Apprentice

by Maggie Anton

  Yochani gazed back and forth between the two of us. “I suppose I may have been a bit hasty in making us leave without telling anyone.”

  “Nothing has happened so far,” I reminded her. “And if I stop inscribing amulets once we return, hopefully we’ll be safe until Tachlifa arrives.” I tried to sound confident, but there was a sense of foreboding I couldn’t dispel.

  We’d been back only a few days, and were looking forward to celebrating Purim, when Yehudit vomited up her evening meal. In addition her forehead felt warm, so I put her to bed and sang to her until she fell asleep. Small children picked up all sorts of illnesses, I told myself; she’d be better in a few days. Just to be sure, I moved my bedding next to hers so I could be there if necessary. She slept fitfully, waking so often with shivers and complaining that she was cold that I took her into my bed to keep her warm. In the morning she was soaking wet with sweat, but except for her continued lethargy, she seemed better.

  Knowing that her amulet had been weakened, I wrote her a new one. But two days later she began shivering again and complained that her head and stomach hurt. I also wasn’t feeling well, and neither was Nurse. Yochani sent for the doctor, who bled both of us, and that seemed to help for a while. But then I started to feel cold, and no matter how many blankets Yochani gave me, I shivered worse than ever—until the fever came.

  Obviously I wouldn’t ask the Sepphoris kashafa to exorcise the demons afflicting us, so Yochani called in another healer. But the ingredients in his remedy for intermittent fever—seven dates from seven palm trees, seven splinters from seven house beams, seven pegs from seven bridges, seven handfuls of ash from seven ovens, seven clumps of dirt from seven thresholds, seven kinds of pitch from seven ships, seven spoons of cumin, and seven hairs from an old dog’s chin—were difficult to obtain and thus quite expensive. Suspicious of the man’s honesty, Yochani bargained him down to accept half the price in advance, the other half on delivery. But as she feared, he took the money and failed to return.

  Yehudit was whimpering with pain. My heart ached with the longing to hold and comfort her, but I was so hot and weak that I couldn’t even sit up. Through my delirium I could hear her calling for me, and though I struggled to go to her, the pain wouldn’t let me. My head hurt, my belly hurt, and it seemed that every bone in my body hurt too. Time stretched out so that I couldn’t tell an hour from an entire day; there was only the never-ending cycle of cold and fever and pain, always the pain.

  Sometimes there came a period, especially when the fever hit, when I didn’t know if I were awake or dreaming. I would hear voices and see people who couldn’t possibly be there, like Father, Mother, or Chama. Sometimes I saw people who were dead, like Grandfather and Rami.

  One dream came regularly. We were in the garden in my parents’ villa and all the flowers were blooming, even those that didn’t blossom at the same time. I would see Rami among the roses beckoning to me, but when I tried to go to him, Abba bar Joseph would block the way. Oddly, Abba wore tefillin but Rami did not. Sometimes Rami got quite close before Abba interceded, but no matter how hard I tried to get around him and join my husband Abba’s presence prevented me.

  Then the dream changed. This time when Rami approached me, he held a sword. But Abba also had a sword, in the hand where the straps of his tefillin tied, and whenever Rami raised his, Abba parried the attack.

  “She is mine,” Rami insisted. “Give her to me.”

  Abba shook his head. “No, you can’t have her.”

  “You cannot stop me. Do not stand in my way.”

  Rami rushed at Abba, sword held high, but Abba stood his ground. “If you want her, you will have to take me with her.”

  Rami glared at Abba. “As much as that would please me, it is not your time. I am here only for her.”

  “I will not let that happen,” Abba challenged Rami. “You may as well give up.”

  Suddenly Rami’s eyes seemed to glow. He pointed his sword straight at Abba and charged, only to have Abba jump aside at the last moment. Abba’s sword gleamed in the light, its hilt bound together with his tefillin. The two swords clashed and Rami’s flew from his grasp. In an instant Abba’s sword was at Rami’s throat.

  “You cannot defeat me. You can only delay me,” Rami said calmly. “So this time I will leave without her.”

