Apprentice (46 page)

Achti hurried to embrace me. “We've bought a new residence nearby,” she said. Then she shuddered. “Ukva and I couldn't bear to live in our old place any longer.”

“How is Chama?” I fought to control my trembling voice.

“It is as though Ukva was always his father,” she replied, oblivious to my pain. “Young children are so resilient.”

“After Sukkot I'll be buying a tutor for him and Yehezkel,” Ukva said proudly. “Time for them to start learning Torah.”

“I'd like to come and visit.” I tried not to sound as desperate as I felt.

I shrank back as Achti and Ukva exchanged concerned glances, but I couldn't control my tears when Ukva said firmly, “I think it's best for Chama not to be confused about who his mother is until he's fully adjusted to his new life.” In other words, I wasn't to see my son until he'd forgotten all about me.

Achti put her arm around my shoulders. “Chama's happiness must be our paramount concern. I'm sure you don't want him getting upset whenever you come and then leave again.” Maybe she was trying to reassure me, but her words only made me feel guilty and selfish.

On the way home I had an epiphany. According to the Mishna, a widow who was still nursing her husband's child could not be forced to give the infant up. I had suckled Chama for over two years, so surely I could take even longer before I weaned his sibling.

As the New Year grew closer, Father taught from Tractates Rosh Hashana and Yoma. My baby was due sometime in Tishrei, and with little energy to do much else, I decided to listen to his lectures, albeit from a vantage point where I couldn't be seen.

“It was taught in the name of Rabbi Yohanan,” Father began. “Three books are opened on Rosh Hashana: one for the totally evil, one for the totally righteous, and one for average people. The righteous are immediately inscribed and sealed for life, the evildoers immediately inscribed and sealed for death.”

He paused to let the seriousness of his words sink in. “Judgment on everyone else is suspended from Rosh Hashana to Yom Kippur. If they merit it, they are inscribed for life, and if not, they are inscribed for death.”

I gritted my teeth as Abba bar Joseph added, “A Baraita from Rabbi Yishmael teaches that the world is judged three times during the year: for grain on Pesach, for fruits on Shavuot, for rain on Sukkot. A man is judged on Rosh Hashana and his decree is sealed on Yom Kippur.” Abba always had something to say, and with his deep voice, it always sounded serious.

The discussion continued with questions about what merit caused a man to be inscribed for life. Torah study and doing mitzvot were the obvious answers, but that did not satisfy the students. For Rami had excelled at both, yet his life had been cut short.

Even the start of labor could not have made me leave now. I strained to hear as my husband's previous companions speculated on why he'd died such an untimely death.

My brother Nachman had the kindest explanation. “Perhaps Rami was originally fated to die earlier, but because of his merit, the Heavenly Court granted him the extra years to fulfill the mitzvah of procreation.”

Several students, citing Rav, blamed Rami's death on the Evil Eye, brought about by someone who envied him.

In the silence that followed, attention must have focused on Abba, because he vehemently asserted, “Rami bar Chama died because he shamed Rav Menashia by not including him among the scholars worthy of leading the grace said after meals.”

I gulped in astonishment at his accusation. I had never heard of this Rav Menashia, and I was sure that Rami had never mentioned him.

One of Father's students was also skeptical. “You mean Rami thought Rav Menashia was an ignoramus?”

Abba was forced to elaborate. “Rami thought Rav Menashia had not studied enough Torah, but Rami was wrong because he did not investigate sufficiently.” His low, resonant voice made this sound convincing.

My blood was boiling with outrage. It was bad enough that Abba had insulted my husband when he was alive. Now he had the audacity to malign Rami in the grave.

“So perhaps it was a Rabbi's snake that bit him, which has no cure,” Abaye said. “As it is written: He who breaches a fence will be bitten by a snake.”

“That's what happened after Rav's death,” Zeira said. “In Rav's honor, bells were prohibited at weddings for one year. So when someone did bring bells to a wedding, a snake bit him and he died.”

Father adroitly steered the discussion back to the original Mishna, and there was no more talk of a Rabbi's snakes. Only the pain in my hand made me realize how tightly I was clenching my fist. If Rami had died from the bite of a Rabbi's snake, I had no doubt who'd sent it.

My pregnancy was too advanced for me to attend Rosh Hashana services, especially at a synagogue so crowded and far away as the prophet Ezekiel's. The second day of the holiday, I was feeling so uncomfortable that I was thankful I'd turned down Pazi's offer to go in a litter with her and Tazi. Despite the many delicacies that Cook prepared for the evening meal that ended the holiday's festivities, I couldn't bring myself to eat. When the sun set, I excused myself and went to bed.

But it was impossible to find a position comfortable enough to sleep. Sitting wasn't much better, so I walked upstairs to the roof, where at least it would be cooler. With no moon in the sky, even the dimmest stars would be easy to see. I found the constellation of Tishrei, the Scales, and was trying to make out the rest of the zodiac, when I was seized with a spasm of pain in my belly.

Despite my single experience, I recognized the sensation as the beginning of labor, and clutching my abdomen I headed for the stairs. The contractions interfered with my progress, but I managed to return to my
kiton
and wake Nurse without falling. I lay down and shut my eyes, and tried not to cringe when I felt another pain coming.

Sometime later Nurse held the lamp while Mother and Shayla helped me down the hall to the lying-in chamber. Father, Nachman, and Mari stood at the doorway, chanting psalms.

This time I knew the agony, already approaching unbearable, would only continue to intensify. I made no effort to stifle my screams. They, and this torture, would end either when the child was born or when I died in the process.

