Apprentice (38 page)

Except that we had no gravesite.

Mother was furious—at the fanatical Magi, at the exilarch's cowardice, and at Father for leaving her to deal with all this trouble while he enjoyed himself at a wedding in another city.

“As much as it would serve my husband right,” she muttered. “Burying my father here would make it difficult, not only for my husband, but for all the males in our family to walk about our property in purity.”

“Not to mention future generations,” Achti added.

“Where else can we secretly bury him?” Timonus asked.

I suddenly had a bizarre thought. “Maybe we can bury him at the cemetery after all.” They looked at me with incredulity, but I continued: “The Magi aren't going to look in graves they've already exhumed, so all we need to do is dig the hole deeper and bury Grandfather's body below. When they return, everything will look exactly as before.”

Timonus broke the silence. “We'd have to wait until dark.”

“Which would give you time to recruit the men necessary to dig such a deep pit,” I said, attempting to bolster my idea.

Mother held her chin while she thought. “I've seen funerals held at night for people who die on Shabbat, so I suppose it is possible. But it will have to be a quiet funeral, no keening women or crowds of mourners.”

When I made my suggestion, I'd forgotten how frightening the cemetery was at sunset. But that was pleasant compared to going there on a moonless night while carrying a corpse. The air was deathly still, and not even a bird peeped or a mouse scampered as we passed silently in the dark. Mother and Timonus agreed that there should be no torches and that everyone should wear dark clothing. It offered only slight comfort that my brothers Hanan and Pinchas, along with my older nephews, accompanied us to the cemetery's gate before following along outside the low wall.

Timonus had returned to the cemetery in late afternoon to scout for a likely grave, one close to the wall so Grandfather's male descendants could grieve nearby without physically entering the graveyard. Hanan recognized the spot as where the elderly man who'd read the first Torah portion on Shavuot had been interred the previous week. Evidently many from priestly families preferred to be buried near the cemetery's edge.

The women in my family huddled around the slaves carrying Grandfather's body, weeping quietly, myself hardest of all. Mother led the procession, and two slaves carrying shovels brought up the rear. I clutched Rahel's hand, trembling with fright despite Mother's assurance that it was safe for me to enter the graveyard because I was performing a
mitzvah
.

“You must not give in to fear,” Mother said as we carefully surrounded the exceedingly deep pit. “Burying a rabbi as pious as my blessed father, particularly in these difficult circumstances, is such a meritorious
mitzvah
that Heaven will surely protect us.” She looked up at the mention of Heaven.

Her voice was strong yet soothing. Slowly my dread ebbed away as I gazed at the myriad stars above, bright and twinkling in the moonless sky. Each one represented an angel who watched over us, and I wondered which was mine and which had been Grandfather's. Did my unborn child have his own star yet, or was the angel assigned only when he was born?

My thoughts came back to earth when I heard the thump of the shrouded corpse landing at the bottom of the grave. I was thankful that the prayers and eulogy had been said earlier and all that remained was to cover it with dirt. I was more thankful that we didn't have to fill the tremendous hole. Timonus stopped us when the soil reached the level where the Magi had left it.

For some there was an unseemly rush to the villa. I walked slowly, taking in the vast canopy of sky and remembering how I used to love sleeping on the roof. We were in the month of Cheshvan, and I strained to find the stars that made up its constellation, the Scorpion. I'd never heard a convincing explanation for why Cheshvan's zodiac sign was such a vile creature. Tishrei's sign, the Scales, made sense since during that month, between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, our sins were balanced against our mitzvot as the Heavenly Court judged us.

Tears ran down my face as I thought of Grandfather, who'd been judged for such a long life. Somehow he'd merited living to see me wed, but not to see my baby born. Persians, and probably most Jews, said that one's lifespan was written in the stars, but the Torah was clear that if Israel recites Elohim's words at home and away, teaches them to his children, and puts them in his heart, his days and that of his children will increase.

