Ishtah - The Prostitute's Daughter
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In Arrapha, the ceremony of the god Ashur was fast approaching. The rituals of the priests were vastly anticipated, preceded by city-wide celebrations, and a festival that would last until dawn the next day. It was an important time for young girls, of every district; the ones who were of age were expected to dance in the central market. Many viewed it as the ideal opportunity to attract the attention of a good husband – someone with a decent family and wealth, perhaps from a better district than their own. Since Phaena and I were now old enough to dance, she had become obsessed with the event – too preoccupied and impatient to be bothered by everyday tasks, such as waiting in line for water. Sensing she was more agitated than usual, and easily bothered, I knew it was best for me to keep my distance from her.
“Did you already eat with your mother?” questioned Hesba. Not waiting for an answer she waved her hand in quick dismissal, “Never mind. We had more than our fill this morning and here is the remainder.” She pulled a wheat cake from her robe pocket and pushed it into my free hand – stepping back abruptly so I couldn’t refuse.
Immediately I could feel my face flush. Unable to look any particular direction, I plunged the cake into my own pocket. I knew in times like these, such a morsel could hardly be considered a remainder – it was a generous gift. Water had dried up not only in the city, but in the fields as well – lessening Arrapha’s crop yield. Since Hesba’s husband was a field worker, the wheat she ground and baked was whatever was left over from his worksite – which of late I knew couldn’t be much. Silently I prayed my stomach wouldn’t growl too load at the sight of the bread – further humiliating me.
“Where were you last night?” continued Hesba, seeming indifferent to my embarrassment. “We had to go to the temple without you when you didn’t turn up.”
Face rising bravely to meet her intuitive gaze, I swallowed.
“I wanted to go,” I assured her. “Sadly I was behind on my chores because I’d been out all day – as you know. I’m not as diligent as Phaena and you with housework.” Here I dropped my gaze abruptly, not wanting her to guess that my mother had kept me from going – or that she disapproved of me accompanying them in general.
“Are you excited about the festival?” inquired Hesba, her face wrinkling along with her smile. “I’ll be giving thanks and celebrating the end of the harvest even though the drought has upset so man and the yields are so low. I wonder if the sacrifices the temple offers will be less. You must tell your mother to send me her offerings if she doesn’t plan to attend. I’ll gladly deliver them to the temple in her stead; we must all pray for rain this coming season and do whatever it takes to appease the gods.”
Wordless I nodded my head. I hadn’t given the ceremony any thought at all yet.
“I think I’ll carry her offering myself,” I murmured, indecisive even as I spoke.
“Oh, yes?” smiled Hesba, encouragingly. “Do you intend to dance as well?”
I could sense Phaena listening closely.
“Phaena won’t stop practicing her steps or talking about the fabric she’ll wear,” continued Hesba, nudging her daughter.
Exasperated, Phaena came abruptly to life.
“I don’t and I’m sure Ishtah doesn’t either,” she snapped, eyes flashing.
I smiled at her sensitivity, tilting my head to the side.
“Actually, I think I might dance,” I commented leisurely – voice sincere, though I knew I had no intention of parading myself through the city in front of so many. “I’ve been practicing my dance steps each day,” I added, smiling slightly at Hesba.
Here Phaena’s eyes grew wide with concern.
“Well I’ve been practicing, too,” she added, turning to face us fully. “My steps are coming more natural to me day by day. It helps that my tunic is cut from a very light fabric – a simple shade of blue – not too dark as I think the others will be – elegant against the color of my hair I think.”
Here I grew quiet, knowing I had nothing more to tease her about. I had no actual intention of going to the festival, and certainly no intention of dancing. Even if I wanted to I didn’t have anything appropriate to wear. Since I often borrowed from my mother’s wardrobe, it was difficult enough just to find something appropriate to wear down the street, like what other women wore – something modest that fit my small frame and wasn’t too brightly colored. Many of her old skirts I had adjusted to fit me. There was certainly nothing new or clean or white in our house – nothing light and airy such as Phaena describe. Squinting, I turned away – pretending to be distracted.
