Hagai laughed. I did not understand.
“I am only powerful because I am harmed,” he replied. “I was made a eunuch, Esther. Do you know what that is?”
I shook my head no.
“When I was a boy, I excelled at my studies, at my athletics, at everything. I was being groomed for a position of great power, and my parents were eager to acquiesce to the palace. At last it was time for my appointment to the king’s service, and so, with many other boys my age, we were led away from our homes. Only we did not go to the palace. We went to an airless, hot home in the countryside, where one by one we were led to a room where a man waited with a table of simple things: a knife, some twine, and a bottle of amber honey. I did not know why the boys screamed, until it was my time. I was laid on the table, a man holding each of my limbs, and stripped. The twine was tightened around my most delicate area, and the knife brought down quickly to sever the organs. Honey sealed the wound. The pain would have killed me, save for the grace of unconsciousness. It did kill many of my friends, however—for every ten brought to this place, only one survived.”
I was aware of tears rolling down my face as he talked. He related such awful incidents with a minimum of emotion; how could he be so resigned to such a cruel fate? I had paid a dear price to be brought to this palace, but I could see now that many had fallen to the crown before me.
Hagai sighed as he finished his story and patted me for my own consolation. “The king has indeed entrusted me with all that is valuable to him in his empire. I have earned his trust. You will trust me in time, as well.”
I nodded.
Hagai continued “Perhaps you will find a way to make your own peace with the events in your life.” He smiled at me softly. “It is true we are all prisoners. But I cannot be sorry you were brought here. I would only be sorry if you wasted your time here. We are all destroyed, everyone, in our lifetime, but few will rebuild. You must redeem your suffering, Esther.”
He stood to leave and extended his hand. “The letter that was hidden in your robes the first evening you were brought here? The moonlight will be strong tonight. Perhaps it is the time for you to read it, and then say your good-byes. I have heard of the caravans—that they gave many girls no time for this, so I will be patient with you for one more night. You may keep your diary, for I see it has brought you much consolation. But forget your home, Esther, and Cyrus. Tomorrow, if you are to remain in the best room, under the care of Ashtari, you will awake with a new attitude and a desire to please. I have built on the ashes of my own life by making wise decisions, by knowing what pleases the king. I will not risk myself for a girl who cries in her sleep over a land she will never return to, over boys who were no match for a powerful king and a shrewd father. If you choose this path, tomorrow you will be moved down to the general quarters with the many girls who are not favored to win the crown. They will not view you kindly.”
He smiled softly, and bowing before me, left without another word.
Once again my face burned with shame, for I thought no one would find the scrolls I have kept hidden so well. Hagai has read my scrolls and knows me completely. I trusted Hagai to place me as he saw fit in the harem; now I see I have also entrusted him with my life. It is no wonder he has grown so powerful, when all is laid bare before him, and he can have no part of the riches he guards.
I took the scroll from its hiding place, the scroll Mordecai had slipped to me as I was stolen away from my home. I could not believe that I had left it undisturbed for so long; perhaps it was the hope I could return home again and have no need for a parting letter from Mordecai. I am as foolish as the magicians and healers, thinking if I did not open the scroll, there would be no need for good-byes.
But as I unrolled the scroll, a fresh wave of longing for home swept over me, for this was Mordecai’s own hand in great detail, a full page of his own writing! What was it that he had to tell me, but could not, before I was spirited away?
So, my diary, here it is, pressed between these pages, a bit of history that must remain as silent as the graves. How fitting Hagai bade me read it tonight and say good-bye, for I know that when I awake tomorrow, the eyes of the servants will be upon me for my decision. Will I go to the king in splendor or revolt? I cannot bring myself to destroy it, but never again will I read back in the diary, never again will I visit the past in my letters or in my heart. And so tonight I must read Mordecai’s letter and seal it in these scrolls as a dead witness to my past:
My child,
As I write this, I know the rumors of the village carry the weight of truth behind them. You are in grave danger from the throne, and I do not know if I can protect you. For many nights now I have been meeting with the elders of our village to discern how we can protect our girls from the king during the selection process. I am most concerned for you, Esther, because of your great beauty. If I had money, you would have been married off by now, and safe. My only comfort is that once I protected you from men who would trade upon your beauty, and so yet I may do it again.
I write this because you must know more of who you are, of how I rescued you once, and am prepared to do it again. I had already begun my return journey to our homeland when your father died. Your parents, too, had planned on making the journey, but after your father died, your mother fell ill as she made preparations for the journey. Oh, how she loved you, Esther! You were her delight, and her comfort. Word came to me through a rabbi in her village that she had been struck by the Great Fever. I made haste to her village, but she was already dead. I saw her lying in the street, with countless others. The sound of the mourners was unbearable. I raced through the village, calling your name, asking everyone I saw where you were, but people were too weighed with grief to keep track of an orphaned girl. Finally, a sage, who appeared to be dying as well, told me you had been taken by the slave traders the previous day. They had set out west, toward the palace.
