Hadassah

by Tommy Tenney

  My mind could not contain it. So I simply gazed for a long moment, trying to catch my breath.

  14

  And so many people! I had forgotten that the King’s Gate was the center of commerce not only for Susa itself but the entire Persian Empire. My eager eyes traveled across the intricate spectacle, the swirling patchwork of color and detail and motion. There were columns of soldiers marching through the crowd in a line so precise you would have thought someone had drawn it with a pen. The sun shone majestically off their breastplates and lance tips. There were camel necks craning above the crowd, their humps trailing through the throng like islands in a sea. Canopies of bright red, purple, gold and rich yellows protected piles of glinting foreign goods—pitchers and vases and bolts of silk and beaded curtains and kettles and even curved, threatening knives and sabers—from the elements.

  And the sound of it—the harsh exclamations of a thousand hagglers, barkers shouting out the wonders of their goods, laughter of passersby. The noise reached a volume I had never considered possible.

  Trying to absorb it all, I realized that I was standing against the tide like a stone in a river’s current. A sharp nudge in the shoulder made me look up into the cross glance of a thin, very brown, turbaned man. The wheel of his cart crunched slowly by me, just inches away from my big toe. Then a middle-aged woman loaded with heavy slings across her shoulders grazed my arm and shouted at me in a language I could not understand.

  I began to fear for the survival of my disguise, so I turned to reorient myself for home. This had certainly been enough excitement for one day, at least for this first time.

  And then it hit me. Mordecai might be here—somewhere. He had told me he often spent hours just outside the portico, dealing with royal vendors. As soon as the thought exploded in my mind, I realized this was what I had wanted all along: to see Mordecai on my own, from the covert vantage point of my disguise. A way to silently mock him, perhaps—to flaunt the boldness of my transgression—even though I would never reveal myself.

  But could I find him in all this crush of humanity? I turned back toward the Palace itself and willed myself to navigate the thickest part of the multitude.

  Act like you know where you’re headed, I spoke to my hesitation. You belong here. You have a destination in mind. You just don’t know where it is. . . . I teased myself with the barest hints of a smile as I moved forward.

  Then the Palace walls grew closer, and I caught more glimpses of the guards, their faces tense with concentration and purpose. Their fists clutched thick, tall lances. At their waists shone jewel-encrusted handles of scimitars. The sight made me blanch and suddenly feel quite tiny, quite frivolous in my adolescent adventure. What am I thinking? Who was I to believe I could walk into such an official, solemn place simply in pursuit of a lark?

  I turned away from the soldiers and allowed my curiosity to overcome my intimidation. Maybe I would just walk over this way, along the high wall lined with tent stalls—and then I saw him. He was sitting on the thick cushion he brought home every day, a small sunshade over his head, holding his stylus against an easel erected in front of him.

  I had never seen him in an environment like this, so confident, his face devoid of the worry and doting affection that often constricted his features when he was around me. He squinted with the effort of forming a precise letter stroke upon the sheet, then looked out over its edge—and looked right at me.

  I averted my gaze in a panic and turned away. My heart galloped suddenly in my chest. Has he seen me? Surely he had felt the intensity of my gaze, the lingering pause of my scrutiny. I did not even turn back to satisfy my curiosity. I began to run as fast I could through the crowd.

  And when I started forward once more, I ran straight into the lanky form of a young boy. I looked up warily only to meet the familiar smile of Jesse, Rachel’s grandson. I could feel my face instantly tense into a scowl. Upon my own soul—so much for my sense of utter freedom and abandon! And then I realized that Rachel had surely ordered him on his little surveillance mission, and my anger redoubled. My ally, my helper had betrayed me.

  “What do you want?” I grumped crossly.

  “Nothing. Just to make sure you’re safe,” he said with a slight grin.

  “Well, you can go back to your precious grandmother and tell her I’m fine. I don’t need anybody like you spying on me.”

  “Oh,” he said knowingly. “I’m sure you’re fine. Only tell me, Hadassah, or whoever you are, what is the way back to your house?”

  Why, that was easy. I turned and craned my head only to realize that half a dozen streets fanned out from the square, each identical to the one that had brought me here. I sighed heavily and planted my hands on my hips. The sun was scorching my face. My elaborate clothing began to feel heavy and hot. My head became confused with weariness and fatigue.

  I turned back to him and put on a world-weary expression. “Well, don’t sit there gloating, you big goat. Why don’t you help me?”

  “I’m sorry,” he persisted, his expression lit with a perverse joy. “Did I hear you say the word help?”

  “Yes. Friends are supposed to help each other.”

  “Friends. Fine. Follow me.”

  At that he turned and began to run, long, loping strides through and around the milling people. I followed, only too happy to have someone who knew the way. An odd version of my previous exhilaration returned as I wove my way daringly around a never-ending assortment of people, desperate not to lose sight of Jesse’s back. Soon a clearing emerged in the crowd and I actually caught up with him, glancing over at his flushed features as I matched his strides. He just smiled, for Jesse was a good-natured and kind soul; then he jerked his chin back toward the Palace portico. I shrugged and followed him through the dregs of the marketplace to where the people stopped and the abruptness of Palace wall began.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  He turned around and smiled for an answer.

