Apprentice (60 page)

Salaman leaned back in his seat. “The way I heard it, my grandfather's grandfather learned how to lay mosaics so well that his master gave him increasing responsibility, until he became an artist as well,” he said. “He was given a Jewish slave woman as wife, they had a son whom they named Salaman in memory of the Temple, and all three were freed at the master's death. Eventually he brought them to Antioch, where he and his son studied at the city's school of mosaic makers.”

Yochani refilled his wine cup. “What made them come back to Eretz Israel?”

“According to my grandfather, Antioch had too many Romans and too many earthquakes, so his father decided to move the family to Sepphoris. Here the population was mostly Jewish, plus wealthy enough to afford mosaics in their buildings.”

“Do you have any relatives here?” I finally asked. I was amazed at the harrowing tale of how his family had risen from slavery to prosperity. It was the Pesach story come to life.

He shook his head. “I was my father's only child to reach adulthood, and I don't think his siblings survived him.”

Yochani tsked sympathetically. “Times were very hard back then. Between the droughts, pestilence, and famines, I somehow managed to see two children grown, but like your father, I have neither living siblings nor cousins.”

Here we lapsed into our own thoughts for so long that I felt as if we were in Persia, where silent meals were customary.

Finally Salaman turned to me and asked, “According to Rabbi Avahu, things are quite different in your family.”

“I don't mean to boast, but I am the youngest of nine, seven boys and two girls, and I have so many nieces and nephews from my brothers that I've lost count. My father is a rabbi who teaches Torah and Mishna from our home.” I went on to describe my family's life in Bavel, focusing on our agricultural endeavors rather than on Father's wealth and prestige.

“Hisdadukh is being modest,” Yochani said when I finished. “Her father is a great sage, head of the
beit din
in Sura in addition to his own Torah academy there.”

“My father was not a follower of the Rabbis,” Salaman murmured, perhaps concerned that his words might offend us. “He didn't hold with their innovations and the way they took for themselves the authority to decide what is Jewish Law. As far as he and my grandfather were concerned, it was Rabbi Akiva's fault that Bar Kokhba rebelled and Judea was destroyed.”

Yochani practically choked on her wine. I was on the verge of canceling our appointment when I thought of something I needed to know first. “So if you have such disdain for rabbis, how did you and Rabbi Avahu become friendly?”

“I didn't say that I disdained rabbis, only that I was raised that way,” he corrected me. “As for Rabbi Avahu, he once saved my life in the bathhouse, although if you ask him, he'll say that I saved his.”

Yochani's eyes opened wide. “Was that when the bathhouse floor in Caesarea collapsed? We heard that he saved over a hundred men's lives.”

“What happened?” I asked anxiously.

“The floors of the hot rooms are built on stone pillars directly above the hypocaust,” he explained. “Except for the pillars, the area under the floor is hollow, allowing the steam to pass through and keep the rooms above hot.”

“So if the floor collapses, Heaven forbid,” Yochani said. “Bathers will fall either into the steam or, worse, into the fire itself.”

“But why would it collapse?” I demanded.

“Floors in an old bathhouse will eventually rot away from exposure to the hot steam,” Salaman replied. “A new bathhouse may not be built properly, so as a rule, I do not frequent any that are less than six months old.”

“Wait, you didn't tell us what happened in Caesarea,” I said. “When you and Rabbi Avahu saved each other.”

“We both happened to be walking in the hot room at the exact moment the floor started to give way,” he began. “As luck would have it, we were both standing atop pillars, which were close enough together that we were able to reach out and support each other as the floor fell into the pit below. Then I took hold of a man near me, and Avahu of a man near him, and those two men of two more, until by the time the floor was gone, nearly everyone in the hot room was safe on a pillar, held fast by two men on either side.” He paused and shook his head at the memory. “After that we just waited until someone shut down the hypocaust and it was cool enough to climb down.”

I gulped. “Ha-Elohim. I didn't realize bathhouses could be so treacherous.”