“Just a little longer.” Shayla tried to comfort me. “This baby is coming even faster than your first.”

But I would not be comforted. Each contraction forced a new shriek of anguish from my throat. Yet just when it seemed that the pain couldn't possibly get worse, it did.

“Take my life, Samael, I beg you,” I whimpered as I entreated the Angel of Death. “End my suffering and reunite me with my husband.”

B
ut the angel Samael ignored my pleas. I began to shake uncontrollably, until, finally, I felt the urge to push. Moments later my bones were both crushing and being crushed as the head came through. Then it was over. A second push for the body, followed by another for the afterbirth, and the pain was already beginning to recede from my memory.

“Thank Heaven.” Mother sighed heavily. “It's a girl.”

The good news was passed to the men outside, and I could hear their relieved voices.

“My screams must have made them think I really was going to die,” I said as Nurse wiped away the sweat that had drenched my body.

Shayla shook her head. “Plenty of women scream like that when they're in labor.” Then she handed me my daughter and smiled. “Nothing like giving birth the day after Rosh Hashana to make everyone pleased with a girl.”

The baby suckled at my breast for some time before I realized why everyone was so pleased. If the child had been a boy, he would have needed to be circumcised in eight days, on Yom Kippur.

It was two weeks later, while the rest of my family was at synagogue for the second day of Sukkot, when I noticed that something was bothering Nurse. She tensed every time someone walked past my
kiton
, and she kept looking toward the door with dread rather than mere curiosity.

When she stopped abruptly in the middle of changing the baby's swaddling to listen as someone came up the stairs, I could not restrain myself.

“What are you so nervous about? Are you expecting some bad news and don't want to tell me?”

Nurse handed me Yehudit, which was what I'd decided to name my daughter, and began to pace the room. “The new tutor, Jacob, the boy Master Hisda bought when Master Ukva acquired one for your son…” She took a deep breath. “Well, nobody has seen him since the night before last.”

“Maybe a snake bit him?” Naturally that was my first thought. “Have the grounds been searched for his body?”

Nurse shook her head. “He's run away.”

I looked at her in astonishment. None of Father's slaves had ever run away. “Are you sure?”

“That's what the others are saying,” she replied a bit too hurriedly.

“Did he confide in you?” I asked. Nurse was the older, comforting type that encouraged these disclosures.

“No, not at all.” Her eyes were wide with fright. “I knew he was unhappy, but I thought nothing of it. I mean, it's normal for a new slave to need time to adjust.”

I realized that my curiosity was frightening her, and for good reason. Father would be furious when he found out, which would likely be as soon as the family returned to eat. He'd be determined to find the slave and bring him back, which meant that Timonus could use any means to force our slaves to divulge what they knew.

“I must go downstairs,” I declared. “If we can discover where the slave has gone and tell Timonus before Father returns, maybe we can prevent most of the whippings.”

Timonus was already browbeating the other tutors outside the kitchen when I interrupted him. “I will question the female slaves, and if necessary, then the males. But first tell me what you know about this new slave.”

I feared that Timonus would reject my authority, but after only a minimal hesitation, he said, “Yes, Mistress.” Looking around the room, his gaze making it clear that anyone who knew more should speak up, Timonus began, “His name is Jacob, and he comes from Niblis. When his father died, his mother placed him with a Nazarene monastic community, where he learned scripture in both Hebrew and Aramaic.”

Another tutor, who evidently hoped that cooperation would lessen his punishment, spoke up. “It was one of those places for males only, where they took vows of poverty and chastity.” He shuddered and quickly added, “That's why he was sold as a slave, because they couldn't pay his
karga
.”

“You were educated at the same place?” I suggested.

“Not there, but one like it.” He added hastily, “I hated it.”

I decided he was being truthful. A few questions later, I learned that none of the tutors had known Jacob before or had come from Niblis. They agreed that he'd complained constantly about being forced into slavery, which is why they assumed that he'd run away. They were a fearful bunch, and I suspected that each would readily accuse another to save himself.

Suddenly I thought of Keshisha and drew Timonus aside. “These tutors are lusty young men. Find out if this Jacob had a favorite among the female slaves or if the others think he did.”

That left the females. “I intend to speak to them all together first, and then individually,” I told Nurse. “Watch carefully to see who appears guilty or sad, or if the others keep glancing at one of them in particular.”

I gathered the girls into the
traklin
. “You know what will happen when my father hears of this,” I said in a severe tone. “If anyone knows where Jacob went, or merely suspects where he has gone, you should tell me when we are alone.”

Next, trying to sound gentle and encouraging, I continued, “I understand how difficult it is for a female slave to resist a man's attentions, even another slave's. I will protect you, and not tell my father how I came by my information.”

Yehudit began to stir in Nurse's arms, and the slaves waited nervously while I seated myself so I could suckle my child as we spoke.

Nurse handed the baby to me, at the same time whispering, “I think the kitchen slave with the mole on her chin is hiding something.”

I saved her for last, leaving her to worry as I spoke to the others. Imarta and the other nurses knew nothing. However, when I began questioning the laundresses, one of them had an answer for me.

“I can't believe Jacob ran away,” she told me. “Believe me, if I'd had any idea what he was going to do, I never would have helped that kitchen slave meet him at night. I would have let Timonus know right away.”

“What's your name, girl?” I asked. She seemed sincere, and if her information were helpful, I wanted to remember her loyalty.

“Leuton, Mistress.”

“Where do you think he's gone, Leuton?” I didn't care what the slaves did with one another at night as long as they fulfilled their duties. But running away was intolerable.