Apprentice (23 page)

“Maybe I misunderstood,” I said meekly. “He was talking about the Rabbis in Eretz Israel and probably that's what they believe.” It was a shock to hear a Jew, even an
am-ha'aretz,
venting such resentment. It never occurred to me that they might begrudge rabbis just as Rahel did.

“I'm not surprised. When it comes to fighting demons, nobody in the West knows anything compared to us Chaldeans.”

“I'm sure my family wouldn't have sent me to study with you if you weren't an expert.” I hoped that would mollify her.

Luckily Kimchit was someone whose anger burned quickly, only to cool just as fast. By the time I was ready to leave, her outburst against rabbis was long over. But as I walked home, I mulled over the implications of her tirade. The
am-ha'aretz
in Sura might know that Father was a pious man and that his court didn't take bribes, but most were content to merely follow what the Torah said. They neither knew what the Rabbis taught nor cared to know. Maybe there were even some who knew but rejected it. I would have to be careful what I said around the
am-ha'aretz
.

My suspicion of being used lessened as I reconsidered what would happen in the future. As long as I continued to write proven amulets, Kimchit's family would have a source of income producing the paraphernalia that accompanied them. At first I thought that they were getting the better bargain, but then I realized that this was a skill I could practice after Rami and I were married, one that did not require me to say any spells aloud or even leave my house. But I still wanted to learn a third spell, so Father and his colleagues would consider me an expert at writing amulets, and my failure to accomplish this gnawed at me.

Other things also conspired to irritate me. Pazi and Tazi were trained silk weavers, whose specialty was the colorful silk ribbons Persians loved to wear. Since red silk ribbons were highly sought after for tying amulets to children's arms or necks, I begged the twins to teach me the skill. Both were pleased to do so, but unfortunately I found weaving silk even more painstaking than Mother's finest linen. The silk thread was thinner than any we spun from green flax, and incredibly slippery. As much as I wished I'd never begun the endeavor, quitting was too shameful to contemplate. So I struggled on, furious at myself for overreaching.

Worse, the weather was scorching, with only a rare reprieve when the south wind blew in cooler air from the ocean that lay beyond the southern marshes. Sleeping on the roof offered minimal relief, and with so many
hot, drowsy people confined to the same space, tempers were short and arguments frequent.

Father's students were no exception, which may explain why Rami and Abba got into such a heated battle over a simple piece of Mishna. The passage from Tractate Bava Batra was concerned with rules for building, and enlarging, doors and windows that open into a courtyard shared by several families.

Father began with the Mishna, as usual. “In a communal courtyard, a man may not build one door directly opposite another's, nor a window opposite another's window. If it is small, he may not enlarge it. If it is a single opening, he may not make it into two.”

After he was sure the students had memorized this, he asked how this rule is derived from Torah. My brother Nachman answered, “From the passage in Bamidbar where Bilam tries to curse Israel and praises them instead, saying, ‘How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, how fair your dwellings, Israel.'”

Before Nachman could explain what was so good and fair about Israel's dwellings, Abba interrupted. “Bilam saw that their tents were set up in such a fashion that no doorway faced another, thus giving each family privacy.”

Rami looked at Abba with disdain. “Is this true?” he asked scornfully. “Perhaps the prohibition on enlarging doorways is to prevent a man from claiming a larger piece of land in the courtyard, since if he widens his door from four cubits to eight, he becomes entitled to the eight-cubit-wide swath that leads to his door.”

Abba stood up and put his hands on his hips. “But then enlarging his door from two cubits to four would be permitted,” he shot back. “Since even the smallest door is entitled to four cubits of land in front of it.”

The next instant Rami was on his feet and glaring at Abba. “How can this be about privacy?” His voice dripped sarcasm. “The residents' actions inside can just as easily be seen through a small doorway as through a large one.”

