Apprentice (7 page)

Rami had to be nearly sixteen, the age when Father himself had married. Father often said this was the reason he was a better student than his peers, since being married kept his mind away from sinful thoughts. Not that any of my brothers were wed so young. Despite the teaching of Rabbi Yishmael that Elohim blasts the bones of any man who remains unmarried after the age of twenty, it seemed to me that all my brothers except Pinchas had done exactly that.

I wondered if with my meager arithmetic skills I could sort out how old my brothers were when they married. Yenuka, now thirty-six, didn't marry Devora until a few years before I was born, and since I was almost
ten, he must have been around twenty-three. Nachman got married to Shayla a year later, when he was twenty-one. My brother Hanan, named for Grandfather, married Mariamme shortly after my birth, and since he was twenty years my senior, that's how old he must have been then. I had a dim recollection of Mari and Rahel's wedding, so I was probably around four at the time. And since Mari was born the year the Tadmorians destroyed Nehardea, he too married just past the age of twenty.

I went over my calculations just to be sure. If I were to marry Rami, he too would be older than twenty, although only a little older. Nearly all my brothers had wed after twenty and none of their bones were blasted, so it was likely that Rami's wouldn't be either. I let out a sigh of relief. I wouldn't want to marry anyone if Elohim was going to blast his bones.

But if not Rami or Abba, who else? Abaye was a fine student as well as from a priestly family, like Father. But Abaye was already betrothed; I'd heard Father congratulating him. Rav Huna's son Rabbah said he didn't like Father's teaching, and I wouldn't want a husband who criticized my father. Definitely not Zeira; he was so ugly that no amount of Torah knowledge could make up for it. And while people considered it meritorious for a girl to marry an uncle or cousin, Torah forbade her from marrying a nephew. So I could not even consider Yenuka and Nachman's oldest sons, no matter how much I might like them.

Father was usually so serious. Was it possible that he'd been teasing me when he asked if I preferred to marry Rami or Abba? I was glad for the opportunity to ask him when I washed his feet after he returned from the date groves. Usually that was Mother's job, but she was away in Sura. I waited until he was comfortable on one of the benches in the entry hall just outside the
traklin
. As always, there were jugs of water and empty basins waiting near each bench.

“I was not joking,” he replied, as I poured streams of water over his feet. “Those two are my best students, and I want you to marry a Torah scholar.”

Father was meticulous about washing, so I made sure even the smallest speck of dust had rinsed into the basin below. “Rami is from a priestly family,” I said. Abba was not.

“Abba's father heads the academy in Machoza, while Rami is an orphan.” Father let out his breath slowly and his body relaxed as I gently massaged his feet while drying them with a soft cloth. Then he cleared his throat. “Hisdadukh, what did you mean when you said you wanted to marry both of them?”

To tell the truth, I had no idea why I'd said what I did; the words had suddenly jumped from my lips. But I had been expecting this question eventually, so I was ready with a proper answer, one that would satisfy Father and prove me a dutiful daughter. “I meant either of them, Father. I wanted you to know that I would be pleased with whichever one you chose for me.”

He smiled and patted my head, but somehow his smile seemed skeptical.

Kafri's Jewish court met on the second and fifth days of the week, same as market days. Father was the chief judge, so he and his students spent the day listening to the litigants' arguments. Then Father, sometimes along with Nachman, handed down decisions and explained the law to his students.

So on those two days a week I didn't listen to Father's lectures. I spent a fruitless hour or so with my mathematics tutor, multiplying and dividing numbers over and over again on my wax tablet. I couldn't understand, and neither did he, why I did so poorly at this, especially since Achti was so good at it. I knew the tables by heart, so I could immediately tell him what was six times seven or sixty-three divided by nine. But when it came to multiplying twelve by thirty-four or dividing one thousand sixty-four by nineteen, my mind went blank.

When Achti was sitting with Devora or Mariamme, learning to keep accounts, I spent my time with my other sisters-in-law, Rahel and Beloria, accomplished linen weavers. Beloria also made baskets, Rahel's decorated pottery was in constant demand, and Shayla was a healer. A stab of anxiety assailed me as I realized that each of my sisters-in-law had a skill in addition to spinning and weaving linen. My knowing how to study Mishna wouldn't bring extra income to my future household, but I had no intention of stopping. Not when Grandfather needed my help.

