Apprentice (18 page)

“But Kimchit only seems to know two different spells, one for protecting children and the other for protecting pregnant women,” I complained. “I could write a hundred amulets like that and I still won't be an expert.”

“Surely she knows a few more, even if she rarely uses them. You must wait patiently until you see her write one and then ask her to let you do it the next time.”

“I will.”

“But you must be careful that you have the correct spell for the circumstances. For example, sorb trees in the city harbor sixty
shaydim
,
while rural sorbs only have one.” I could tell he was about to tell a story so I leaned closer.

“Once a city guard was standing near a sorb tree and the
shaydim
attacked him. A young rabbi came along who didn't know this and wrote him an amulet for only one demon, which was so ineffective that the
shaydim
began tormenting the rabbi too. Luckily another rabbi arrived who knew about city sorb trees and wrote an amulet against sixty demons. This caused the
shaydim
to flee immediately, just in time to save both men's lives.”

“Grandfather, where do the
shaydim
come from?” I asked. They weren't mentioned in the first chapter of Torah where Elohim created the world.

He cleared his throat before answering. “A pair of demons, Ashmedai and Machlat, was created at sunset on the final day of creation,” he said in a low voice.

“So all the others come from them?” I whispered.

He shook his head. “When Adam saw that his sin had brought death to the world, he abstained from relations with Eve for 130 years as a penance. But during that time, Machlat came to him at night and stole his semen, forcing him to father
ruchim
,
shaydim
, and liliths.”

No wonder Rahel wrote bowls to protect men from liliths at night. I shivered at the thought that Rami might be vulnerable to their attack until we were married.

Grandfather must have noticed my reaction, because he immediately had us say the bedtime Shema and antidemonic Ninety-First Psalm.

I gave him a hug before slipping into bed. “I'm glad you're sleeping in my room now. It was lonely without Achti.”

He leaned down to kiss my forehead and his beard tickled my nose. “I thought it might be.”

During the two months I worked with Kimchit, I also learned things that had nothing to do with amulets. Assuming that her customers were representative of Sura's residents, the city was inhabited predominantly by Jews, with Persians in the minority. This I'd also seen from Rahel's clients, but at Kimchit's I came to comprehend that Rahel was right. Jews who followed Father's interpretation of Torah were as much a minority of the Jewish population as Persians were compared to Jews.

More important, I realized how uniquely blessed and fortunate my
family was. True, we were wealthy enough to wear silks in addition to fine linens, to eat meat at every meal while most had it only for Shabbat or festivals, and to live in a fine villa when many families were content with four rooms around a shared courtyard. But there were other rich people in Sura, some more affluent than us.

What set us apart was our phenomenal good health. Every woman who commissioned a child's amulet from Kimchit had seen one or more of her children die. At first I thought it was only these unlucky mothers who wanted amulets to protect their remaining children, but I eventually came to see that any woman who lived long enough would eventually bury a child.

Except Mother.

Then there were the pregnant clients who wanted amulets to save them from a miscarriage or stillbirth, evidently a near universal occurrence, and from death in childbirth, a not uncommon event. Between Kimchit's clients and the women at synagogue, every woman had suffered an unsuccessful pregnancy, and most had seen relatives die from childbirth.

Except Mother.

Worst was the barren woman, whose womb had never quickened with life. Her husband divorced her, took a second wife, or even abandoned her. She had no one to support her when she got old. A woman's status depended on having children, especially sons, and a childless woman lived in perpetual shame.

Mother had seven sons, and many more grandsons.

Unfortunately there was no amulet proven to cure the childless. Kimchit and Rahel agreed that barrenness was caused by the Evil Eye, or possibly a
kashafa
's curse. Rahel thought that the right
kasa d'charasha
incantation might prevent it, but only Elohim Himself, as He did for Sarah, Rivka, and Hannah, could remove such an affliction once it was established.

And that, I realized, was the truly amazing thing about our family. Despite all our good fortune, which should have attracted the Evil Eye like garbage draws flies, somehow it had no power over us.

“G
randfather's feeling tired this morning,” I told a kitchen slave when I came downstairs. “I'd like to bring him some porridge in our
kiton
.”

Father's eyes blazed. “Hanan is sleeping in your
kiton
?” When I nodded, he demanded, “For how long?”

“Since Achti got married,” I squeaked out. I couldn't imagine why Father was suddenly so angry. What could possibly be wrong with Grandfather sharing a room with me?

“I will speak to him immediately.” Father jumped up and headed for the stairs, Mother right behind him.

I grabbed the bowl of porridge and followed.

I could hear Father's voice before I reached the door. “Are you unaware that Hisdadukh is betrothed?”

Grandfather couldn't have been too tired, because he responded immediately, “That is because you have violated the teaching of Rav, who says it is forbidden for a man to betroth his daughter while she is still a child. He must wait until she grows up and says, ‘I want this man for my husband.'”

I had named the man I wanted to marry, but that didn't mean I was grown up. Achti would say the very fact that I'd wanted to marry two men proved that I was still a child.

Father's face grew red. “You have transgressed the teaching of Shmuel,
who says it is forbidden to fraternize with a woman. And worse, a betrothed woman.”

“Hisdadukh is a child, not a grown woman,” Grandfather retorted. “And I hold with another of Shmuel's teachings: All is permitted when performed for the sake of Heaven.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I sleep here not for my own gratification but because my granddaughter was lonely after Achti married.”

