“What kind of slave were you?” Elisheba asked. We all knew what she meant.
“Officially, I was the personal slave to the master’s daughter.” I was relieved to hear this. “But in reality, I was her closest confidante.”
Elisheba gave a sigh of relief. “Were you the same age?”
“She was six years older.”
“But you were friends anyway?”
“Much more than that. I would have given my life for her.”
“That close?”
“Without her, I would have remained a slave forever, or worse. I was born into a poor family with no land, in a small tent at the edge of Bethel. My mother died while giving birth to me. She was only fourteen. Five years later, my father was killed accidentally by a scythe while he was in the fields collecting abandoned grain for us. I was alone and impoverished, with no relation or redeemer. While the town elders were discussing what should be done with me, a venerable gentleman brought them documents proving that my father had borrowed money from him and had died before he could repay his debt. The elders quickly gave me over to the debt collector, to be sold in exchange for the balance owed. I was considered fine goods. Many would have been glad to purchase a young girl and make her the shared property of all the men in the family. Who knows what my life would have looked like if I hadn’t been bought by a decent, kind man, who never even considered using the body of a helpless child and intended me only for housework. The ear-piercing ceremony of a new slave was supposed to have taken place within a few days, but God heard my pleas and sent me a savior. The master’s daughter, who looked like an angel, was eleven when I was brought into their home. She was old enough to know what was in store for the little girl who spent all night sobbing in the slave wing, but also young enough to still have a pure heart, not yet hardened by the years. I think that the fact that she had also lost her mother at birth made her feel a special affinity toward me, and she asked her father for permission to take me under her wing and treat me as her little sister. Her father, of course, refused to even consider this strange idea, but after a few long arguments, they reached a compromise that put off the piercing ceremony for the time being while I became the daughter’s personal slave. Needless to say, the training she gave me was unusual. Instead of training me to subsume my own personality and demur to others, a requirement for any slave and especially a female one, she taught me to believe in freedom and be prepared to fight for it. Each night before I fell asleep she told me about our ancestors who had been freed from slavery in Egypt, and about the God of Israel who created us as free people and forbade us from enslaving ourselves to mere mortals.”
“And then, when you grew up, she set you free,” Elisheba completed the story gleefully.
“That was the plan, but things don’t always go according to plan. Sometimes outside forces take us off course and lead us to places we never imagined. For nine years, I lived happily with my beloved mistress, until the terrible rebellion came and shook up our lives.”
“Do you mean the Rebellion of the Temples?” This time I was the one to interrupt. The timing of what she was describing seemed off, and I was trying to make sense of things.
“No, Shelomoam. The Rebellion of the Temples was fifteen years ago, while the one I’m talking about took place two years earlier, at the end of the previous king’s reign. The people of Benjamin decided to take advantage of his old age and weakness and tried to reclaim the throne. They had some successes at first: the soldiers retreated, and the leader of the rebellion, Sheba son of Bikri, declared victory. There was a new spirit in our land. The adults had been schooled by bitter past experience and worried that the uprising would fail, just as the ones before had failed, but young people flocked to join the rebel army. I was so worried when I heard that my mistress was planning on joining, too.”
“I’ve never heard of this rebellion.”
“It was part of the secret that Father and I have been keeping all these years.”
I couldn’t understand why a rebellion would have become a family secret, and I understood even less what Zeruah had to do with it. Then I had an idea, and as usual, I could think of nothing else.
“What was her name?” I asked, cutting Mother off midsentence.
“Whose name?”
Instead of chiding her for trying to evade the question, I smiled with satisfaction. Apparently, she realized that I had found the key to the mystery.
“Your mistress’s name.”
Her silence told me that I was on the right track.
“What was the name of the angel-faced girl who joined the rebels?” I repeated the question, demanding details.
I thought that I would have to badger her for more information in order to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. I never imagined that one short answer, spoken in a hoarse whisper, almost a grunt, would suffice.
“Zeruiah.”
