Land of Silence

by Tessa Afshar

  To protect him, I must wound him myself. I must cheat us out of the happiness of marriage. Our future together sacrificed for the sake of a future for him. I turned cold at the thought of life without him. Never to set eyes on his beloved face again, never to kiss those lips that spoke such kindness to me, never to hold the hands that had been my strength and guide through life’s hardest moments. That was my choice, and I had no other.

  It occurred to me that the Lord had finally sprung his punishment upon me. With one stroke, he had ripped away my happiness. I had known Ethan deserved a better wife than me. It seemed God agreed. I thought of the sweet Sarai, waiting in the shadows, waiting for the chance to love Ethan. She would surely make a more worthy wife and mother than I ever could. There would be no trouble attached to her like iron chains, no financial worries, no smeared reputation, no shade of a dead brother always accusing. The day would come when Ethan would thank God for escaping a life shackled to me.

  I rolled up the empty parchment again and put away my ink without writing a single word. Dry-eyed, I sat in the darkness far into the night and bid love good-bye.

  The certificate of divorce arrived a week later. A young scribe brought it to our house and would not surrender it to any hand but mine. Ethan, it seemed, had decided to set me aside quietly, without a scandal. For all that he thought me an adulteress, he had no heart to bare my shame to the world. My life could go on, unchanged. I would never see him again, except perhaps in passing. A glimpse of him at the Temple or in the street. He was gone from me forever. And he had chosen to do it without causing me harm.

  It made my love for him grow even deeper, until there was nothing left but the unfulfilled hunger of it. A hundred times a day I told myself that I would go to him and vindicate myself in his eyes. I would beg him to leave Calvus alone and forget that dreadful day. And a hundred times I quashed those longings. In truth, I had become convinced that God wanted better for Ethan, and it was by his will that we had been separated.

  My mother and Joanna stared at me with incomprehension when I told them of the divorce. They had no knowledge of what Decimus Calvus had done. I did not wish to cause them more anxiety than they already had to contend with, given my father’s condition.

  “I do not wish to marry. Ever,” I said to them. “It is unfair to keep Ethan hanging any longer. I wanted him to be free to marry another, have children, go on with his life.”

  “But you love him!” Joanna cried, tears running down her smooth cheeks.

  “I do love him,” I said. “But I still don’t wish to marry him.” My lies were piling up higher by the hour.

  “I do not understand you, Elianna,” my mother said coldly. “Marriage is not only about you. You should have thought of your family before you made such a foolish decision.”

  She did not speak to me for three days after that. I could not blame her. Unmarried women did not simply ignore the wishes of their parents and make or break legal marriage covenants. But what else could I have said to her? The truth? She would have run to Ethan within the hour with the story. Should I have told her Ethan’s version of the events? That I had kissed Calvus by design? I shook my head. Better she think me rebellious and headstrong than a shameless adulteress. It would kill her to believe I had defiled myself with a Roman.

  Life had to go on. Joanna’s dowry still had to be raised, our taxes paid, our expenses met. I drowned myself in the work as much as I was able. What had once satisfied, delighted, and distracted now became a wooden, grating chore I had to accomplish for the sake of my family. I had no joy in my labors.

  Without Ethan and Viriato I did not know how we would survive. I could not meet with customers. Joel helped where he could. But his skills were too limited.

  One morning, two weeks after my divorce, Viriato arrived at the house.

  I stopped in my tracks. “What are you doing here, Viriato?”

  “I’ve come to lend a hand, mistress.”

  “Don’t be foolish. Ethan will never forgive you. Leave before he finds out.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck with a broad palm. “He is the one who sent me. He knows you need my help.”

  I gulped through the lump in my throat. “That much is true. How long can you stay?”

  “As long as you need.”

  “Then stay and welcome.” I had no pride left. I had moved beyond dignity, beyond self-respect. It didn’t seem to matter that before God I was innocent of the sin of adultery. Shame still covered me like a leper’s wounds. I could not scrape it off.

