by Maggie Anton
The moon was high overhead when I was finally so tired that I could barely keep my eyes open. This was the latest I’d ever stayed up and definitely the most I’d danced, and drunk, in one day. I staggered up the stairs and headed for my kiton. I couldn’t wait for Zahra to get these silks off me so I could go to bed.
My hand against the wall to guide me in the dark, I stumbled down the hall until I came to a doorway. Shafts of moonlight outlined two people within, and I peeked in to get a better view.
Ha-Elohim! It was a man and woman—embracing like Tachlifa and Pazi were supposed to be doing in that big curtained bed downstairs.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away. The couple shifted position, and I had to stifle a gasp. The man was my brother Keshisha, and I was afraid that the woman was my niece Guria. I was wondering what I could possibly say to Yenuka in the morning, when the couple moved again and I recognized that the woman was not Guria at all but my slave Zahra.
Without thinking, I ducked into the next room, where I could make out Imarta and Haruta asleep in their bed. Thank Heaven I’d found my kiton. My head may have been dull with drink, but I knew I had to get Zahra away from my brother.
“Zahra,” I called as if she were inside my room. “Wake up, Zahra! I can’t get these clothes off without your help.”
Sure enough, in an instant Zahra was responding, “I’m here, Mistress. Shall I light a lamp?”
“Not if you can undress me without it.” Heaven forbid Zahra should see the expression on my face, or I see hers.
She expertly removed my silks and hung them up. Tomorrow morning she’d see if they needed to be cleaned or repaired. But I couldn’t decide what to do about tonight. Part of me wanted to drag Keshisha downstairs and turn him over to Father and Yenuka’s wrath. But I was only a girl. What authority did I have to chastise him in front of our guests and spoil Tachlifa’s wedding? Keshisha hadn’t actually broken any laws, so I might be the one to get in trouble, for violating his privacy.
Too upset to lie down, I was still fuming when Zahra threw her arms around me and burst into tears.
“Thank you so much for rescuing me,” she whispered.
“I rescued you?” It hadn’t looked like she needed rescuing.
“If you hadn’t showed up just then and called for me—and yes, I could see it was you in the doorway—I don’t know how much longer I could have endured it.”
“Did my brother hurt you?” My choice was easy—I would have to tell Yenuka if Keshisha had mistreated Zahra.
“No,” she replied with a sniff. “He was quite gentle, considering how drunk he was. But it brought back so many horrible memories.” She hesitated for so long that I was surprised when she continued, “That’s why I asked you to let me go upstairs early. Because he was there.”
I had to ask who “he” was.
“My former master.” Her voice was bitter. “Once he saw me, I knew I had to escape before he found a way to get me alone and assault me.”
My anger flared even more than with Keshisha. “He wouldn’t dare do such a thing. You belong to us now, not him.”
“A slave is a slave.” She sniffed again. “Any man who wants to can just take her. And if she’s not his slave, so what? Should the owner object, the worst that happens is that he pays the owner for the slave’s time.”
I knew that was true, which only made me more upset.
“You have no idea how unusual your father is,” she continued. “I know masters who make their slave girls dance naked at banquets, and then encourage the guests to use them however they want.” The way she shuddered made me realize that this had happened to her, probably many times.
“Not rabbis,” I protested. “My father and his colleagues would never do anything so immoral.”
“Your father, no. But I don’t trust his friends.” She leaned closer and whispered, “Rav Nachman has his male slaves bed the females, making them switch partners each time so they don’t get too fond of each other. Rav Sheshet prostitutes his female slaves to the Arabs.”
Zahra’s tone was so fierce that she had to be telling the truth. I nearly choked on my outrage and disgust, yet I was helpless when it came to these men. Keshisha, however, was a different matter. “What am I going to do about my brother?”
“I don’t think he will bother me once he’s sober, and with any luck, in the morning he won’t even remember what happened.” Zahra squeezed my hand. “I’ll have to try to avoid him at banquets from now on though.”
It infuriated me that Keshisha would escape any repercussions, but I didn’t want Zahra blamed for seducing him. “Do you need something from Shayla so you don’t get pregnant?” Father didn’t like our slaves having babies; it would be years before the children could be productive and in the meantime he had to feed and clothe them.
Zahra yawned and lay down. “Let’s wait to see if I’m late.”
I yawned widely in response. I would deal with these things in the morning, if necessary. I quickly said my bedtime prayers, adding the blessing thanking Elohim for not making me a slave.
As it turned out, I didn’t have to do anything. Keshisha continued to act toward Zahra exactly as he had before that night, and Zahra became dashtana before we’d finished celebrating the seven days of Tachlifa’s wedding. After some consideration, I decided not to tell Yenuka what I’d seen. That way I’d have a weapon in reserve the next time Keshisha threatened to tell Mother or Father about my misbehavior.
Also within that week, Tazi gave birth to a healthy baby girl, which saved Mother from having to host all these people another week for a brit milah. As Grandfather predicted, several of Pazi’s relatives were pleased to receive a proven traveler’s amulet from me. All I needed to do was wait to hear that three of them had completed successful journeys, and then I’d be an expert amulet scribe.
