by Maggie Anton
Yochani practically choked on her wine. I was on the verge of canceling our appointment when I thought of something I needed to know first. “So if you have such disdain for rabbis, how did you and Rabbi Avahu become friendly?”
“I didn’t say that I disdained rabbis, only that I was raised that way,” he corrected me. “As for Rabbi Avahu, he once saved my life in the bathhouse, although if you ask him, he’ll say that I saved his.”
Yochani’s eyes opened wide. “Was that when the bathhouse floor in Caesarea collapsed? We heard that he saved over a hundred men’s lives.”
“What happened?” I asked anxiously.
“The floors of the hot rooms are built on stone pillars directly above the hypocaust,” he explained. “Except for the pillars, the area under the floor is hollow, allowing the steam to pass through and keep the rooms above hot.”
“So if the floor collapses, Heaven forbid,” Yochani said. “Bathers will fall either into the steam or, worse, into the fire itself.”
“But why would it collapse?” I demanded.
“Floors in an old bathhouse will eventually rot away from exposure to the hot steam,” Salaman replied. “A new bathhouse may not be built properly, so as a rule, I do not frequent any that are less than six months old.”
“Wait, you didn’t tell us what happened in Caesarea,” I said. “When you and Rabbi Avahu saved each other.”
“We both happened to be walking in the hot room at the exact moment the floor started to give way,” he began. “As luck would have it, we were both standing atop pillars, which were close enough together that we were able to reach out and support each other as the floor fell into the pit below. Then I took hold of a man near me, and Avahu of a man near him, and those two men of two more, until by the time the floor was gone, nearly everyone in the hot room was safe on a pillar, held fast by two men on either side.” He paused and shook his head at the memory. “After that we just waited until someone shut down the hypocaust and it was cool enough to climb down.”
I gulped. “Ha-Elohim. I didn’t realize bathhouses could be so treacherous.”
“Mazikim like to inhabit them, so they can make people slip on wet stones or get burned, or cause all sorts of injuries,” Yochani said. “Probably they were to blame for that floor’s collapse.”
I looked back and forth between Yochani and Salaman in dismay. How could they discuss such dangerous demons so calmly?
“That’s why I always wear an amulet when I go to the baths,” Salaman said.
“An amulet for protection in the bathhouse?” I asked eagerly. “What does it say?”
He looked at me in surprise. “How should I know? I’ve never opened it up and examined it.”
“Where did you get it? Who made it for you?”
“Hisdadukh inscribes amulets herself,” Yochani interjected. “So it’s a matter of professional interest.”
“I got it in Caesarea. Maybe that’s what saved me.”
“You’re still using the same one? But it has surely lost its power after protecting you from demons strong enough to collapse a bathhouse floor.” I could almost see the impish mazikim lurking in the steam under the mosaic floor, cackling wildly as they schemed how to injure the bathers above. “You must procure a new one immediately.”
“Very well. I’ll get it the next time I’m there.”
“But there must be scribes in Sepphoris. I’ve seen women and children wearing amulets here.” Inscribing amulets tended to be a solitary profession in Bavel, and, to avert accusations of witchcraft, charasheta seldom met together. When no local scribe sought me out, I assumed the situation was similar in the West and made no effort to find any colleagues here.
Salaman and Yochani exchanged worried looks, but it was Yochani who spoke. “The woman who inscribes amulets here is not known for her good deeds,” she said carefully.
“And she charges more than in Caesarea,” Salaman added.
“Let me know when you’re going.” I could hardly contain my excitement. “I’d also like to get one.”
Then I’d have four amulet inscriptions in my collection, and maybe more if the scribe in Caesarea sold others. From what I’d just heard, a spell for protection in the bathhouse would be a good thing to know here in the West.
Salaman’s mosaic workshop was fascinating. There were boxes and boxes of tesserae, sorted by color, size, and texture. Large wooden templates were stacked against the walls, and the apprentice was busy laying tesserae on a long piece of wood supported by two tables. The room smelled like it needed a good dusting.
