by Shlomo Kalo
Nashdernach was struck dumb, unable to avert his gaze from the figure in white, sitting in silence as if detached from the world.
It was only then that the other remembered Adelain and the fact that she was sitting behind him. He turned, and the astonishment in his eyes changed rapidly into something that could be interpreted as a query, such as – Well, what now?
Without a word, without any acknowledgement whatsoever of the two men, Adelain rose and left his office.
Nashdernach lowered his gaze and sat for a while in silence. Finally he looked up and said, a twinkle in his oily little eyes:
“If I am not mistaken, she is the daughter of our valiant and illustrious commander, Or-Nego.”
“She is indeed.”
“This is a strange state of affairs. Women are strange, and that lady – she’s in a class all of her own!” he asserted, going on to say: “I once heard of a woman, a relative of mine in fact, who loved a wise and handsome man, loved him with a love as strong as death, in the words of your scriptures. And his heart went out to her, and he asked her to marry him and be his wife – and she refused. Her love was so strong, she said, that it needed no physical contact. As simple as that! Have you ever heard of such a thing?” he asked.
“No,” he answered him, adding, “but I understand your relative’s attitude. Love is not dependent on the physical body, and distance and time do not exist where love is concerned.”
“Anyway,” Nashdernach resumed with a sigh, “that’s how it was with my relative! The case caused something of a stir at the time, which is how I came to hear of it. She married no one and remained a virgin. A beautiful woman by all accounts. He on the contrary, married a wife and was divorced, and married again – and was divorced again. In the end he lived with a mistress. He didn’t understand my relative’s love and he used to complain that it wasn’t love at all, but cruelty for its own sake. I don’t know if the pair of them are still alive. To tell the truth, I just don’t understand this kind of love,” – Nashdernach expressed his bemusement with a shrug of the shoulders, “I mean, if she loves the man and she’s going to be true to him, why not marry him and put him out of his misery? Is she afraid that this weird love of hers, or higher love if you prefer – let’s not quibble over definitions – is she afraid that this higher love is going to be spoiled by physical intimacy?”
“The higher, the true love is eternal, and nothing can prevail over it, and it certainly won’t be spoiled by any kind of contact,” he replied.
“Why then, did this loving woman refuse to marry her lover?” Nashdernach persisted.
“I suppose that your relative reckoned marriage was liable to be harmful to him, and he wouldn’t be prepared to do without physical intimacy, despite his repeated protestations to the contrary. And the proof of this – he separated from the wives in whom he sought this intimacy.”
“Oh!” Nashdernach lowered his greying head, as if thinking through the implications, and then summing up for his own benefit:
“So she sacrifices herself on the altar of her higher love.” And looking up again and fixing his little eyes on him he continued:
“As for this young woman, young and utterly delightful as she is – I reckon that the very fact of her visit to you and the time spent in your office, will do irreparable harm to her honour as a maiden and her good name as a woman, and she will no longer be eligible to marry according to the law, unless you marry her. And you’re waiting for your princess from Judah! So things are becoming a little complicated, and this lady inspires admiration and compassion, and heart-ache as well. I suppose you could take her as a mistress? I’m sure she would agree to anything if it meant being close to you.”
“I could never agree to that!” he protested.
“Your future wife would object?” asked Nashdernach, in a toneless voice.
“She wouldn’t express any objection, but deep down she’d feel damaged. But even leaving that aside, the idea doesn’t appeal to me.”
“Why is that?” Nashdernach persisted.
“Because I don’t believe in polygamy, and in my heart I know that polygamy is contrary to the will of God.”
“Your forefathers married many wives, and to this very day the practice is tolerated among your compatriots!”
“The murder of animals and the consumption of their carcases are also practices condoned by the Torah, but this is a late version of it, a compromising version. It isn’t the consummate worship of God, doing the true will of God.”
“And is there to be no compassion for this young woman, no easing of her grief?”
“There is help for her,” he declared, “but she has to consent to it.”
“And how is she to do that?”
“By strengthening her faith in God, and loving Him with all her heart and mind.”
“Aha!” exclaimed Nashdernach, his tone acknowledging that a valid and persuasive point had been made. And then he took a thick scroll from his pocket, laid it on the table, opened it and said:
“Now for the business in hand. We need to discuss the status of soldiers who are permanently disabled as a result of injuries sustained in war.”
Nejeen
With the onset of spring a wind from the east descends upon Babylon, gusting strongly day and night without respite, bearing on its wings grey dust from the roads and sand from the desert. People try to protect themselves from it by sealing the shutters of their homes and veiling their faces.
One such morning, when the east wind was beginning to subside, and the sky was peering through gaps in the swirling clouds of dust, he rose from his bed with a feeling of light-heartedness and merriment, bathed and dressed and went out to the broad veranda of his house, all awash with flowers, a rich tapestry of colours. He sat on a chair beside the oblong table, covered by a blue cloth with silver trim.
He knew the source of his exhilaration: she was coming.
How would she look? And what of the future relations between them? And the joy in his heart swelled and grew ever stronger, until it was no longer to be easily controlled or suppressed.
