Land of Silence

by Tessa Afshar

  “I wish I could run the workshop without my father’s help. But there is no chance of that. No one in Jerusalem will want to buy the merchandise of a business run by a woman.”

  Ethan remained quiet for a moment. His face had gone white and still. He opened his mouth once and closed it, as if he could not bring himself to say the words that were on his mind.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  He swallowed hard. “There is a way, I believe, to make that happen. No one knows the extent of your father’s injuries. We will keep it a secret. Let it be known that he is sick and unable to leave his bed. But we’ll allow people to assume that he is able to run the business behind the scenes. Viriato can come to you permanently. He can take over what your father was accustomed to do.

  “As long as your father is believed to maintain control and direction of the workshop, even if it is behind the scenes, your customers will continue their patronage.”

  I sat up, brightening for the first time in a week. “Do you think so?”

  “Without a doubt. They have heard of your work in the trade already. No one has turned their backs because of your increased involvement, save a small handful of staunch conservatives. This will make no difference, so long as we are able to keep your father’s secret.”

  “Ethan.” I bit the corner of my nail. “You want me to run my father’s business?”

  His mouth tipped up to one side. “You want to run your father’s business. I am merely telling you that it is possible.”

  FIFTEEN

  A friend loves at all times,

  and a brother is born for adversity.

  PROVERBS 17:17

  TO MY BEWILDERMENT, Calvus began to visit us every moment he was free, especially during the first weeks. Perhaps he felt guilty for my father’s accident, thinking this should have been his own fate.

  He never told us who had attempted to harm him. I tried to ask him on several occasions and found that neither charm nor pestering worked on him. He would either evade the subject or turn mute. Either he did not know or he did not wish me to discover the name of the culprit. I had to be satisfied with my ignorance. One thing I began to grasp about Decimus Calvus during his many visits: he was unshakable. You couldn’t persuade him into a compromise. If he did not intend to reveal the name of the guilty party, no inducement or nagging on my part would change his mind.

  He could also be thoughtful. Some days he would arrive with an armful of exotic fruits, accessible only to Roman officials. At times, he would unclip his scarlet cloak and help the servants move a heavy chest or carry an oversize loom. And he never rode Perseus into our home lest the sight of him upset my mother.

  Many an evening found Calvus sitting by my father’s side silently, watching him with an unreadable expression. My anger melted in the face of his obvious care.

  “Why don’t you sell Benjamin’s business?” he burst out a few days after the accident. “You cannot hope to continue in this vein. You will kill yourself trying to run this trade. It’s no work for a woman.”

  I arched a brow. “Perhaps Roman women are not equal to it. But we Jews are made of sterner stuff.”

  He threw his hand up in a wild gesture of disgust. He had an expressive way of speaking with his whole body rather than just his tongue. “You are the most stubborn creature the gods ever put on this earth. If you were my wife, I would beat you.”

  I sorely wanted to retort that if he treated his wife that way, then no wonder he found himself alone, halfway across the world. I managed to keep my words to myself. He already thought me a shrew. “Then I thank the Lord that he saw fit to betroth me to Ethan. I should also mention that the gods did not put me on this earth. The Lord did. In fact, the same holds true for you.”

  “At least let me help you.”

  “I don’t need help.”

  “Of course you do. Your taxes are due soon. I will arrange for you to make the payment privately so that you don’t have to contend with long lines or a surly publican. How much do you owe? Can you afford the full amount?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Give me your books and I will sort out the taxes for you. I am not just a comely soldier with great battle skills, you know; I am also very gifted with accounts.”

  I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Ethan will help me,” I said, walking away. At the door I turned back. “Thank you, Calvus.”

  The day before the anniversary of Joseph’s death, I found myself alone by his grave. It still looked new, the cave freshly hewn. I sat dry-eyed and thought of the little boy we had lost, and it came to me that this fate awaited all of us. No one escaped death. It would have you in the end, slow step by slow step, bits of strength worn down, flesh worn thin, heart worn out. Beauty and strength and brilliance couldn’t save anyone from its ravages. In the end, death would swallow all of us whole and we would join Joseph in the ground and turn into bone and dust.

  What fools we are! I thought. We have no answer for death, so we turn our hope to this world. As if this life could assuage our longings and truly make us happy.

  I couldn’t deny that life had good things to offer. Good things that could dazzle you and take your breath away. But even those good things couldn’t last. In their own way, they joined Joseph’s bones and turned to dust. Dreams died, as surely and irrevocably as the flesh.

  Then I had a strange thought. God could bring meaning into all this. Bring light and hope and life into what no one could undo. He alone could breathe life into that dust and breathe meaning into the things that pass. He alone could alleviate our hunger and conquer our great enemy, death.

  But God had no interest in me. His grace had passed me by. If the Pharisee Zakkai proved right, his judgment awaited me, harsh and forbidding. Not so different from the condemnation my father felt for me. After an hour, I returned to the workshop, and the growing pile of my responsibilities drove these deeper considerations from my mind.

