Apprentice (32 page)

The sun was low in the sky, but there was sufficient time to get home before dark. Zahra and I said nothing until we were inside my family's villa. Rahel had been waiting for us, and when Zahra saw her, my slave took a deep breath and let go of my hand, saying, “I hope that curse worked, because I do not want to do this again.”

Rahel nodded. “Now you know why I won't learn how to inscribe curse bowls.”

When I went to bed that night, safe in my own
kiton
, I recited the bedtime Shema and the Ninety-first Psalm with thankful fervor until all the afternoon's terror had dissipated. But unlike Rahel and Zahra, I thought only that I would not want to do this again until I was older and wiser, when I could do it with Tabita's aplomb. I fell asleep wondering what magic she had used to communicate with the head
charasheta
so quickly.

By the time we celebrated Pesach, rain was falling once or twice a week. I suffered several attacks of remorse over what Achti and I had done before I visited Pushbi and, to my disappointment, found her recovering from her illness. Then I felt guilty for having ruined the spell somehow, until Rami told me that, though his mother was no longer actually ill, she was still too weak to stand for longer than it took to use the chamber pot.

At my next visit I saw that Pushbi, while insisting it was merely temporary, had turned the household management over to Achti. Then, when Achti's years of training under Shayla and Mariamme's tutelage proved more than adequate for the task, Pushbi reinstated Ukva as her heir. Achti never asked me about the curse bowl, and I never mentioned it, but the suspicious looks Pushbi cast my way made me wonder if it were the true reason why Rami had been disinherited. After all, Pushbi was a
charasheta
too, and perhaps her training made her sensitive to dark magic. Even worse, maybe she could sense who'd created it.

I spent rainy days reading the Mishna to Grandfather, who now complained that the damp weather made his bones ache. On sunny days Mari and I toured the land that Grandfather had set aside for me. The Euphrates was a raging torrent and even the canals were flowing dangerously fast. None of the bridges we needed to cross were out, but others had washed away. It was a relief to see that the flax had sprouted well in the moist soil, and to my surprise grain was waving in the breeze on the other side of the road.

I pointed out the vigorous plants to my brother. “I thought no wheat survived the drought.”

“That's barley, not wheat,” Mari replied. “It sprouts rapidly and ripens in less than two months, so Amemar sowed it as soon as rain began.”

“That was quick thinking on his part.”

The subject of our praise broke off weeding the flax field with his two sons and headed toward us. Mari threw his arm around our
aris
's shoulders. “Planting barley was a good idea.”

“It was a gamble,” Amemar admitted. “For all I knew, that first storm was all the rain we'd receive.”

“With no wheat harvest, it will bring a good price,” Mari said. “We should be able to pay our taxes and clear a profit.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Amemar looked down and shuffled his feet. “I figured I'd be able to afford the
karga
for another person…” He hesitated before saying quickly, “My oldest son is of age to marry, and I'd appreciate your help in finding him a bride.”

Mari looked surprised. “My help?”

“You know more people than I do, and I'd trust any maiden you recommended.” His eyes were wide with hope. “Maybe one with a trade of her own.”

“I will discuss it with Father.”

While Amemar poured out his thanks, I watched with appreciation as his son worked in the flax. The young man was tall, fit, and handsome enough that no prospective bride would be disappointed. I felt my heart flutter. It wasn't quite the same yearning as when Rami smiled at me or called me Dodi, but I recognized that I'd put off marriage too long. And with Pushbi no longer a threat, there was one less reason to delay. Also
Grandfather's health was failing, and I couldn't bear it if he were to die before my wedding.

Yet there was no avoiding it; getting married meant using the bed with my husband. And while I longed to be Rami's wife, a part of me feared what that entailed. I tried to convince myself that it shouldn't be as bad as with Newandukh. I was older, and now that I'd become
dashtana
, there'd be at least one week a month when I wouldn't be “kicked between my legs by a donkey.”

