Apprentice

by Maggie Anton

  I gulped in dismay before blurting out, “Why?” How could a mother disinherit her own son? What had Rami done to so offend her?

  “She wouldn’t say why.” He shook his head in disbelief. “All I can think of is my going to get your mother when Achti was having the baby.”

  He looked so miserable that I was frantic for something to make him feel better. So I spoke without thinking. “I don’t care if you have any property or not. I have plenty of my own land.” I added proudly, “From my grandfather.”

  Rami’s eyes widened and he gazed at me so fondly that I was sure he wanted to kiss me. I suddenly realized that I actually wanted to marry him, that though I now had a good reason to revoke our betrothal, I had no intention of doing so. It wasn’t just Father who had chosen Rami; I was choosing him myself, in spite of his horrid mother.

  Then I recognized how I’d misspoken. While it was true that I had property, Grandfather had ensured that my husband couldn’t use it. Now it was my turn to squirm while I considered how I’d share what Rami would have to deem bad news. I had to say something; I couldn’t leave him with such a misleading impression.

  “Rami,” I said gently. “About my land…”

  “What about it, Dodi?”

  “Grandfather made a vow that my husband couldn’t derive any benefit from it. Achti’s land is restricted the same way.”

  He stood paralyzed in thought for what seemed like forever. “When Mother learns about this,” he said slowly, “she’s going to be even angrier than she is at me.”

  “But it doesn’t matter,” I said. “Our children will inherit my property exactly the same way as if it were yours.”

  “Unless you too decide to favor one over the others with gifts before you die.”

  I almost said that I would never be as mean as Pushbi but stopped just in time. “You could do the same thing.”

  Surprisingly, he grinned, exposing those perfect white teeth. “Look at us, Dodi, quarreling over money and we’re not even wed.” Then his expression grew serious. “The laws governing a married woman’s property are complicated. I’m going to ask your father to explain them.”

  “I want to be there when he does.”

  Before I went to help Rahel with another kasa d’charasha, I stood for a while in the garden, admiring how many more tulips and buttercups were blooming this year. Rami’s smile continued to warm my heart, and I could still hear him calling me Dodi. I didn’t want to spoil the feeling by thinking about his mother.

  Father addressed the subject the very next day. “It has come to my attention that we need to review the laws of marital property, particularly in regard to what the wife brings to the marriage,” he said. “Most of these are addressed in Tractate Ketubot, and I would like to start with a Mishna at the beginning of the sixth chapter.”

  In theory, all his students should be familiar with this, but Father quoted it anyway. “Everything found by a wife, and anything she earns, these belong to her husband,” he began. “In addition, anything she inherits, her husband has usufruct during her lifetime.”

  “What’s usufruct?” Keshisha asked.

  Mari rolled his eyes at our youngest brother’s ignorance. “Usufruct is the legal right to use and profit from another’s property, as long as the property is not damaged.”

  Before Father could continue, Nachman interrupted. “But I learned a Baraita in which Rabbi Akiva says a wife’s extra earnings are hers, while the Sages hold that they belong to her husband.”

  Several students asked what constitutes extra earnings, and Father held up his hand. “The Mishna specifies what income a wife must earn for her husband, in return for him maintaining her, ransoming her, and burying her,” he explained. “Rabbi Akiva and the Sages are disputing what happens to any amount above that minimum.”

  “What is the law?” Abba asked. “Does she keep it or not?”

  “Rabbi Akiva and the Sages each maintain their own opinion,” Father replied. “Thus the couple’s marriage contract may stipulate that the wife keeps her surplus income.”

  I sat up straight to pay better attention. My amulets and silk ribbons would surely bring me extra income.

  Rami now had his chance to ask a question. “What happens to property she acquired before marriage?”

  “This is her melog property,” Father replied. “After she marries, her husband controls it and receives usufruct of it. But he does not inherit it, as he does any property she receives after they’re married. Her children do.”

  “Can he relinquish these rights?” Rami asked.

  Before Father could reply, Abba interjected, “Why would he want to?” His sarcastic tone of voice made clear his belief that this was a stupid thing for a husband to do.

