Chosen
Page 8
Yet G-d’s light radiates from within me in this dark place. I have been denied my feasts and sacrifices as a Jew, but I feel Him here, like the sense someone has turned the corner just ahead when you enter a hallway. The king has asked for a whore; I will show him a queen. I will not give my body to a man who is not my husband. Moses would stone a woman who behaved thus; even at a king’s command it cannot please G-d. If Vashti was banished for the smallest of offenses, I have no doubt I will lose my head for such a bold play if my audience proves too fickle. Yet to lose my life is to join my father and mother again, and so I cannot weep.
The only indulgence of my past I will allow myself now is my prayer. Twice daily I go onto the roof, near my bath, and pray toward my homeland, Jerusalem. I pray for my people who have begun to return there, for their dream of rebuilding the Temple of the Lord. I pray for Mordecai, who has learned well to send secret messages to me through the guards who keep watch over the harem. Mordecai never tells me of Cyrus, and I pray daily for the strength to let him die to me as well. I pray for this strength as often as breathing, but my thoughts still steal away to him on occasion.
Sometimes when I am on the roof praying, I spy other girls in the courtyard worshipping Ahura Mazda, tossing coins to the Magi[2] who come to bless the girls who are soon to go in to Xerxes. His palace is visible just beyond our harem, and it is a beautiful sight, even to me, to see the torches burning every night, and the elite palace guard called the Immortals, leading an elaborately adorned girl out of the harem into the imposing palace. Tigers and lions strain against their chains as she glides past; the clouds circle round the hanging moon as if even that were in the guard of Xerxes. Some girls are so young, they teeter under the weight of gold and the headdress. I keep watch over them as they wind their way to him, and I pray for them as their mothers might have. The girls in the courtyard left behind are searching for a savior, and Xerxes is all they know. It weakens their spirits, I can see. I wish I could tell them of YHVH, but Xerxes will not allow any other religion except for his own, the worship of Ahura Mazda. He seems halfhearted in his reproach; it seems more of a political nature to keep peace within his borders. His father, the great King Darius, once issued a proclamation that all people must honor the god of the Jews as the one true G-d. But the time for lenience to us and our ways is over. An evil hand has stirred the sands here.
Last night in the courtyards I spied the opium dealers giving a sinister dark powder to a girl who kept her shawl carried high about her head, wrapped so that none could see her face plainly. She received it gratefully, kissing him on the cheek before returning to her chambers. She seemed so small from my perch; surely her troubles could not have been that large. After all, it is true, and I will say it now, for many of these girls, this harem is a refuge. No harsh weather and toil without shelter, no starvation, never again to see younger siblings sold to cruel masters to feed the others.
But to seek the opium dealers is a dire sign that all is not well for her here. No doubt she was one of the many who have been here too long, too long to dream of Xerxes anymore, and have forgotten how to dream of anything else. Some girls have offended the eunuchs, or the older women who also rule the harem, so they find that their night to see Xerxes will never come. They have spent a lifetime preparing for a feast they can never eat. Opium becomes their dirty angel. They are never allowed to smoke it, for that would ruin their teeth; maintaining the illusion they will one day see Xerxes keeps them alive. Instead they sprinkle it on their food or in their wine.
Beneath me, while I slept, this same girl took the powder, all of it at once. Others found her lying in her bed, vomiting and weak. They slipped her more opium and let her go to her ancestors in peace at last. It was a measured kindness, for of course every servant wants to advance her own girl in this game for the crown. Ashtari related all this to me as simply as another servant might tell me what we would have for breakfast. It was not new to her, opium and death, but the sadness of it stayed with me for hours. There are rumors that some bring about a rival’s death in this way if she has excelled in her study of seduction and promises to find favor with Xerxes. I wonder if anyone has ever counted the number of girls who come into the harem, and the number who leave. But nothing of women is ever recorded in this kingdom, unless we give birth to boys. Gold is counted, silver counted, battles counted, men counted, but women are forgotten as quickly as an afternoon breeze.