First I had to tell Rami that I was training to be a
charasheta
. Not that I intended to divulge my part in cursing his mother, but I feared what might happen if Rami discovered my profession after we were married. Fortune smiled on me when Rami asked me to meet him in the garden.

At first we wandered among the spring flowers in silence. I was noticing how his hair curled in the damp weather, when he spoke up. “The drought is over, Dodi. Have your parents said anything about a new wedding date?”

I shook my head. “I've already begun to bleed monthly, so I don't know what they're waiting for.”

Rami blushed at my forthright mention of my womanhood. “We should ask your father about it…I mean, we should ask him together.”

“Before we do, there's something else I should tell you.”

When his face clouded, I hurriedly added, “Rahel is training me to be a
charasheta
.”

“I know that. I've seen you two working on
kasa d'charasha
. That's what you wanted to tell me?”

Relief coursed through me. “I wanted to be sure you knew. And that you didn't mind.”

“Why should I mind? My mother was a
charasheta
.” His face warmed as he spoke. “I still recall how she wrote an amulet to protect me from demons in the privy when I was little.”

“Was a
charasheta
?” I asked. “I thought it was like being a rabbi. Once you became one, you continued to be one.”

“I suppose she still is one, then, but I haven't seen her write any amulets for some time.”

“I also inscribe amulets,” I said proudly. “I'm expert at three kinds—to protect travelers, children, and pregnant women.”

Rami's eyes widened with understanding. “So that's the secret item you had me give to your sister.”

I smiled and squeezed his hand. Though he could have done so with impunity, Rami had not cheated and looked in the pouch. At the moment he had no objection to my continued training, but he didn't know what I'd learned from Tabita.

It was so frustrating. Now that I was ready to set our wedding date, Father preferred to wait until the roads were dry.

I appealed to Mother, who had a more compelling argument not to wait.

“If we have to wait until after Hisdadukh is
niddah
again, it will be Sivan already and summer's heat might well be upon us.”

“My dowry is already packed,” I said. “Everything has been ready to send to Rami's house since autumn.” I said nothing about Grandfather's poor health, however. That would only provoke the Evil Eye to injure him further.

Father didn't need much persuading. “Far be it from me to delay my daughter's wedding and keep Rami from performing this mitzvah.” He turned to Mother and raised his hands in defeat. “Set the date for as soon as you can make the preparations.”

Suddenly, after months of waiting, Rami and I were to be wed in two weeks. Again I vacillated between hope and trepidation.

Mari wasted no time either, because a few days later he and Father came out to the garden where Rahel and I were inscribing
kasa d'charasha
. Imarta and Haruta were at their potter's wheels nearby, working at a furious pace. To ensure that our Pesach eating and cooking utensils were not contaminated with leaven, Father insisted that our entire previous year's supply of pottery be replaced.

The recent rainy months had prevented our two potters from working, and they hurried to make new vessels while the weather was dry. So neither Imarta nor Haruta looked up when the men approached.

Father apologized to Rahel for interrupting her, and then continued. “It has come to my attention that one of my female slaves, a virgin of marriageable age, could enable a suitable young man to fulfill the mitzvah of procreation,” Father said. “Facilitating this would be a way to thank the Merciful One for His myriad blessings upon my house.”

Rahel and I looked at Haruta, who was surely the only virgin among his female slaves. She, aware somehow that she was being discussed, gazed back at us, and I realized that Father had been talking about Amemar's son.

Mari explained the situation. “It's not as though you would lose a potter, Rahel. The dowry Father provides Haruta will include a potter's wheel and kiln, so she'll continue to make bowls for you.”

Rahel beckoned the two slaves to join us. “She and Imarta should hear this.”

Their faces betrayed such trepidation that at first I felt pity for them. But I couldn't wait to see their expressions change to joy when Father announced that he was freeing Haruta to marry.

Haruta's jaw dropped in astonishment and Imarta burst into tears. “Thank you, gracious master.” Imarta knelt and kissed Father's hand. “My daughter a free woman and a bride. I thought I'd never live to see the day. May Elohim bless you.”