  Abba kept his sword in position. “You won’t come back to take her for a long time.”

  Rami reluctantly acquiesced, and then a terrible thing happened. He began to transform. His legs shortened and his body grew larger. His arms both widened and thinned until they were wings folded across his back. I couldn’t describe how it happened, but his head kept stretching horribly until it was no longer human but that of a fly. Rami had shed his disguise, and before us squatted Nasus, the Corpse Demoness, the one Jews knew as Samael, the Angel of Death.

  “She must have a full life, three score and ten,” Abba added.

  “I cannot promise that.” Nasus stood up, spread her wings, and prepared to take flight. “If she should again fall into my clutches, I will take her.”

  Abba brandished his sword at her. “And I will fight you again to prevent it.”

  The Corpse Demoness cackled wildly and screeched to Abba as she flew away, “Just because I didn’t acquire her, it doesn’t mean that you will.”

  It could have been hours, days, or even weeks before I woke up, but when I did I was drenched in sweat and terribly thirsty. Yet most of my pain was gone, and though I felt faint, my head was clear.

  It took all my strength to open my eyes a crack, and immediately Yochani’s voice murmured, “I think she’s awake.”

  A strong masculine arm lifted my head, and I could smell the broth coming nearer. Thankful that Tachlifa had come at last, I closed my eyes and let the warm liquid flow down my parched throat. Another bowl was held to my lips, and I drank that too before lying down.

  Finally I opened my eyes, wider this time. It appeared to be early evening, and I was in bed in Yochani’s traklin. I looked to the side and gasped with surprise. The beard was fuller, but the skin was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. Still, there was no mistaking the man who knelt next to me, the man who certainly wasn’t my brother.

  “Abba bar Joseph,” I whispered. I reached out to be sure he wasn’t an apparition and touched his hand. “It really is you.”

  “They call me Rava now.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  He pulled his hand away. “I came to deliver your get.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  SIXTH YEAR OF KING NARSEH’S REIGN

  • 299 CE •

  He seemed real, but I didn’t care if he were an apparition or a dream. I blurted out, “You fought the Angel of Death for me. You saved my life.”

  Yochani sat down beside my bed. “He’s been praying for your recovery day and night since he arrived in Sepphoris over three weeks ago.” She looked haggard and her voice was hoarse. “Let the poor man get some sleep. You’ll have plenty of time to discuss this later.”

  Abba, or as he now called himself, Rava, slowly stood up and stretched. “Wake me if she needs anything.” Then he stumbled into the next room.

  “He’s been here three weeks?” I asked. How was that possible? “How long have I been ill?”

  Yochani handed me another bowl of soup, and then immediately steadied it when my hands began to shake from the effort of holding it. “You’ve been sick over a month. It’s almost Pesach.”

  “Where’s Yehudit? I want to see her.”

  Yochani’s face crumpled and her chin began to quiver.

  “No!” I screamed. “Not my little girl.” This couldn’t be real. I had to be dreaming. I looked frantically for her blocks and bowls, usually piled in the corner, but they were gone.

  Yochani pulled me close. “I’m so sorry. She’d only been sick for about a week when she died.”

  Imagining my daughter’s sweet face and dark curls now buried in the earth, I began to sob
hysterically. This brought back a bleary-eyed Rava. “You saved me. Why couldn’t you save her too?” I accused him.

  Yochani put her arms around me and held me tight. “There was nothing he, or anyone, could do.”

  “Your daughter was already dead when I arrived,” he said.

  Tears rolled down Yochani’s wrinkled cheeks. “Indeed, the only thing he could do for her was to arrange the burial.”

  I continued weeping on her shoulder while Rava went back to bed. Despite the evidence before me, I still couldn’t believe that Yehudit was gone or that he was here.

  Yochani took a deep breath. “Nurse died too, but your other slave is well. I sent her out to buy some more food.”

  I doubled over in grief, wailing my sorrow, but this time Rava didn’t come back. Yochani held me and rocked me like a child, until at last I was all cried out. By then I was too tired to stay awake a moment longer.