  “Aren’t we going home?”

  “No. Since we’re here already, I’m going to show you a special place.”

  I started to object, but he turned again and began to run. I could only shrug once more and follow. After we ducked behind a stand selling roasted figs and nuts, I followed him up a steep rise behind the canopy and the merchants’ tethered donkeys. We climbed to a clearing above the crowd, and I stopped to catch my breath. He seemed about to pause and consider the awesome view, but instead Jesse threw his elbows back and started to run forward. I feared he was about to fall off the incline back into the market below, but he launched himself into the air and vaulted with his feet carving the air beneath him. I rushed forward to see him land flat on the back of a gryphon, one of the giant half-eagle, half-lion statues that flanked the portico itself.

  Laughing in the breeze, he turned back and waved to me.

  “Come on!”

  I shook my head. The view was quite sufficient from here.

  “Are you a coward? Shall I call you Hadassah the Mouse?”

  I cringed at his words, for no one had ever called me a coward before. Besides, I knew enough of Jesse’s little jibes to realize that if I failed this test, I might very well hear about it for years. Hadassah the Mouse might well follow me to my grave.

  Without consciously making the decision, I felt my legs flex, my fists clench and my arms start to pump up and down. I propelled myself forward, planted my foot and jumped.

  And for a glorious moment I felt all the freedom and lightness of a bird.

  A second later the unyielding statue’s flank struck me hard upon the shins. I splayed gracelessly against the stone but held on. A hand reached down into my field of view and I grasped it, held it firmly and pulled.

  The next second I was astride the gryphon’s back, sitting behind Jesse as if we were actually riding the beast. I looked down and felt my mouth fall open. Below us stretched a dizzying sea of turbaned heads, bright canopies and milling livestock. Not only the marketplace but al
l of Susa stretched on in a vast patchwork of rooftops and jagged streets to the edge of desert and the snow-capped mountains beyond.

  I felt exposed up there, prominent beyond all hope of concealment, yet as I looked down I noticed something remarkable: no one was looking at us. At least nobody I could spot. The market had a life of its own, and that milling existence did not cease, nor did it care, for the existence of two exhilarated youth.

  I felt like someone spying in plain sight, snooping on someone too stupid to turn around and even sense my presence. Could Mordecai see me? I craned my neck back in the direction of his spot and saw nothing. My hands—where were my hands?—oh my, I suddenly realized I had encircled Jesse’s waist in a manner that felt, well, somehow it did not feel as innocent as child’s play anymore.

  Jesse hiked up one leg and swung around to face me, his own features clouded by an expression of curiosity and anticipation. With a quickness that made me jump, he reached out and pulled off my shepherd’s hat, brushed the dust from my cheeks, ruffled out my hair. I no doubt looked like a girl again. The air suddenly grew thick—and not from heat. I felt my head lighten, my cheeks flush. But I did not pull back. Suddenly Jesse was the center of the universe, the epicenter of my fracturing field of view.

  And then he did it. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine. I pursed my mouth against the pressure and felt the most delightful sensation. More than that, of course. I felt a shock of intimacy, of a closeness beyond embarrassment. And then confusion. What in the world had just happened? I had never entertained, for even one moment, my thawing feelings toward him. I would later learn that there are women—a large portion of women—who spend hours, days even, basking in their contemplations of men. Believe it or not, I was not one of them. The flush of my affection for Jesse felt like the breath was being squeezed from me.

  Then the moment passed, and shyness overtook me. I was now ready for flight and a return home. I swung one leg back to the other and jumped to the ground, a leap that left the soles of my feet tingling.

  With a crunching sound behind me, Jesse joined my descent. He quickly returned the hat and scarf to me, which I jammed onto my head as best I could. Wearing a smug grin that did not dim in the ensuing minutes, he ran to the nearest street opening. I recognized it as the one leading home.

  On the less-traveled avenue we increased our pace and actually began to sprint downhill. The nearly parasang of distance I had traveled that morning in about an hour took far less time on our downward run. Small bits of laughter escaped through the panting of our lungs. I loved it. Confined for years in a courtyard home, I had never experienced the sensation of crossing a large distance with such speed before, especially using my own feet.

  An old woman beating a rug on the sidewalk looked up at me strangely, then stared at me, and I realized then that I was not running like a boy. I looked back at Jesse. How did he do it? What were his strides like, and how were they different from my own? I began to swing my arms emphatically and plant my feet on the ground before taking the next step.

  And I almost ran into his back. He was standing, and stopping alongside him I realized why. We were home. The unfamiliar exterior of my childhood abode stood before me, as unchanged as if I had never left.

  I was panting with the unusual physical activity as well as the excitement of my adventure. Then it hit me: the thought of coming back to spend my typical confined afternoon filled me with a sense of dread I could feel in my temples.

  I turned to Jesse. He flashed a smile that made him look manlike for the first time in all the years I had known him and grasped me by both arms. He leaned toward me and I thought he was going to kiss me again, but instead he turned slightly and grazed my cheek with his lips. Shivers wracked my spine.

