As the debate over Rachel’s future raged through the household, I thought my own discontent would go unnoticed. But in that, I underestimated both Papa and Mama.
“What troubles you, my son?” Papa asked one evening. “It is not this matter of your sister’s marriage, is it?”
We sat alone in the tiny courtyard at the heart of our house, in shadow as the day’s light receded but still warm and sweetly scented with the blossom of one orange and one lemon tree in pots and jasmine climbing the walls. In the house, we could hear the clatter of the women clearing away the remains of our evening meal. Ordinarily, bursts of chatter and peals of laughter would have accompanied this nightly ritual. But since Hutia had announced his decision, the whole family had found that the best alternative to quarreling was silence. Rachel greeted not only opinions but even attempts at sympathy for her dilemma with snarls of resentment. Susanna sulked at the withdrawal of attention from her wedding. Elvira, always inclined to officiousness as the eldest, was at her sanctimonious worst. Rachel and Susanna were united only in declaring that if Elvira uttered the words “Akiva says” one more time, they would kill her.
“Hutia is a good man, Papa,” I said, “the best I have ever known except for you. Whatever his faith, he is devoted to this family and will make it his mission to serve us. And whatever doubts Rachel may struggle with now, she will choose him in the end. She will never be happy without him. Rachel is not the good Jewish daughter you sent off to a convent in Barcelona to keep her safe, Papa. She has been marked by experiences that set her apart forever.”
“You are not saying she is unfit to be a wife,” Papa said.
“On the contrary! She has been forged and tempered into a stronger and more flexible mettle. No ordinary man could handle her.” Or satisfy her, I added silently, that point being more than a son could say to his father.
“Or satisfy her,” Papa said, proving once more that to this father, this son could say anything.
“I love you, Papa,” I said, words that too often went unspoken.
“And I you, my son,” Papa said. “And I perceive that you are unhappy.”
“It would be ungrateful of me,” I said, “to be unhappy when I have so many blessings, and there is so much suffering in the world.”
“I do not think you ungrateful,” Papa said. “I am as proud of you as any father could be, not least for having the heart of a true Jewish man. We are the only religion that teaches compassion for the suffering of others as a guiding principle.”
“The Christians would not agree with you, Papa.”
“It is their blind spot,” Papa said. “Their compassion is confined to their coreligionists. In our Proverbs, it is written: ‘Rejoice not when your enemy falls.’ And in the Talmud, a midrash relates that when the Egyptian soldiers who pursued Moses and his little band of Jews were drowning, God rebuked the very angels who wished to sing out praise of the Almighty. ‘My creations are drowning in the sea, and you wish to sing praises?’ So to this day, at our Seder on Passover, when we recite the plagues of Egypt that resulted in our liberation from slavery, we remove a drop of wine from the cup for every plague. Our cup of happiness is never full while there is misery in the world.”
“Oh, Papa, I wish I were half as good as you!” I said. “If I am unhappy, it is because I am afraid I will always disappoint you. I fail in knowledge, in forgiveness, in providing for a family, in every possible way.”
“Do you think so, Diego?” Papa said. “Yet in Spain I stood by helpless as our people burned. If this house were attacked tomorrow, your fighting skills, not my scholarship, would save us. You have saved lives, and not only Rachel’s. She has told me much that passed in Hispaniola. I cannot think of anything I have done to further tikkun olam, the repair of the world with which all Jews are charged. It is no great good to be a merchant.”
“You are mending our family’s fortunes!” I said. “All I have contributed so far is gold that rightfully belonged to the Taino.”
“Which you refused,” Papa said, smiling, “until your Taino friend persuaded you to take it by pointing out that it would increase his matu’m.”
“Oh, Papa,” I exclaimed, “don’t you see what a good son Hutia would be to you? In some ways, he is more like you than I am.”
“As it happens, I do. I tell you in confidence, Diego, that I plan to give my consent.”
“Papa!”