  Viriato became the support that held our trade together. He dealt with the customers while I ran the workshop, produced new merchandise, designed fresh colors and textures, and with Ethan’s help, slowly revolutionized our productions. Month after month, my father remained unchanged. Mother and Joanna tended to him with fastidious care. I think he remained alive by the sheer force of their love and the excellence of their ministrations.

  Perhaps God spared him to us so that I could continue to provide for my family. Slowly, new merchandise began to accumulate, and our sales increased. A small mound of savings was growing in a box marked for Joanna’s dowry. By late fall, we had produced substantial quantities of wool and linen fabric. Much had been sold, but a large assortment of fabrics still remained.

  “How much income will there be from this lot, do you think?” I asked Viriato, wondering if I could cover Joanna’s dowry in full after selling the pile growing in the corner of the workshop. She had celebrated her sixteenth birthday two weeks before, and Chuza had sent her a heavy gold necklace to mark the day. To Joanna, his token was a source of joy; to me, merely another reminder of the need for us to increase our earnings.

  Viriato shrugged a wide shoulder. “I won’t know until I go through each piece and estimate the price.”

  “Let’s do that today.” I had the men move everything into my father’s office, while Viriato and I tried to appraise the potential profit in each piece. Viriato priced the pieces with his sharp, experienced eye, while I tracked through my father’s accounts to tally the bills we would have to pay in the coming months.

  “Why don’t you hire a scribe?”

  “Scribes cost money.”

  “Not having them costs more. What if you commit an error?”

  “Don’t give me a sore belly, Viriato. My stomach is in knots as it is.”

  He flashed a wide grin through his dark beard. “Fear not. Ethan will take care of you. You keep doing what you are so gifted at. Make these fabrics, and I will sell them, and the denarii will come rolling in.” He flipped
a green piece of wool over. “Ah, this is a masterpiece. Using the saffron instead of weld definitely paid off. And that thread of silver woven through afterward makes it irresistible. I will fetch you a good price on this one.”

  I smiled. “You fetch me a good price on every piece. I don’t know what I would do without you, Viriato.”

  He folded the green wool with care and picked up a piece of red linen. “I enjoy it more than you know. Every day of my freedom is like a dream to me.”

  He had told me more about his experiences in the cinnabar mines, the years of backbreaking labor and remorseless cruelty. The sickness that surrounded him and his own health that had begun to deteriorate with alarming rapidity. I could not imagine how he had survived. His reminiscences had been so vivid and moving that they had planted a deep well of dread in my heart. I would do anything to protect those I loved from such a fate.

  “You are stronger than most men, Viriato. And I am not speaking of your prodigious muscles.”

  “Don’t be fooled, mistress. I still have nightmares about the mines. Many a night I wake up, soaking in sweat and fear, shivering like a little boy. Then I remember that I am free. I tell you, it’s almost enough to make me believe in your God.”

  I laughed. “I see Ethan has been talking to you.”

  “He took me to your Temple once. To the outer court where foreigners are allowed. I listened to some of the teachers of the Law. They are not so boring as they first appear.”

  I tried to hide my surprise. I knew of other Gentiles who gravitated toward our God. Some gave their whole heart to him. Grown men would submit to the excruciating pain of circumcision in order to join his household of faith. Many more remained God fearers, honoring God, praying to him, but stopping short of the formal process of conversion and circumcision. I wondered if Viriato had begun to lean into that path. If it were up to Ethan, he would certainly convert. Ethan’s affection for Viriato had grown into a fierce loyalty that could not bear the thought of the Lusitanian perishing in his unbelief.

  “Viriato, are you thinking of converting to our faith?”

  “What? And give up roast suckling pig forever?” He shuddered. “The God of Israel has much to offer a man’s soul. But he is hard on a man’s stomach.” He bent and examined the corner of a yellow length of fabric with more care. “This one has faded on the edge. We will have to cut the price.”

  I sighed and recorded the number he quoted in the book. When we finished with the whole pile, I added the numbers. Even after paying the accounts that would come due soon, we would have enough left over to cover Joanna’s dowry in full as well as pay for the fresh orders of wool and linen that we needed for our new line. I could have danced with relief.

  Viriato left to meet with a patron, taking a few samples with him. I went to visit my father for a little while. I had taken to speaking to him every day, although I knew he could not hear or understand me. In a strange way, I felt closer to him now than I had since Joseph had died. I was free to demonstrate my heart to him. He could not object or withdraw, not even when I touched him. I tried to ignore the ache of knowing that he could never return my affectionate caresses or hold me in a fatherly embrace again. Before his accident, I had always had a sliver of hope that his heart would melt toward me. Now I had no hope. But at least I did not dread his constant rejection, either.

  “Abba, I have such good news. We have made enough money to pay for Joanna’s dowry!” I leaned over and kissed his brow. “And we have done it a few months early. She will be able to marry her Chuza now.”

  I smoothed his hair back from his forehead. The bruises had long since faded. He had lost a great deal of weight and lay in his bed unmoving and skeletal thin. I could see his chest rising and falling and pulled the blanket up to his chin. It was one of the first ones we had made—the design with the twinkling gold stars. I smiled at the memory of our scampering efforts to avoid disaster. I had come a long way since then and learned a great deal about our trade.