I did my weaving on Mother's and my sisters'-in-law looms when they were not using them. I couldn't weave as fast as they did, but at least they didn't pull out my threads anymore. Soon I'd be tall enough to weave even at the very top of the loom instead of having to wait for someone else to finish the material. One of the best things about my weaving was that I no longer had to think about it and could concentrate on remembering Father's lessons.

That late-summer day the weather was so nice that the looms were set
up in a shaded area of the courtyard. I could hear the regular slaps of uncooked loaves landing on the hot oven, and I breathed in deeply the mouthwatering smell of baking bread. Beloria and Rahel were already weaving when I came outside, and as always I was amazed at how two women with the same coloring could look so different. Both had dark wavy hair and olive skin, but Beloria was as short and awkward as a child, while Rahel was tall and graceful like a palm tree.

They exchanged glances before Rahel moved over to Mother's loom and motioned to me to take her place. I felt more relieved than offended, since Mother had been weaving a delicate fabric using the thinnest thread, where even a small imperfection would be noticeable. As much as I enjoyed Father's classes, I felt more comfortable with women. Once I sat down and we were all busy weaving, Rahel and Beloria resumed their chat.

“Did Pinchas say anything about how long it would be until the house is ready?” Rahel asked Beloria. My brother had just returned from Sura, where he and Hanan were making sure all was in readiness for the new brewery.

“He said that they're plastering, so it should be soon,” Beloria replied. “He and Hanan hope that we can move in after Sukkot, so they can make beer from the dates here in Kafri in addition to those in Sura.”

I had to interrupt. “We're going to make beer twice?”

Beloria nodded. “That way Yenuka will have beer to sell here while the rest of us are in Sura.”

I gulped down my disappointment. Nobody had told me that our family would be divided, that Yenuka and Devora were staying in Kafri. And Sukkot was only a month away.

“I heard that most of the slaves will remain in Kafri,” Rahel said. “The younger ones, that is. Shayla plans to free the old ones at the New Year and then buy replacements in Sura.”

I stared at the circle of maidservants sitting in the courtyard, grinding wheat in time to the songs they sang. It was grueling labor, twisting pestle against mortar from before sunrise through midday, until there was enough flour for all that day's bread. Though I had already thanked Elohim in morning prayers for not making me a slave, I thanked Him again.

The Mishna said that if a bride provides only one slave as her dowry, that slave grinds grain, bakes bread, and does laundry instead of the bride. And if she provides two slaves, the second one cooks and nurses
the children. Apparently women too poor to bring even one slave as a dowry didn't marry.

But Father told us that this Mishna was contradicted by a Baraita, which taught that a wife is only for beauty and for having children, and thus not for tasks like grinding and baking that could mar her appearance. I was surprised that he'd made no attempt to resolve the contradiction between the Mishna and Baraita, for if a wife was only for beauty, what happened to the women who brought less than four slaves as a dowry?

So I'd questioned Grandfather, who explained that while there was usually some way to reconcile opposing views, occasionally they belonged to two such prominent Sages that both opinions stood. According to Grandfather, Father agreed with the Baraita, which meant that Achti and I would certainly receive four slaves as part of our dowry. Those who followed the Mishna and supplied fewer slaves, their brides did the work themselves.

“But what about the slaves I brought when Pinchas and I married?” Beloria protested. “And what about Pinchas's old nurse, who cares for our children? He's quite attached to her.”

“Surely it's to your advantage to have new young slaves,” Rahel replied. “You'll get more years of work out of them than if you keep the old ones. As for your husband and his nurse, he should speak to Shayla himself.”

“I suppose so,” Beloria said. “But I want to keep my personal maidservant. It took a long time to find one who does my hair exactly the way I like it.”

“I'm looking forward to finding slaves who are skilled potters. We'll need hundreds of jars for all the beer we'll be brewing in Sura, and they must be strong and sturdy.” Rahel paused and grinned. “The slaves and the jars.”

