk, Avdei stood in the doorway, blinking like he’d walked into the wrong life.The workshop door was open. That alone confused him. I stood up, walked over, and gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder.

  

  
• Shalom aleichem, my Bit of news: we’re shutting down.


  

  From his other shoulder, a bundle of tools slipped and hit the floor with a painful clatter. A saw. A chisel. A sigh.

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• What?! Why?!


  

  I gave him the short version — debts, despair, divine punishment, the usual. Tried to sweeten the bitterness by reminding him I was also out of a job. It didn’t help. My silver tongue, once so dependable, was losing its shine. Avdei shook his head, his eyes full of disappointed pity.

  

  
• Master, you don’t understand. Someone else’s misfortune brings me no joy. On the contrary — it saddens me deeply. I will be fine. I make excellent pots. I can work from home, sell what I craft, stay indoors during the day. But you… what will you do?


  

  I believe he meant that as comfort. To me, it tasted like vinegar. I muttered:

  

  
• Glad you’re all I’ll figure something out.


  

  He clapped his hands together and cried out with childlike certainty:

  

  
• But why figure anything out, Master? You think you’ve been cursed — but I say it’s just a momentary Don’t dwell on it! It’s just a small problem in a long string of big successes!


  
• How very banal! — I snapped, glaring at him. — Who fed you such drivel? Your little brother when you were fighting over who gets to use the chamber pot? Or had you not sculpted him yet?


  

  He only shook his head, still smiling with baffling sincerity:

  

  
• Mock me if you must, but don’t mock the words of Mori Every one of his words is worth more than everything we’ve said in our entire lives.


  
• Excuse me?! — I stopped mid-sarcasm, the name slamming into me like a thrown — You mean that Jesh?


  
• The — Avdei nodded eagerly, his face lit with beatific bliss. — The carpenter’s son. The one who’s started speaking to crowds.


  
• The blasphemer?


  

  

  
• He’s no such thing! He pressures no one, forces He speaks to people of life, shares his vision. And his words — they are solid. Like stone. I’m telling you — it’s inspiring.


  

  I snorted with contempt and turned to gather my things. Over my shoulder, I said:

  

  
• If his “inspiration” sounds like the nonsense you just said, then I’d rather take business advice from a camel’s rear end. Let’s lock up, Avdei. As you may have noticed — work is cancelled.


  

  

  
• As you say, But think about it. Maybe you too would find value in meeting him.


  

  

  
• If he has cash. And wants to buy a sawmill.
  
    Locked up and farewelled, I walked through the night-stained streets of Capernaum, alone with my thoughts. Foremost among them: the lies I tell myself.
  
    Let’s be honest — I lied. When I said I wasn’t interested in this self-made preacher? Complete nonsense. Of course I wanted to see him. Not to spill my tragic tale or beg for meaning.
  
    But maybe… to catch a glimpse of him and say, “Look at me — I’m a dealer, a builder, a man of means. You and your father? Just sawdust and wind.”
  
    He had, at least, found a new mission. And I? I was drifting. Not forever, mind you — I’d come up with something. I always did.
  
    But what gnawed at me most wasn’t my ruined business or wounded pride. It was the truth behind that one small lie — the one I fed myself. That I only wanted to prove him a fraud.
  
    No. The real reason was simpler and far less noble.