Glory and the Lightning

by Taylor Caldwell

  Aspasia was touched. “It was not I. It was Al Taliph who did so, a gift for you.”

  At the mention of that name Hephzibah’s face changed, and Aspasia wondered. Hephzibah drew a deep breath and looked aside. “Yes,” she said. “That is what my husband told me. He also told me something else.” Now she looked directly at Aspasia. “Lady,” she said, “you are not only as beautiful as Ruth or Rachel but as great of heart as any of the Mothers of Israel.”

  Aspasia did not believe that Thalias had spoken of her beauty to Hephzibah, and she smiled gently. “Damos is fortunate in you, Hephzibah bas Ephraim, and you—” she paused, “are fortunate in him.”

  For another strange and unspoken reason the other woman’s eyes glistened with tears. She took Aspasia’s hand and kissed it. She whispered, “I thank you for Damos also.”

  Aspasia was alarmed. She glanced over her shoulder but no one stood there. She whispered in reply, “There are certain things a man should not tell his wife and I am surprised at Damos’ indiscretion. Let us not speak of this, now or at any other time.”

  “What my husband tells me is ever safe in my bosom,” said Hephzibah and lifted her head. “But if a man cannot confide in the woman who loves him to whom can he confide?”

  When has Al Taliph ever confided in me? thought Aspasia with a pang of sadness. But she looked at the other woman with interest. Here was no woman whose husband despised her femaleness but gave her honor and all his secrets, and it seemed enviable to Aspasia and she was filled with longing. True, Al Taliph spoke with her always of philosophies and abstruse things, but never had he permitted her to see him as he was, himself, except for that night under the stars. Even then she had found him enigmatic. She yearned for a man who would trust her utterly as Damos apparently trusted his wife, and who put his very life into her hands. Truly then, and only then, could a woman be happy and content and proud, and never feel herself deprived or lonely or forgotten.

  Hephzibah, though always she had been sheltered and loved and respected, had a woman’s intuition and she was seized with confused pity for this beautiful girl who suddenly seemed so bereft and desolate. A bar of sunlight wavered over Aspasia’s face, yet it only increased her air of melancholy. Hephzibah turned to the little girls, touched each fondly on the cheek and said, “This is Ruth, and this is Rachel, my daughters.” The children leaned their heads briefly against her breast then ate another sweetmeat with childish voracity.

  “They love you even now,” said Aspasia, and Hephzibah smiled for the first time and her plain young face became radiant. “I love them dearly,” she replied. “They will be sisters to my son.”

  Now both the women were silent. They could hear the vehicles rattling over the stones of the courtyard and the distant clamor of the city. They listened for a moment, but both were thinking their own thoughts. Aspasia said to herself, “This woman is happy as I was never happy, and I would change places with her with joy.” Not for Hephzibah wild nights of ecstasy mingled with devastation. Yet not for her fear of ultimate rejection and abandonment, by either divorce or banishing. For the first time in her life Aspasia saw another existence, infinitely gracious and serene and prideful. She saw that Hephzibah’s hands showed evidence of toil at the loom and in the kitchen, among servants, Hephzibah singing tranquilly and eagerly awaiting the return of a husband who honored her and the visitation of a father who rejoiced in his ewe lamb. What are all my gems and opulences compared with this? she asked herself, and all my excitements and fevers? My heart bounds at the sound of Al Taliph’s voice and I am joyful when I see his face, but always there is my dread and my fear. But Hephzibah is not tormented so, and she is blessed of the gods. When Thalias arrives home she is enfolded safely in his arms.

  Hephzibah was gazing at her again and she discerned Aspasia’s pain and she recalled what Damos had told of her, that she was a courtesan and the companion of Al Taliph. According to the Law women like this were frequently stoned to death for adultery or licentiousness. But Hephzibah suddenly wanted to embrace Aspasia and hold her to her breast with the same tenderness she had shown to the children, and to console and weep with her. This further confused her for never before had she seen or encountered a lewd woman, and why she should feel such compassion she did not know.