Haruta was speechless until her mother's swift elbow forced her to whisper, “Thank you, Master, for your great kindness.”

Father, looking very pleased with himself, replied, “Your wedding will take place after the harvest is complete. That should be sufficient time to arrange for your dowry.”

He and Mari then returned to the house, leaving the four of us stunned with the suddenness of his decision. I was filled with pride at Father's generosity. Tears welled up in Haruta's eyes, probably a mixture of happy and sad, since in establishing a new home she would be leaving her mother.

I walked over and gave her a hug. “I have seen your future husband. He is both a hard worker and nice looking.” At least I could reassure her on that matter.

“I gave up hoping I could marry,” she whispered. “I thought I'd be a slave forever.”

“There are few men more pious and munificent than my husband's father,” Rahel said. “Imagine freeing such a valuable slave and providing her dowry solely to perform a mitzvah. You won't find an
am-ha'aretz
doing something like that.”

Two days before my wedding, Father took me aside and presented me with a large pearl identical to the one he'd given Achti before she got married. I assured him that I remembered what he'd taught me about being modest with my husband.

Later that day, Rav Josiah arrived with his eagerly awaited supply of cosmetics and perfumes. The other women in my family knew what they
wanted and quickly made their selections, but I, the bride, was like a blank wax tablet. Zahra showed him my pink silk wedding clothes and the two of them consulted for some time before he made his suggestions to Mother.

“With your daughter's fair complexion and light-colored outfit, I recommend only the subtlest of cosmetics,” Josiah said. “We don't need to make her beautiful, only to enhance her natural beauty.”

Mother hushed him. “Shh, don't provoke the Evil Eye.”

He nodded and held up some pink rouge and bluish gray kohl for her approval.

When she left us to check something with Cook, I voiced my disappointment. “But that's for girls. If I can't wear red on my lips and cheeks, can't I at least have black kohl for my eyes?”

Josiah leaned closer and lowered his voice. “People say all brides are beautiful, but some are more so than others. With a face as lovely as yours, I'd put very little extra color on it.”

I blushed at his compliment, but inside I thought he was just saying it to be nice.

“Next to all the painted women at your wedding, your lightly adorned face will make you look like an angel.”

“Don't worry,” Zahra whispered. “I'll add a little black kohl around your eyes if I think you need it.”

If Josiah heard this, he ignored it. He opened up a different box and said, “Now, what fragrance do you want? We need to pick just the right one so you can wear it for years and your husband will always recall your wedding when he smells it.”

I thought of kissing Rami in the rose garden. “Roses. I want to smell like roses.”

He chuckled and handed me some bottles. “So do many women—which is why I have several to choose from.”

I sniffed each one in turn. “They all smell like roses, yet they're not the same.” Some were heavy and some had another scent mixed in. I eventually settled on one that while delicate was strongly redolent of roses.

Josiah was packing up his wares when I realized that, in his profession, he had probably met more brides and attended more weddings than anyone. I cleared my throat softly until he looked up at me. “May I ask something?”

He sat down next to me. “What do you want to know?”

His kindly demeanor gave me courage to broach the subject my mother and sisters-in-law seem to be avoiding. “All these brides, do you think they worry about getting married?”

“Of course they do. It's a big change, moving from your father's house to your husband's.” He saw my face cloud and sighed. “Yes, they also worry about their virginity.”

“Then it is as the Mishna says in Moed Katan: ‘We do not marry during a festival because it is rejoicing for him,'” I recited, “‘but not rejoicing for her.'”

My earlier question may not have surprised Rav Josiah, but my quoting Mishna did. Yet he recovered his equanimity quickly.

“From what I've seen, I would have to agree,” he said soberly. “At least where the wedding night is concerned.”

After that I stayed sequestered upstairs, where a minimum of four people kept me company at all times. Mostly these were women, but Grandfather and my brothers joined us on occasion. All day long I was assaulted by cheerful conversation, and when night finally fell, I quickly slipped into an exhausted sleep. If there was a conspiracy to prevent me from having time alone to worry about my wedding night, it was successful.