  Father turned to Rami and said, “We have another Mishna that explains exactly how a man may declare to his wife, in writing, that he will have neither claim nor right to her property, nor to its produce.”

  Then, to my surprise, he turned to Grandfather. “I believe my wife’s father can answer Abba’s question.”

  Grandfather chuckled. “Many years ago, my father-in-law, the great scholar Rav, decided on a whim to visit my home. He happened to arrive in the middle of my daughter’s wedding feast, to which he had not been invited. He was so outraged at whom she’d married that he refused to eat anything.” When Grandfather saw the students looking at him in surprise, he continued, “Rav had not been invited to his granddaughter’s wedding because I knew very well that he disapproved of her husband.”

  Father interrupted with a small cough. “The bridegroom Rav found objectionable was, of course, myself.” We all stared at him in amazement, so he explained, “I was a callow youth of sixteen, an impoverished student, who had the audacity to marry not only a scholar’s daughter but one whose mother was sister to the exilarch’s wife.”

  “Hisda convinced me that he had no interest in my daughter’s wealth by agreeing to write just such a stipulation as our Mishna requires,” Grandfather said. “He also understood that I would make a vow forbidding him any benefit from property I gave her, as is detailed in a Mishna from Tractate Nedarim.”

  Father shrugged. “Then I went to study with Rav, who eventually reconciled with my wife’s family.”

  “I admit that everything worked out admirably,” Grandfather said proudly. “However, in the event that Hisda became a drunkard or a swindler, or merely an incompetent businessman, my daughter’s property was protected. Perhaps more important, since a husband inherits from his wife but not she from him, if my daughter were to die before they had any sons, my patrimony would not devolve to Hisda’s children by another wife.”

  “Lest you think me an infatuated fool,” Father addressed the room, but his gaze was focused on Abba, “what difference did it make to me who had usufruct of my wife’s property? The flax from her fields was woven into clothes my household wore, her wheat baked into bread they ate. As for our sons’ inheritance, does it matter if they receive it from her or from me?”

  I was so proud of Father that I wanted to hug him.

  “Another Mishna in Ketubot gives a third way in which a father can protect his daughter’s property,” Zeira said. “He may place it with a trustworthy custodian, who manages it for her benefit.”

  The students were sitting in silence, contemplating all they’d heard, when my father asked, “Any questions?”

  Rami was ready. “Regarding her melog property, let’s say a man rented a cow from a woman and subsequently married her,” he postulated. “Is the husband considered a borrower, who is liable for any mishap that befalls the cow, or is he still considered a renter, and thus not liable?”

  The other students were trying to figure this out when Abba snorted. “Because of the quickness of his mind, Rami has made an error. A borrower is not liable when the owner is in service to him, as a wife is to her husband. So the result is the same as for a renter.”

  Rami blushed at the criticism and cleared his throat. “I mean
t to ask, what is the law when a single woman rents a cow from others, and then she marries? Is her husband a borrower or a renter?”

  “Neither,” Abba snapped, his tone so caustic that the other students winced. “Rather, he is like a purchaser and is exempt from all liability, even theft and loss.”

  Father put up his hand to stop the argument, and then guided the discussion back to more practical applications.

  After that day, the truce between Rami and Abba never returned. It took months, until summer’s end, before everyone’s questions on the topic were thoroughly examined. Still, between my hours in the classroom and those I spent reviewing the material with Grandfather, I felt confident that I had learned everything the Rabbis taught about a husband’s rights, or lack thereof, over his wife’s property.

  Equally important, I learned that Abba bar Joseph thought a husband should exercise control over all his wife’s property, no matter how or when acquired. And should she attempt to hide any property from him, Abba was quite willing to trick her into revealing it.

  Our beer was finished brewing when I confirmed to Father that I still wanted to marry Rami bar Chama. After all, Achti and I should be able to outwit Pushbi together. There was no ceremony to mark my reaching adulthood, but I celebrated inside when Rami told me that Pushbi had reinstated him as her heir and disinherited his brother. Apparently Ukva had brought down Pushbi’s wrath by refusing to hire a wet nurse for Achti, which would have freed her to become pregnant again sooner.