“Do not discuss this, even with your mother,” he said. “She loves Hutia already, and she understands Rachel very well indeed. But she needs time to accustom herself to the thought of Muslim grandchildren. Oh, yes, I have thought of the point that you all so carefully avoid mentioning. And Rachel must make up her own mind, however long that takes.”
“What if the rabbis expel Rachel from the congregation? What if they expel us all?”
Papa’s eyes twinkled.
“Then we will build our own synagogue. The sultan forbids the Jews to erect new synagogues. But my Muslim son-in-law will be free to build whatever edifice he chooses.
However, once again you have managed to deflect the conversation from yourself. I fear I have tried to turn you into an accountant. I cannot blame you for not liking it! Perhaps you would prefer to serve as my agent on a caravan or trading vessel. Either would make better use of your skills.”
“It is not that, Papa,” I said. “You are right. The family business would make better use of me in such ventures than in the counting house. But I will do whatever you think fit.”
“Any man works better,” Papa said, “when he loves his work.”
“I can see that,” I said, “when I hear Akiva spouting Talmud. He is a true scholar. And Nahum has such enthusiasm for his trade that one would think his veins ran with printer’s ink. Believe me, Papa, I consider constantly how best to employ what skills I have. I could sail a merchant vessel or build ships. While I could never be a captain in the Ottoman navy, I have thought of volunteering as an oarsman to learn the ways of galleys. The Turks do not use slaves, at least in the navy, but consider rowing an honorable profession. You can see it in the way the galleys slice through the water, as like to birds flying upon the sea as the trimmest caravel. But first, I would like to do something more. I would honor tikkun olam. I would like to make the world a better place somehow.”
Papa chuckled, patting my shoulder to indicate that he did not mock me.
“Oh, my son, and you fault yourself for lacking ambition! You have already made the world a bigger place—indeed, twice as big as men thought. Men begin to speculate that our friend Columbus did not find the Indies, as he believes, but a new land altogether. While evil has come out of it already, much good may also come as time goes on. Perhaps one day Mendoza trading vessels will bring marvelous new merchandise to our shores.”
“We told you of the Taino game of batey,” I said, “and the bouncing ball we used to play it. I would be glad to be the first to import the bouncing substance, which could be put to a variety of uses. I must warn you, though, that Rachel would insist on teaching all the girls to play batey.”
“Then my Muslim son-in-law will have to purchase land outside the city, ” Papa said, chuckling again, “and build a court, so that my daughters and granddaughters can run and shout in privacy.”
“That will not be the end of it,” I said, “for if I know Rachel, she will bring it to the sultan’s harem itself.”
So separate were men’s lives from women’s here in Istanbul that it was more difficult for Mama to arrange a private conversation with me. But it did not take her long to find a reason for me to accompany her to the bazaar.
“Diego, you have nothing fit to wear to Susanna’s wedding,” she said one morning. “You must accompany me to the Bedestan. No, girls, I do not wish you to come. You will only distract us with your chatter. I have not had a moment to give your brother my full attention since he arrived in Istanbul. Thank you, Efraín, I need neither a mule nor a cart. The walk will do me good, and Diego is perf
ectly capable of carrying whatever purchases we make. In any case, our main objective is for the tailors to measure him for a suit of clothes that will not disgrace the Mendoza name when he stands holding his corner of the chuppah with the whole congregation looking on.”
She took my arm in a determined way.
“Come along, Diego,” she said, “do not dawdle.”
“No, Mama,” I said meekly.
“We have much to accomplish this morning.”
“Yes, Mama.”
She gripped my arm a little tighter.
“Are you laughing at me, my son?”
“No, Mama, I would not dare to.”
I kissed her cheek without slackening the brisk pace she set. It was a beautiful morning, the air sparkling, flowering vines tumbling over the tops of the walls that concealed the domestic life of the city’s inhabitants, minarets soaring toward the sky, veiled women chattering as they filled their pitchers at the public fountains.