Abba took a step toward Rami and shook his head in exasperation. “You have it backward. It is the other occupants who lose their privacy when someone enlarges his doorway.” His eyes shot daggers at Rami. “For it is more difficult for me to conceal my activities from neighbors who have a large doorway than from those with a small opening.”

The other students, roused from their heat-induced torpor by this unexpected
show of hostility, waited anxiously to see how Rami would respond. But none more anxiously than me. My heart was in my throat as I hoped Rami would redeem himself.

“This Mishna is not just about privacy.” His voice hard as stone, Rami clenched his fists and took two steps toward Abba. “If a man converts his four-cubit-wide doorway into two two-cubit-wide doorways, he will then take eight cubits of land from the courtyard instead of the four he had previously.”

Abba clenched his fists too, and for a few moments it looked as though he might physically attack Rami. Father exchanged glances with Nachman and Mari, who positioned themselves where they could separate the two combatants if necessary. Horrified at the scene unfolding before me, I closed my eyes.

The next thing I heard was Abba lecturing Rami as if he were speaking to a particularly dull child. “As I told you before, if this ruling were about land, then converting an eight-cubit-wide doorway into two four-cubit-wide doorways would be permitted, since he gains nothing.”

I opened my eyes to see Abba smirking. “But our Mishna prohibits making any single doorway into two,” he declared.

Rami looked down at the floor in defeat, and my heart sank. But Abba had to humiliate him further. I knew snakes don't smile, but the triumphant grin on Abba's face made me think of a snake gloating over its victim before biting it.

“It certainly is about privacy,” Abba said so smugly that I wanted to hit him. “For I am more able to conceal my activities from neighbors with one doorway than from those with two.”

Father quickly interrupted with the next part of the Mishna, “But one may open into the public domain.” This, he pointed out, validated both Rami's and Abba's arguments. “For the man with a door opening onto the street is neither entitled to any land in front of it,” he said soothingly, “nor does he have any expectation of privacy.”

I felt so furious at Abba's arrogance and so wretched for Rami's shame that I didn't know which I wanted to do more, slap Abba's smug face or give Rami a hug. Instead, I deliberately left the midday meal early, knowing Rami would follow me to the garden. There I intended to confide in him about Achti's pregnancy, which would surely put him into a better mood.

It was so hot outside that I was confident we'd be alone. Yet before I
could tell Rami anything, there was Abba advancing toward us with that smirk still on his face. Abba stopped so close that I knew he'd hear anything I said. My accumulated frustration boiled over and I completely lost my head.

I threw my arms around Rami, kissing him long and hard. He must have been surprised at first, but he soon returned my embrace in kind, and I was transported to a place where nothing existed except his lips and mine. When we finally stepped apart, Abba was gone.

That night sleep would not come, as I replayed the day's events over and over. What had possessed me to kiss Rami in public like that? For not only Abba and Rami knew about my breach of modesty, but Zahra and who knows how many slaves had been watching too. This meant that Mother, and maybe even Father, would soon hear about it.

“Dada?” Pazi whispered. “Is that you tossing and turning?”

“It's too hot to sleep,” I lied.

“It's been this hot for days, and you've never had trouble sleeping.” She moved her bedding close to mine. “What's the matter?”

The concern in her voice made me start crying, and after I finally sniffed away my tears, I told her about Rami and Abba and what I'd done in the garden. “I don't know what to do,” I concluded, fresh tears filling my eyes.

There was a lengthy silence, until Pazi whispered, “Zahra, are you awake too?”

“Yes, Mistress,” my maidservant responded. “It happened exactly like Dada told you, except that Abba fled long before she and Rami stopped kissing.”

I was so embarrassed I wanted to melt into the floor. But I had to ask her, “Did you tell anyone?”

“Please don't be angry, but I had to tell your mother.” Zahra's voice shook with fear. “I couldn't risk her hearing it from someone else and knowing I'd concealed it from her. I did tell her in private though.”

“And what did she say?” Pazi asked.

“Nothing,” Zahra said with surprise. “She listened calmly until I finished and then dismissed me.”