I beat my horse mercilessly; if he had had wings, he could not have flown there fast enough. I came upon the traders but stayed in the distance until I could determine their lot. They made camp and forced the younger girls to tend to the animals, while the older girls were dragged inside tents. I could hear the sound of crying, but did not hear or see you.
I knew these men were a stench in the nostrils of YWVH. It was not hard to decide to spill their blood. I wish I could say it was an act of bravery, or great strength, but in truth, they were greatly preoccupied with their bounty and did not pay attention to the muffled screams that came from each tent as I slit their throats. The girls watched, mute, as I dragged the men’s bodies outside each tent and left them to rot in the desert sun, to be torn apart by the animals, an ending as dishonorable as these men themselves. Then I searched for you, my little lamb! You were asleep in the blankets, hidden away, and whole. I carried you outside and set you on my horse. You woke up slowly, and recognized me as your cousin, for I had visited your parents before the Great Fever. They had bought my lambs to add to their own flock as I left for Jerusalem.
But there was yet a greater problem. These girls, some of them from my own village where I had lived during the exile, would surely know me, know my name. The throne would send men to kill me for my act of betrayal, stealing what was not mine in the king’s eyes. So I sent the girls toward the Persian Sea, where merchant ships come in, hoping that perhaps they could live unmolested, or find a way to another country where perhaps women are not so abused. I found the oldest of the girls, and together we counted the coins in the pockets of the dead men. I drew her a map as best as I could and blessed her for their journey. They had no homes to return to, being orphans of the Great Fever as well, and traveling unescorted back to their homelands might mean a fate worse than slavery.
I took you, and we rode together on a swift horse until safety was certain. I changed your name from Hadassah to Esther, and we wandered at last to the capital of the empire, Susa. It was a
city of business, not bloodshed. No one would suspect what we were fleeing from. The best place to hide is always in the open, is it not? The horse, a beautiful stallion (I shall never forget him), was easily bartered for a flock of lambs, this being the one trade I knew well, and we began our lives.
I tell you all this, dear one, that you may know and never forget the power of the throne, and its terror, nor the lust of men for flesh and gold. You have escaped disaster once, you may yet do it again. My days spent at the palace gates have bought us more than information; I am learning who is to be trusted in times of peril.
You slept so soundly that night so long ago, surrounded by danger. If all my efforts fail, and you are taken to the palace, you must again learn to sleep among thieves, and when sleeping, find the thread of good woven into your bad dreams. Find it, seize it, follow it. I will do all I can from the outside to secure a good name for us both in the courts, and to procure your release.
I will send word to you again as I find a way.
Your cousin and guardian,
Mordecai[1]
[1] See corresponding commentary in appendix.
20
Sixth Day of the Month of Shevat
Seventh Year of the Reign of Xerxes
Year 3398 after Creation
A storm moved over the harem last night; lightning illuminated our rooms in quick blue flashes, and the sounds roared across the mosaic floors, slapping into the great hinged doors and making the gilded paintings rattle.
I tried to sleep. I knew many would look to see my countenance upon waking; would I remain under Hagai’s care, or be lost among the others? I lay in bed weeping, wondering how many below were awake, dreaming of taking this very spot. One night to decide my life: that was what I was given. I could leave Cyrus in the pages of this diary and embrace a wasted destiny, or cling to my dreams and perhaps die alone, waiting for a night with a king or a rescue from a young love, both of which may never come. It reminded me somehow of the boys in the market when tales turned to war, how they would endlessly describe the tortures our enemies visited upon fallen troops. The boys would debate whether it was better to be split open and die from shock rather than pain, or have your heart pierced through and die at once from both. Tonight it was my debate, too.
As I turned over and over in my bed, the storm made the room cool, so I had to slip lower in my bed coverings. The rain began a steady drumming against the roof, and an unseen servant moved a covering coated with pitch over the openings above, so that few drops escaped to reach my chamber. It made all darkness around me, and soon I felt my swollen eyes easing together, my sobs settling into deep breaths, and darkness releasing the hold of this place.
I do not know how long I lay there, sleeping without dreams. A sound caught my ears, but my mind moved so slowly to wake that I listened without moving. Something drew near in my chamber in the night, a strange rustling like a great bird folding in its wings as it alights on the ground. I still could not open my eyes, so deep was my sleep, and a peace flooded my heart. All was well here; my very bones were warmed in some unseen light. A voice, heard as if from a great distance, reached me now, even as I felt the great one departing:
He has not despised or disdained the suffering of the afflicted one;
He has not hidden His face from her, but has listened to her cry for help.
You will proclaim His righteousness to a people yet unborn,
for He has done it.
I knew at once these words; they were from King David, a psalm the Lord had put upon his heart generations ago. I had heard them from our teachers in the village, and now they were meant for me. How I longed to open my eyes and see this visitor of G-d, but the peace was too intoxicating and lowered me again into the sweet silence of heavy sleep.