* * *
Elisheba rolled the name around in her mouth, feeling its texture, tasting it, connecting its pretty, clear sounds with that other, sadder name. “Zeruiah. Zeru-i-aaah. Zeru-aaah.” Then she grew silent and did not interrupt Mother again until the story had ended. I didn’t interrupt her, either. I tried hard to recall the frightened face I had seen for just a brief moment. I had to employ every bit of my powers of imagination to reconcile that face with the pretty girl who had saved Mother from a life of slavery and joined the rebel army.
* * *
“Zeruiah ran away from home and bore weapons at the age when most young women are nursing babies. She told me where the rebels’ cave was located and warned me never to go there unless something out of the ordinary happened. I didn’t understand what she meant, but I swore to obey her. Her grief-stricken father became withdrawn, his cheeks sunken, his eyes red, his beard wild like that of a mourner. We tiptoed around him, anxious and aching, trying to gather bits of information about the fate of our mistress. One moment we were jumping for joy over a reliable rumor about another town conquered by the rebels, and the next moment we were weeping with despair when a different rumor, from a source no less reputable, described the victory marches of the Judean soldiers in cities reconquered by the king. We swung between hope and despair, alternately crying and laughing. Then, still in those dark days, when my heart was practically bursting with my longing for her, love bloomed between me and Benaiah. I had seen him every day since I was brought to the house at the age of five. Sometimes I could feel his eyes following me around, but I never gave him much thought. My love for Zeruiah filled my entire heart, and only when we were forced to be apart could it make room for a new love. I needed someone to talk to, a shoulder to lean on, and when I tossed and turned at night, I knew he would soon come to ease my pain. We planned for a life together in the house of our beloved master, never guessing what the future would soon bring. Who could have imagined that the most solid house in Bethel would crumble into ruins.
“The rebellion was suppressed with cruelty the likes of which our land had never seen before. Most rebels weren’t as lucky as their leader, Sheba son of Bikri, who was killed before he could be delivered into the hands of his enemies. When he saw that the rebellion was failing, he fled north to Beth Maakah. The people of the tribe of Asher did not believe that the king’s army would follow him so far north and agreed to give him shelter. By the time they realized their mistake, it was already too late. The king’s soldiers closed in on their city, set on utter destruction. One clever woman, who knew that the king had a special fondness for the speeches of clever women, decided to find out if the same magic also worked on his soldiers. She called over the wall to the commander of the army and gave him a long, detailed speech about the mark of disgrace that would plague anyone who destroyed a major city of Israel. The commander told her that he was willing to forego the destruction of the city, on the condition that she surrendered Sheba son of Bikri to him. The woman took pity on the leader of the rebellion and decided to kill him before turning him over. His severed head was
tossed over the wall, and the commander blew his trumpet and lifted the siege.
“The soldiers who burst into our home killed our master at the sword and threatened to torture us with some of the king’s favorite instruments—saws, iron picks, iron axes, and brick kilns—if we didn’t disclose Zeruiah’s hiding place. That was when I first realized that she was no ordinary rebel, but rather the leader of the rebel forces of Ephraim. I don’t know who drew the sketch of her face, which was passed around by the soldiers, but it was incredibly accurate.
“That night, I escaped the house with Benaiah, and we ran to the rebels’ cave as fast as we could. I warned Zeruiah that the king’s soldiers were about to find them and had the means to identify her. She covered her body and face with a gray cloak and told us to follow her. We felt our way slowly through the dark until we reached a well with a wide opening. We decided to lower ourselves down the well, but before we could make our move, we came face to face with three armed soldiers. One of them grabbed Zeruiah while the other two approached Benaiah and me. I felt cold air on the back of my neck and suddenly heard myself shouting, ‘She’s a leper!’
“The soldier let go and recoiled. ‘You’re lying,’ he said, trying to sound confident. ‘Let’s see who’s hiding under this cloak.’
“‘Go ahead,’ I said. ‘Take it off.’