My sisters-in-law must have forgotten I was there, because Beloria looked up at Rahel and said, “I wonder if Yenuka and his sons will start bedding the slave girls once he becomes head of his own household.”

“Mari told me that Yenuka used to lie with slaves when Rav Hisda was away studying, at least until he married Devora.” Rahel leaned over and whispered, “That's why he didn't become a rabbi.”

Curious about my brother's youthful indiscretions, I forced myself to sit perfectly still so they'd keep talking. Beloria continued with, “I expect that Devora will keep a sharp watch on her husband and sons.”

“That's one advantage of old slaves over young ones,” Rahel said. “And of course experienced cooks are always best.”

“Speaking of cooks, Pinchas says the kitchen in Sura is twice the size of our current one,” Beloria said. “In fact, the place is more like a villa than a house since we'll be the only family living there. There are two courtyards, gardens and orchards, and a tributary of the Sura Canal runs right outside the walls.”

Rahel beamed with pleasure. “So we can immerse in the canal without leaving our family's property.”

“And nobody has to walk far to get water. Pinchas said one reason Hanan and their father chose the place was its excellent wells. Our water will make the finest beer in Bavel.”

“I thought they wanted a house close to the prophet Ezekiel's Synagogue,” Rahel said.

There was no reason for me to remain silent, and this was my chance to ask the question that had bothered me all year. “Sura is even closer to Ctesiphon than Kafri. Won't we be in danger if the Roman army comes back?”

Rahel got up from her loom and put her arm around me, pulling me so close that I could smell her floral perfume. “Don't worry. The Romans aren't interested in lands south of the capital. It's Machoza, Pumbedita, and Nehardea that must worry.”

“Pinchas told me that Sura has very well-fortified walls.” Beloria reached over and took my hand. “If necessary, our family could find shelter in the city proper until any danger passed.”

Suddenly the idea of marrying Rami, a resident of Sura, seemed far more appealing to me than marrying Abba, who lived in Machoza. And in Sura I'd be close to my family.

I didn't have much time to think about whom I would marry. Mother and Shayla arrived home a few days later, and Shayla and Pinchas promptly got into such a heated argument that the neighbors in the next courtyard must have heard it.

It started when Pinchas told Shayla, quite reasonably I thought, “I know my nurse is getting old, but I don't want her freed. She can move to Sura with us and care for my children.”

“Your nurse is old, Pinchas.” Shayla emphasized the word “is.” “That is why we need to free her. Old slaves can't do the same work as young ones, and it makes no sense to maintain a slave who can't work.”

Pinchas, evidently not expecting his sister-in-law to object, spoke a bit louder. “Nurse is perfectly capable of working. She knows how to manage children better than a slave half her age.”

“But how long will she be able to carry them, lift them up, and change their swaddling?” Shayla's voice, high pitched and squeaky to begin with, now sounded like a gull squawking. “Do you expect us to keep her until she's lying on the bed and the children are feeding her?”

“I'm not saying that all our slaves should stay on after they're old, lolling on silk cushions,” Pinchas retorted. “I'm only talking about bringing my nurse to Sura.”

“And what about our old donkeys, our old guard dogs? Shall we bring them to Sura?”

Pinchas was so angry I was afraid he would ask her why Grandfather was being allowed to move to Sura. But instead he countered, in a voice as hard as iron, “Donkeys and dogs never stayed up all night with me, and my children, like my nurse did when we were ill…and when your children were sick, I bet you didn't stay up with them either.”

I started to think about all the ways Nurse cared for me and how unhappy I'd be if Shayla decided to sell her. But then Shayla hissed at Pinchas, “How dare you compare me to an animal.”

She raised her hand to slap him, but he stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. “If Nurse can't come, I'm not moving to Sura either. I'm sure Yenuka can use another brewer here in Kafri.”

Mother, who'd probably hoped that Shayla and Pinchas would settle their disagreement themselves, took a deep breath and stepped into the fray. “Since you bear her such affection, Pinchas, we can make an exception in your nurse's case.”