“
Mazikim
like to inhabit them, so they can make people slip on wet stones or get burned, or cause all sorts of injuries,” Yochani said. “Probably they were to blame for that floor's collapse.”

I looked back and forth between Yochani and Salaman in dismay. How could they discuss such dangerous demons so calmly?

“That's why I always wear an amulet when I go to the baths,” Salaman said.

“An amulet for protection in the bathhouse?” I asked eagerly. “What does it say?”

He looked at me in surprise. “How should I know? I've never opened it up and examined it.”

“Where did you get it? Who made it for you?”

“Hisdadukh inscribes amulets herself,” Yochani interjected. “So it's a matter of professional interest.”

“I got it in Caesarea. Maybe that's what saved me.”

“You're still using the same one? But it has surely lost its power after protecting you from demons strong enough to collapse a bathhouse floor.” I could almost see the impish
mazikim
lurking in the steam under the mosaic floor, cackling wildly as they schemed how to injure the bathers above. “You must procure a new one immediately.”

“Very well. I'll get it the next time I'm there.”

“But there must be scribes in Sepphoris. I've seen women and children wearing amulets here.” Inscribing amulets tended to be a solitary profession in Bavel, and, to avert accusations of witchcraft,
charasheta
seldom met together. When no local scribe sought me out, I assumed the situation was similar in the West and made no effort to find any colleagues here.

Salaman and Yochani exchanged worried looks, but it was Yochani who spoke. “The woman who inscribes amulets here is not known for her good deeds,” she said carefully.

“And she charges more than in Caesarea,” Salaman added.

“Let me know when you're going.” I could hardly contain my excitement. “I'd also like to get one.”

Then I'd have four amulet inscriptions in my collection, and maybe more if the scribe in Caesarea sold others. From what I'd just heard, a spell for protection in the bathhouse would be a good thing to know here in the West.

Salaman's mosaic workshop was fascinating. There were boxes and boxes of tesserae, sorted by color, size, and texture. Large wooden templates were stacked against the walls, and the apprentice was busy laying tesserae on a long piece of wood supported by two tables. The room smelled like it needed a good dusting.

“These will frame the main mural,” he explained. “The pattern, called twisted rope, is such a common border that I have templates in several sizes.”

“I've seen it many times,” I said.

He led me to an anteroom, where he had shelves of what looked like large codices. “Let me show you my stock patterns.”

Soon I was thumbing though pages of mosaic designs. Twisted rope was there, along with other borders I recognized from buildings in the Galilee. But there were more intricate designs too, all sorts of plants and flowers, many I'd never seen before. There were numerous animals, especially birds and fish, which I now knew were for bathhouses. There were horses pulling chariots, hunting scenes with wild animals, plus several men's and women's faces.

“Did you create these designs or are they your father's?”

“Some are my father's and some my grandfather's,” he replied. “My own designs are in my head, not in any codex. I create each one individually for a unique client.”

“But you must keep the templates,” I suggested. “So you can utilize them again if necessary.”

He didn't reply, but his eyes twinkled at me.

When I got to a page depicting a fierce-looking dog, Salaman chuckled. “These are popular for near the main door, to guard a house. The words below are Latin for ‘beware of dog,' not that any thief is likely to know how to read Latin.”

“You know how to read Latin?” I asked in surprise.

He shook his head. “Just Aramaic and some Greek.”

“Did you learn to read Torah in Aramaic or Greek?” I was disappointed, but not surprised, that he didn't know Hebrew.

“In Aramaic, like the other boys in my class.”

I sighed with relief. For some reason it was important to me that Salaman knew the holy scriptures.

He pulled out another codex. “You'll like these. They come from Torah and are popular with synagogues.”

There was the sacrifice of Isaac, King David playing his harp, Sarah being visited by angels, and Noah's ark. There were also ritual symbols such as the lulav and etrog, the shofar, and different versions of the seven-branched menorah.

“These are wonderful.” I made no effort to hide my admiration. “I never imagined there could be so many different kinds of mosaics, or that they could be so beautiful.”

“None will be as beautiful as the one I make of you.”