  When I woke up in the morning, there was no sign of Rava. I had almost convinced myself that his arrival and my daughter’s death had been a horrible nightmare, when Yochani, her red-rimmed eyes full of sympathy, sat down next to me and offered me a bowl of porridge. One look at her sorrowful demeanor was enough to start my tears flowing, but I let her feed me the porridge and help me use the chamber pot.

  “There’s something more you should know,” she said when I’d finished. “I promise that it won’t make you more unhappy.”

  “What is it?” I asked, yawning widely. I’d just woken up, yet I felt exhausted.

  “You don’t have to worry about the kashafa anymore.” Yochani gazed at the door Rava had walked through last night and shuddered. “After we buried your daughter, he asked who would have wanted to harm you. When I told him about the kashafa, he insisted on going to see her.”

  “You brought him to her home?” How could she put him in such danger?

  “He’s not the kind of man you can say no to.”

  “That’s true.” I knew it better than anyone.

  She cleared her throat before continuing. “Some rabbis wear tefillin like it’s the yoke of Heaven, bending and weighing them down. But Rava wore his with authority and confidence, as if it were armor.” Yochani sounded awestruck. “Straight away he accused her of responsibility for your daughter’s death, not with anger, but like a judge delivering a verdict. She retorted that he was a liar, and if he didn’t leave that instant, her slaves would remove him bodily.”

  I was suddenly less sleepy. “Then what happened?”

  “He merely stood there, staring at her, silently challenging her to do it, until she stalked back inside and slammed the door.” Yochani paused and shook her head. “The next morning she was dead from a scorpion bite.”

  “Ha-Elohim.” I breathed out the words.

  “Listen to me,” she said urgently. “I know he said he’d come to bring your get, but this man still wants to marry you. I guarantee it.”

  “He doesn’t want me. He wants Rav Hisda’s daughter—with all her wealth, rabbinic connections, and priestly status.” I lay back on the pillow, too fatigued to defend my aversion to Rava one more time.

  “But, Hisdadukh, that is who you are. That is why you couldn’t marry Salaman.” Her eyes met mine. “I’ve watched Rava all these weeks. He scarcely left your bedside except to use the privy. I’ve never seen such devotion.”

  “This is too much for me. Let me mourn my daughter first.” I stopped speaking as my tears began to flow.

  Yochani adjusted my bedding. “You’re right. You need to rest and get your strength back. Just don’t forget what I said.”

  When I woke the next morning, Rava was still asleep. This time I managed to sit up and feed myself, although I needed both Leuton and Yochani’s help to use the chamber pot. After that Leuton insisted on bathing me, and when she was done, I was exhausted. I spent the rest of the day either napping or crying, for every time I woke there was the small bench that Yehudit used to sit on, overturned against the wall opposite my bed.

  Rava didn’t awaken until late the following evening, after Yochani had gone to bed. I heard someone rummaging in the kitchen, and when I sat up, I recognized him in the moonlight.

  “Whatever you’re getting, could you bring me some too?” I called out softly. “I’m starving.” It was true. I’d never felt so hungry before.

  He set a steaming bowl down on the bedside table. “Yochani must have worried I’d wake up famished tonight. She left a pot of stew on the hearth.”

  I had no idea what to say to this man who’d fought the Angel of Death for me. The awkward silence stretched out until I thought of some impersonal questions for him. “How are my parents?” I asked. “Did the Romans spare Sura?”

  “I’ve heard nothing ill about them, but I’m studying in Pumbedita with Rav Yosef now, so I haven’t seen them recently,” he replied. “I left as Galerius’s men were approaching Ctesiphon, but I heard that King Narseh agreed to supply the Roman army with provisions on their return to ensure that they would spare our other cities.”

  I sighed with relief and decided to satisfy my curiosity on another important point. “How is your wife?” I asked nonchalantly.

  He blanched and replied sourly, “No different than before.”

  We ate quietly until I realized that I owed him an apology. “I’m sorry I blamed you for Yehudit’s death…” I had intended to say more but merely mentioning my daughter’s name made me weep.