  I took a long, shuddering breath and steeled myself to look into Viriato’s eyes. I expected to find accusation. Disgust. Distaste. I found none. Instead, he gave me a sad smile and extended his hand. “Come, mistress. Let’s not waste more time.”

  Without Viriato, we would no doubt have faced bankruptcy. Once again, he took on the full burden of interacting with the customers. Within a month, we had recouped our losses. Within six, I had made enough money to pay for Joanna’s dowry and satisfy Caesar’s tax collectors.

  I had saved my family from absolute disaster. In the process, I had paid a steep price. I had grown weary to the marrow of my bones. Body and soul, weary. I was not yet twenty, but I felt like a brittle branch about to snap.

  Joanna’s wedding loomed ahead in two short weeks. As happy as I was for her, the thought of losing Joanna’s companionship robbed me of sleep. I had lost Ethan, and with him, his parents. Jerusha, who had been like a second mother to me, now fled from me like one face to face with a violent criminal. Once, I ran into her in the mikveh. At the first sight of me, she gathered her things and rushed out, her hair streaming wet behind her. By piercing her son’s heart, I had pierced hers. My mere presence opened that gaping wound. I felt like my very being had turned to poison, causing pain and sorrow wherever I went.

  There was no time for friends. I had not seen Claudia in weeks. It seemed easier to avoid the Jewish companions of my youth. They would bubble over with questions about my divorce. Questions I could not face or answer.

  Joanna alone remained ever my faithful supporter. If my mother made a sharp retort, she defended me. If Ethan’s parents ignored me in public, she called their actions biased and cruel. Some nights, she would brush my hair until her arms ached and sing in my ear to soothe me. We had become more than sisters. We were companions of the heart. But she would leave me soon. Viriato came close to being my friend. Still, he was a man, and I could not speak to him of the deeper things of my soul. It would not be proper.

  I once asked him why he did not revile me for what I had done. “For Ethan’s sake, you should despise me.”

  He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Because I saw you after Ethan left. Saw you sick and overcome with more sorrow than I have ever seen on a face so young. I do not understand why you betrayed him, but you have surely paid more than enough already. Besides, that pig of a Roman has never shown his face around here again, and that’s something. It is obvious that he never made you happy. Did you send him packing?”

  I sighed. “I never invited him in the first place.”

  Viriato straightened to his impressive height. “Did he force himself on you, after all? Were you lying? If ever I find he—”

  “Peace, Viriato,” I said hastily. “I did not court him. But once he came, I could not resist him.”

  Better to grow my pile of lies than risk the lives of those most precious to me.

  NINETEEN

  You who have made me see many troubles and calamities

  will revive me again; from the depths of the earth

  you will bring me up again. You will increase my greatness

  and comfort me again.

  PSALM 71:20-21

  MY MOTHER, JOANNA, AND I traveled in a hired caravan to Tiberias, Herod’s brand new capital built on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. My father had to be left home in the care of trusted servants, his condition too precarious for such a journey. Viriato came with us, both to chaperone
and to protect us on our long journey. Besides, the food at Joanna’s wedding promised to be a delight to his discerning appetite.

  The Jews refused to call the new capital by its Roman title, referring to it instead by its old name, Rakkath, a village mentioned by Joshua himself in his book. Herod Antipas had rebuilt that ruined village and transformed it into a Greek fantasy, with spas constructed around mineral hot springs, a stadium, and a splendid palace to suit his luxurious tastes. It was said that no good Jew would be willing to live there, for an ancient cemetery had been discovered under its foundations, and the Pharisees declared the whole land unclean because of it.

  Since Master Shual served as steward in Herod’s palace, he could not be so choosy as the Pharisees would have wished. His family was from Capernaum, north of Tiberias. But the wedding was set to take place in Tiberias, where Chuza and his parents had moved. Joanna would live with them in the addition Chuza had built on his parents’ home near the palace.

