by Marek Halter
Reluctantly, Ezra resolved to try. After swallowing a few spoonfuls, he seemed to find the food pleasant, and emptied the bowl rapidly.
Lilah looked at him and smiled. Ezra was like that. Severe, obstinate, tormented by the desire to do the right thing, the correct thing. And sometimes too impatient, too impulsive and unyielding, unconcerned about the realities of life, as if the years of childhood were still with him. But perhaps that was only the result of his faith: according to Master Baruch, he was becoming wiser than any sage, purer than any zealot.
Ezra became aware that his sister’s eyes were on him. He looked up at her and gave the smile that had delighted her for more than twenty years, the smile that spoke of the indestructible love that linked brother and sister, uniting them in the same tenderness, like two sounds in harmony on the same lyre, sweeping away all doubt and discord.
Today, though, Lilah remained deaf to its call. With a pang, she looked at Ezra’s beloved face and thought of her beloved Antinoes. God of heaven! How could she speak the words she had been repeating to herself all night? How could she say to Ezra the phrases she had written on the papyrus scroll now hidden under her bed?
She closed her eyes, and the prayer she had uttered during the night again filled her mind. O Yahweh, God of heaven, God of my father, she implored, give me the strength to find the words to convince Ezra! Give him the strength to hear them.
Ezra misunderstood her silence and her closed eyes. ‘Lilah, my sister, don’t be sad. I’m eating – and you were right to insist. It’s very good. Who could have predicted that Sogdiam would become such a cook? He was like a dog when he came here, all skin and bone.’
Recovering her composure, Lilah smiled at him affectionately. ‘He told me about the women you give food to.’
‘Oh yes, we had to.’ Ezra drank his cup of milk in little sips. ‘It’s of no importance.’
‘What do you mean, it’s of no importance? Of course it’s important! Those women are in need. Who can help them, here in the lower city, if not Master Baruch and you?’
Ezra threw a glance at Master Baruch over his cup. The old man was wiping the bottom of his bowl with a piece of biscuit, which he then swallowed before looking up with an ironic glint in his eyes.
‘In future,’ Lilah went on, ‘I’ll bring more so that you don’t have to go without yourselves.’
Master Baruch chuckled. ‘Lilah, my dove, it isn’t Ezra who helps the poor women, let alone me. It is written in the scroll of the Law given to Moses. “Do not gather the gleanings of your harvest, but leave them for the poor man and the migrant!” Do we glean the grain and bring it here? Lilah, without you the women who came into this courtyard would now be hearing their children scream with hunger. And we, the sages of Zion, would have nothing in our bellies but the bitterness of bad news and remorse.’
Blushing, Lilah rose hurriedly to clear the table. She was about to leave the room when Ezra asked, as if he had only just become aware of it, ‘Didn’t Axatria come with you today?’
‘She’s waiting for me at the gate to the upper town.’
Ezra laughed in surprise. ‘Why? Is she afraid to see me?’
‘Oh, no, all she thinks about is seeing you … I asked her to let me come alone today.’
‘Why?’
Lilah hesitated. Master Baruch had let his head roll back against the cushions supporting him and seemed to have dozed off. ‘Antinoes is back,’ she said, in a low voice.
Ezra’s expression did not change, and he said nothing. Had he heard?
‘I saw him yesterday. He fought Cyrus the Younger’s Greeks and was awarded the breastplate of the heroes of the King of Kings.’ Lilah fell silent. Her own words seemed to her out of place and offensive. She had wanted to say, ‘I love him. I want him for my husband. He wants it too, more than anything. I love to be in his arms. And I also love you, with all the love in a sister’s heart.’ But the words that had emerged from her mouth had been cold, fearful and colourless.
And Ezra’s face remained stony, as before.
For a moment, they were both silent and motionless.
‘Is that why you stopped Axatria coming with you, so that you could tell me this?’
‘No,’ Lilah breathed, hoping that Master Baruch was not about to wake up. ‘That wasn’t why. It was so that you and I could talk. Antinoes hasn’t changed his mind – he hasn’t changed at all. Neither have I …’
Ezra rose abruptly and went to sit on his stool.