The calendar year is ending. But what do such dates mean to me now? Almost four months have passed since I was brought here. My time is nearing the halfway mark until my night with the king. I returned from the balcony and, searching in my chamber, found the mirror Ashtari had once used to show me my reflection. The moonlight was high and strong tonight, the clouds being few and distant. I saw myself in the mirror and reached for my reflection. It was so cold. I touched my face, feeling the softness of the work of the myrrh, and the faithful ministrations of the servants. My hair, dark and loose, fell about my shoulders and cascaded down my back. I turned in the mirror a bit to see it. It had been richly scented, and I swung it about to catch the scent of blossoms and fruit. On my first night here, Hagai had said I was a flower that would blossom under his care. He was right, but I did not know what was at the center, I did not know what would unfold before his eyes. I have been forced to live out a dream that was not my own, and it is here I am discovering who I truly am.
I may rot here, or flourish, but remain here forever I will. I am sorry, Mordecai, that you have spent your energy on a hopeless endeavor, not knowing what my fate was to be. I am not here by your hand, and your hand cannot save me. But I hear G-d’s voice calling me further on. So under their care, I will bloom as a rose, and any who sway me from His path will find a sharp thorn.
[1] Adar II would indicate that this was a leap year, which generally occurred every three years in the ancient Babylonian calendar.
[2] The Magi were an elite group of men. Some were priests, some were scientists, and some were simply very wise and respected sages. The Magi frequently read the stars for divine messages, and thus it was Magi, or “wise men” who saw the star of Bethlehem that led them to Jesus after his birth.
23
First Day of Nisan
Eighth Year of the Reign of Xerxes
Year 3399 after Creation
I saw the girl carried out that day, wrapped in a simple blanket. She was removed as soon as she was proved dead, and I am told she was buried within the first hours, as is the custom here. As I drank my tea this morning, daring to watch from my balcony as the women moved below inside the harem, I saw a girl wearing a certain shawl. I called to her, and she stopped, hearing her name from above.
“Come up to me,” I called. She obeyed quickly, which tells me she is of little consequence here, and may never see the king.
“Where did you get this shawl?” I asked, for it was so familiar.
“From the dead one, Yoshtya. The servants said I could take it,” she added. I was open-mouthed, struck by the name. She pleaded with me not to turn her in for stealing, and I sent her away with a promise to keep her secret.
I have recorded your name twice here in this book, young one. I have marked your passage, though no one else has. May you find peace at last.
We were from the same province, and not so far from the same age. All that separated us, truly, was our beauty. Mine found immediate favor; hers was slow to reveal itself. It was too slow. Until this place, I had never given thought to my form. My arms were strong and lifted the baskets for market above my head easily. My legs carried me about wherever I cared to go, miles a day. Here, they are praised for their form and nothing else. Yes, it is the most useless parts that get the most lavish praise, my buttocks and breasts, which until now have done nothing for me, and now are the talk of so many. I am created to please a king and no less, this is what they say, and I, too, have begun to see it. I can
see that my lips are full, where others’ are thin, and my eyes are the shape of new almonds, surrounded by thick lashes. I have heard the whispers since I came to this place; now I begin to believe them.
24
Third Day of the Month of Nisan
Eighth Year of the Reign of Xerxes
Year 3399 after Creation
There is other news, unsettling, which I must relate. I am unsure if I will live to see my night with Xerxes. That is out of my control, and so I am determined to turn those thoughts away when they intrude. It is an art I learn to master again each day. I have set Hagai as a special watch outside my chambers, and no male servant but Hagai can attend me. He also carefully watches over the affairs of my girls, and has already removed Niloufar from attending to me. Fewer people must have access to me, as greater numbers now turn against me. (I will tell you what has happened in a moment.) But Hagai has less time for me suddenly, as the girls who have completed their year here go to the king every night. It took months, Hagai has explained, to bring virgins from every province in Xerxes’ empire, from Egypt to India and every stop in-between. Many girls were nearly complete with their year of beauty treatments before I even arrived. Hagai spends the last few moments with each one before they leave his charge forever. He helps them select their robes, and procures for them whatever gift they choose to present to the king. Because Hagai is often away from me, he worries more. Only tonight am I beginning to understand the hidden dangers he sees.