  Chuza had arranged for us to stay in a rented house during our time there. Joanna’s trunks, containing her new clothes and rich lengths of cloth I had managed to set aside for her, had been sent ahead to her new home.

  On the morning of the wedding, Chuza’s mother and younger sister accompanied us to the bath for the ritual washing ceremony. Joanna glowed with joy as we washed her hair and adorned her with jewels. The scent of orange blossoms clung to her smooth skin as we massaged oil into her supple limbs. Her long hair was braided, and we looped gold and silver beads into the silky tresses.

  Back in our temporary lodgings, we dressed her in her wedding clothes, starting with a blue tunic heavy with gold embroidery, sewn painstakingly by Joanna’s own hands. It had taken her months to complete it. Over the tunic, we placed a large purple mantle attached to her shoulders with gold rosette pins, draping it elegantly around her. We painted her eyes with kohl and added a touch of color to her lips and cheeks. She was crowned with a gold diadem as befit a queen. Then with slow care we placed a large, opaque veil over her head and face, as tradition required.

  We were ready in the early evening when Chuza showed up to collect her, his enthusiastic friends in tow. They made a great deal of noise on their way to the house, blowing trumpets and singing their jubilant songs, so we weren’t exactly surprised when they reached the door.

  Chuza wore a striped linen tunic cinched at the waist with a belt set with precious stones that twinkled in the lamplight. His cloak matched Joanna’s mantle. I had sent him the fabric as a wedding present. On his head, he wore a golden crown, as though he were a monarch, for brides and bridegrooms were to be queens and kings on their wedding day. He took Joanna by the hand, and though he could not see her through that dark veil, his face lit up at the touch of her hand.

  Chuza’s friends had bedecked the road with burning lamps all the way to Master Shual’s house, where the wedding ceremony would take place. Chuza led Joanna with a protective hand, mindful that she could not see well beneath her veil. The rest of us followed, cheering and laughing, teasing the couple when they moved too slowly, and when they sped up to please us, we teased them for being too eager to arrive at their nuptial chamber.

  The wedding feast lasted seven days, with rich wine and meals that satisfied even Viriato’s fastidious tastes. We sang love songs and listened to the music of the harp and the lute. My favorite memory from that first evening is of the moment Chuza lifted Joanna’s veil. His eyes turned round, filling up with moisture when he first saw her sweet face.

  One of Chuza’s friends sang David’s psalm of love, with comical motions that had us doubled over with laughter. He walked over to Chuza, looking soulfully into his eyes, and sang, “You are the most handsome of the sons of men,” and then fell at his feet and bowed as though to the potentate of the world, pretending to kiss Chuza’s leather sandals.

  For the next stanza he turned to Joanna and sang, “The king will desire your beauty. Since he is your lord, bow to him.” Then he stopped the song and said, “Go on, little bride. Bow.”

  When Joanna complied with a dainty bow of her head, he cried, “That won’t do! Try going lower. Chuza will need a lot of bowing if he is to be happy.”

  After the singing concluded, the noisy crowd hushed for the long-awaited moment when the groom declared his intention to claim the bride. Chuza took off his cloak and spread it over my sister to symbolize his lifelong commitment to her. Then, quoting the prophet Ezekiel, he pledged his covenant to Joanna:

  “‘When I passed by you and saw you, behold, you were at the age for love, and I spread the corner of my garment over you and covered your nakedness; I made my vow to you and entered into a covenant with you . . . and you became mine.’”

  Joanna could not look away from Chuza. Their love seemed a tangible thing, holy, sure, loyal. Happiness for my sister welled up within me. At the same time, one corner of my soul shriveled with agony for my own barren life. Once I had dreamt of Ethan speaking those words over me. I would never have that joy now. Bitterness rose to choke me. Bitterness against Decimus Calvus, whose selfish games had destroyed my life. If I could have cursed him to death, I would.