"Diego, I wish you to be completely frank with me,” she said. "What do you think of this business of Rachel and Hutia?”
“You cannot keep them apart, Mama,” I said. “Rachel will never change. As for Hutia, had it not been for his love of Rachel, he would have chosen to die with his people. Tell me this, Mama. If you and Papa had been merely courting, rather than long married, when the Edict of Expulsion was pronounced, suppose your parents had decided it was better to embrace Christianity than lose all they had. Would you still have embarked on this journey? If your family and all your friends had chosen to stay, would you have followed Papa? ”
“I would,” she said. “I do not deny the fears and misgivings I had before we left, even as his wife, even as a mother with children to protect. But I could not have borne to be parted from your father.”
“And Rachel is your true daughter,” I said.
“It is not only of Rachel that I wished to speak,” she said. “I am worried about you, my darling.”
“About me? You need not be.”
“I see the puzzlement and longing in your eyes,” she said, “as you search the city for something you cannot find because you cannot even name it. It has occurred to me to wonder whether you might not be jealous of Rachel and even of Hutia.”
“Jealous?” I stopped dead, bringing her to a halt. We blocked the narrow street as I stared at her in astonishment. Behind us, a donkey brayed. We stepped aside to let the animal and the cart it drew pass us.
“But we have just been talking of the frustration and disapproval that Rachel has been forced to endure. And Hutia has lost everything, besides embarking on the perilous course of conversion to Islam, with who knows what outcome. He does not even know if Rachel will marry him, even if you and Papa give your consent.”
“They both know what they want,” Mama said. “Indeed, you have convinced me that we must allow them to wed. Rachel has found work that suits her perfectly. Hutia has not yet chosen among all the opportunities that will open up once he has become a Muslim. But choosing among a multitude of possibilities does not dismay him as it does you.”
“Hutia is good at everything he does,” I said. “I am not jealous, Mama, truly. I admire him more than I can say.”
“I know, my love,” she said. “As he does you, for you too are good at whatever you turn your hand to. Yes, you are, so do not contradict your mother.”
She smiled up at me. It had not occurred to me before that I had grown since leaving with the Admiral and now towered over her.
“Along with her children’s happiness," she said, “what any mother wants most is grandchildren. Elvira’s first is on the way, and I have no doubt Susanna will do her part as soon as she and Nahum are wed. But it would give such joy to your Papa to have grandsons to carry on the Mendoza name. It is time you began to think of marriage.”
“Mama!” I protested. “How can I become a husband before I have a settled life to offer a wife? I thought you understood that.”
“I did not press you when you were newly arrived and needed to get your bearings,” she said. “But thirteen-year-old bar mitzvahs who have done no more in life than learn their Torah portion are marrying, and so must you.”
“Mama, I will not marry a twelve-year-old girl!” I said. “Is this because you fear that Rachel’s children will be lost to you?”
“They will not be lost to me,” she said, “although Rachel and Hutia will be required to raise them in Islam.”
“How do you know that, Mama?” I asked.
“When Hutia made his announcement, I went to see the kadi.”
“Mama!”
“He is a remarkably tolerant man,” she said. “I liked him. I asked him exactly what will be required. For one thing, he assured me that as long as Rachel does not convert, she cannot be forced to live in seclusion. She might find it more convenient to wear a veil in public, but I have no doubt she will become a respected kira to the Sultan’s harem, taking Kira Chana’s place one day. I did not see any need to tell him that no grandchild of mine will grow up without full understanding of its Jewish heritage. They will learn our history and traditions in the privacy of our home, along with the teachings of Islam. When they are old enough, they may choose for themselves what to believe and how to worship God. And like Jewish children of your own generation, they will learn to keep the family’s secrets.”
“Oh, Mama,” I said, laughing, “you have thought of everything. You make it sound completely possible.”
“And so it will be,” she said, with a complacent smile. “It is all a matter of interpretation.”