‘You loved Antinoes, Ezra. We—’
‘Be quiet!’ Ezra cut in. ‘I was a mere child, then an ignorant young man. As ignorant as it’s possible to be in our uncle’s family. As ignorant as the children of Israel have become in exile. But not any more.’
‘Ezra, I know that as well as anyone, and I’m proud of what you are, of what you’ve become. I would never—’
‘A Persian warrior comes back to the royal city of Susa,’ Ezra interrupted. ‘What of it? It may be news to you, my sister, but not to me.’
Lilah put her hands together to stop them shaking, but she held her brother’s gaze. ‘Don’t be so unyielding! Have you forgotten that you used to call Antinoes “Brother”? Have you forgotten that he held your hand when you wept for our father and mother, that when you kissed me, you kissed him too?’
Ezra gave a curious smile, a beautiful, profound smile, which did nothing to soften his expression. ‘I haven’t forgotten anything, Lilah. I’m working every day with Master Baruch so that we don’t forget anything of what we are – we, the people who have a Covenant with the Everlasting. I never forget anything that doesn’t deserve to be forgotten. I haven’t forgotten that you’re my beloved sister, and that without you there would never be any life in this hovel, any beauty, any tenderness. I haven’t forgotten who we are. I haven’t forgotten that nothing, not even your Persian warrior, can tarnish the eternal love of Lilah for Ezra.’
Master Baruch had woken, and was watching Lilah intently. She stood up and walked to the door, intending to leave without a word. But she could not help it: she turned and said, with a knot in her stomach, ‘Nothing that comes from my Persian warrior can tarnish me, Ezra. It is he who gives me life and beauty and tenderness.’
A Day for Anger
MORDECHAI’S WIFE SARAH always supervised the women workers. She would go from one loom to the next, inspecting their work: the regularity of the stitches, the arrangement of the colours, the tension of the weft, the texture of a line, the quality of a knot. Today, though, she found it hard to concentrate. She was constantly drifting out into the empty courtyard where the autumn sun cast long shadows that vanished from time to time with a passing cloud. There her mouth, so perfectly shaped for the sweet things in life, would grimace in irritation, a frown would crease her brow, and her face would set hard as she went back into the workshop.
It was a long, vast gallery, with a series of arches along it that allowed the daylight to penetrate all the way to the whitewashed wall at the far end, where seven weavers sat side by side.
Reels of thread were piled round the looms along with shuttles, empty and full, reglets for keeping the lines taut, and pails filled with bone or wood needles. Bronze blades of different sizes, used for measurement, were laid out carefully on low trestles. At one end of the workshop, behind two large shuttles on pedals, some fifty baskets contained an assortment of woollen threads of every colour in creation. At the other end, the finished rugs hung from wooden racks.
A few of the workers walked to and fro, carrying baskets of shuttles. The weavers, though, sat at the looms. The frames hung from bronze rings sealed into the wall at a man’s height, and the looms rested on little trestle tables, beneath which there was space for the women’s legs. Some sat on cushions, bending their legs with their calves under their buttocks. Others chose to put a pile of scrap wool between their buttocks and the rough brick floor.
Their hands moved with speed and precision, sliding, separating, pulling, counting. Weights tha
t looked like tiny wheels were attached to the vertical threads. Every time the shuttles passed, the women would be hit in the stomach, or on the thighs or chest. The clank of the shuttles and the banging of the reglets could be heard out in the courtyard. Sometimes the noise was so loud that it was like the sound of some fabulous, insatiable animal chewing.
Not one of the workers glanced up or turned away from her loom. They sensed Sarah’s approach, as if they had eyes in the backs of their heads, and their hands seemed to fly even faster and more skilfully between the threads.
It was nearly fifteen years since Sarah had opened her workshop, at Mordechai’s suggestion. Today she knew every speck of dust in it. She could tell from the sound of the shuttles, the reglets and needles, if the work was good or not.
Sarah watched the women’s progress closely. Each day she would appear unheralded, sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon. The sweetness of her appearance, the placid roundness of her body and her face, matched one part of her character. She lost her temper only when the same worker repeated the same mistake. Often, she would caress a woman’s shoulder, neck or cheek, especially if she was a young girl, new to the workshop and intimidated by it: they were encouraged by a little kindness to forget the pain in their fingers and back.
