Apprentice

by Maggie Anton

  “You’re hurt. What happened?”

  Newandukh continued to lean on my arm. “I got married.”

  Shocked by the bitterness in her voice, I could only say, “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course not. You’re still a virgin.”

  I couldn’t believe I’d heard her right. “Your husband did this to you?” I waited until she nodded, and then, despite my dread at what she’d say, I asked, “In bed?”

  She nodded again. “Imagine getting kicked between your legs by a donkey every night, several times a night, with no time to heal.” She groaned as she shifted her weight. “Sometimes he doesn’t even wait for nighttime.”

  I gasped in horror. “But surely he doesn’t bother you when you’re niddah?”

  “I haven’t become dashtana yet.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “So who knows how long this torture will continue!”

  Suddenly Newandukh’s face went rigid with fear. I turned and saw a man standing next to her mother, beckoning to her. Walking had to be difficult for her, so I put my arm around Newandukh’s waist and supported her weight as she headed toward them. The man chuckled at her mincing gait, and I was overwhelmed with the desire to strike him.

  I was desperate to escape, but I couldn’t let the poor girl stagger on unassisted. So I kept my expression calm no matter how much Newandukh winced with each new step. Once she reached him, I couldn’t get away from her husband’s smug face fast enough.

  “That’s why we don’t socialize with am-ha’aretz,” Rahel hissed as we put on our cloaks. “So our daughters won’t marry such beasts.”

  Grandfather hadn’t mentioned that difference between our men and theirs. But couldn’t some rabbinic husbands act like Newandukh’s? Look how badly Rav Nachman and Rav Sheshet treated their female slaves. True, Achti and Pazi hadn’t evidenced any such injuries after their weddings. At least none I was aware of.

  THIRTEEN

  SIXTEENTH YEAR OF KING BAHRAM II’S REIGN

  • 289 CE •

  For the next two years, I was grateful that nearly every waking hour was filled with studies, either incantations with Rahel or Mishna with Father and Grandfather, for they helped keep thoughts of Newandukh’s misfortune at bay. It wasn’t only how she’d suffered her husband’s abuse for months after her wedding but that a year later she died after several agonizing days of trying, unsuccessfully, to give birth to his child.

  As my own wedding day grew inexorably closer, I tried to shut my mind against the possibility that Newandukh and I might share the same sad fate, as I too had not yet become dashtana. Only too aware of how fleeting my remaining days of studying were, I forced myself to learn as much as I could. But at night I was haunted by her description of marital relations, “kicked between your legs by a donkey,” and could only pray for Elohim to spare me such a fate.

  I was so focused on my worries that it wasn’t until Father began teaching from Tractate Taanit that I realized it hadn’t rained since we’d celebrated Sukkot, over a month ago.

  As always, he quoted the Mishna first. “If the Seventeenth of Cheshvan has come and no rain has fallen, pious individuals begin a series of three fasts. But they may eat and drink after nightfall and are permitted to work.”

  It was now the Twenty-seventh of Cheshvan and nobody was fasting, so the students looked at Father for an explanation.

  “Here in Bavel, we follow the Baraita of Rabbi Yose, which teaches that the pious do not begin fasting until the month of Kislev arrives,” he said. “We also learn in a Mishna that if no rain has fallen by two weeks after that, the court imposes three fasts on the community, who may eat and drink after nightfall.”

  This would happen if it didn’t rain by the end of Hanukah, not that I could remember it ever not raining by then.

  “Who exactly are the pious ones who fast before the community does?” Rami asked.

  “Rav Huna says they are the rabbis,” Father replied.

  Abba bar Joseph waved his hand. Both he and Rami had grown in recent years, but Rami was still a head taller. Last year Abba had betrothed a wealthy merchant’s daughter named Choran, and Father’s students had gone to Machoza for the banquet. Rami told me he’d never seen a more unattractive female, and Keshisha snickered that the amount of Choran’s ketuba was so high that Abba would never be able to repay it if he wanted to divorce her. After what Abba had said about a husband controlling his wife’s property, it didn’t surprise me at all that he’d married for money. That was undoubtedly why he’d wanted to marry me.