  His fingers in mine were cold and stiff. I squeezed them gently. “I must return to work. I miss you, Abba. I wish you were awake to tell me what to do.”

  Joanna waylaid me in the office. She shoved a bowl of stew into my hands. “You eat that. No skipping another meal. I made it for you myself. Go on. I want to know if you like it.”

  She had taken to cooking for me personally instead of allowing the servants to do it. I could never refuse any food she offered me, knowing how hard she had worked for every morsel. She sat on the edge of the desk and watched me eat.

  “I hope to send your dowry to Master Shual within the month. If you want to include a token for Chuza with the package, start working on it. The striped linen would make a fine tunic for a man of his height.” I had never allowed Joanna to find out how much pressure her wedding had placed upon us. She should enjoy every day of her betrothal, free from worry or guilt.

  “I miss him,” she said, her expression dreamy. My answering smile was sympathetic. I knew how I felt when Ethan was gone on one of his business trips. I had come to depend on him so much that his absence felt like a hole in my inmost being. Nothing felt right with the world until he returned.

  Joanna reached out to caress my cheek and I turned to kiss her palm. “This stew is delicious, little sister. Thank you for making it for me. Now I really must concentrate on these accounts.”

  She ruffled my hair before rising.

  “Wait!” Indicating the mountain of fabrics folded in one corner, I said, “Choose a few pieces for yourself before you go. You will need new clothes as a married woman. And a present for Chuza.”

  Joanna squealed and dove into the pile like an osprey chasing after fish. She picked out three pieces. I added three more and sent her off to my mother, hoping the thought of working on her wedding clothes might cheer both. The sparkling smile she gave me as she left the room was reward enough for all the hard hours of work over the past few months.

  I was going over my calculations to make certain I had made no mistakes when Decimus Calvus walked in, uninvited.

  He frowned when he saw me poring over the accounts. “Have you not given up on those yet?”

  “Of course not. You can’t run a workshop without tending to the figures. I have good news. We are doing well this season. As soon as I have sold this lot,” I said, pointing at the pile of fabrics sitting neatly in the corner, “I can finally give attention to these books. I know they are in a mess.”

  Calvus looked ferocious. “I told you to let me help you with that.” He reached for the rolls of parchment in my hand.

  I pulled them out of his reach. “Don’t be so forward. Even Ethan knows better than to force me into complying.”

  Calvus grabbed my arm and hauled me forward until our bodies almost touched. “A Roman man would have had you properly married, with a babe in your arms, by now.”

  I moved back hastily. “If you say one word against Ethan, I won’t ever let you back into this house.”

  “Just give me the book!” he screamed.

  “No!” I took another step back.

  He had turned a dull red. The veins in his neck stood out. For a moment I thought he might hit me. I felt as if the world had tilted on its axis. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

  Calvus was breathing rapidly. The muscles in his arms bulged and I saw that he was flexing his fist. With his training and brute strength, he could kill me with one blow. And who would be able to challenge him? Who would bring a charge against a Roman centurion? He could concoct any story he pleased and get away even with murder. My throat turned parchment dry.

  “Calvus,” I said, trying to infuse calm into my voice.

  “Shut up.” I could sense the struggle in him, as if he was fighting hard to bring himself under control. Then he seemed to get ahold of whatever violent streak was driving him. His breathing quieted. To my stupefaction, he gave a short bow as if I were a great lady, then walked out.

  I stood trembling, astonished by
what had taken place. Calvus had a fierce temper; I had always suspected that. But he had gone too far. It made my blood turn cold when I remembered the way he had touched me and the way violent anger had twisted his lips into a chilling snarl. His passions ruled him beyond reason. Beyond self-control, even. I would have to find a way to curtail his visits to our home. Once, his presence had made me uncomfortable. Now, I felt downright fearful.

  Late that night, I brought my father’s books and receipts into my chamber, intending to study them further. I wanted to prove to Calvus that I had no need of his conceited help. I fell asleep before I had unrolled a single parchment.

  The sound of shouting roused me from a deep slumber. Dazed with exhaustion, I grabbed a thick veil and wrapped it around me before running below stairs to discover the source of the disturbance. Joanna followed at my heels, eyes large in her white face.

  “What is it, Elianna?”

  “I don’t know.” The shouting grew louder and more distinct until I could finally work out the words.

  “Fire! Fire!” someone was screaming.

  SIXTEEN

  We went through fire and through water;

  yet you have brought us out to a place of abundance.

  PSALM 66:12

  AN APPALLING SIGHT awaited me close to the entrance of the house. Smoke was rising out of my father’s office in wispy billows. The chamber was on fire.

  Inside that fiery room sat our whole supply of new merchandise. Joanna’s dowry was going up in smoke before my eyes. I froze, unable to think for a moment. Viriato, who had taken to staying at our house when he worked late, appeared next to me, his chest half bare, his hair sticking out in every direction, his scar thick and vivid on his pale face. He made a fearsome vision. I turned to him as if he were God’s own angel of salvation.

  “Viriato! What shall we do?”