Apprentice (31 page)

Achti grabbed my arm. “Let's go now, before it starts raining again.”

I stood up and turned to Rahel. “Where does the woman live? How do we get there?”

Rahel beckoned to Imarta, who was bringing a new supply of pots. The two women conferred, and Rahel said the potter would take us there. It wasn't too far for Achti to walk, and the fresh air would likely do her good, but her maidservant and Zahra must come with us.

“The woman you want to see is called Tabita,” Rahel said, as she walked us to the courtyard gate.

“What if Mother or Father asks about us?” I was having doubts about this quest and we hadn't even left yet.

“I'll say that I sent you to buy more ink for me—which Tabita does sell.” Rahel handed me her purse. “In fact, you may as well get some while you're there. It will save me a trip.”

“What if she's not there?”

“She'll be home. Tabita hates to get her feet muddy.”

As we walked toward Sura, all I could do was worry. What were we getting ourselves into, two grief-stricken sisters who wanted to curse their mother-in-law? What would the
charasheta
think of us? Would she even consider Achti's request or would she refuse just as Rahel had? Maybe she would curse us instead? What if she told Pushbi? What if she told Mother? I kept telling myself that we had no choice. Pushbi had tried to kill Achti.

Yet as we passed the synagogue we usually attended, I had to admit that I was curious, and more than a little excited. I was going to meet a powerful
charasheta
, one who practiced dark magic. According to Imarta, Tabita was an elderly widow who lived with a large extended family. Their house was located in a prosperous neighborhood on the outskirts of Sura, about a half hour away. That was a relief. At least she wasn't a
kashafa
who lived all alone in a decrepit hovel.

For a woman who'd just risen from her sickbed, Achti kept us at a surprisingly fast pace. Before I knew it, we were surrounded by the walls
of residences that, judging from the distance between one gate and the next, sat on large swaths of land. Imarta was in the lead now, confidently directing us to continue straight or turn here. Abruptly she stopped in front of a gate with a white crescent moon painted in the middle.

I wasn't sure what to do; I'd never gone to a stranger's home where I wasn't expected. But Achti confidently banged on the door, and we were soon confronted by one of the biggest men I'd ever seen. I took a step back in alarm and then noticed that he was wearing a slave's collar. Oh, the doorkeeper.

“We're here to see Tabita,” Achti announced. “Rahel, wife of Rav Mari haKohen, son of Rav Hisda, the judge, sent us.”

To my relief, he let us in. Slaves hanging up laundry gave us a quick glance before returning to their work, and those grinding grain didn't even look up. Another slave met us halfway across the large courtyard, conferred with the doorkeeper, and rushed back indoors.

When we reached the house proper, a woman around Imarta's age greeted us. “Come in. Anyone recommended by Rav Hisda's family is welcome here.”

That was a relief. Even if this wasn't a rabbinic family, at least they had some respect for rabbis. The woman led us into the salon, which was already prepared for us. A cushion each for me and Achti on the stone floor, none for the slaves, and two silk cushions that had to be for Tabita. I slowly took my seat, my heart pounding. I had imagined that strange and evil aromas might linger in the
charasheta
's home, but the room smelled perfectly ordinary.

We didn't have to wait much longer. No sooner had Achti sat down than there was a rustle of silk at the inner door. Assisted by a maidservant, a thin, gray-haired woman entered and surveyed us with frank curiosity. This had to be Tabita.

Abruptly she smiled and held out her hand to me. “Hisdadukh, how nice to see you again.”

SEVENTEENTH YEAR OF KING BAHRAM II'S REIGN

•     290
CE
     •

I
nearly fell off my cushion. Tabita was a friend of Mother's. She'd been visiting the day that Rahel made me her apprentice. She had been the one to say that my incantations would be more powerful because I studied Torah.

I stood and kissed her cheek. She still wore the same lotus flower perfume. “And to see you again, Tabita.”

“I hope that your studies are going well.”

I nodded and wondered if my being an apprentice
charasheta
would work for or against us. Then Achti coughed and I remembered my manners. “This is my sister, Achti. She's the one who needs your help.”

Tabita turned her penetrating gaze on Achti, who proceeded to tell the
charasheta
what she'd already told Rahel. Tabita questioned the maidservant briefly, and then came back to me. “This woman is your mother-in-law too. Do you agree that she should be cursed?”

I could feel my panic growing. What was I doing here? I wanted to go home and pretend I'd never come. But one look at my sister's furious visage and I knew it was too late to back out. “I'd prefer that it doesn't kill her.” I already had one death on my conscience. “Could you just make her so sick or weak that she doesn't have the strength to bother us?” I pleaded.

“What is her name? Including her matronymic.”

“Pushbi bat Nanai.”

“Oh dear.” Tabita rested her chin on her hand. “I didn't realize your mother-in-law was a
charasheta
too. This will complicate matters.”

Achti elbowed me. “I told you she was a
kashafa
.”

Tabita shot Achti a withering look. “That is not a word to use in this house, especially if you want my assistance.”

Achti began a litany of apologies, but Tabita waved them away. “I would like to help you, but in this situation I must consult with the head
charasheta
.”

Achti and I blurted out our questions simultaneously.

“How long will that take?” my sister wanted to know.

“There's a head
charasheta
?” I asked. “Who is she?”

Tabita ignored my question. “I should know within a week. In the meantime, there are two items I'll need you to procure: some menstrual blood and a potsherd with Pushbi's excrement. Plus, of course, my fee.”