“These will frame the main mural,” he explained. “The pattern, called twisted rope, is such a common border that I have templates in several sizes.”
“I’ve seen it many times,” I said.
He led me to an anteroom, where he had shelves of what looked like large codices. “Let me show you my stock patterns.”
Soon I was thumbing though pages of mosaic designs. Twisted rope was there, along with other borders I recognized from buildings in the Galilee. But there were more intricate designs too, all sorts of plants and flowers, many I’d never seen before. There were numerous animals, especially birds and fish, which I now knew were for bathhouses. There were horses pulling chariots, hunting scenes with wild animals, plus several men’s and women’s faces.
“Did you create these designs or are they your father’s?”
“Some are my father’s and some my grandfather’s,” he replied. “My own designs are in my head, not in any codex. I create each one individually for a unique client.”
“But you must keep the templates,” I suggested. “So you can utilize them again if necessary.”
He didn’t reply, but his eyes twinkled at me.
When I got to a page depicting a fierce-looking dog, Salaman chuckled. “These are popular for near the main door, to guard a house. The words below are Latin for ‘beware of dog,’ not that any thief is likely to know how to read Latin.”
“You know how to read Latin?” I asked in surprise.
He shook his head. “Just Aramaic and some Greek.”
“Did you learn to read Torah in Aramaic or Greek?” I was disappointed, but not surprised, that he didn’t know Hebrew.
“In Aramaic, like the other boys in my class.”
I sighed with relief. For some reason it was important to me that Salaman knew the holy scriptures.
He pulled out another codex. “You’ll like these. They come from Torah and are popular with synagogues.”
There was the sacrifice of Isaac, King David playing his harp, Sarah being visited by angels, and Noah’s ark. There were also ritual symbols such as the lulav and etrog, the shofar, and different versions of the seven-branched menorah.
“These are wonderful.” I made no effort to hide my admiration. “I never imagined there could be so many different kinds of mosaics, or that they could be so beautiful.”
“None will be as beautiful as the one I make of you.”
I could feel my face flaming as Salaman grinned and began scribbling on a sheet of papyrus. “I see that I will have to compliment you regularly if I want to capture that exact color pink on your cheeks.”
That only made me blush more and his smile grow wider. He and Rami both had such wonderful smiles. Abba, however, never smiled, except when he’d bested Rami in class. And nobody would call that smile, more of a smirk, wonderful.
Since I went only when it was inauspicious for inscribing amulets, I usually visited Salaman’s workshop once a week. Even when he wasn’t working on my portrait, it was fascinating to watch him create other mosaics. Judging by the floors he was doing for this new villa, the place was enormous, with different designs in each of the large rooms and hallways.
I waited impatiently for Salaman to announce his next trip to Caesarea. I was still trying to think of an excuse to visit Susanna, so I could procure some new amulets there, when Yochani’s son Simeon arrived in Sepphoris. With him was my brother Tachl
ifa, looking somewhat plumper than when I’d seen him last but otherwise much the same.
“Dada, you look wonderful.” He hugged me tightly. “And little Yehudit. Look how she’s grown.”
Tachlifa approached her gently, but she still ran to me to pick her up. “It’s all right, Yehudit. Uncle Tachlifa won’t hurt you,” I encouraged her.
I shrugged helplessly. “She’s shy around strange men. I hope you’re staying longer this time.”
“I should be able to stay for a couple of weeks and still get back to Sura for Pesach,” he replied.
Simeon turned to Yochani. “Speaking of Pesach, Mother, I want you and Eliezer’s family to come to Tyre for the festival. Our baby is due around then, so my family can’t travel here or to Tiberias as usual.”
“You couldn’t keep me away.” Yochani hesitated and looked at me. “What about Hisdadukh? How will you fit us all in?”
This was the opportunity I was waiting for. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll ask Susanna if we can spend Pesach with them.”
Yochani sighed with relief. “Of course she’ll agree, especially since you’ll be bringing your daughter. She always complains of not having enough children at the meal.”