I didn't know whether this was good or not. But before I could consider Mother's reaction further, Pazi had another question for me.

“And what exactly has Abba bar Joseph done to make you hate him?” She paused and her voice sharpened. “Other than want to marry you.”

I started to complain about Abba's egregious behavior and stopped abruptly. “But if he wants to marry me, why does he keep making me angry?”

Pazi chuckled, and maybe Zahra did too. “He's too young to know better.” Then Pazi's voice turned serious: “For a girl with seven brothers, you don't know much about men. If you're going to have two suitors, you must learn how to handle them.”

“Are you going to teach me?”

“I look forward to it,” Pazi replied.

“I'll help too,” Zahra added.

Pazi cleared her throat. “First thing tomorrow, you're going to apologize to Abba. And from then on, you're going to be nice to him.”

“Apologize to him?” My voice rose in dismay. “What for?”

“Hush,” Zahra whispered. “You'll wake the others.”

“Nothing specific. Just tell him you're sorry for how you've treated him,” Pazi replied. “You are sorry, aren't you?”

“It won't be easy, but I suppose I can say that I need to beg his forgiveness before Yom Kippur.”

“Say nothing to Rami about the kiss,” she continued. “Act as though it never happened.”

“What if she encouraged the two of them to be friends?” Zahra asked tentatively.

“An excellent idea,” Pazi said. “At a minimum you can insist that they be cordial to each other.”

“I insist?” I asked incredulously.

“Until you are actually married, you are in a position of unique power,” Pazi said. “Each one will want to please you.”

“I could suggest that they study together,” I began.

“You should say that you'd be pleased if they studied together,” Pazi corrected me.

“Rami is her betrothed, so she has to give him priority,” Zahra said. “But she should give Abba some attention too, so Rami doesn't feel so sure of his position.”

“Sometimes I'll ignore both of them,” I added, recalling how much I wanted the charcoal when Father hid it in his hand and made me think it was a jewel.

“There, it sounds like you're feeling better,” Pazi said. “But before you try to get some sleep, I have an important question for you.”

What could be more important than what we'd just discussed? Still, I replied, “What is it?”

To my surprise, Pazi stifled a giggle. “While you were kissing Rami, did you enjoy it? Was he any good at it?”

I could feel my face flaming and thanked my lucky stars it was too dark for anyone to see my reaction. “I've been too worried about the repercussions to think about it.”

Both Pazi and Zahra snickered at this, until Pazi finally said, “Then think about it now. It's important.”

I let my mind go back to the afternoon, savoring the recollection of Rami's arms pulling me close, his lips pressed against mine, even the scent of his hair. “I suppose I did enjoy it,” I admitted, reluctant to share the extent of my pleasure. “And I think he was good at it, not that I have anyone to compare him with.”

Zahra sighed with relief. “I assure you that Rami enjoyed your kisses so much that he is not only having trouble sleeping tonight, but he won't sleep well again until after the wedding.”

Pazi's comment was not so lecherous. “My sister informs me that it bodes well for a marriage if the woman enjoys her husband's kisses.”

Neither Mother nor Father said anything to me about kissing Rami, but it couldn't have been a coincidence when a few days later, Father taught about the
yetzer hara
, the evil inclination. Not that
yetzer hara
meant evil in general; rather it commonly referred to a man's sexual urges.

“Today, instead of studying a specific Mishna, I have a question for you,” Father said, after which the students looked up at him with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. “What is the meaning of the verse ‘And Elohim formed man from the dust of the earth,' with the word ‘formed' spelled with two
yods
?” He emphasized the aberrant spelling.

Most of the students, myself included, looked at him blankly. But my brother Nachman knew the answer. “This shows that Elohim created man with two inclinations, one good, the
yetzer tov
, and one evil, the
yetzer hara
.”

“But what about beasts?” Abba challenged him. “In their creation the word ‘formed' has only one
yod
, yet we see that they angrily bite and kick, so surely they have a
yetzer hara
.”