Once our guests finally left, it was time to harvest dates, and after that to begin brewing beer from them. By the time all our beer was sealed in its jars, Achti’s pregnancy was obvious. But just when I could visit her without advance notice, because she rarely left home, I scarcely had any opportunity to do so.
All winter long I rarely got to see Achti, and when I did, it was under Pushbi’s watchful eye. I came to rely on Rami to keep me informed about my sister’s condition, though I knew Achti would never entrust him with any complaints, especially about his mother. In less than a year I would be too old to revoke our betrothal, and how Pushbi treated Achti after the baby was born could well influence my decision.
When we celebrated the new moon of Adar, Achti was starting to have mild contractions. The entire household waited eagerly each morning for Rami to arrive, hoping for news of her progress. A week went by, then another, but the baby didn’t come. We all knew that Mother preferred that Achti give birth at our villa, just as we knew that Mother’s desire would likely be thwarted. My sisters-in-law performed their tasks quickly and quietly, and if possible, someplace away from her presence. Mari and I visited my land to watch the tenant farmers plant flax seeds and to gauge how well the wheat crop was growing.
Sometime that night I was awakened by our geese honking wildly. The racket increased, and I heard men running about downstairs. When light appeared from below, I slipped on a tunic and peeked out to see what had caused the commotion.
To my shock, Rami was standing in the entry hall, breathing heavily while Timonus interrogated him. The next instant, Mother raced past me, fully dressed. Shayla was close on her heels, carrying the medicine basket, followed by Mariamme, Beloria, and two older slave women. Before I could catch my breath, Timonus grabbed a torch and they followed Rami out.
Oh no! Achti must be in labor at Pushbi’s—where Father’s piety couldn’t protect her.
TWELVE
FOURTEENTH YEAR OF KING BAHRAM II’S REIGN
• 287 CE •
The next morning, after a nearly sleepless night, I persuaded Father to let me and Zahra leave for Pushbi’s at first light. He lectured me sternl
y to stay out of the lying-in room if Achti hadn’t given birth yet and made Imarta accompany us for good measure. But he needn’t have worried; we met Rami halfway there.
Rami’s face lit up when he saw us, and he rushed to share the good news. “A baby girl, Dodi, strong and healthy, delivered sometime after midnight.” He paused and added, “Achti is in good health as well.”
I wanted to hug him, but of course I couldn’t, not on the road. “So Mother was there when the baby was born.”
His face clouded. “She was extremely grateful that I’d come to get her, but…but, I’m afraid that my mother was incensed by my impetuous behavior.”
“I suppose it would be upsetting to have all these people barge into her house in the middle of the night,” I said, displaying sympathy I did not feel.
He swallowed hard. “And now even more are coming.”
“Should I go home?” I asked, hoping he would disagree.
“You may as well go see your sister. Uh…the damage is done. Besides, I suppose women will be stopping by all day to see the new baby.”
Besides women from our household, there were several visitors who’d dropped by on their way to synagogue. Mother seemed unsurprised at my appearance and, whispering that Achti was now awake, ushered me in to see her. I was taken aback to find Pushbi holding the sleeping baby instead of my sister. The child, so tightly swaddled that only the top of her head was visible, looked much like any other newborn. As far as my experience went, the only difference between babies at this age was whether they had hair or not. This one did not.
At first I thought it would be impossible to have a private conversation with Achti. Pushbi seemed glued to her seat, and a continuous stream of women ebbed and flowed through the room. But eventually Mother stifled a yawn and announced that they needed to get back home, and slowly the other women left for synagogue or the souk. I was the only one remaining when the baby woke with a piercing cry, forcing Pushbi to hurriedly relinquish her to Achti.
The infant knew where to find nourishment, and Achti sank back on the pillow with a look of contentment I’d never seen on her face before. Lulled by the soothing sound of the baby nursing, Pushbi’s eyelids began to droop. Mine did too, but I was determined to stay awake. My hopes were fulfilled when Pushbi stood up, stretched, and told the nearest slave that she was going upstairs to rest and didn’t want to be disturbed.
I waited a few moments to make sure she wasn’t coming back, and then sat down next to the bed. Achti waited even longer before whispering, “If it weren’t for your Rami, Mother wouldn’t have been here in time. I don’t know how to thank him.”
“When did you go into labor?” I made no effort to hide my suspicion.
She locked eyes with me. “At the midday meal my pains were so strong that I didn’t want to eat anything.”
We said nothing more on the subject but we knew the truth. Pushbi could easily have sent word before sunset and had deliberately delayed in hopes that Achti would give birth without Mother in attendance.
“Was it very painful for you?”
“It’s strange. I know that it was terribly painful at times, particularly near the end, but now I can’t quite recall how bad it felt.” She gazed down at her new daughter in awe. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
“If you say so.”
Achti giggled. “I must sound like every mother who’s just given birth, thinking her baby is the sweetest child in all the world.”
“Do you want me to make her an amulet? I doubt you’ll be able to hide it like the one for your pregnancy though.”