Despite the hour, no one went to bed upon returning home. Cook had prepared some food, and the wine and beer were soon flowing. Everyone had stories about Grandfather, and Mother shared how calmly he'd reacted when her grandfather Rav arrived unexpectedly at her wedding.

“Knowing that he hadn't been invited, my mother was terrified to learn that Rav was at the gate. But my father told her not to worry, that he would take care of it,” Mother said. “I, of course, had no idea anything was wrong, for nobody told me that Rav disapproved of my marrying Hisda. I thought my grandfather didn't eat anything and went home early that night because he wasn't feeling well.”

We sat in silence for a while, taking pride in how Grandfather had avoided a breach between his family and Rav.

“I hope Grandfather and that old priest liked each other,” Pinchas said, a bit irreverently I thought. “They'll be sharing the same grave until the Messiah comes.”

“Who's going to put the original body back?” His wife, Beloria, asked.

Until that moment I hadn't considered what happened to the remains of the bodies the Magi had exhumed.

As usual, Timonus was well informed. “Most families have someone follow the Magi to see where they leave the body,” he explained. “Then they must wait until only the bones remain, after which they are permitted to collect and rebury them.”

“Grandfather wouldn't have liked that,” Hanan declared.

I stifled a yawn and then realized that with Rami away there was no reason to walk back to Sura. I made my way upstairs to my old
kiton
, where I recalled all those nights after Achti's wedding when Grandfather had shared my room and discussed Mishna with me. His snoring had bothered me then, but tonight I missed it.

Knowing those days were gone forever, and missing Rami too, I cried myself to sleep.

“Dodi, I will never attend another wedding without you,” Rami whispered in my ear as he pulled me closer. “Truly I would have preferred being at your grandfather's funeral.”

Snuggled in bed together despite the warm evening, our desire satisfied, neither of us felt the need to sleep. “Was the wedding that awful,” I teased him, “or did you miss me?”

He kissed me gently. “Both. In Machoza the men are even worse about goading the bridegroom than in Sura. It brought back so many unpleasant memories that I left the room.”

I was curious if Abba had been successful that first night but knew better than to ask Rami. “What did the bride look like? What kind of jewels did she wear?” I asked instead.

He gave the best answer a husband could. “Choran had more jewels than Rav Nachman's wife Yalta, but she still couldn't compare to you. As for her face, in that respect she and Abba were like twins—both dark, proud, and arrogant.”

“How was the food?”

“Not bad.” He shrugged. “They used a greater variety of spices than at our wedding, and there were some dishes I'd never tasted before, like roast peacock. They served excellent old wine, but no date beer.”

“No beer? But this is when date beer is freshest.”

Rami shook his head. “Abba had the audacity to say right to my face that he'd rather drink flax water than date beer.”

I bristled at the insult. “How can Abba dare show himself at Father's lectures?”

“I was surprised when he returned with us,” Rami said. “Especially after I heard him talking to Abaye about studying with Rav Yosef in Pumbedita.”

I wished Abba would move to Pumbedita. Though Abba had a wife now, I couldn't forget that he'd wanted to marry me. I couldn't shake the thought that his returning to Sura meant his rivalry with Rami would not only continue but intensify.

Instead of disclosing any of this, I asked Rami, “Isn't a student supposed to stay with his original teacher only until he's learned all the Mishna?”

He chuckled. “That's true now, but when my brother, Ukva, was studying with Rav Hisda in Kafri, your father told his students that ‘he who learns Torah from only one master will never see blessing,' so they all left him.”

“Father must have been devastated.”

“Ukva said that your father knew that would happen, but he told his students anyway. Ukva and I went to study with Rav Sheshet, but the others went to Rav Huna.”

“What made everyone come back?”

“Rav Huna taught just what you told me—that students don't move to a new teacher until they've mastered the complete text with the first,” he said. “Only after that should they start to learn various types of logical reasoning and analysis from different teachers, until they are proficient in them all.”