  “We learn in a Baraita that their three fasts are on Second Day, Fifth Day, and the following Second Day,” Abba said.

  Father gazed around the room, a stern expression on his face. “Another Baraita teaches: A man should not say ‘I am only a student and not worthy of being thought a pious individual.’ Rather, all Torah students are considered pious ones.”

  “If he may eat and drink after nightfall, does that mean he can spend the entire night eating and drinking?” Zeira asked skeptically. “Even until dawn?”

  I was pleased that Rami knew the answer. “There’s a Baraita that poses this exact question and answers that Rebbi says ‘until the first light of dawn,’ while Rabbi Eliezer says ‘until the rooster crows.’”

  Father’s expression grew more solemn as he continued with the Mishna. “If these days pass and their prayers are not answered, the court imposes three more fasts on the community, who may not eat or drink even at night. Work is forbidden, as is washing, anointing, wearing shoes, and marital relations.”

  I frowned. By that time, my newly sown wheat would dry and shrivel unless it was watered by hand from the canals.

  But Father wasn’t done with the Mishna. His voice deepened to a threatening rumble. “If these days pass with no answer, the court imposes more fasts on the community, more stringent than the first. They may not engage in building and planting, nor hold betrothals and weddings.”

  No weddings! I tried to calculate how many weeks must pass without rain before my wedding would be affected. But before I could figure it out, I realized that my pious father would not hold my nuptials after marital relations became forbidden. Not that I wanted a drought, but it would be a relief if my wedding were postponed on account of one.

  On Second Day the following week, Father, his students, and my brothers were up before dawn for their last opportunity to eat before the fast. The east wind was blowing strongly and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. One week later, they fasted again under cloudy skies, but not a drop of rain fell.

  After celebrating Hanukah under clear skies, Rav Huna called for the communal fast. Despite the many disagreements between rabbinic Jews and am-ha’aretz, everyone recognized that the rabbis’ prayers could bring rain if enough people fasted along with them. Word spread quickly through Sura’s synagogues, for only when the rabbis beseeched Heaven for mercy and the people had atoned for their sins would the drought end.

  Father’s students not only fasted, they began debating what sins Elohim was punishing us for. Father opened the discussion by saying that rain was withheld when people neglected to give priests their proper tithes.

  “Because they speak lashon hara, complaints and gossip about one another,” said Rami.

  “When they are brazen and visit harlots,” offered Rav Huna’s son Rabbah.

  Abaye said, “Because of theft and cheating in business.”

  “Rav Yosef teaches that rain is withheld when Torah study is neglected,” Abba said confidently.

  I suspected that plenty of men gossiped, cheated, and neglected Torah study, yet Father hadn’t needed to pray for rain in years. Had people suddenly become more sinful, or had the accumulated years of sinning finally forced Elohim to take drastic measures?

  For two weeks we were teased with gray clouds that passed overhead and disappeared over the horizon with not a drop of rain to show for them. The water level in the Euphrates dropped so low that its smaller canals were drying up. Rav Huna called
for everyone to observe the stricter fast and to repent their sins. When Father told me sadly that my wedding must be postponed, I briefly wondered if Elohim had answered my prayers, only to promptly feel ashamed for harboring such selfish thoughts. But I did not feel guilty for wondering why, if Father’s prayers for rain were always answered in Kafri, they weren’t equally effective in Sura.

  A month later we began seeing results of the continued drought. Nearly all the canals were dry, and fighting broke out when people tried to block them in an attempt to irrigate their fields upriver. Only one of our wells still gave water, but it was better than the brackish liquid most people had to drink. Father and his students wore sackcloth and put ashes on their heads on the days when we all fasted, and Rav Huna ordered the shofar blown at synagogues. Yet even if rain came, it would be too late for this year’s wheat crop.