And so I was awake before my servants even entered the chamber this morning. I was rested, perhaps for the first time. The one who had stood guard over me in the night had fallen into a deep sleep, too, and wiped her wet mouth in an embarrassed rush as she realized I was already awake. I smiled at her. How blessed I am, that when I was too weak to choose my path, an unbidden blessing made my way clear to me.
I stood, and faced the women who entered.
21
Twenty-seventh Day of the Month of Adar
Seventh Year of the Reign of Xerxes
Year 3398 after Creation
My hiding place is ever well hidden now: I will not even write its place. There will I keep only my diary and the necklace given to me by Shethana on my last birthday before I was brought here. I have asked Hagai to send a box with a key to set them inside, and one was delivered by another eunuch with no questions. (How odd it is to know now the truth about the men in this place! I find myself staring too long at each, wondering at the pain and humiliation each survived. It makes me feel faint to think I am soon going to the king who wielded such terrible, thoughtless power. It was nothing to him to lose so many boys. How much less of worth a woman is here, and so how much greater the danger is. The stupid girls so eager to arrive in this place gave no thought to that.)
After the eunuch left I watched carefully to make sure my act was unwitnessed, and I set the diary inside.
Some believe that the spiritual world around us tests us continually to know what we hide in our hearts. They believe the spirits are greedy for human sport, and grow despondent if we cease to entertain. Perhaps it is so: After my good-byes, and the sealing of the second scroll, Mordecai sent a message through the harem guards. It was brief and lifeless, only a little test of his own. He inquired only as to my health and treatment by the overseers. I was not destroyed by this reminder of home; enough strength remained in me from my visitor in the storm that I was able to reply with a firm if quiet voice, and let the servant go again. It was good to know Mordecai was thinking of me, and good to reassure him all was well. But that is all it can be.
Perhaps Hagai knows of this message from home; how could he not? I am Hagai’s charge now, not Mordecai’s, and Hagai is the master I must strive to please. Of course, if he feels any message from Mordecai impairs his work, he will speak, and I will obey.
G-d forgive me for saying this, even if it only spills onto these innocent and mute pages, but it has been easier to entrust Mordecai to G-d than Cyrus. Sometimes I wonder that the midnight visitor did an incomplete job, to have given me strength but not so much that I stop asking for more. I believe there is a purpose in my being here, I believe G-d has seen and heard, yet I cannot let Cyrus go. I turn him away in my thoughts, and he steals into my dreams. I shove away all memory of him, his touch and his smell, but find he is woven into the fabric of my being. Once I even longed for a moment that Yoon-Mai might indeed find me alone, for in death would I not know freedom from this war? How brave the men once seemed as they marched to war when I was a girl, such valiant warriors carrying their banners and armor in front of them. Yet I know now it is the women left behind who fight the fiercest wars, this daily battle to bury the heart’s cries and still live on.
I did not dream that destiny would find me, a girl with nothing of merit to her name (not even her name being truly hers), yet here I am, bidden by the throne of G-d to serve the throne of man. Destiny has an allure only to those she has not called; those who have tasted her find her bitter.
22
Eleventh Day of the Month of Adar II[1]
Seventh Year of the Reign of Xerxes
Year 3398 after Creation
It has been two weeks since I read Mordecai’s letter and sealed it away. I have kept my oath never to revisit it. And yet in my mind I have pondered Mordecai’s words, turning each over in my mind until I am sure I have wrought every possible truth and meaning from them, like the way I once learned to force the water out of our clothes when washing. So, it seems, I am no stranger to this king, and his drama, alt
hough he has never known my name. I believe I am fated to play out this role to its conclusion.
Hagai’s words, that I must redeem my own suffering, have rung for days in my head, and as much as I once wanted to continue to mourn and grieve and dream of what could never be, I have begun to feed that strength imparted to me. Mordecai is my cousin and second father; his love will remain constant, I know. I do not need to say good-bye to him as much as I need to breathe in and feel our distance, and make of it what I can. But, oh, when Cyrus comes to me in my dreams, G-d help me, even there now I turn him away. Hagai was right: I am destroyed, and a new creation must arise in her place.
I listen now to what my servant girls tell me, and I rub the almond oil into my skin as faithfully as the most desperate of the harem girls. These girls will give anything to become Xerxes’ next queen. I am not fashioned so. Yes, I will learn all here, I will become the summit of all the servants’ skill and wisdom, but I will serve as if serving the Lord, not a man. I do not understand the turns in my path, but I am committed to the course now.
But when my mind leaps forward to the night with Xerxes, all goes dark before me. No words of instruction are given to me from heaven. I have only my faith, and the laws of my people, to guide me. I am constrained by the knowledge of a living G-d; I must not allow shame and dishonor to touch me. If I die for this, I die. In this harem, in all the world, it is the same: The men rule and reign, and bid the women dance. To lose step, to fall out of favor and time, whether by age or by design, is to die.
G-d will not be swayed, His laws remain constant. He will give me no quarter to amend myself to this world, and so He may very well see me torn from it.
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