  The young Jewish woman could not control her mournfulness at something she had only vaguely detected, but which was nevertheless poignant. She did not know the reason. She lifted an object wrapped in silk and tied with ribbons and placed it in Aspasia’s hands. “It is a gift I have brought for you, in gratitude, Lady,” she said. “My husband has declared it will please you, perhaps.”

  Aspasia said, “I must thank you, Hephzibah bas Ephraim.” She began to unwrap the gift, but Hephzibah covered her eyes quickly with her hands and said, “No, I implore you. It is a graven image, so my husband has told me, and of the heathen. He bought it in the bazaar this morning, for your pleasure.”

  “You do not know what it is?” asked Aspasia in astonishment. The other woman shook her head and dropped her hands. “It is not permitted,” she murmured. Aspasia was more astonished than ever. Had Damos bought her something obscene? Her cheeks flushed and seeing this Hephzibah said, “You must forgive me, but pious Jews do not gaze at graven images, and that is why I sit in my litter in the city with drawn curtains.” She drew a deep breath. “I believe it is a statuette of a god.”

  Aspasia wanted to laugh a little. “You miss the excitement and the wonders of the city, then?”

  “I have my household, and my children, and my women and my parents and my dear husband, my gardens and my roses and my friends. What more can a woman desire, Lady?”

  What indeed? thought Aspasia, looking at the wrapped object in her hands. An awkwardness came to them, and there was nothing more to say between a woeful courtesan and a beloved wife. Then Hephzibah, who was rarely demonstrative, put her hands on Aspasia’s shoulders and kissed her cheek and Aspasia, her eyes swimming in moisture, returned the embrace. In silence then she went to the chamber of Al Taliph.

  Thalias was no longer with Al Taliph. The latter said indulgently, “What is this you bear in your hands, my sweet one?”

  But Aspasia said, “I have seen what it is to be truly a woman.” She began to unwrap the silk. She did not see Al Taliph’s dark and ambiguous expression, nor did she see him move a little restlessly on his divan nor did she see the sharp somberness of his eyes. She said, “It is a gift from Hephzibah bas Ephraim, but she would not permit me to reveal it before her.”

  “Ah,” said Al Taliph and sat up alertly. “Be certain it is either useful or edible. I know these Jews. If useful, what will you do with it? If edible, it will be delicious.”

  The silk fell from the gift and Aspasia’s hands enclosed an exquisitely carved and detailed image of a fat and smiling god, of ivory, with a vast belly and with legs folded in a fashion she had observed among the Indus.

  “Buddha,” said Al Taliph, and held out his hand for it. He turned it carefully in his fingers and examined it with pleasure. “This was created by an exceptional artist,” he remarked. “I have never seen anything so perfect. It must have cost our dear Damos a fortune, for doubtless he purchased it himself, that apostate Jew!” and he laughed.

  He glanced at Aspasia and he no longer smiled. He balanced the object on the palm of his hand, the hand dusky against the ivory, which glimmered in the morning light and showed, in the intricacy of its carving, a faint golden light. “Buddha,” he repeated. “The ineffable One. The ultimate in a non-embracement of the world. Sit beside me, my love.” She did so and he said, “I have heard that if one rubs his belly and prays for what he desires, it will be granted. That is the superstition.”

  He held the image in his hands and presented it to Aspasia, who, trying to smile, rubbed the belly of Buddha. Then, without her own volition, she prayed, “Let him love me as I love him!” She dropped her hand. She said, “What? Will you not rub him also, lord?”

  “I am not
superstitious,” he said. Very carefully he placed the Buddha on the table before him and contemplated it. Again she saw that enigmatic expression she had observed under the stars.

  As though speaking to himself only he said, “The Persians honor all gods, all manifestations of the Deity, Buddha, Lao T’zu, Zoroaster, Mithras, Zeus, Ahuramazda, Ptah, Osiris, Vishnu, and even the vengeful Jehovah of the Jews. We are on the best of terms with them all, for of what concern is it what name men call God? He has illimitable Faces and aspects, and reveals Himself in whatsoever guise He desires. It is enough, it is said, that men love Him.”

  A god who cared for the love of men was a strange thought to Aspasia. Then she thought of her impulses to adoration which she had experienced, and which had been most mysterious to her and had exalted her if only briefly.