Surmising the conflicting emotions of my face, Hesba rested her free hand on my arm – face softening as she murmured, “Come to my house tomorrow night, Ishtah. You missed last night, but there are many opportunities to accompany Phaena and me to the temple for prayer. It’s not safe for a young girl to walk alone in the evenings, and we all must pray at some time or other.” She smiled a little, adding meaningfully, “And Aeros will join with us afterward. He wants to know why he hasn’t seen you in so long, so you must answer for your absence. I’m too old to make excuses for anyone and I was never good at it besides.”
Again I could feel a flush creep up my neck at her words. Flustered, I moved quickly to take her heavy water jar from her with my free hand as the line shuffled forward. Lately it seemed Hesba enjoyed nothing so much as to tease me about her son, Aeros. I wasn’t sure why or when it all started, but I had quickly learned getting her to stop was impossible. There was nothing I could do other than to pretend not to hear; showing any sign of humiliation only encourage her. I liked to banter and kid with Hesba, and even Phaena – if she were willing. But this new type of jest left me nervous and immobilized – embarrassment almost to a point beyond movement. It upset me in a way her teasing seldom could, and I was afraid to ask myself why.
Again I centered my focus on the ground, stuck, now permanent, between my sandaled feet – toes as dusty as the road. I hadn’t considered anyone other than Hesba would take note of my absences. Perhaps, now that she mentioned it, I had been avoiding Aeros. Only a few years our senior, it hadn’t been infrequent that Aeros joined Phaena and I in our games, when were young. We had grown alongside one another, nearly as close as brother and sister. I regarded him much in the same way I did Phaena – as fortunate and blessed, envious of him perhaps to a similar degree, despite him being a boy. Being the only son Hesba had, he was her prized delight, and she loved him more perhaps, I had occasionally speculated, than Phaena, who was likewise the only daughter. Again the line moved forward, my eyes rising enough only to check where I should stand.
I supposed deep within me I knew things between Aeros and I had begun to change – much like they had with Phaena, but in a different sort of way. I saw him much less now. It wasn’t acceptable for him to join Phaena and me as it was when we were children. These days he joined his father in the fields – now that he was strong enough to carry heavy loads and lead the oxen. I saw him briefly now and then, trekking inside behind his father to wash after work, or carrying sacks of grain or produce from the market for Hesba. I could hear his laughter at the street corner early in the morning as he stood with other field hands before heading out the eastern gate. I could picture his tan face easily – see his smile crack broadly at whatever amused him.
I preferred it when he couldn’t see me, which was often how it was, since I was small and discreet. Whenever he knew I was there I felt immediately off-balanced, standing hushed between Hesba and Phaena, eyes plastered to the ground, as if I were a tragic statue. The floor spun out of order when he would look my way – when he would come eagerly to join us or greet me directly, his young face brightening at seeing me. It was increasingly difficult to look up or engage with him while I was so aware of my surroundings – of Phaena stiffening her posture, of Hesba beaming at me, of the sideways glances of passers and the time of day – which for me was always running out.
Irritated, an elderly woman behind me nudged the backsid
e of my ribs. The line ahead of us had dissolved and we’d reached the edge of the well. Annoyed with myself for my own, distracted thinking, I was relieved to finally take action, setting the clay jars I carried on the ledge and tightly gripping the frayed well ropes.
Working together, Phaena and I filled our jars much faster than we could have on our own, including Hesba’s. For a moment I actually enjoyed myself, heaving the heavy loads alongside Phaena; it was good to have her help – our young arms straining as Hesba watched approvingly. It was almost as if we were children again – playing a game, racing each other to see who could pull the fastest. When water splashed across Phaena’s sandals I thought she would become cross, but she surprised me by cracking a smile, tipping one of our vessels so that water spilt on my feet the same. Then we were both laughing, my hands moving quickly to lift one of the filled jars at her warningly.
It was here that Hesba stepped in, shaking her head. The line behind us had grown in length as much as impatience. It was time for us to be on our way – there were plenty more chores to tend that day besides. We parted just outside the market with Hesba making me promise to meet them tomorrow at sunset outside their house – Phaena now combing her