“My Father in Heaven, my God, what is the nature of this joy that fills my heart and thrills every fibre of my being? Is this joy pure? Are You the source of it? Does it have another source?”
“No my son! This joy arises and emanates from the fountains of my light, and it will not divert you from the way! Delight in it and bless it!”
The household slave was trying to attract his attention as he paced back and forth among the vases on the veranda, moving them this way and that, and when he finally succeeded and he looked back at him with a questioning glance, he bowed to him and informed him that Denur-Shag was asking permission to enter.
He broke off from his meditations and asked the slave to hurry and admit Denur-Shag to the house.
A few moments later, his former teacher was standing before him, trying to dissuade him from rising to meet him and to shake his hand.
“You shouldn’t deprive us of the pleasure of prostrating ourselves before a person of exceptional authority!” he commented, adding in typical style: “Not that the exceptional is something that I care for particularly, but where persons of authority are concerned, it is the routine that repels – and I’m talking about smells here. Authority trapped in a frame of routine gives off a familiar smell, quite pungent and very similar, if not identical, to the smell that assails your nostrils in the vicinity of a slaughterhouse. In agriculture, for example, routine works wonders, and it’s a boon to the farmer, to the land and to all of humanity, and its smell is clean. However, the routine that I like best of all is the routine of family life, paved as it is with petty disasters and delights.”
He signalled to the slave, and he brought in figs, nuts and dates, an Egyptian jug made of the finest glass and containing honey-water, and matching goblets. The foodstuffs were served on small dishes that were smooth inside and out, gleaming white in colour and hand-painted in blue with images of trees, people and flowers –
real works of art. Denur-Shag picked up one of the dishes, turned it over in his hand and studied it from every angle, finally declaring:
“Sent to you direct from the royal warehouse, I assume.”
He confirmed this with a nod.
“I don’t suppose that in the whole of Babylon there are exquisite objects such as these to be found, except in the possession of the King himself and now – in your possession too. I may be mistaken, and perhaps that clever trader who has the strange-sounding Hebrew name of Adoniah, and the equally strange Chaldean name of Adeshech, is among the few who own articles like these. As I’m sure you know, they are made by those faraway people with the slanting eyes, who weave silk fabrics made from caterpillars, or more accurately – from the cocoons of caterpillars, which, if allowed to live, would turn into winged butterflies of breath-taking beauty. Our faraway brothers are harsh in their treatment of these unfortunate caterpillars, stripping them of their cocoons and leaving them to die, naked and helpless, in excruciating pain. Such is the typical behaviour of mankind, and yet according to your sacred writings the first man was appointed to ‘give names’ to all living creatures, from the butterfly to the elephant, meaning – that man is supposed to defend them, and delight in them and love them, so that they will love him in return, and gladly provide him with wool and milk and with impressive displays of colour and movement.
“But here mankind has failed and has betrayed God’s trust, and instead of ‘giving names’, mankind is deleting names from the list of living things, and is exploiting those that remain and tormenting them and preying on them. Was this your God’s intention when He created mankind?”
“God is love,” he responded evenly, while pouring honey-water into the goblets of fine Egyptian glass, “and love does not impose itself on the object of its love, love bestows freedom. Man is liable to make the wrong use of the freedom that he has been granted.”
“I wouldn’t say he was ‘liable’ to do that,” Denur-Shag objected, taking the full goblet that was handed to him and raising it in a gesture of benediction, then taking a small sip from it. “Man has done it – and is still doing it, and is bringing down on his head all the disasters of the world.”
Denur-Shag took a shelled nut, chewed it in his mouth for a while and before swallowing it said:
“Yesterday, at a late hour of the night, I had a visit from someone who is reckoned to be a relative of mine – by marriage,” he saw fit to stress, and added for further clarification: “This is the family of my rustic wife, one of the most ‘extended’ in the kingdom. It has so many members that no one knows the precise number, but all of the people of that village, to the very last one of them, have close family ties between them and as you might say – they take responsibility for one another.
“And ever since I had the good fortune to marry a daughter of the village of these agreeable people – it’s only logical and natural that, according to the rigid rules of that mutual responsibility, I should be acknowledged as a member of the tribe and of the family unit, and guaranteed their full support. To their credit I may say, they expect nothing from me in return.
“This relative, it turns out, joined some delegation or other and went away to Judah some months ago, and now he’s glad to be back in Babylon. He had a specific job as a runner – carrying messages, letters, news and items of small value between members of the delegation, and between members of the delegation and outsiders. Exploiting his role as a harbinger, and using the expertise and the wealth of experience gained through this unconventional profession, he decided to precede the delegation, moving ahead like the vanguard of an army on the march, and he came to me yesterday, in the late hours of the night. And the boy didn’t want to go to bed and rest from the rigours of the journey, perhaps because of the rigid rules of the mutual responsibility code – or perhaps he just wanted to share some of the impressions stamped on his peasant mind.