Very occasionally, she would praise someone, but compliments were useful only for their rarity value: nothing was worse than a skilled worker who became too proud of herself That was a sad waste, like those wonderful peaches from the Zagros mountains that came to the upper town in the month of Elul, ripe peaches that had to be eaten immediately because they were already on the point of becoming rotten.
Sarah did not want older women as weavers. However experienced they were, they were often ill-tempered. And as it was for the mind, so it was for the body: for flexibility, nothing equalled youth.
The girls she chose had to be willing to learn. She liked to employ a few clever ones too. But they all had to know how to do as they were told.
A workshop of high repute such as Sarah’s could not be run without strong leadership. For all her smiles, Sarah’s tongue could be sharp, her eyes pitiless. And although the merchants who supplied her with wool or tools were often seduced by her curves, they soon learned to be on their guard when the time came for payment.
Many of the carpets and rugs Sarah produced embellished the seats of the chariots her husband built. But she could also make carpets and rugs in the styles of Judaea, Media, Parsumash, Lydia and Susa. There was hardly a noble family in the Citadel, or in Babylon or Ecbatana, that did not own something made in the workshop of Sarah, wife of Mordechai and daughter of Reka.
After a good dinner, washed down with palm beer, Sarah liked to say with a laugh, covering her mouth with her chubby fingers, that she had at least one thing in common with the King of Kings: her workshop also reigned over all the regions of Greater Persia. She hoped the Everlasting would forgive her this vanity.
Today, though, her thoughts were elsewhere.
Her niece Lilah had still not returned from the lower town.
She did not need to keep her eyes on the courtyard to know that. She would have heard the noise of the chariot wheels on the flagstones.
She forced her mind back to the work, and turned to a tall, thin young woman who was following her respectfully a few paces behind. ‘Helamsis, have you counted how many carpets we’ve finished today?’ she asked.
‘Five, Mistress. They’re on the trestle.’ Helamsis pointed to the far end of the workshop.
Sarah began to walk in that direction. ‘Have you checked that they’re the right size?’ she asked.
Helamsis’ answer was lost in the clatter of the shuttles and reglets. Sarah did not ask her to repeat it. When her mistress was in this kind of mood, it was better to obey her quietly and agree with her as often as possible. Even if Helamsis swore on the wrath of Ahura Mazda that every piece was of exactly the right length and width, Sarah would still go and check for herself.
That was what she now set about doing. Then, when she was satisfied, she put the shuttles back on the trestle with a sigh. There was nothing to criticize: they were perfect. She was about to ask Helamsis to take them to Mordechai’s workshop on the other side of the courtyard when she heard the long-awaited rumbling.
‘Ah!’ Helamsis, who knew what had caused her mistress’s impatience, sighed with relief. ‘Here’s Lilah’s chariot.’
‘What a way to behave!’ Sarah exclaimed. As she had reached out to help Lilah from the chariot, Axatria had bumped into her. ‘Can’t you apologize, my girl?’ Sarah roared.
The reproach had no effect. Axatria strode across the outer courtyard, dragging the empty basket behind her, and disappeared between the columns that led to the second courtyard, where the living quarters and the kitchens were.
‘What’s the matter with her?’ Sarah asked Lilah, unable to get over what had happened.
‘Oh, today’s the day for anger,’ Lilah replied, jumping nimbly from the chariot. ‘Everyone’s angry, Axatria, Ezra, even Sogdiam.’
‘Angry? Why? Because of him?’
Lilah could not help smiling. Him could only be Antinoes. She just had time to adjust her shawl on her shoulders before her aunt took her by the elbow. ‘Come, let’s not stay here. I’ve had some sage and rose tea brought to my bedchamber.’
What Sarah called her bedchamber consisted, in fact, of two spacious rooms. One was a true bedchamber, while the other, furnished with low tables, chests and a large number of cushions, was used as a sitting room. From it, there was a view not only of the second courtyard but also of the gardens surrounding the house, a tranquil and delightful sight. Between the cypresses and the eucalyptus trees, the imposing walls and columns of the Citadel could be seen. Sarah was very proud of the room, and loved to receive her women friends there, as well as the wives of important customers.