  Al Taliph continued to speak as if to himself. “I have heard that it is believed in all religions that God would be born to men in the form of a Man. I have heard that the Chaldeans await Him, and the Jews, and the Egyptians speak of the birth of Osiris. Is it not unfathomable that all religions carry with them the belief, though none knows the other?”

  Aspasia said, “In all Greek temples there is a bare altar inscribed: ‘To the Unknown God.’ But He has no priests, no celebrations, no worshippers, no pageants, no offerings.”

  “Not yet,” said Al Taliph, and he gently covered the Buddha with the silk again.

  Aspasia was deeply interested in what he had said and the intonations of his voice and she marvelled again at the elusiveness and unknowableness of this man whom she loved so desperately. “But, He will come?” she asked.

  “He will come,” said Al Taliph. “Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps not for centuries. Time does not exist for Him.”

  “But it exists for mankind,” Aspasia said with sadness.

  “That is our illusion,” he answered. He closed his eyes and she saw that he was suddenly weary and she rose and silently left the room, baffled.

  Her women were absent and Aspasia felt a sweet freedom, for rare was it that she was alone. She went to the barred window and looked down at the crowded courtyard. Below her Thalias was standing, looking up, evidently expecting her. He smiled like a loving gay brother and kissed his hand to her and nodded. Then he moved away swiftly and Aspasia followed him with her eyes and she was filled with warmth and gratitude. She forgot that he had once been a slave, for in his salutation was all understanding, all reassurance, all kindness, all promise.

  CHAPTER 17

  Aspasia accompanied Al Taliph to the bazaars of the city and she was like a child in her jubilation and staring excitement. Her eyes were wide and illuminated above her thick veil, seeking to encompass all the colorful movement and watch all things at once. Al Taliph took her to a jeweler and there, in the back room where an unveiled woman could not offend the eyes of men, he bought her a necklace of opals, all blue and rose and pearly fire in their restlessness. He clasped it about her neck himself, and she pushed back her hood and her hair fell about her face and the jeweler was entranced. He was a very rich man; he believed Aspasia to be a favorite slave, and he drew Al Taliph respectfully aside and offered a fortune for her. In the meantime she was regarding herself rapturously in a silver mirror. She heard Al Taliph utter a word or two that was half-angry and then half-amused. But the language was unknown to her.

  He returned to her and regarded her as if with new eyes. “Does the bauble please you, my golden hibiscus?” he asked, and fondled both the necklace and her throat. She looked at him ardently and then he lost his smile and gazed at her with a stern earnestness she had seen but few times before and which had always puzzled her. It was as though he were trying to interpret her words or her gestures or her expressions, and was never certain. She said, “If only I pleased you, lord, as much as this pleases me then indeed I would be happy.” He sighed and turned away.

  He bought her embroidered and brocaded silks and jeweled slippers and sandals and carved jade and ivory containers for cosmetics and golden bangles and earrings of designs uncommon to her and reaching to her shoulders, yet as light as down. He bought her girdles of flexible gold and fretted silver, also set with gems. She had but to admire and it was hers. A mantle of argus-eyed peacock feathers charmed her, and he flung it over her shoulders and it caressed her. He carefully told her the origin of all these and she exclaimed, “What a marvelous world is this, where so much beauty is revealed!”

  “What men make is only a poor imitation of nature,” he said with indulgence. “When those feathers were on the living bird they were far more splendid, as life is above artifice, however adorned, or excellent.” When she looked grave and stroked the mantle he said, “You are fairer, Aspasia, than the most glorious statue of a goddess or a nymph, however artfully sculptured and painted.”

  She pretended to be flattered but in her heart she desired him to regard her, not as an object of bewitchment—whose loveliness would soon depart in the thieving hands of time—but as a woman and a soul and a mind. She thought of Hephzibah bas Ephraim and in her turn she sighed and turned away and the enchantments he had bought her lost their delight. They were not a tribute to her, she believed, but only an adornment of what in his eyes was delectable. When he wearied of her all these treasures would not entrance him but rather she would be but an artificial effigy for the display of them, fit only for a merchant’s shop. He would desire them for a younger and a more novel woman, and she would be bereft not only of these but of her life, itself, for was not her life in him? Desolation came again to her; she felt her whole spirit becoming an arid desert in which there would never be an oasis but only death. She fingered the opals and now they were but stone.