  With draught came pestilence. The demon Nega spread plagues through the population, his deadly minions attacking by night. Young children, his favorite target, were hit the hardest. One day they’d seem well; then a few days later they’d be burning with fever, and by week’s end it was too late. Every auspicious hour found me writing amulets against Nega and his shaydim for Kimchit’s clients, while Rahel’s bowls were in such demand that we worked by lamplight during the long winter nights. She taught me a short spell that was particularly useful during plagues, as it took little time to inscribe and thus fit on small vessels that everyone could afford.

  I was amazed to learn that just as the Mishna was strict about the procedure a Jewish husband must follow when divorcing his wife, there was also a specific formula inscribed on a kasa d’charasha in order to divorce a demon. Who would have thought that shaydim might use a get, a divorce document, to divorce their wives the same way men did?

  “This is the get for shaydim, ruchim, plagues, satans, and liliths in order to banish them from the house of Hormiz bar Sama and the entire household. By the ban of Bugdana, king of shaydim and satans, ruler of liliths, I adjure you. Just as demons write deeds of divorce and give them to their wives and do not return to them again, take your get, accept your ketuba, and go, flee, leave and depart from the house of Hormiz bar Sama. Sealed with the signet ring of Solomon upon which is the great Ineffable Name. Amen. Amen. Amen. Selah.”

  Every day except Shabbat I wrote this spell on vessel after vessel. Only the clients’ names changed as I imagined myself, Rahel, and countless other enchantresses as warriors forcing our enemies to flee before us. I vacillated between exhilaration at my part in battling the demons and despair when Nega claimed another victim. Our household remained untouched by illness, so Rami began spending nights at the villa, going home only for Shabbat.

  When he returned on First Day, Rami brought news that two of their slaves and Achti’s little girl had been stricken. Mother questioned him about Nanai’s symptoms as Shayla chose which medicines to take with them, and thus I learned that Nega’s minions attacked with fever, vomiting, and diarrhea. When Rami acknowledged that Achti had recently weaned the child, Mother and Shayla exchanged ominous looks.

  We had just finished saying the blessings after our midday meal when a crestfallen Shayla walked in and immediately headed for the table where her husband, Nachman, sat with Father. Moments later Father was still sitting down, his head in his hands, as Nachman announced that the women should prepare themselves for the funeral of Ukva and Achti’s daughter that afternoon.

  I was dumbstruck at how quickly it had happened, and I suddenly realized that I’d never been to a funeral. Zahra offered consoling words as she helped me dress, but all I could think of was my guilt. Hadn’t I asked Elohim to postpone my wedding? Hadn’t I neglected to write a new amulet for Nanai at the New Year? I should be dressed in sackcloth and ashes, not the plain linen I’d be wearing for Achti’s week of mourning.

  When we came back downstairs, my sisters-in-law were dressed with similar lack of adornment. My brothers gathered around Father and Rami, murmuring in somber voices. None of them would be coming to the cemetery; men of priestly descent were forbidden to defile themselves for the dead, except for their seven closest relatives. Grandfather and Timonus were the only men who went with us.

  The sky was overcast as we trudged toward Ukva’s house. I shivered and pulled my cloak tighter. We had nearly reached our destination when I heard an eerie keening sound. I held tight to Grandfather’s hand as Shayla picked up the pace. We turned the corner to see the funeral procession just ahead, and my sisters-in-law hurried to join the women weeping and wailing alongside Pushbi, Mother, and Achti.

  I held back, transfixed by the linen-shrouded burden in Ukva’s arms. This was my doing, and so I was unworthy to lament among the official mourners. Tears streamed down my face, but I remained silent even as we entered the cemetery and passed by the many other burials proceeding around us. As much as I wanted to hide my face against Grandfather’s chest, I forced myself to watch as Ukva knelt down and gently placed Nanai’s small body in its shallow grave. Then, as we took turns filling in the hole, I heard men’s heavy sobs in the distance.

  I turned to look, and there, just on the other side of the low stone wall, stood Father and Rami. Rami’s chin lay on his chest as he wept, but Father, silhouetted against the gray sky, held his arms up in the air. His hands were open, beseeching the Heavens. I had never seen Father cry, and before I knew it, I was clambering over the stones. I threw my arms around him and together, accompanied by the souls of those recently buried too young, we bewailed our loss toward the uncaring clouds.