  When I finally got a chance to deliver the new amulet I’d inscribed for little Nanai at the New Year, I learned that Achti was grateful Ukva had defied Pushbi over the wet nurse. As for being disinherited, Ukva shrugged it off, saying that this was neither the first nor the last time his mother would change her bequests. He and Rami would work things out when the time came, an attitude that heartened me greatly.

  With the New Year rush for new amulets over, I was able to concentrate on inscribing bowls for Rahel. Over the previous year, she had me write longer and more complicated spells on larger vessels. I was again thankful for my good memory. Knowing three proven amulet inscriptions might make me an expert in the Rabbis’ eyes, but there were no such criteria for expertise on kasa d’charasha. According to Grandfather, the Mishna never mentions using pottery for such a purpose.

  As far as Rahel was concerned, it was important for me to know as many spells as possible. She told me this as we sat in the garden one morning, several large bowls stacked nearby. “I don’t want to imply that smaller bowls are less effective, but I believe that the more spells and imprecations we cast against the demons, the better.”

  I started to feel confused. Even after studying with Rahel for two years, I could only write exactly what she told me. Unlike amulets, which used identical wording except for the client’s name, each bowl seemed to have its own unique spell.

  “How do you decide which incantation to use?”

  “You still have some years until your wedding,” Rahel replied. “If you are diligent, you should be capable of composing your own by then.”

  “Compose my own?” My voice rose with dismay. “You mean there are no standard texts?”

  “There are definitely standards, but there is room for originality,” she said. “Think of all the incantations you’ve inscribed. How are they similar?”

  “They generally end with ‘amen’ and ‘selah.’”

  Rahel nodded. “More than that, each spell contains distinct parts, which are always recited in the same order.” She picked up the bowl I’d inscribed the day before. “Let’s use this one as an example.”

  The text read: “Health and guarding and sealing from Heaven for Ahai bar Mevrat and Kiomta bat Horan, their house, possessions, sons, daughters, and fetus. By the ban of Bugdana, king of shaydim and satans, ruler of liliths, whether male or female, I adjure you that you be struck in the membrane of your heart by the spear of Tikas the Mighty, who has control over shaydim and liliths. In the name of Metatron, Prince of the Countenance, I suspend from the house and prohibit from the semen and seed, the sons and daughters, of Ahai bar Mevrat and Kiomta bat Horan, all you evil ruchim, plagues, satans, liliths, and shaydim. Depart, go out, flee, and do not appear to them in daytime visions or in nighttime dreams. Sealed with the signet ring of Solomon ben David, King of Israel. Amen. Amen. Amen. Selah.”

  “The clients are mentioned right at the beginning,” I said slowly. “And the ban of Bugdana comes next.” Not every kasa d’charasha called upon Bugdana, but on those that did, his ban followed closely after the clients were named.

  “Correct,” she said. “The spell always starts with the names of the client and what kind of protection we seek for them. Next we list the demons to be adjured and the holy Names by whose authority this will be done.”

  “How do you choose the holy Names?”

  Rahel stopped to think. “The ban of King Bugdana is sealed with Solomon’s ring, but we don’t name both Bugdana and Ashmedai in the same bowl.”

  “If the king of demons has two names, why not use both of them?” Hadn’t Grandfather told me how important it was to use the correct demons’ names?

  “Dada!” Rahel’s voice was stern. “Just as the Torah gives us laws that Israel obeys without question, so too are kasa d’charasha governed by rules that must be followed absolutely.”

  She waited until I nodded in submission. “Dealings with demons and liliths are extremely dangerous. Violating their rules can have terrible consequences. For example, you wouldn’t want to accidently conjure the king of demons and be incinerated into a pile of ashes.”

  I shuddered at the thought. “What about the angels?” Cowed, I kept my voice low.

  “Don’t worry, you can call upon whichever angels you please.” She held up the bowl for me to see. “I chose Metatron alone and not a greater number of angels because of the bowl’s small size. With a large vessel, you should have many angels, because hearing all their names will reassure your clients.”