“He looked at his friends hesitantly.
“‘Go on,’ I urged him. ‘I can’t wait to see what happens to someone who touches a leper. I’ve heard that the hair falls out first, then the nails, then the eyes and ears, until finally all that’s left is a black hole in the middle of the face. Take off her cloak! What are you waiting for?’
“Zeruiah was taken to Zeredah that very night. The soldiers ordered us into their chariot and dropped us off outside the lepers’ cave. ‘Don’t you dare take her to crowded places again,’ they warned us. ‘Remember the law: lepers leave the cave at their own peril.’”
* * *
“Seventeen years have gone by since then. Father and I started a family, bought some land, and had a boy and a girl, while Zeruiah remains buried alive in the lepers’ cave, never seeing the light of day. She mustn’t ever show her well-known face. She will probably stay in that cave until the day she dies.
“Now do you see why Father is so afraid of soldiers? He wakes up drenched in sweat every night. Some memories cannot be forgotten with time.
“Why do we live in seclusion? Because the large thicket gives him a sense of security. He doesn’t want to see soldiers.
“Why don’t we have slaves? By now, you can probably understand. A person who once was a slave could never enslave others.
“How could we afford this huge house, the trees, and the vineyards? Zeruiah gave them to us. Did you really believe that we got all this from hard work? The king’s taxes don’t leave enough money to make a decent living, not to mention educate children.
“Where did Zeruiah get the money? Her father’s possessions were confiscated by the king. That’s the law when it comes to dead traitors. But she knew where he had buried a large treasure of gold that he had inherited from his ancestors, and she decided to give most of it to us. We are the only ray of light in the darkness of her life. That’s why she loves you so much, Shelomoam. That’s why she wants to know you, Elisheba. Go visit her, my dear children. She will forgive you. I’m certain of it.”
Six
Elisheba pounced on Mother, hugging her and thanking her for her brave confession, telling her enthusiastically that not only were we not ashamed of her lowly beginnings, but also we admired her even more than we had before. Only a noble and benevolent woman would have remained loyal for so long to her old mistress, who had grown up a princess and was then sentenced to a miserable life in hiding.
I wanted to explain to my little sister that Mother’s brave confession was nothing but a sophisticated camouflage designed to reveal a little so as to conceal even more, that the essence of her secret remained locked up, but I got a terrible headache and felt like I was about to be sick. The pain was so awful that I didn’t even realize I was being brought back home. When I woke up, I felt a dull pulsing in my temples, and Mother was by my side. She tried to smile amiably, but the obvious strain that this gesture required of her revealed her true emotions.
“It’s night already. You’ve slept almost an entire day. I’m sorry I told you everything all at once. I should have broken it up into small bits and given you time to process the information in between. It isn’t easy for a son to hear about his mother’s difficult childhood, not to mention her lowly past as a slave. Forgive me, Shelomoam. Are you feeling better?”
I propped my weakened body up on my elbows and looked up at her. I meant to speak softly and was surprised by how bitter I sounded.
“Your story is so very moving,” I said with scorn. “No wonder it made Elisheba melt. I would have melted, too, if I had believed you.”
Mother looked as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “You think I lied?”
“I think you held back the important part.”
Her face paled with hurt, or perhaps anger. “How can you not trust me after I put the fate of the woman who is dearer to me than anyone into your hands and into your sister’s? I admit that I wouldn’t have done so if you hadn’t forced me. I didn’t want to place such a heavy burden on your young shoulders. Father and I wanted you to live in the paradise of a happy and innocent childhood. That’s why we built a protective wall around you, so as to keep out the dangerous and wicked world. But now that you’re in on the secret, you are our partners. Partners, Shelomoam, not rivals. It’s time you stopped fighting us.”
The pulsing in my temples grew stronger, threatening to bring back last night’s monstrous headache. I wanted to look away and sink back into a restorative sleep, but I knew that what I didn’t say now might never be said at all, and so I mustered what was left of my strength and declared that the battle between us would go on for as long as they held back the essence of the secret.