Why, Lord, when I have agreed to play Your game here, why do You taunt me like this?
This is what happened: As I bathed on the rooftop, I spotted the white tiger bounding through the gardens, running for an open gate. He seemed a vision, there in the moonlight, making his run for freedom. For a moment I longed to be a rider on his back, running away from here until his white fur blended into the moon at the horizon. But the screams from down below brought me to my senses quickly, and Hagai burst onto the roof with a dagger, pulling me from the bath to his side. His eyes were wild, and when we heard footsteps coming up the stairs, he motioned for my silence. It was Ashtari, and if she hadn’t spoken quickly to ascertain her identity to us as she approached, I am afraid of what Hagai might have done. After her, my other girls filed up slowly, shaken. It seems Yoon-Mai was murdered at her dressing table. Someone set an asp[1] inside her powder box, and as she lifted the lid, it struck. She was to go to the king in two nights. She was so certain of taking the crown; now I am the one favored in this race for a man no one has seen.
I stole a glance below and many cold eyes met mine. One of them was a murderer. “This is not life!” I cried to them. “Life is in the villages, with our mothers and fathers! Life is work, and laughter, and endless toil with sweet little respites!”
No one moved. The servants stopped fanning the girls lounging in the waterfall, but only for a moment. A few sideways glances were cast, and the girls were in motion again, gliding toward their baths, or lessons, or meals. Their hatred, or disregard, for me rose from the floor like a wave of heat, and I fell back in tears onto my lounging couch.
All this, and for a beauty I did not ask, did not care for. It is a meaningless thing to me, and yet I see it coveted so. It is not a thing to be shared, else I would have given it away. It is mine, indeed it is who I am, the gift of G-d for my times, a thing given without consent. The long hours of baths and oils have taught me to fix my hope on what does not evaporate into the mist around me. And I find this to be my faith, which, although as ethereal and delicate as a spider’s string, can hold forth against bitter winds and violent rebuke.
Even so, I will not sleep easily tonight, although both Ashtari and Hagai will sit vigil over me. G-d help the girl who would kill for a godless king.
[1] Asp was a common name for any species of small, poisonous snakes found in Persia.
25
Fourth Day of the Month of Nisan
Eighth Year of the Reign of Xerxes
Year 3399 after Creation
Ashtari brought me to the edge of my chambers tonight and insisted I peer over the edge.
“Another girl has fallen ill, though she will not die,” Ashtari said.
“What am I to see, then?” I asked.
“I suspect you will see your enemy revealed,” she answered. “She has moved ahead in the order of virgins presented to Xerxes, since no more stand in her way, and your time is not yet complete.”
An Egyptian girl covered in gold coins was being led to Xerxes. Her hair and makeup were splendid, her eyes seeming to extend far back so that she appeared to see all, even as all saw her. Gold snakes coiled around her arms, and her bare thighs were dark, etched with pagan tattoos of henna, leading the eye to the most sacred place of womanhood. She was beautiful, and brazen, and for a moment I doubted my own beauty. (Why is it beauty inspires men, and leaves women troubled?)
In truth, the servants have done such excellent work preparing my body to receive the king’s touch; every inch is soft and supple, and my hair is as fragrant and cool as the finest linens on his bed. But only now have I begun the work of making a willing heart to give myself to a king, and no servant can groom my heart. How is it that this girl walking beneath me has mastered herself, willed herself to go proudly to his bed simply because it was commanded on his whim? In the villages she would die for such dishonor. Is it the crown that makes ignoble things good? No, such dishonor is evil, and even great power and wealth cannot mask its scent. I cannot explain it, but I know somehow that is not my path. She is willing, for the king, but defiant to G-d and His law. Perhaps that is where we part ways.