  We saw Joanna happily settled in her new home before returning to Jerusalem. I missed her already. Who would hold me in the night to assuage my loneliness and comfort my fears now? Who would make me special meals and remind me of the good things of life? God had blessed her with the desire of her heart. But her absence left another void in my inmost being.

  So many losses. So many absences. And I had nothing with which I could fill the emptiness they left behind.

  The day after we returned, my father’s friend Gamaliel came to visit him. His popularity as a religious teacher and leader had continued to grow in the past years, keeping him too busy for casual calls. He had not seen my father since the accident. I showed him to my father’s chamber.

  “I’m afraid he is not well today, Master Gamaliel. He will probably sleep through your visit,” I said. I would drop a kidney if he did wake up. Even Gamaliel, for all his holiness, did not carry such a bag of tricks as that. Miracles were the dominion of the old prophets. Israel had not seen a real marvel from God in hundreds of years.

  Gamaliel knelt by my father’s bed. His brow puckered. “I had not realized he was as bad as this. They say he continues to work.”

  “The workshop has been busy,” I said.

  He gave me a sharp glance from under bushy eyebrows. “I see. I will pray for him. And for you, Mistress Elianna. It seems you have your hands full.”

  “Thank you, master.”

  I left him to his prayers. A shiver of discomfort ran down my spine when I remembered the shrewd look he had given me. Not much escaped those eyes, I was sure. He must have noticed that the man lying on that mattress had slipped far beyond the waking world. One word from him, and our business would collapse. He possessed that much influence.

  At least Joanna was safe and settled. I still needed to take care of my parents, however. If we lost the trade, we would also lose the house. Without income, Roman taxes could not be paid. I shook my head. Would our financial pressures never cease? Would money always have a stranglehold on me?

  Gamaliel found me in my father’s old office. I sprang to my feet when he entered. “Master Gamaliel,” I stammered. “I . . . was just looking for some papers for my father to look over later.” The lie came out of my mouth in stilted syllables.

  “No doubt. No doubt. Be at your ease, child. Your father is blessed to have a daughter he can rely on in his hour of trouble.”

  My clenched muscles relaxed infinitesimally at that pronouncement. I continued to stand like a tree trunk, not knowing how to comport myself. Women did not often receive the honor of a visitation from a member of the Sanhedrin.

  “Your betrothal to Ethan Ben Ezer was annulled, I am told.”

  I felt the color leave my cheeks. “Yes, my lord.”

  “He never said why.”

  “I am sure he had good reason.” I would
have drunk a chalice full of ink if it meant I could avoid this conversation.

  With no small apprehension I saw him settle into a chair. Crossing his legs, he looked at me expectantly. “Why do you not explain it to me?”

  “Perhaps it would be best if you asked him.”

  He shrugged. “I choose to ask you.”

  “He deserved a better wife.” I stared at the fringe of the carpet.

  “In what way?”

  “Master Gamaliel?”

  “Yes, child?”

  “I cannot speak of this.”

  “What if I were to tell you that I would not reveal your secret, no matter what it may be? There would be no punishment, no stoning, no condemnation. Merely a confession between you and me.”

  “I don’t understand. Aren’t teachers of the Law supposed to uphold the righteousness of Israel? Aren’t they responsible for the moral well-being of its people?”

  He smiled. Under the thickness of his mustache and beard, that tiny contraction of the lips was almost lost. “Why don’t you let me worry about my responsibilities? I have given you my word. What do you have to lose?”

  My knees began to shake. The thought of sharing my secret just once with a living soul, sharing it with impunity, without fear of endangering Ethan’s life, proved too great a temptation. My words tumbling out in an awkward jumble, I told Gamaliel the truth about what had taken place on that dreadful afternoon and the tragic decision I had been forced to make.

  Gamaliel covered his face with the palm of his hand. “If you had told me earlier, I would have tried to intercede on your behalf. I would have reasoned with Ethan and made sure that he would not retaliate against the Roman. In the place of your father, I would have done my best to help you.” He shook his head. “It is too late. I can do nothing now.”