  Rava put down his dish, and for a moment I thought he was going to take me in his arms to comfort me. But then he sat down again and watched helplessly until I cried myself dry. “Yochani told me that you gave the kashafa the Evil Eye,” I whispered eventually.

  He didn’t deny it. “I certainly wanted to.”

  It was bizarre to be sitting in bed, in the middle of the night, eating stew and crying with Abba bar Joseph. The light was dim, yet it was clear that the wiry adolescent I used to know was gone. His thick beard completely disguised the weak chin I knew was beneath it, and his nose and eyes seemed less prominent than I remembered. I felt strangely comfortable in his presence. Was it because he wasn’t Abba anymore but now someone named Rava?

  “Why did you change your name?” I asked. “Why not just add Rav in front like most rabbis?”

  “Rav Abba would have been a misnomer.” His face clouded. “Rava isn’t an explicit reminder of my inability to procreate.”

  Of course, Abba means “father” in Hebrew. Evidently he and Choran were still childless, and I’d just brought this to his attention. “Maybe you’re lucky to have no children to lose,” I said bitterly. Then my tears began to fall again.

  He waited until I’d calmed and then the words came out in a rush. “Perhaps I should wait until later, but I’ve wanted to say this for a long time, and if I don’t tell you now, I don’t know when I might have the courage again.”

  I held my breath, waiting for him to beg me to marry him. But he said nothing of the kind.

  “Four years ago you blamed me for Rami’s death, for sending the Rabbi’s snake to attack him,” he said. “I have given your accusation much thought, and while I never deliberately sought to harm him, I cannot in good conscience claim that I am altogether innocent.”

  I gulped, and he stopped to take a deep breath. “I admit that I envied him—husband to the woman I desired, father of a son less than a year after their wedding, favorite student of Rav Hisda.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. “It was a constant struggle for me not to break the tenth commandment, yet there were times my jealousy was so strong it may have provoked the Evil Eye. I don’t know.”

  When I said nothing, for I was too astounded to speak, he continued. “In my horror and guilt over what I may have done, I devoted myself to my studies, not just Torah and Mishna, but also esoteric works. I was determined to control my yetzer hara so completely that nothing like this would ever happen again.”

  “Is that why you saved me from Samael?” I finally said. “To make amends for Rami’s dea
th?”

  “No,” he replied softly. “I just didn’t want you to die.”

  My feelings were in such a jumble that it would take hours, if not days, to sort them out. But foremost among them was gratitude. “And I haven’t thanked you yet for that, so I will do so now.” I took his hand in mine and squeezed it gently.

  He made no effort to pull away. “Yochani says that you want to return to Bavel. If so, I’ll take you back myself once you recover.”

  I was acutely aware how warm and smooth his skin felt. “That isn’t necessary, Rava. Tachlifa will do it.”

  “Tachlifa was already here. When he saw how ill you were, he had to make a difficult decision. He needed to return for Pesach, but he couldn’t abandon you.” Rava sat back and our hands separated. “I assured him that I would be responsible for you, but if you don’t want to travel with me, he’ll be here again before Rosh Hashana.”

  As it came time for Pesach, I was too feeble to ride to Tiberias or Caesarea. Still suffering occasional bouts of chills and fever, I was barely strong enough to walk to the nearest synagogue for holiday services. Our small festive meal at Yochani’s managed to be both depressing and satisfying, at least the part I stayed awake for. Since there were only the three of us, Rava had no choice but to engage Yochani and me in the telling of Israel’s Exodus from Egypt.

  Yehudit’s absence from the table just when she would have been old enough to ask the Ma Nishtana questions plunged me into renewed grief. Rava and Yochani gently drew me into the discussion, and, despite my sorrow, I forced myself to recall sufficient Mishna and Baraitot to challenge them occasionally. In addition, Yochani had an excellent memory for her father and uncle’s teachings on the subject, probably because she’d heard them every year at the Pesach table.

  I was disappointed, however, when I woke the next morning and learned that after I’d gone to bed Rava had left to spend many more hours at Judah Nesiah’s.