  I quickly pecked his cheek in rather perfunctory reply, then turned, took a deep breath and reentered our abode. Rachel, of course, breathlessly awaited my report, and I tried my best to fill the hours with every minute observation that had come my way in such a short time. Every observation, that is, except for the tantalizing events with her grandson.

  Three hours later Mordecai returned, seemingly his usual self. Yet my guilty mind thought it caught him eyeing me closely several times from his corner stool.

  Did he know? Was he unsure of what he’d seen and trying to gauge the possibility?

  I never found out.

  15

  SUSA—CIRCA 480 BC

  The heart of my story, the part that you perhaps have heard of, begins one stifling hot summer day in my nineteenth year. I was used to the heat having known nothing else. I had heard that the King and his court would occasionally escape to Ecbatana for a reprieve from summer temperatures. I was sitting at the table pounding out Rachel’s unleavened bread when Mordecai came through the door, breathing heavily. He usually didn’t return before sundown.

  He fumbled with his outer tunic, the purple velvet piece he’d saved up months to buy and usually folded carefully. Today he briskly tossed it over the sill of an open window, his cheeks flushed the color of a ripe apple.

  “I’ve been invited to a banquet with the King!”

  I stopped as though struck by a witch’s spell, my fingers frozen white with flour. I had been daydreaming about life in the Palace all afternoon. My face must have asked the question.

  “The King’s chancellor has just given a general invitation for everyone in Susa to attend a royal banquet lasting for seven whole days. It’s the tail end of a military convocation that has been going on for six months. King Xerxes has been whipping his generals into a frenzy over going back to war against Greece. Now he wants to demonstrate the people’s affection for him. There’ll be food and wine from all over the Empire, and dancers. None of which I have any use for, of course.” He chuckled and looked over at Rachel, whose expression had already grown disdainful.

  I felt my lips form the words, then heard them as though they’d floated out of another person’s mouth. My head became light and dizzy, filled with a sort of filmy gauze, when my ears actually heard the statement meet the open air.

  “I want to go.”

  A year before he would have dismissed the words without even glancing at me. After all, I did not leave the grounds. But something about my new stature and the tone of my voice made him stop quite abruptly and meet my eyes with a dark, appraising look.

  “What did you say?” he asked, no doubt for time to collect his thoughts.

  “You said ‘everyone in Susa.’ Well, I am someone in Susa, and I want to go. I want to see the Palace.”

  “It’ll be a drunken brawl. It’s the last place I would take you outside of this house.”

  “Then why,” asked Rachel, already cocked sideways in her defiant posture, “is a good, observant Jew like yourself going?”

  “Because I have to. I’m a Palace scribe. I have to be there. Be seen in attendance by the court. It’s—oh, you wouldn’t understand.”

  Rachel threw down the small rag from her shoulder with an exasperated sound.

  “Mordecai, you need to go almost as little as Hadassah does.”

  “Besides,” he argued, “the whole celebration will last seven days. I won’t be able to come home for a whole week.”

  “Then let me meet you for the final night,” I said.

  “The final night is the worst,” he answered with a shrug. “Everyone has been drinking for a solid week. It’s not safe for a woman of purity.”

  “Wait a minute!” I cried out. “I have hardly ever been outside these walls in my life! I hardly know what other people look like—in my imaginary world everybody is middle-aged and Jewish, because I don’t know any better! And to make things worse, I’m getting older—”

  “You’re older,” he repeated with a dubious look.

  “Yes. Older,” I spat out, still riding the steam of my agitation.

  But Mordecai began to shake his head like the sage of the centuries. “No. No, my dear. You have no idea what questions I would raise
coming in with a beauty like you. ‘Oh, the bachelor Mordecai has found himself a winsome young concubine. Look at that luscious maiden!’ And then if I explained that you were my daughter, I would have to answer even more questions, as I’ve told everyone I was never married. Even if I were to lie and say that we were neither lovers nor relatives, I would then open the door to countless questionable, even obscene, proposals and physical danger. The King himself might take a fancy to you and keep you as his concubine. And then I would never see you again. It is just too complicated and dangerous.”

  “All right, then. I’ll go as a boy.”

  His eyes grew wide.

  “I’ve done it before, Poppa.”

  His eyes doubled in size.

  He sat heavily on his stool, his eyes glazed over with the look of a man in furious thought. A man whose view of things has just been twisted upside down.

  “You’ve left here without my permission?”

  “Yes.” The word gave me a perverse thrill even as I said it.

  “You’ve gone to the Palace?”

  “The portico plaza—once.”

  “In a disguise.”

  “Yes, Poppa.”

  “Well!” He looked up at Rachel, questioning with his eyes whether she’d been an accomplice to this calamity. He turned away with the weariness of an old man. Of course, she would have to be an accomplice to some degree, no matter what. She was charged with always knowing my whereabouts. He sighed as though the fate of the world rested in his hands.

  “I’ll follow along behind you and not say a word,” I continued. Then, as I saw he was beginning to actually contemplate my idea, I turned conciliatory. “Please? You know it will be the most exciting day of my life. To go from being a shut-in to a guest in the Royal Palace?”

  When he began to chuckle grudgingly, I knew my case was won.

  16