  “The more angels I entreat, the more likely the demons will flee,” I suggested hopefully. And if I somehow summoned an angel, even one as important as Metatron, the only angel permitted to see Elohim’s Countenance, it shouldn’t be as disastrous as conjuring a demon.

  “Perhaps.” Rahel’s expression grew serious again. “Next the demons and liliths are addressed directly, followed by a detailed warning of how they will be punished if they don’t flee the clients’ home and leave them in peace,” she continued. “It is important to list as many types of demons as possible, to ensure that the one troubling the client is named specifically.”

  “And if the demon isn’t named properly?”

  Rahel shook her head. “Then the spell is useless and the client is left vulnerable to attack.”

  I worked in silence on three more bowls for Ahai bar Mevrat and Kiomta bat Horan. I envisioned the mighty Metatron, the very angel who saved Isaac from being sacrificed, hurling balls of fire against all the demons listed, compelling them to flee. When I came to the third, it was manifest that I would run out of room on the small bowl before I’d written the entire incantation. Frustrated at not noticing that this vessel was a little smaller than the others, I made ready to break it before starting on a new one.

  “Wait.” Rahel stopped me. “You don’t need to destroy the bowl. Just continue writing on the outside.”

  “That’s allowed?” I’d never seen her do it.

  “Oh yes. That’s why we start writing at the center of the inner surface,” she said.

  Rahel was evidently in a teaching mood, so I asked her a question that had puzzled me for some time. “Many of your and Kimchit’s clients are Jewish, but not all of them. Yet your incantations address Adonai Savaot or King Solomon, appeal to Jewish angels, and quote words of Torah. How can a Persian expect help from such explicitly Jewish sources?”

  That made her stop to think. “I’m no expert on amulets, but the authority in my vessels comes from me, a Jew, so
I call upon powers from my religion.” She shrugged. “For the most part, customers don’t care if the incantation invokes Adonai or Ahura Mazda, as long as it works. That’s why some Jews use bowls from the Magi and some Persians come to me.”

  For a moment I was surprised that the Magi also produced kasa d’charasha, but then I realized that as much as Persians hated demons, they would have their own weapons to fight them.

  I had just finished writing when a woman screamed in the courtyard. When no further screams followed, Rahel rolled her eyes in annoyance and went back to her work, but I jumped up and ran through the gate. A knot of slaves huddled anxiously around something near the grain jars, so I raced in that direction and squirmed between them to see what was so exciting.

  I stopped abruptly when I reached the periphery. Cowering in the center, surrounded by scattered ground wheat, a young kitchen slave had dropped her mortar and pestle. Her gaze was riveted on a black snake slowly slithering in her direction.

  I started to jump back when somebody grabbed my arm and whispered, “Don’t move. Any sudden noise and it will attack.”

  We stood there paralyzed and helpless until a gray blur suddenly dashed past. The next moment, the snake was thrashing around wildly, its head firmly grasped in the jaws of a large striped cat. The slave girl collapsed in another slave’s arms, while the cat took its time killing and finally eating its prey. Not that the cat needed rewarding, but Cook soon arrived with a fish head for it.

  I rejoined Rahel, whose reaction to my tale was to shudder and say, “I hate snakes, especially black snakes. They’re even more poisonous than scorpions.”

  I remembered something else I wanted to know. Earlier, at synagogue, Newandukh’s wedding date had been announced. Yet nobody in my family was making any plans to attend. “Why aren’t we going to Newandukh’s wedding? She came to Tachlifa’s, and I’d like to celebrate with her.”

  Rahel sighed. “Your father prefers that we don’t socialize with the am-ha’aretz.”

  Newandukh was already at synagogue when I finally saw her a month later. She grimaced as I squeezed in next to her, forcing her to slide over a little. I whispered an apology for disturbing her. It was only when services were over that I realized something was wrong. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she had such difficulty standing that I had to help her. By the time she reached her full height, she was blinking back tears from the painful effort.