‘So, tell me, tell me everything!’ she said, avid for news, as she lay down on the cushions. ‘What did he say?’
Lilah knew that her aunt’s gaiety would soon vanish. But she avoided replying directly to her impatient questions. ‘Ezra and Master Baruch have had bad news from Jersusalem,’ she said, as if that was what she had been asked. ‘The sage Nehemiah died without accomplishing his mission. The Temple may have been rebuilt, though Ezra has his doubts. But it is desecrated by all kinds of bad practices, and the city itself is lawless again, with no protection for the Jews.’
Sarah stopped pouring the tea into silver goblets, and frowned. ‘I knew that. Mordechai told me about it a few days ago. It’s sad, I know,’ she said, putting down the pot of tea, ‘but, well …’
‘Ezra was furious. He thinks we exiles have been deceived. We’ve let ourselves be too easily taken advantage of. The Law of Yahweh isn’t respected, and the children of Israel are in danger.’
Sarah gave a sigh of irritation. ‘Ezra is always furious. He thinks we’re guilty of everything.’
‘No, Aunt. He thinks only that we give too little attention to what’s happening in Jerusalem—’
Sarah waved her hands as if to dispel smoke. ‘Lilah, Lilah, my child! Leave these things to Ezra and Mordechai. They’re not women’s concerns. What I want to know is what Ezra said about your marriage to Antinoes.’
Avoiding her eyes, Lilah looked up at a flock of swallows circling above the garden. Was she also about to lose her temper?
She had been dreading this moment since she had left the lower town. She could guess in advance every one of the words that would be spoken: words of reproach she had heard so often, and which never had the slightest effect on her. If Ezra was frequently unfair to his uncle and aunt, they were no less unfair to him, obstinately refusing to judge his behaviour with a modicum of good faith. Couldn’t they at least respect his choices and admire his courage?
If only they would make an effort to understand him a little instead of constantly reproaching him! Today was definitely a day for anger.
Lilah tried to c
alm herself with a mouthful of the scalding herb tea, which her aunt loved: sharp yet sweet, it seemed to have been conceived in her image.
Sarah was leaning towards her. ‘I know you were with Antinoes last night,’ she murmured, her face creased with curiosity. ‘I heard you come home.’ She chuckled. ‘I’d have liked to see you then, so that you could tell me everything, but Mordechai had decided to sleep with me, and that’s not something that happens often!’
The questions came thick and fast, and Lilah replied as briefly as she could. Yes, Antinoes loved her as passionately as ever. Yes, he had become a hero of the King of Kings. Yes, he wanted her as his wife. Yes, yes …
‘And Ezra?’
Lilah bit her lips, then, seeing her aunt’s large eyes shining with impatience, she smiled. ‘Ezra is like Antinoes,’ she replied. ‘He hasn’t changed either.’
‘Hasn’t changed? You mean …’
‘You know what I mean, Aunt.’
There was no tenderness in Sarah’s face now. ‘You mean he won’t hear of your marriage, is that it?’
‘He’s devoted to his studies, and nothing else interests him,’ Lilah replied patiently.
‘All I know is, he’s mad and he’ll cause you a lot of unhappiness.’ Sarah’s voice was as harsh now as it was when she discovered a defect in a carpet.
Lilah was on the point of standing up and leaving the room. She, too, would have liked to speak her mind, to say loud and clear that she was no longer a child, that all this was no one’s business but her own, and that she’d prefer to be left in peace. But that would not have been the truth. Whether she liked it or not, her marriage to Antinoes was everyone’s business.
‘I didn’t tell him about the marriage,’ she forced herself to reply calmly. ‘There was no point.’
‘No point? No point in telling him about your marriage? What are you talking about?’
‘There’s no rush, Aunt Sarah. Give Ezra a little time. He knows Antinoes is back. He’ll think about it.’
‘Think about it!’ Sarah cried. ‘We know what he’s going to think about it!’