Simeon was as eager to trade news with his mother as I was with Tachlifa, so we each headed to our separate lodgings. My brother pulled out a bag of colored blocks and began stacking them. As expected, Yehudit was soon sitting next to him and squealing with delight whenever the block tower fell.
“Tell me about Chama,” I urged him. “How is my son?”
“He seems healthy. He’s as tall as Yehezkel, and from what I hear, he already knows how to read.” Tachlifa looked at me intently. “Dada, every time I see him he looks more and more like you, except that he has Rami’s smile.”
I blinked back tears. What would my son think when he eventually learned who his true parents were? “What about Mother and Father? Are they well?”
“They try not to gloat, but they are very pleased with Father’s superior position in Sura. They probably thought Rabbi Huna was going to live to be one hundred and twenty,” he said. “Mother still dyes her hair, so she looks as young as always.”
“And the others?”
“Let me see.” Tachlifa stopped to think. “Keshisha and Guria have a baby girl, Pinchas and Beloria another boy. Pazi told me she thinks Achti miscarried again.”
I shook my head sadly. “Poor Achti.” Maybe the amulet scribe in Caesarea would have one that could dispel the demons or curse that afflicted her.
“Mari wanted me to tell you that your flax and wheat fields produced well again this year, but he’d like to plant some sesame to take advantage of the current high prices.”
“I trust him to do what’s best.” What a relief to know that I had such a good steward back home.
“You may be surprised to hear that your friend Abba is still studying with Father. Frankly, I thought he would have moved to Rav Yosef’s school in Pumbedita by now.”
“That should make him easy to find when I return after Yehudit is weaned.” I didn’t want to search all over Bavel for him so I could receive my get in person.
“So what have you been doing this past year?” he asked. “Whatever it is, it certainly agrees with you.”
I spent the rest of the afternoon telling him about observing Tisha B’Av in Jerusalem with Rabbi Avahu and Susanna, celebrating Hanukah at Judah Nesiah’s, and many other things, including how I was starting to inscribe amulets again. Knowing my family disapproved of associating with nonrabbis, I said nothing of Salaman or his mosaics.
“So I don’t need any more money from you,” I concluded. “Although I could certainly use more red silk thread.”
He smiled down at me. “I’ve already arranged that. Simeon brought a good supply for you.”
Yehudit warmed to Tachlifa so quickly that within days she was riding on his back as if he were a donkey and trying to say his name. I spent every day with him, but the two weeks passed as quickly as a blink of an eye. On Simeon’s recommendation, we traveled with him to Tiberias, where he visited Eliezer while we went to observe the massive flocks of migrating birds that congregated in the wetlands just north of the lake every spring and autumn.
As Simeon assured us, there were so many birds—swallows, egrets, cranes, and storks, among others—that Yehudit was giddy with excitement. At first she was frightened when a giant mass of them took flight together, their beating wings and loud squawks making such a cacophony that conversation was impossible. But once seated on Tachlifa’s shoulders, she quickly thrilled to the sight, laughing and clapping her hands whenever they abruptly abandoned the water for the sky.
The only way I could get her to leave without a tantrum was by promising that we would come back to see them again when they returned in the fall.
“You don’t expect to still be here in the fall, do you?” Tachlifa whispered as we rode back. “Won’t she be twenty-four months old at Rosh Hashana?”
“I doubt she’ll remember what I said,” I replied. But a stab of guilt assailed me at how easily I’d made a promise to my child that I didn’t plan to keep.
I felt less guilty for not sending Salaman any messages to explain why I wasn’t coming to his workshop. Sepphoris was a big city, but not so big that Salaman couldn’t find out that my brother was here from Bavel, if he were concerned about my absence. Tachlifa and I prayed daily at the Babylonian synagogue, and twice Simeon took us to the chariot races, another outing that made Yehudit protest when it was time to leave. It wasn’t as if I were in hiding. So while I basked in my brother’s company, I struggled with my conflicted feelings toward Salaman. True, I enjoyed his charm and flattery enough to miss him during these few weeks, but I was wary of his intentions toward me.