I could feel my face flaming as Salaman grinned and began scribbling on a sheet of papyrus. “I see that I will have to compliment you regularly if I want to capture that exact color pink on your cheeks.”

That only made me blush more and his smile grow wider. He and Rami both had such wonderful smiles. Abba, however, never smiled, except when he'd bested Rami in class. And nobody would call that smile, more of a smirk, wonderful.

Since I went only when it was inauspicious for inscribing amulets, I usually visited Salaman's workshop once a week. Even when he wasn't working on my portrait, it was fascinating to watch him create other mosaics. Judging by the floors he was doing for this new villa, the place was enormous, with different designs in each of the large rooms and hallways.

I waited impatiently for Salaman to announce his next trip to Caesarea. I was still trying to think of an excuse to visit Susanna, so I could procure some new amulets there, when Yochani's son Simeon arrived in Sepphoris. With him was my brother Tachlifa, looking somewhat plumper than when I'd seen him last but otherwise much the same.

“Dada, you look wonderful.” He hugged me tightly. “And little Yehudit. Look how she's grown.”

Tachlifa approached her gently, but she still ran to me to pick her up. “It's all right, Yehudit. Uncle Tachlifa won't hurt you,” I encouraged her.

I shrugged helplessly. “She's shy around strange men. I hope you're staying longer this time.”

“I should be able to stay for a couple of weeks and still get back to Sura for Pesach,” he replied.

Simeon turned to Yochani. “Speaking of Pesach, Mother, I want you and Eliezer's family to come to Tyre for the festival. Our baby is due around then, so my family can't travel here or to Tiberias as usual.”

“You couldn't keep me away.” Yochani hesitated and looked at me. “What about Hisdadukh? How will you fit us all in?”

This was the opportunity I was waiting for. “Don't worry about me. I'll ask Susanna if we can spend Pesach with them.”

Yochani sighed with relief. “Of course she'll agree, especially since you'll be bringing your daughter. She always complains of not having enough children at the meal.”

Simeon was as eager to trade news with his mother as I was with Tachlifa, so we each headed to our separate lodgings. My brother pulled out a bag of colored blocks and began stacking them. As expected, Yehudit was soon sitting next to him and squealing with delight whenever the block tower fell.

“Tell me about Chama,” I urged him. “How is my son?”

“He seems healthy. He's as tall as Yehezkel, and from what I hear, he already knows how to read.” Tachlifa looked at me intently. “Dada, every time I see him he looks more and more like you, except that he has Rami's smile.”

I blinked back tears. What would my son think when he eventually learned who his true parents were? “What about Mother and Father? Are they well?”

“They try not to gloat, but they are very pleased with Father's superior position in Sura. They probably thought Rabbi Huna was going to live to be one hundred and twenty,” he said. “Mother still dyes her hair, so she looks as young as always.”

“And the others?”

“Let me see.” Tachlifa stopped to think. “Keshisha and Guria have a baby girl, Pinchas and Beloria another boy. Pazi told me she thinks Achti miscarried again.”

I shook my head sadly. “Poor Achti.” Maybe the amulet scribe in Caesarea would have one that could dispel the demons or curse that afflicted her.

“Mari wanted me to tell you that your flax and wheat fields produced well again this year, but he'd like to plant some sesame to take advantage of the current high prices.”

“I trust him to do what's best.” What a relief to know that I had such a good steward back home.

“You may be surprised to hear that your friend Abba is still studying with Father. Frankly, I thought he would have moved to Rav Yosef's school in Pumbedita by now.”

“That should make him easy to find when I return after Yehudit is weaned.” I didn't want to search all over Bavel for him so I could receive my
get
in person.

“So what have you been doing this past year?” he asked. “Whatever it is, it certainly agrees with you.”

I spent the rest of the afternoon telling him about observing Tisha B'Av in Jerusalem with Rabbi Avahu and Susanna, celebrating Hanukah at Judah Nesiah's, and many other things, including how I was starting to inscribe amulets again. Knowing my family disapproved of associating with nonrabbis, I said nothing of Salaman or his mosaics.