And I appreciated his company. I didn't think he'd done anything improper. My eyes pleaded with Father to relent.

Father hesitated, and I thought he'd concede until Mother entered the conversation. “I understand that my father's presence consoles Hisdadukh at night, but I think a better solution would be for Imarta and Haruta to sleep with her.”

“Ah yes, the new slaves who make pottery for Rahel,” he said. “A good idea. The young one in particular should sleep apart from the other slaves, as she is still a virgin.”

Grandfather let out a sigh when he realized that even his daughter wasn't going to support him. I wasn't happy about his sleeping elsewhere, and leaving me with no one to talk to at bedtime either. The porridge was still in my hand, so I offered it to him.

“I'll eat downstairs,” he grumbled. “That's one place they can't prevent us from sharing.”

I had barely begun my studies with Kimchit when, a month after Pesach, I learned that there would soon be four inauspicious days in a row for inscribing amulets. I was looking forward to spending time with Grandfather, when my brother Mari surprised me by announcing that I should accompany him to see the beginning of the flax harvest on my land.

“My land? Since when do I have any land? How did I acquire it?” This was the first time I'd walked toward the fields instead of into town, and I was eager to see them up close.

He smiled at my excited questions. “Actually, it's still Grandfather's land. Because Mother is his only heir, he has made her his partner,” Mari said. “Mother, in turn, has divided the property in half—one part each for you and Achti—with me managing it. Do you understand?”

I nodded slowly as the implication of his astonishing words reached
me. “This is Mother's way of ensuring that Achti and I receive some of our family's property.” Jewish Law held that only sons inherited from their father; daughters did so only if they had no brothers.

A sudden gust of hot air swirled road dust around my legs. The dreaded east wind, so common in the spring, was rising, and despite its warmth I shivered. Sometimes blowing for days without end, the east wind sucked all moisture from the air and replaced it with dust and sand. Wicker baskets loosened and wall pegs fell out. My sisters-in-law whispered that women miscarried and men's seed dried out in the womb because of it, while Timonus told tales of entire armies buried in huge sandstorms. Nobody wanted to be outdoors when the east wind blew.

Mari took no notice of the wind, although he increased our pace slightly. “To protect your and Achti's lands from your husbands' potential misuse, and to save it for his own descendants, Grandfather made a vow that your husbands may not benefit from it.”

As we walked, I marveled at Grandfather's cleverness. The Mishna taught that a husband had usufruct over any property a wife acquired during her lifetime and he inherited it after her death. But vows were part of Torah law, so they took precedence over rabbinic rulings, should they conflict. If I died before Rami, my land would go to my children, not to him or any children he might have with other wives.

Eager to see my land, I started walking faster. “So where is this property?” My voice rose excitedly. “What grows there?”

“Your land isn't far, though I'm not sure you can see it from the roof,” he replied with a grin. “It's an ordinary field, not date groves or orchards. A third is planted with flax, a third with wheat, and a third with legumes.”

“Why legumes instead of flax?” Everyone knew that flax brought in greater income.

He pointed out a flax field on our left, where waist-high stalks topped with blue flowers swayed in the wind, looking like a rippling lake. “Flax exhausts the soil's fertility, so we plant wheat the season before and legumes after.”

“Why do I need to observe the flax harvest if you'll be managing everything?” I tried not to sound petulant. I did want to see the process, but I was also keen to get home before the wind strengthened.

“Mother says it's good for a woman to know what grows on her land,
and all the more so when the crop is flax, since she is responsible for spinning and weaving it.”

We passed fields of golden wheat and even more flax fields in flower. But little flax was being harvested. The sun was high overhead and I was grateful Zahra had made me wear a wide-brimmed hat to protect my fair skin.

We had just crossed a small bridge over an irrigation canal when Mari stopped. “Here, along this waterway, is your land.” His outstretched arm indicated the field planted one-third with ripening wheat, one-third with flowering flax, and one-third fallow where legumes had already been harvested.

A man who'd been working with two youths in the flax field began walking toward us, waving his hand as he made his way through the sheaves of harvested flax stalks.

“That's Amemar, your
aris
,” Mari said. “We've recently negotiated a five-year lease.”

My tenant farmer was tanned and fit, with broad shoulders and bulging biceps, exactly how a man who labored hard outdoors all day ought to look. “What are the terms?” I asked. After all, this would be my livelihood.

“The usual for Jews. He provides the seeds, tools, and labor. I pay the
tasqa
, and we each receive half the produce.”

We accompanied Amemar to a small cluster of slender green plants, more stems than leaves. He grabbed a handful just beneath the flower head, gave it a quick tug, and held the flax up for me to admire. “We pull from the top to avoid any weeds.”

“Harvesting flax may seem easy,” my brother said. “But so much bending over and pulling can be backbreaking.”

“My sons have it easier than I do.” Amemar pointed to two youths shaking dirt from the roots of an armful of flax before adding them to the edge of an already fat sheave. “Especially with green flax. About a month from now, when the plants are yellow and fully grown, we will harvest the rest of the field.”

“What's the difference between green and yellow flax?” I asked. “And why harvest both kinds?”

“The longer the crop is left in the ground, the taller the stalks and the coarser the fiber inside them,” Mari replied. “Green flax is pulled almost
immediately after flowering, to obtain the fine and supple fibers that Mother prefers.”

I nodded. So this was where Mother got the thin thread that she wove into her most delicate linens, from green flax fibers.