“I’ll talk to Ukva about it, although I expect he’ll want her to have one. After all, he’s not studying Torah all the time like Father does.”
“If you want me to inscribe it without Pushbi knowing, just order one from Kimchit,” I said. “I write them at home for her now.”
There was a knock on the door and a slave entered, carrying a bowl of what smelled like chicken soup. Achti shifted the drowsy baby to her other breast and drank it down in one long gulp. I suddenly realized that I was hungry too, but I couldn’t leave my sister and niece alone for fear of demons. Newborns and their mothers were especially vulnerable to liliths, who resented new human life so much that they waited like vultures for an opportunity to end it. I was pressing my hands against my stomach to keep it from growling when the door opened again, and this time the slave had bowls of soup for Achti and for me.
I visited Achti nearly every day the first week. Then, confident that all was well, Mother decided that it would be best if I went to see her on the two days that Father and his students attended court, and then returned home with him. It was on Second Day, a month later, when I heard the rain clattering on Pushbi’s roof, a sound that both cheered and annoyed me.
Despite living between the mighty Tigris and Euphrates Rivers, with their many canals, Babylonians all feared drought. So much so that Jews prayed for rain three times a day during the rainy season between Sukkot in the fall and Pesach in the spring. And though the Persians objected to fasting as an affront to their benevolent god, our sages didn’t hesitate to declare a communal fast if a drought lasted too long. In fact, there was an entire chapter of the Mishna, Taanit, which dealt with the laws concerning fasts.
So while everyone in Sura was happy and relieved when rain came, they preferred it at night when they wouldn’t have to be outside in it. Ukva, who usually didn’t come back from his fields until it was time to eat the midday meal, returned at least an hour early. Father and the students arrived soon after that, soggy as wet dogs, and were in no discernible hurry to leave.
Pushbi, understandably dismayed at the possibility of having to suddenly feed all these extra mouths, didn’t dare insult Father. “Will you be dining with us?” she asked, managing to sound more gracious than she probably felt.
Father, recognizing that providing the main meal for this many growing youths could be a hardship for a household that consisted of three adults and a few slaves, shook his head. “We’ll just stay until there’s a break in the storm.”
There was an awkward silence until Achti came out carrying the baby. “Father, I thought I heard your voice,” she said. “Would you like to hold Nanai while you’re here?”
Father lifted the child with expert hands and examined her closely. Then he addressed Ukva: “You’re a lucky man. I’ve always taught that a firstborn daughter is a good omen for sons who follow.” He smiled at Achti and me before adding, “I myself prefer daughters to sons.”
Every face turned to Father in surprise. How could a man who fathered six sons before a girl came along say such a thing? Surely everyone wanted their first child to be male, and many probably preferred no daughters at all.
My brother Nachman, however, was the only one willing to question him. “Why is that, Father?”
Instead of answering, Father smiled and asked the students to guess his reasons.
“My older sister helped raise me and my brother after our mother died,” Abba said. “So it was well for my father that he had a girl to begin with.”
Achti and I cringed at this, but Father nodded and waited for more responses.
Rami couldn’t let Abba have the last word. “If a daughter is oldest, then the Evil Eye will not have power over the sons, since people normally envy those who have a boy first.”
“And because a firstborn son inherits twice as much as his brothers,” Ukva added, “having a daughter first prevents the younger sons from envying the eldest and thus provoking the Evil Eye against him.”
“You are both correct,” Father declared.
Pushbi beamed at his praise of Rami and Ukva, and I recalled that they had an older sister married to a rabbi in Pumbedita, the northernmost city on the Euphrates still considered part of Bavel. I had only met her once, at Achti and Ukva’s wedding, as she rarely left home.
I was wondering if Yenuka had received the house and lands in Kafri for his inheritance, and whether my other brothers envi
ed him for this, when I realized that it was no longer raining. Taking advantage of this lull in the storm, Father gave his newest granddaughter back to Achti and urged those accompanying him to don their cloaks. Finding mine was simple; it was the only one still dry. But when we reached the villa, it was as wet as all the others.
When the skies cleared a week later, Mari suggested taking this opportunity to see how my land had fared during the recent rainstorms. I didn’t know what to expect, and thus was relieved to see all the new flax shoots sprouting in my field. The section where flax had grown last year was now covered with golden wheat. When Mari and I returned, I was surprised to find Rami waiting outside. He did not seem happy to see me.
“Meet me…meet me in the garden as soon as you’re done eating,” he whispered. He did not call me Dodi.
My first thought was that something had happened to Achti or the baby, but then I realized that he would not need to talk privately about such a thing. I ate as fast as I could, but he was faster.
I hurried to where he was pacing. “What’s the matter?”
“How long until you’re an adult?”
“Less than a year. I was born in the second year of the second king Bahram.” I waited while he continued pacing back and forth. What was so important to tell me, yet so difficult?
Rami turned to face me and sighed deeply. “If you want…to revoke our betrothal…after hearing what I’m going to say…well, I’ll understand.”
Immediately my stomach tightened into a knot.
“My mother has disinherited me, Dodi.” His chin quivered as he fought back tears. “That is, she has gifted all her property to Ukva.”