“Interpretation being the essence of Jewish thought,” I said. “Mama, you will make the most marvelous grandmother who ever lived. Will you be content if I promise solemnly to give you grandchildren, without saying precisely when?”
“My darling Diego,” she said, “if you will also promise to be happy, I will be delighted to seal the bargain.”
Chapter 34: Rachel
During the weeks following Hutia’s announcement, Rachel went about her business at home and abroad nursing a sense of grievance, exacerbated by her feeling that no one understood. Kira Chana said, “There are plenty of other boys. Your parents will not let you go without a husband.” Susanna, who was besotted with her Nahum and counting the days till her wedding, said, “Of course you must marry him. What does it matter what his religion is?” Elvira said, “Of course you must not marry him. This is what comes of being headstrong and thinking you can always have your own way. It has gone on long enough, and Akiva says the same.” Neither Papa nor Mama would commit themselves. Looking grave, they said that they had no power to prevent Hutia from becoming a Muslim, but that it would take much thought and discussion before they would be prepared either to forbid Rachel to marry him or to give the union their blessing. Diego, who Rachel had feared would side with Hutia, refused to give his opinion, saying that it was Rachel’s life and only she could decide how to live it. She was grateful for his forbearance but found his point of view burdensome rather than comforting. As for Hutia, it seemed to her that he avoided her, making her wonder whether his decision had already driven them irreparably apart.
As she tried to weigh the strangeness of wedding a Muslim against the joy she had always expected to find in marrying Hutia, her thoughts tainted her pleasure in visiting the harem, which seemed less of an exotic playground and more of a gilded cage as she imagined herself one of the sequestered women. Hutia assured her over and over that she would live as a Jewish wife, if not in the freedom of a Taino woman, which they both knew she could never have expected. But once the imams got hold of him, who knew how he would change and what he would come to believe?
She still enjoyed her visits to the Bedestan, where the colors, the smells, and the cries of vendors and shoppers swirling around her took her out of herself. The need to concentrate on finding the exact perfume that Gülbahar Hatun wanted and making sure that the pegs of Ferahşad Hatun’s jeweled sandals were precisely the height she had spec
ified took her mind off her troubles for a while. It was Rachel’s task to visit Mustafa the sword maker at least once a week to ascertain what progress he had made on the creation of Prince Selim’s sword.
“Asalamu alaykum, effendi,” she would say. “How is the most magnificent sword ever made coming along?”
“Alaykum asalaam, my daughter,” he would reply. “Such work cannot be rushed. The sword must be perfect.”
Then he would bring out the sword, whose blade, he said, must be sharp enough to slice through a butterfly’s wing, and she would watch him polish a gem to be set in the hilt, then hold it up so they could both admire how its fire caught the light. Then he would offer her an orange or a handful of dates, or she would fetch them squares of baklava, still hot from the baker’s oven, and they would sit together, munching the sticky pastry as she admired the beautiful objects on display and listened to his stories about the artisan’s life and especially about his family, of whom he was clearly very fond.
Her pleasure in the making of the sword did not incline her to like Selim. She had never met him, for even if the rules of the harem had permitted it, he was far too grand to take notice of a humble Jewish maiden. But Ayşe Hatun, who doted on him, said “Selim says” as often as Susanna said “Nahum says” at home. Rachel kept that observation to herself, sighing as she remembered how eager she would once have been to share it with Hutia. She missed the freedom to say whatever popped into her head. She missed the laughter between them.
One day, as some of the ladies examined the kira’s wares, while others lay nearby on couches having their bodies depilated and their hair elaborately dressed, Rachel heard a name she knew. These rituals were accompanied by a torrent of chatter that always reminded Rachel of a flock of sparrows in the orange trees of Seville. Ordinarily, she let the prattle wash over her. But the name Hasan made her prick up her ears. She had not met the hostage prince herself, but she knew that Diego liked him. However, Hutia’s interest in Islam dated from his first meeting with the boy, so she could not feel kindly toward him.
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