Achti's face fell. “Pushbi is still bedridden with plague, so obtaining her excrement shouldn't be difficult,” she said slowly. “But I don't know about money…”

“Will you take some silk ribbons for payment?” I had quite a few left from the ones I'd woven. “As for the blood, I should be
dashtana
any day now.” I forced myself not to imagine the evil spirits that could be conjured with feces and
dashtana
. I was too worried already.

“You didn't mention that Pushbi was ill. That changes everything,” Tabita said sharply. “We must work quickly while her star is still compromised.”

Achti and I waited as Tabita paced the room mumbling to herself. Finally she addressed me, “If you bring what I need by next Third Day, I can inscribe it then.”

“At the eighth hour,” I whispered as a shiver went down my spine. “When Samael rules the day and hour.”

“You have been studying.” Her tone was approving. “Very well. You may assist me when I bury the bowl.”

Astonishment nearly left me speechless. “But what about the head
charasheta
?” I stammered.

“We will be cursing Pushbi,” Tabita reassured us. “I merely need to consult her about which spell to use.”

The following Third Day I was invited to Tabita's home after synagogue services. Pushbi remained ill, and Achti surprised everyone except me by
insisting on looking in on her to fulfill the mitzvah of visiting the sick. Rain still fell daily, but only during the night, and every field we passed was green and lush with new spring growth. It was a stark contrast to the dark and treacherous deed I was about to undertake.

Like Rahel, Tabita inscribed her
kasa d'charasha
outside. After our midday meal, to pass the time until the eighth hour, she showed me the workshop where her slaves produced ink.

“For this curse bowl, I'll be using special ink.” She showed me a small pot containing a dark, viscous liquid. “A mixture of regular ink and menstrual blood.”

I forced myself not to draw back in disgust. “How do you use the excrement?”

“I rubbed it onto the bowl earlier, so it would have time to dry before I inscribe the spell.”

I swallowed hard. Until that moment I hadn't known how Tabita would use the excrement and menstrual blood. A bowl covered with them would attract who knows how many demons. The Ninety-first Psalm named just a few of Ashmedai's minions, and Nasus had her own as well. Father taught that there were so many
shaydim
around us that people would faint in terror if they could see them all. I knew this procedure could be dangerous, but I hadn't considered how dangerous, especially for a novice like me.

It was a relief when the eighth hour arrived and Tabita let me watch as she inscribed the incantation. Despite my anxiety, I observed closely and memorized the words. Tabita must not have thought I could learn the spell so easily, for she made no attempt to hide what she wrote.

“To the
ruchim
who reside in the cemetery. May Pushbi bat Nanai be cursed so that sulfur and fire burn in her, that she be banned, broken, lost, finished, vanquished, and that shivers seize her. May the following verse apply to her: ‘They shall fall and not rise, and there will be no healing to their affliction, their eyes shall grow dim, so they cannot see. Pour out Your wrath on them, may Your blazing anger overtake them.' And may the following verse apply to Pushbi bat Nanai: ‘Adonai shall smite you with madness, blindness, and dismay. Adonai will not spare you but rather the anger of Adonai shall rage against you, until all the curses that are in this book come down upon you. So may there be done to her swift judgment and misfortune.' In the names of Mot and Yarod and Anahid, and the
ruchim
who reside in the cemetery, all this should be done to Pushbi bat Nanai.”

I shuddered in dread at the frightful words, and at the enormity of the evil I was about to do to Pushbi if she were to suffer even a tenth of what the incantation called for. But I had to show Tabita that I wasn't too afraid to help her. So I said, “This spell has Torah verses from Psalms and Devarim in it. Is the head
charasheta
Jewish?”

She took a long time to reply. “To protect her and her family, only a privileged few know her identity.”

Curiosity overcame my fear and guilt. “How does someone become head
charasheta
?”

“Like a rabbi becoming head of the
beit din
, she devotes herself to many years of study,” Tabita said. “Just as the Persian king of kings rules over all his vassal kings, so too does she lead all the sorceresses in Bavel.”

Before I could ask any more questions, she said, “We need to leave if we're going to bury this bowl before sunset.”

Accompanied by slaves carrying the shovel and foul-smelling bowl, Tabita, Zahra, and I passed workers hurrying home to their evening meal. I imagined that our pollution would be palpable, but no one gave us a second glance.

“How are you going to bury the bowl at Pushbi's house without anyone knowing?”

“Curse bowls are hidden in the cemetery, not at anyone's home,” Tabita said. “Near the grave of someone who died young. That is the primary reason why you're coming along, to show me where Achti's daughter is interred.”

Ha-Elohim! That's why the spell was directed toward the
ruchim
who reside in the cemetery. Heaven protect me. I was going into the cemetery with this demon-luring bowl on the day ruled by Samael, Angel of Death. And we'd be burying it at the grave of the very child for whose death I bore guilt. I clutched Zahra's hand, and she squeezed mine tightly in return.

The closer we came to the cemetery, the harder my heart pounded, and by the time we reached Nanai's grave I was sweating with fright. The air smelled of damp earth and rotted leaves. It was nearly sunset and all funerals that day were finished, leaving us alone among the tombs. That is, we were the only people there. Surely demons and evil spirits were lurking among the long, bizarre shadows cast by the yet leafless trees.

A slave dug the hole, and the
charasheta
herself placed the bowl inside
and buried it. But instead of shouting the curse, as Rahel did, Tabita muttered it in such a muted voice that I wouldn't have understood her if I hadn't memorized what she had written. Though the early spring air was warm, I shivered violently as I sensed the
ruchim
approaching and surrounding us.

Abruptly Tabita astonished me by turning and leading us away with such a calm, unruffled demeanor that we could have been leaving the souk. How could she be so unaffected? Or was she a master of hiding her true emotions?