“I’ve told you everything!” Mother muttered in despair.
“Everything?” I shouted. “Then why don’t you tell me what all this has to do with me?”
“Every member of our household is involved in this, Shelomoam. Father’s and my past threatens not only Zeruiah, but all of us, even you and your sister. Father is protecting you from the soldiers because the danger has yet to pass. The king continues to persecute everyone who rebelled against his father.”
“Then why is Father’s anxiety mostly about me?” I interrupted her.
“Because you are his eldest and only son.”
“I’m sixteen and a half already.” I was really begging now. “These excuses aren’t good enough anymore. It’s time you told me the truth.”
“I have nothing more to tell you, Shelomoam.”
My elbows could no longer support my limp body. My head landed back on the bed with a thump.
* * *
The months that followed were unbearable, and there wasn’t a soul with whom I could share my agony. I no longer came to visit my sister’s bed at night to tell her about my days. I explained it away, telling myself that an immature little girl was unworthy of being my conversation partner, but deep down I knew there was something else standing between us, something dangerous and dark that I mustn’t even think about, let alone speak of. I stayed as far away from her as I could, even skipping dinner with the family.
At first Elisheba tried to understand what had happened between us and asked me, clearly feeling insulted, why I was avoiding her. She said she missed talking to me, that she couldn’t fall asleep without our conversations. Her desperation made me want to fall upon her neck with kisses, but thinking about how sweet it would feel to be close to her paralyzed me with fear. I answered, with a nasty coldness, that friends my own age interested me much more than she did. My cruelty shocked her, and she stayed away. Only the pained look in her eyes, which followed me around silently, attested to her misery.
Sometimes I felt as though I would be torn apart by my feelings of compassion and longing, but I held strong. My parents, too, stopped bothering me, and they let me come and go as I pleased. For the first few weeks following her confession, Mother begged me to visit Zeruiah, who had been asking about me and missed me and felt no anger toward me. But when I persisted in refusing to go, she dropped the subject and took only Elisheba along on her monthly visits.
My house became nothing but an inn to me. I spent most hours of the day riding on the handsome horse that Father had bought me for my seventeenth birthday, hoping that the gift, which epitomized the freedom now so lavishly granted to me, would compensate for the deficit of freedom in my past. I felt like a former slave, newly freed from bondage, and I swore to make the most of it. For the first time in my life, I visited all the towns in Ephraim, traveling all the way to Shechem. But instead of enjoying the outdoors that I had yearned to experience for so long, I sank deeper into myself. I tried not to let the burden of the past ruin my life in the present, but my imagination kept taking me to the moment I was desperately hoping for: the moment when Mother would step into my room at night, kneel at my bedside, ask for my forgiveness, and make a second confession, that, as opposed to the half-measure of the first one, would fully reveal everything that had been kept from me all these years and would allow me to turn over a new leaf with my parents.
But as the days went by, I came to realize that the moment would never arrive. And rather than daydreaming about a reconciliation with my parents, I’d be better off enjoying what was left of my youth with the boys at the Zeredah market. But, ironically, just when I finally had the freedom to build true friendships with them, I could feel the unwelcome sense that I was a stranger, which had plagued me all my life, welling up inside me more powerfully than it ever had before. While I was no longer anxious in a crowd, I couldn’t feel like a part of one either. Despite my inability to conceal my sense that I wasn’t one of them, I was surprised to discover that people seemed attracted to me as though they were spellbound. I didn’t understand what they saw in me. True, I’m tall and handsome—I could feel my good looks in the stares of the girls walking by me in the market and on the streets—as well as wealthy and educated, but can’t people see that I’m a stranger in their midst? I know how to read and write, I speak fluent Egyptian, and I’m capable of complex calculations, but all this gives me no satisfaction as long as I see the freewheeling behavior of other boys my age and know with excruciating certainty that I will never be like them.
The Secret Book of Kings: A Novel Page 5
