Stephen Dixon - Frog

They stand still. And Kafka? Howard says.

Kafka is not buried here.

No? Because I thought what I mean is the lady at my hotels tourist information desk the Intercontinental over there and also the one who sold me the ticket now, both told me

The mans shaking his head, looks at him straight-faced. Its up to you, his look says, if youre going to give me anything for this tour. I wont ask. I wont embarrass you if you dont give me a crown. But Im not going to stand here all day waiting for it.

Here, I want to give you something for all this. He looks in his wallet. Smallest is a fifty note. Even if he got three-to-one on the black market, its still too much. He feels the change in his pocket. Only small coins. This guys done this routine with plenty of people, thats for sure, and hed really like not to give him anything.

Come, come, the man said.

You understand? Howard said. For Kafkas grave. Just as I told the lady at the ticket window, Im sure the other parts of this ticket for the Old Synagogue and the Jewish Museum are all very interesting maybe Ill take advantage of it some other time but what I really came to see

Yes, come, come. I work here too. I will show you.

Howard followed him up a stone path past hundreds of gravestones on both sides, sometimes four or five or he didnt know how many of them pressed up or leaning against one another. The man stopped, Howard did and looked around for Kafkas grave, though he knew one of these couldnt be it. You see, the man said, the governor at the time it was the fourteenth century and by now there were twelve thousand people buried here. He said no when the Jewish elders of Prague asked to expand the cemetery. So what did the Jews do? They built down and up, not outwards, not away. They kept inside the original lines of the cemetery permitted them. Twelve times they built down and up till they had twelve of what do you call them in English, plateaus? Places? and he moved his hand up in levels.

Levels?

Yes, that would be right. Twelve of them and then the ground stopped and they also couldnt go any higher up without being the citys highest cemetery hill, so they couldnt make any levels anymore.

So that accounts for these gravestones being, well, the way they are. All on top of one another, pressed togetherlike. Below ground theres actually twelve coffins or their equivalents, one on top of

Yes, yes, thats so. He walked on about fifty feet, stopped. Another governor wouldnt let the Jews in this country take the names of son-of anymore. Son of Isaac, Son of Abraham. They had to take, perhaps out of punishment, but history is not clear on this, the names of animals or things from the earth and so on. He pointed to the stone relief of a lion at the top of one gravestone. Lion, you see. To a bunch of grapes on another stone: Wine, this one. And others, if we took the time to look, all around, but of that historical era.

So thats why the name Kafka is that of a bird if Im not mistaken. Jackdaw, I understand it means in Czech. The Kafka family, years back, must have taken it or were given it, right? Which?

Yes, Kafka. Kafka. Howard didnt think by the mans expression he understood. Come, please. They moved on another hundred feet or so, stopped. See these two hands on the monument? That is the stone of one who could give blessings a Cohen. No animal there, but his sign. Next to it, pointing to another gravestone, is a jaw.

A jaw? The stone relief of this one was of a pitcher. Jar, do you mean?

Yes. Jaw, jaw. That is a Levi, one who brings the holy water to wash the hands of a Cohen. That they are side by side is only a coincidence. On the next monument you see more berries but of a different kind than wine. Fertility.

Does that mean a womans buried here? Or maybe a farmer?

Yes. Come, come. They went past many stones and sarcophagi. All of them seemed to be hundreds of years old and were crumbling in places. Most of the names and dates on them couldnt be read. The newer section of the cemetery, where Kafka had to be buried, had to be in an area one couldnt see from here. He remembered the photograph of the gravestone of Kafka and his parents. Kafkas name on top he was the first to go his fathers and mothers below his. It was in a recent biography of him hed read, or at least read the last half of, not really being interested in the genealogical and formative parts of an artists life, before he left for Europe. The stone was upright, though the photo could have been taken many years ago, and close to several upright stones but not touching them. The names and dates on it, and also the lines in Hebrew under Kafkas name, could be read clearly. It looked no different from any gravestone in an ordinary relatively old crowded Jewish cemetery. The one a couple of miles past the Queens side of the Fifty-ninth Street Bridge where some of his own family were buried.

The man walked, Howard followed him. Here is the monument of Mordecai Maisel. It is much larger than the others because he was a very rich important man. More money than even the king, he had. The king would borrow from him when he needed it for public matters. Later, after he paid it back, he would say to him Mordecai, what can I give you in return for this great favor? Mordecai would always say Give not to me but to my people, and that did help to make life better in Prague for the Jews of that time. He was a good wealthy man, Mordecai Maisel. Come, come.

They stopped at another sarcophagus. Hundreds of little stones had been placed on the ledges and little folded-up pieces of paper pushed into the crevices of it. Here is Rabbi Low. As you see, people still put notes inside his monument asking for special favors from him.

Why, he was a mystic?

You dont know of the famous Rabbi Lw?

No. I mean, his name does sound familiar, but Im afraid my interest is mostly literature. Kafka. Ive seen several of his residences in this neighborhood. Where he worked for so many years near the railroad station, and also that very little house on Golden Lane, I think its translated as, across the river near the castle. A couple of places where Rilke lived too.

So, literature, what else am I talking of here? The Golem. A world famous play. Well? Rabbi Low. Of the sixteenth century. He started it. Hes known all over.

Ive certainly heard of the play. It was performed in New York City in a theater in Central Park last summer. I didnt know it was Rabbi Low who started the legend.

Yes, he, he. The originator. Others may say other rabbis might have, but it was only Rabbi Low, nobody else. Then he knocked the Golem to pieces when it went crazy on him. Come, come.

They went on. The man showed him the grave of the only Jewish woman in medieval Prague who had been permitted to marry nobility. Her husband buried here too? Howard said. No, of course not. It was out-of-religion. The permission she got to marry was from our elders. Hes somewhere else. The stone of one of the mayors of the Jewish ghetto in seventeenth-century Prague. The stone of a well-known iron craftsman whose name the man had to repeat several times before Howard gave up trying to make it out but nodded he had finally understood. Then they came to the entrance again. After the man said Kafka wasnt buried here and Howard said he wanted to give him something for all this, he finally gives him the fifty note, the man pockets it and Howard asks if he might know where Kafka is buried.

Oh, in Stranice cemetery. The Jewish part of it, nothing separate anymore. It isnt far from here. You take a tube. Fifteen minutes and you are there, and he skims one hand off the other to show how a train goes straight out to it. Its in walking distance from the station. On a nice day unlike today the walk is a simple and pleasant one. And once you have reached it you ask at the gate to see Kafkas grave and someone there will show you around.