Apprentice (63 page)

Salaman, on the other hand, was in a celebratory mood. Whether his amulet was responsible or not, fortune had smiled on him, sending him away with a significantly heavier purse than he came with. I managed to win approximately what I'd lost.

“Let me buy something for you, Dada,” he insisted. “After all, I wouldn't have this lucky amulet if it weren't for you.”

I shook my head. “There's nothing I need. Use the money to buy some of those rare-colored tesserae you complain are so expensive.”

“How about some new clothes or some jewelry?”

“Salaman, in six months I'll be back in Bavel, where my Roman clothes will be entirely out of place.” He started to speak but I continued, “And where I have more than enough jewelry.”

“I thought no woman ever has enough jewelry,” he said with a chuckle. Then he grew serious. “Are you really leaving so soon? I thought you wanted to see the floor finished.”

“I have to go when my brother comes for me.”

Salaman's elation evaporated, and we continued on in silence. Again I wondered about his feelings for me. Was he disappointed because he'd miss my company or because his mosaic wouldn't be as perfect as he'd hoped?

The day after Pesach ended, I hurried to the scribe's immediately after saying the morning prayers. He invited me to sit, as he was not quite finished writing all the incantations I wanted. I eyed the small stack of papyri on his workbench with eager anticipation.

“May I ask you a question?” He nodded without looking up from his writing, and I continued, “Do you think amulets that invoke Adonai Elohim are as effective for Romans as for Jews?”

That made him stop to think. “An interesting question. Of course no one knows exactly what I've written except me—”

“And the Heavens,” I interjected.

“A proven amulet spell is effective for anyone whose name is written on it,” he said slowly. “So therefore it shouldn't matter if that person is a Jew, a Nazarene, or a pagan. Or, for that matter, what the scribe's religion is.”

Was that really true? I had to think about it.

“You know that Salaman is famous for his mosaics?” he asked, apparently not averse to conversing while he worked.

“I've seen Rabbi Avahu's floors. They're magnificent.”

“One of his finest can be found in a bathhouse only a few blocks from here. I frequent it just to appreciate his work.” The scribe added a papyrus to the pile and began writing another. “I hope you won't consider it prying, but when are you returning to Bavel?”

I was startled at having the subject arise twice in such a short time, but I gave him the same answer that Salaman received. “In the fall, when my merchant brother returns home from his business in the West. Why do you ask?”

“It's good that you're leaving soon,” he said. “The woman who inscribes amulets in Sepphoris, and there is only one, is a
kashafa
who does not tolerate competition. She is also unpleasant to deal with, which is why some clients from that city come to me.”

“I only write a few amulets for people I know, and I don't publicize my profession at all.”

“Even so, the word would spread eventually, especially if your amulets prove effective.”

“But Sepphoris is a big city,” I protested. “Surely there is enough work for two amulet scribes.”

“That doesn't matter to her.” He blew on the papyrus to dry the ink and handed it to me along with the others. “Use these in good health.”

“May I thank you by name?”

He smiled. “You may call me Ezra.”

I smiled in return, almost certain that this was not his real name. The biblical Ezra was the Babylonian scribe-priest who led the exiled Jews back to Israel seventy years after King Solomon's Temple was destroyed. He taught Torah to the people and established the great assembly of judges and sages.

“Thank you, Ezra. You have been kind and generous.”

He walked with me to the gate. “One more piece of advice. You are fortunate that, being a foreigner, nobody here except Salaman and I know your mother's name. I recommend you keep it that way.”

I stood outside his gate for a while to consider his warning. That he went by an assumed name was enough to prove how seriously he took the threat of another
kashafa
cursing him. But since no spell could affect me unless it included my mother's name, I was likely safe until I went home.