  “What is wrong?” he asked her seeing her pensive countenance.

  “Naught, lord,” she answered though in her heart she said, What you have given me is not truly what I desire. And what I desire is what all women desire and men can never give them, not in the measure of our desiring.

  At night she knew that he went with companions to luxurious houses to dine and to be entertained by music and dancers and lascivious women. In the company of armed eunuchs and female attendants, all heavily veiled and cloaked as she was, herself, she was permitted to visit bazaars and temples without his presence. Still dazzled, she began to feel some satiation and depletion, however. As women did not eat in public she and her women were led to large rear rooms behind the shops selling sweetmeats and wines and pomegranates and pastries and spicy ground meat in grape leaves and flavorsome bread encrusted with sesame seeds and curious cakes filled with honeyed poppy seeds and nuts and dates, and there, sitting almost in silence, they devoured what they had bought. The rooms were invariably windowless and hot, though comfortably furnished, and smelled not only of the food but of incense. The famous Wine of Hebron was chilled and remained on the tongue like a sweet memory. It was also potent and Aspasia sometimes dozed in her litter and forgot, for a while, the now constant pain in her breast.

  She would listen, sleepless, at night, until Al Taliph returned with his companions, laughing in the courtyard. Sometimes she would rise and run to her barred window to catch a sight of him under the moon and starlight, praying he would summon her. But the dawn would be igniting the east with fire and she knew that he had retired and had forgotten her, she immured in her chambers as she had been immured in his palace. I am a fool to weep, she would tell herself, for was this not my implacable end? Yet I still live and somewhere I can live again.

  They were to remain for a considerable time in Damascus. The days went by for Aspasia like a repeated dream, changeless. She understood that Al Taliph sold the goods of his caravan and was replacing them with goods for his own shops and market places and bazaars. Very occasionally he invited her to dine with him at noonday. But he seemed increasingly weary and preoccupied, and often he would leave abruptly when a visitor arrived to consult him, and not return. Then she had a choice of sleeping in the afternoon, as most of Damascus slept during that period e
xcept for the busy merchants and bankers, or to venture out again with her guards and women for another view of a different part of the city. There is nothing more terrible than idleness, she would think, and I am an idle woman. She would try to read the books Al Taliph bought for her but the philosophies and poems were strange and elusive to her and the allusions cryptic.

  She wondered if Hephzibah bas Ephraim had forgotten her, for Al Taliph had humorously mentioned that the Jewish lady would invite her soon to partake of a quiet dinner alone with her. However, no invitation came and Aspasia was filled with disappointed resentment. Doubtless Hephzibah regarded her as unclean and did not desire her house to be polluted by such a woman as herself.

  She began to think of the house she would have in Athens, but even that was taking on the semblance of a lost dream. Al Taliph would never let her go until he tired of her, and the air of Damascus made her mind languid and without hope. She existed for the benefit of Al Taliph’s pleasure; beyond that she had no existence, but was just a glass bubble aimlessly drifting in any random breeze, catching light and color though having none of these within itself. Where was the incandescent resolution she had possessed only a few months ago? Her listlessness increased and became animation only in the presence of Al Taliph.

  One day she said to him, “I had hoped to see Hephzibah bas Ephraim again. She has forgotten her promise to me.”

  He averted his face and said, “Damos mentioned that she had been indisposed.” He hesitated, then continued: “I know you have pleasure in seeing the city, but it is my desire that you not go forth again from this time on, but remain in your chambers.”

  She protested. “But that is my only diversion!”

  He looked at her forbiddingly. “It is my command,” he said and at first would not explain for all the bright anger in her eyes. “Also,” he said, “drink not of the water from the well but only wine and eat no fruit but that it is washed and peeled by yourself, with your knife and fingers. Let no water reach your mouth, even for the cleaning of your teeth, and when you bathe close your lips tightly so that no water can enter, nor must it enter your nostrils.”