“Anyway, he sat down with me, this distant relative of mine, and while partaking of the modest repast which I served to him, he proceeded to tell me his story. And the story was a long one, extending into the dawn and even beyond, and it couldn’t be described as interesting and pleasant to listen to either. This peasant boy is far removed from anything that could be called eloquence, and not much of a story teller, but that clan code demanded of him whatever it demanded, and I had to sit and listen closely because of my obligations under that ancient code – a fascinating object of study for anyone researching into ancient laws and customs, written and unwritten.”
Denur-Shag returned to his drink, drained his goblet and without saying a word, took the bottle and refilled it.
He himself had not yet touched his drink, instead listening intently to the words of his guest.
“Are you bored?” Denur-Shag asked, taking a ripe date between two fingers and putting it to his mouth, without looking at him, as if ignoring his very presence and as if talking to himself.
And sure enough, the questioner did not wait for an answer, but went on to say:
“These words were by way of a preamble. And for some reason it seems to me – and ‘seems’ is just a sterile, evasive expression – it would be more accurate to say ‘I’m sure’, yes ‘I’m sure’ without any hesitation or prevarication, that the next part of the story will be of great interest to you. You can visualise it, and see the whole episode unfolding before your mind’s eye!
“Well then,” – Denur-Shag took another sip of his drink, “my relative told me that in the convoy travelling with the delegation there was a special wagon, with padding and upholstery, closed most of the time, and occupied by a wondrous Jewish princess. Wondrous, that is, in her beauty and also in her demeanour. My rustic relative referred specifically to an exceptional kind of behaviour, quite unfamiliar to him, something testifying to noble lineage or, as he tried to express it with his inferior eloquence, something showing that this lady was ‘born to be a queen’ – a common and hackneyed expression, but like so many such expressions, both succinct and accurate!
“And while on the subject of the exceptional behaviour of this Jewish princess, the one ‘born to be a queen’, my rustic relative told me that at one of their overnight halts, on the way back from Jerusalem, not far from Tyre, bandits got into the camp, tied up the two sentries who were supposed to be guarding the horses, and they were about to cut off their heads and steal the horses, leaving the convoy without any effective means of transport, stuck in the middle of nowhere, hopeless and helpless – when all of a sudden the Jewish princess appeared. She confronted the bandits, all five of them, and ordered them to untie the captives and set them free, to leave their booty behind and to go back to their haunts the same way that they had come. And this is the point: she didn’t urge them, didn’t plead with them, didn’t cry or try to appeal to their compassion – no, she ordered them, in the clear voice of a born leader and commander. That is the testimony of the captives themselves, they saw her and heard her, and they were amazed by the glorious vision and by the regal sound of her voice. And no less impressed, so it seems, were the bandits themselves. Those five tough men obeyed her and even bowed to her, they released their captives, mounted their horses and rode away, leaving their booty behind, and disappeared into the darkness, as this was the third watch of the night. And the sentries who had been freed and had escaped with their lives did not know themselves for joy and even tried to offer some gift to the princess, but she flatly rejected any attempt to reward her, and when asked how she realised what was happening, unlike all the other members of the delegation who didn’t wake or hear anything, and how she had mastered her fear – the Jewish princess explained that her wagon was parked close to the horses’ enclosure, and with her sharp ear she heard the nervous whinnying of the horses and went to see what was afoot. As for fear, her comment was – anyone who trusts in God is exempted from fear. And as a direct result of this statement, referring as it did to the God of the princess, a number of Chaldeans converted there and the
n, following the lead of the two sentries who owed their lives to this God.” Denur-Shag concluded his account and there was a long silence. Eventually he continued:
“This, in my humble opinion, is the least boring part of my story. According to my estimation, at this moment the delegation is crossing, or has just crossed, the bridge over the Euphrates, and it is due to arrive at the royal palace shortly after midday. If you want to meet the delegation in appropriate style, you have two hours in hand. As for me, I have no intention of staying around here and joining the reception committee, but before we part company, I shall tell you the third and final part of this story – yes, the story does have a third part!”
Denur-Shag leaned back in his chair and continued calmly:
“It turns out that my relative’s visit to foreign parts, meaning Jerusalem, the sacred capital of Judah, had a profound effect on him. It wasn’t just the emotional strain of distance from his native village, it was a traumatic spiritual experience that he had, by his own admission – the first such upheaval he has ever known.
“The youth told me of a man, the like of whom he had never seen before nor met before, not even in the great metropolis of Babylon. He had never dreamed that such a person even existed. A long, long beard, not neatly trimmed and plaited in the Chaldean style, but wild and unkempt, as is the hair of his head, and he wears a simple robe, a rope for a belt at his waist, and he walks about barefoot. Nothing remarkable so far – it could be that the man has eccentric tastes, or he could be short of cash. What astonished my relative was seeing the eyes of this man, eyes unlike any others he had known. One glance was enough to convince him this was the only pair of eyes in the world, the only eyes that could truly see. These eyes do not glitter or sparkle, but there is light in their depths, flaring up at intervals like a burning torch and at intervals subsiding, sometimes gleaming as bright as the sun. And yet these eyes are not troubled, on the contrary they are serene, with a serenity that is detached from all things, and that is why it is so potent, inspiring fear on the one hand and on the other, boundless admiration and exaltation of spirit.