I was about to say that Father's students now benefited from learning both with him at the villa and with Rav Huna in court, when I felt a slight flutter inside my belly. I gasped softly and moved my hand to my stomach, eager to feel it again.

Rami sat up and stared at me, his eyes wide with alarm. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong. I think I just felt the baby move.”

He lay down and placed his hand next to mine. But the sensation did not return until the next day.

Thank Heaven Rami hadn't taken a vow to never attend another wedding without me, because two weeks later word came from Kafri that Keshisha
and Guria would wed shortly after Hanukah, when the final batch of date beer was sure to be finished. I had mixed feelings about this. Evidently Keshisha had repented sufficiently that Yenuka found him worthy to marry Guria. But I was still angry at how he'd used my slave, left her with child, and placed the blame on me, yet had suffered almost no punishment.

Of course I wouldn't be able to attend. I'd be starting my eighth month of pregnancy. Yet Rami had to be there; this was my brother and niece getting married, not strangers. Achti and I would stay home and console ourselves with thoughts of our unborn children.

Unfortunately, this was not to be the case—as I discovered when Zahra, in the course of comparing a nearby stone-lined indoor
mikvah
with the pond Father had constructed off the canal, mentioned that she and Achti had gone together and immersed one after the other.

I wanted to console Achti for her loss, but she never brought up the subject and I didn't dare. She undoubtedly regretted telling me, and her situation must have been painful enough without having to talk about it with her pregnant sister. At least she'd be able to attend Keshisha's wedding. Achti was occupied with mothering little Yehezkel, and I wondered what, if anything, she'd tell Keshisha about his son.

Thus, on the final day of Hanukah, shortly before my family left for my brother's wedding, Rami and I moved our things into what had been our nuptial bedchamber. Though Mother must have used it as her sitting room in the interim, it looked so little changed from our wedding week that Rami and I couldn't help but exchange smiles at the memories it brought back. Mother expressed only relief at our arrival, and even admitted that Pushbi had been wise to suggest it. There was no question of returning to my old
kiton
; Mother and Pushbi also agreed that I should avoid climbing stairs.

It was strange to be the only person living in the villa, aside from the few slaves who had not accompanied the family to Kafri. Rahel had given me
kasa d'charasha
to inscribe, and I'd brought my silk weaving along. Plus there was Grandfather's volume of Mishna to study in the evening and the excitement that came whenever I felt the baby move inside me.

Still the hours passed slowly, and I was relieved when the day came for everyone to return home. I was sitting in the garden, inscribing the last bowl Rahel had left for me, when Imarta surprised me by announcing that a student had arrived.

“What should I do with him, Mistress?”

I wanted to finish the line I'd started, so I replied, “Put his belongings in his room. I'll join him for the midday meal.”

“He's already put them away,” Imarta said, a hint of disapproval in her voice. Clearly she expected me to be a more conscientious hostess in Mother's absence.

“Very well.” I held out my hand. “Help me up and I'll greet him properly.”

I couldn't imagine what to do with the student. As far as I knew, none of them were expected before next week. At least Father would be back before dark. I was halfway across the courtyard when I saw someone waiting in the entryway. He stepped out into the sunlight, and I gasped in dismay.

Abba bar Joseph quickly closed his mouth, which had dropped open in astonishment. “What are you doing here?” His deep voice seemed to echo in the courtyard.

“This is my home.” I put my annoyance into my reply.

He frowned and shook his head. “No, this is your father's home. Your home is in central Sura, with your husband.”

Though I owed him no explanation, it would be better than arguing. “My mother-in-law believes they have provoked the Evil Eye. She says it will be safer for me to have the baby here where Father's piety can protect me.”

Since I only came to the villa for Shabbat, when Abba went home to visit his new wife, we had scarcely seen each other since Rosh Hashana. His eyes went to my bulging belly and then, before I could see his expression, he turned away.

I remembered my manners. “Come inside and have something to eat. Or do you want to rest? You must be exhausted from your long journey.”