  When it came time for the evening meal, I didn’t feel well. My head ached and my belly hurt too. Shayla made me drink a dose of some evil-smelling medicine and sent me to bed. I woke in the morning, moaning with stomach cramps.

  Zahra was there in an instant, her hand on my forehead. “At least you have no fever,” she said with relief.

  I groaned and clutched my belly as another cramp seized me.

  “Do you need to use the chamber pot?” she asked anxiously.

  “I don’t feel like I have diarrhea,” I replied. “But I would like to relieve myself.”

  I emptied my bladder and bowels into the pot, then wiped myself with a round stone. I peered down to see if I needed to wipe again and gasped. “The pestilence is attacking me.” I stood up and thrust the stone at Zahra. “Look at the blood.”

  But Zahra was staring at my bed linens and grinning. “You’re not ill,” she declared a moment before embracing me. “You’re dashtana. You’ve become a woman.”

  I followed her gaze, and my bloodstained bedding corroborated her words. Blood was also trickling down my legs. I winced as another cramp seized me. “Is it always going to hurt like this?”

  Zahra handed me a linen rag to stanch the flow. “Only for the first few months. You shouldn’t feel pain once you’re married.” She smiled and added, “I have more good news. Your sister is expecting another child.”

  Overwhelmed with emotions, I fell silent as Zahra prepared my sinar, the special apron stuffed with worn linen that would catch my menstrual flow and prevent it from staining my clothes. Rami told me that Pushbi had reinstated Ukva as her heir, which I surmised was because she’d learned that Achti was pregnant again. Suddenly I recognized a sound I hadn’t heard in far too many months. I rushed to the window and opened the shutters.

  Father’s prayers had been heard. It was raining.

  It was still raining when I bled again the following month, and I chafed at my confinement. My first flow had been exciting. Mother beamed and explained that from now on I should carefully note the phase of the moon when my bleeding started. My sisters-in-laws smiled and told me about when they’d first become dashtana. I wore my sinar proudly and was careful to change the rags regularly. I made a point of not washing Rami’s hands and feet, and of avoiding Father’s lectures. I stayed indoors to weave silk ribbons with Pazi and Tazi, and listened attentively when they discussed husbands and babies.

  The month after that
I was bored. There was no Mishna study with Father and his students while I bled, nor could I inscribe amulets or kasa d’charasha. Not that I needed to. The pestilence was waning, and Rahel avoided installations when it rained.

  I had resigned myself to a few more days of weaving ribbons, when I heard a commotion at the front door. Along with everyone else upstairs, I raced to the landing. A litter stood empty in the courtyard, and coming up the stairs, supported by Mother and Shayla, was my sister, Achti. Her eyes were closed and her face was as pale as milk.

  They laid her gently on my bed, and Shayla said fiercely, “Do not leave her alone for an instant.”

  I closed my eyes to concentrate on reciting psalms, especially the antidemonic Ninety-first. “Adonai, my refuge and fortress…. He will save you…you need not fear the terror by night, the arrow that flies by day, the plague that stalks the darkness, the scourge that ravages at noon…no harm shall befall you, no pestilence touch your house, for He will order His angels to guard you.”

  Pazi and Tazi brought their small looms, and said amen when I completed each verse. Just as I did when inscribing amulets, I envisioned encircling angels shielding my sister from the demons named in the psalm: Fahad, terror; Hez, arrow; Dever, plague; Ketev, scourge; and Nega, pestilence.

  We didn’t find out what was wrong with Achti until Beloria, joining us with her basket-making supplies, whispered, “She miscarried yesterday—another girl.”

  Poor Achti, first Nanai and now this. What could she possibly have done to provoke the Evil Eye so harshly?

  All that day women in my family crept in, stayed for a while, and crept out again. The pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof mingled with our murmured prayers. Achti’s maidservant tenderly changed the bloody linens and fed her bowls of nourishing meat broth.