On a whim, I decided to visit the bathhouse Ezra had praised. The first person I asked on the street gave me directions, and I had no trouble finding the impressive building with fountains in front populated by statues of leaping dolphins. I followed another woman into the anteroom, paid admission, and instructed Leuton to guard my things with extra care, especially the scribe's papyri. As I undressed, I admired the mosaic under my feet, which simulated the sea floor with a design of shells and mollusks. Somehow Salaman had made the beige tesserae look like sand.

A few moments later, my new bathhouse amulet hanging securely around my neck, I entered into the warm room. The air was so thick with steam that I didn't see my bath slave until she came out of the cloud and tapped me on the shoulder. I followed her to a bench, passing several patrons whose shadowy forms appeared so abruptly that I nearly bumped into them. Then I sat down, closed my eyes, and as the slave worked the
lather into my hair, I thanked whatever lucky stars had brought me to Ezra.

With soap dripping down my face, I opened my eyes only wide enough to be sure I wouldn't trip on my way to the pool in the hot room. I lowered myself into the tepid tub and waited impatiently for the slave to rinse my hair so I could see the mosaic murals.

But when I opened my eyes, I was confronted with the spectacle of a naked man sitting merely a cubit away. Mortified beyond belief, I instantly sank in up to my chin, grateful that the water was so murky from accumulated suds that everything beneath its surface was obscured. A quick glance revealed the other bathers in my pool to be both men and women, and further observation showed mixed groups in the other pools too.

Nobody was paying particular attention to me, and as people left one pool to enter another or to walk to the massage area, no one seemed to display any untoward interest in all the uncovered flesh. With seven older brothers, I'd certainly seen my share of naked men, but it still scandalized me that men and women, completely nude, stood talking with one another as casually as if they were on the street fully clothed. Especially shocking was the number of uncircumcised men, as I had somehow assumed that Jews and Romans didn't bathe together.

I immediately panicked, thinking only to get out of there as fast and as modestly as possible. But how could I do it without attracting any notice? After what seemed like an eternity, I realized how to save myself. When a female slave came close, I motioned her over and explained that I was new to mixed bathing, so would she help me by shielding me with her body while we walked to the hot pool nearest the wall. This she did willingly, and I soon found myself in a tub some distance from the other bathers. Here I was able to calm my flustered mind by viewing the mosaic that filled the entire opposite wall.

I couldn't imagine where Salaman had obtained so many blue tesserae, but the effect this created was impressive. The massive mural depicted a school of multicolored fish swimming through an underwater forest of reeds and water lilies. Not only was each fish unique, but the subtle shading he'd given them made them look real, instead of like flat caricatures. The longer I gazed at the scene, the more small details I noticed, until I forgot how desperate I'd been to leave merely a short while before.

By this time I was sufficiently relaxed to begin sneaking glances at the naked men walking past me. Never having seen one before, I was particularly intrigued by the uncircumcised men. The more men I observed, the more I realized how handsome and well-shaped Rami had been. Eventually I grew bored by the parade of unattractive flesh and returned my attention to Salaman's marvelous mosaics.

Their images were still in my mind when I arrived at Rabbi Avahu's, and Nurse chided me that Yehudit was hungry. By the time I was done nursing her, it was time for the midday meal. After my two upsets earlier, I knew I'd be a poor companion for Susanna, but I didn't want to worry her about the
kashafa
in Sepphoris, and I couldn't possibly reveal my inadvertent visit to a bathhouse with mixed bathing.

So without thinking that I might be better off ignorant, I shared what Yochani had told me about her father and Rabbi Yohanan. “As much as she told me, I still had the impression that she'd kept something back,” I said, not masking my disappointment.

Susanna cleared her throat and looked around furtively. “I suppose it doesn't matter if you know, since you'll be going back to Bavel soon.” She leaned over and whispered, “But you mustn't tell anyone what I've said, especially not Yochani.”

“Of course,” I murmured in return.

“Reish Lakish and Rabbi Yohanan were more than just study partners and brothers-in-law.” Susanna spoke as though I'd know what she meant.

“I don't understand.” What could be more than that?