Finally it was the night before Tachlifa and Simeon were due to leave. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me tomorrow?” my brother asked, his eyes searching mine.
I thought of Abba bar Joseph still studying in Sura, of my spending Pesach with Rabbi Avahu, and of watching Salaman create a mosaic portrait of me. I thought of how much cooler the summer was in Sepphoris than in Sura, and of the new incantations I could learn only in Caesarea.
“I’ll wait and return for the New Year.” I managed a wan smile. “Heaven forbid that Abba should think I missed him so much that I came back early.”
“Then I’ll continue to share your profits with Simeon.” He shot a quick glance at Yochani. “I hope she doesn’t think you’re being ungrateful for all her hospitality.”
“I’ve tried to share expenses, but it only makes her angry,” I said. “And it’s just for a little while longer.”
It would be merely a few months until I saw Tachlifa again, yet the next morning my eyes were moist when Yehudit cried as he saddled his mule. We kept him and Simeon in sight until they were no longer even specks on the road out of the city.
Salaman made no complaint about my sudden absence and reappearance, merely remarking that he hoped I’d enjoyed seeing my brother again. But when I received Susanna’s invitation to spend Pesach in Caesarea, I had to say something. As Yochani predicted, Susanna was delighted with the idea. She insisted that Yehudit and I should leave Sepphoris at the same time Yochani and her family left for Tyre, which would put us in Caesarea even sooner.
I waited with trepidation for Salaman to reply, afraid that he would admit to working during the festival.
But he broke out into a smile that lit his face. “Then we shall be celebrating Pesach together.”
“You’re going to Rabbi Avahu’s?” I was stunned. Surely only other great sages would have seats at the illustrious rabbi’s festival meal.
“I go every year now,” he replied. “Rabbi Avahu won’t hear of me spending Pesach alone in Sepphoris, not after the bathhouse disaster.”
“I’ll be arriving a week early, so if you tell me how to find the amulet maker, I can order the bathhouse amulets before the festival starts.” I had already che
cked the dates, and there were two auspicious days less than a week before Pesach began. And if the scribe were already engaged, there were two more the week after the festival ended.
“I can do better than that. I’ll go with you,” he said. “Rabbi Avahu doesn’t think it’s wise for an attractive young woman to travel between cities without a male escort.”
The battle my yetzer hara and yetzer tov fought at my spending all of Pesach with Salaman was intense yet over quickly. My yetzer hara’s eager excitement at the prospect easily vanquished my yetzer tov’s anxiety, as I convinced myself that nothing untoward would happen under Rabbi Avahu’s roof.
Thus I found myself, several weeks later, standing with Salaman at the gate outside a nondescript courtyard in one of Caesarea’s residential neighborhoods. There was no indication of who lived here or what, if any, service or product they offered. Salaman banged on the gate and we waited.
“Are you sure this is the place?” I asked. “Maybe the scribe has moved since you were here last.” I didn’t want to imply that Salaman had a poor memory.
“I know. It doesn’t look like a business. But the scribe works by referral only.”
I nodded. “My sister-in-law also does that.”
“Really?” He looked at me quizzically. “What does she do?”
Before I could figure out how I was going to explain Rahel’s kasa d’charasha to someone from the West, the gate opened a crack and a woman’s wizened face peered out.
“We’re here to see the scribe,” Salaman said. “We need amulets for the bathhouse.”
The gate opened just wide enough to admit us into a typical residential courtyard. Poultry scratched in the dirt, laundry was drying in the sun, and two kitchen slaves were grinding grain for what would probably be some of the last bread these inhabitants would eat before switching to matzah for Pesach. But that was assuming the amulet scribe was Jewish.
I was somewhat reassured when I saw the mezuzah on the entry doorpost, although a Nazarene might have one as well. We entered into a well-lit workroom almost completely occupied by a large table and surrounding benches. Quills and ink pots sat in one corner, and a stack of papyrus sheets opposite them. Shelves on the wall held small boxes whose contents was hidden.