But this girl stopped under my balcony and stared at me with a slight smile. She blew a little kiss and continued on to the palace. As she turned the corner to leave these chambers forever, one of her servants broke free and ran upstairs with a small white box. She presented it to Hagai, then fled back down and rejoined her procession as it left. Hagai opened it carefully, holding it away from him, and I saw him grow hot with anger. I stood and approached him, but he would not show me. Only when I insisted, in that tone Hagai has grown to know, did he show me the box. It was Yoon-Mai’s powder box. Inside was the head of the asp.
Perhaps the danger is gone, but it will be another night of little sleep. I wonder how Xerxes will fare with her in his bed. And, suddenly, it brought me great pleasure to think on this: that the king had better please the virgin, or she may save us all the trouble of finishing out our time here!
26
Thirteenth Day of the Month of Tammuz
Eighth Year of the Reign of Xerxes
Year 3399 after Creation
Another girl is dead. Hagai brought me news of her death when I told him I had seen her body being carried out of the harem at night. In secret. Hagai tells me it was one of the girls who arrived with me in my caravan here, one of the noisier girls who tormented me about my unkempt appearance. It seems she could not wait to go to the king’s bed, for she sought solace in the arms of a palace guard. Her eunuchs must have helped her find access to him. Hagai says they will be killed.
“So she was put to death, then?” I asked.
“No,” Hagai told me. “She found herself to be with child and sought the care of a local sorcerer to rid the pregnancy. She knew she would be killed for dishonoring the king in such a way. She took the leaves and flowers from a poisonous plant and made a strong brew, some of which she drank, some of which she used to try to cleanse the womb directly. And, of course, you were witness to her success.”
I felt a sadness for this girl. She was more prepared than I to be brought here, but she was not prepared for this life.
Now, dear diary, after I have spent seven months in Ashtari’s care, I do not know myself from the first image I saw, as I stare at my reflection in the polished mirrors in my chambers. My hair has been darkened
with juniper berries, my nails dyed red with henna, and my eyes resemble those of a cat, arching out from side to side. Ashtari has had me on a strict regimen of the finest flours and fruits, with my meat roasted and infused with cumin, to give my complexion a glow and increase my fertility. If I will have one night with the king, it would be best to try to conceive, she says. Giving birth, especially to a son, would move me up to finer quarters in the wives’ harem. I have tried not to think too much about that one night, but of course, that one night is what this entire year is about. Everything I eat, everything I wear and do and say is carefully coached so I will not waste that evening. I have begun to ask Ashtari what the king will do with me that night, and afterward, but her reply is always the same:
“Whatever he wishes.”
Day upon day, Ashtari and the girls rub almond oil into my skin, and myrrh, and perfume my hair and my body, before applying elaborate cosmetics and dyes. I am but a canvas for their artistry. I am entering a new phase of my education here. My body and face are perhaps fit for a king, but I must learn the art of a royal seduction.
To this end, they brought a woman to me today that I had only heard rumor of. Her name is Sadira, and she is a very fat woman, with severe hair, her makeup packed into the wrinkled crevasses of her skin, the way moss grows between the stones of the palace walls. Her teeth were yellowed from smoking a pipe she carried with her in her robes, and she breathed heavily as if every movement was labored. Sadira is the woman in the palace harem who teaches the ancient arts of seduction, and only those who are favored to win the crown receive private instruction from her. But she eyed me crossly, as if I was all that stood between her and a good nap, and immediately barked at me to disrobe as I would in the king’s presence.
My hands felt like blocks of wood as I fumbled with my robes. I knew nothing of what would please a man. I hated having this mound of a woman watching me, my inexperience becoming more evident, my honor feeling more like shame. To my tired mind, having seen so many strange sights here, she seemed to grow larger and larger, until it was just the two of us there in that hot little room, her glaring eyes and my red cheeks.