“They loved each other.” She laid special emphasis on the word “loved,” as if it were a bad thing.

I blinked in astonishment. “You mean carnally, like a man and woman?” I'd heard that this was a common Roman vice, but it never occurred to me that Jewish men, and especially rabbis, might engage in it.

She probably didn't expect me to be so blunt. “Well, I don't know that they ever acted on their desires, but anyone who saw them together often, like my husband and I did, couldn't help but notice how they felt about each other.”

“Give me an example.” Unless Susanna had something more substantial to report, her words were mere rumors.

“Once, after Reish Lakish died, Judah Nesiah asked why Rabbi Yohanan didn't teach Torah anymore,” she said. “So Rabbi Yohanan stood
up and began to clap, but he only used one hand. Naturally Judah Nesiah was confused and asked why, to which Rabbi Yohanan replied that without Reish Lakish, teaching Torah was like clapping with one hand. He couldn't do it.”

I sighed sadly to think of the two rabbis, so necessary to each other that they were like two hands clapping, yet whose seemingly trivial argument had driven them apart.

Her voice softened. “Rabbi Assi and Rabbi Ami are the same way. You never see one without the other, and their joint ordination ceremony was celebrated just like a wedding.”

“Now I understand why Yochani was reluctant to mention it.”

Later in the day, when Salaman showed me the hard-to-find tesserae he'd bought while I was at Ezra's, I again spoke without thinking of the consequences.

“I saw your mosaic masterpiece in the bathhouse near the scribe's this morning,” I said. “The blue and green tiles were so realistic that I almost forgot I was in a bathhouse, and the fish looked like they were going to swim away in an instant.”

He was silent a moment and then squinted at me. “Dada, that bathhouse doesn't have separate hours for men and women.”

I could feel myself starting to blush. “I discovered that by accident. It was quite a shock.”

“When were you there?”

“Maybe an hour before midday. I went right after I saw the scribe.”

He looked pensive. “I was there shortly before midday. I must have just missed you.”

A vision of encountering him naked at the bathhouse flashed in my mind, and immediately I was burning with shame.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. “I didn't mean to embarrass you. I'm glad you got to see my mosaics though.”

I thought he looked more amused than sorry. “I can't say I was happy to see the place, considering the circumstances. But at least I gained something worthwhile for all my embarrassment.”

“I have the colors I need for the Sepphoris mosaics now, but I doubt I can have your section done by the fall.”

“I told you I'm going back to Bavel with my brother.”

“But he'll be here next spring.” Salaman's voice rose slightly. “Can't you stay until then, Dada?”

I looked up and our eyes met. He looked sad and a little frightened. “There are things I must take care of back home,” I said slowly. “Things I've put off too long already.”

“Surely they can wait a few months longer…so I can finish your portrait properly.”

“I don't know. I'll have to think about it.” As much as I wanted to see Chama again, I knew I would miss Salaman when I left. But would he miss me or his model?

“Perhaps you'll change your mind when you see how the work progresses.”

As fortune would have it, I didn't return to Bavel with Tachlifa in the fall, nor in the following spring either. That summer our king Narseh, still fuming over Persia's loss of Armenia to Diocletian ten years earlier, declared war on Rome. Taking advantage of the emperor's preoccupation with a rebellion in Egypt, Narseh marshaled the Saracen princes from the desert for assistance. Together with the Persian army, they forced their way up the Euphrates and invaded Armenia.

According to Simeon, who brought me the news, General Galerius was already gathering the Roman legions for a counterattack. Thus, while it was perilous even for experienced merchants like Tachlifa to travel the Silk Road, for a young woman and a toddler to attempt such a journey was unthinkable. Until the war was settled, one way or another, Yehudit and I would have to remain in the West. Simeon and I agreed that we had no choice but to end the subterfuge of my supporting Yochani in his name.

Relief and disappointment warred within me as I thought of staying here with Salaman while Chama waited for me back in Bavel. And neither feeling vanquished the other.