by Fish, Susan
“Except for Omar,” she said. “Yes. Poor Omar.”
Omar had been dead nearly ten years, yet the reminder of his death never ceased to amaze me. How could someone so full of life cease to be? There were those in the cabal who would have answers to such questions. Though I had been a magus for many years and was responsible for forecasting, I found it hard to believe that my beauties could explain the loss of a friend. But now, beginnings and ends were among my cosmic thoughts as I studied the motions of the new star.
One evening when I came home, I found Reta on the roof in her usual posture with her eyes closed. They flew open at my arrival.
“I’m sorry to wake you,” I said.
“I wasn’t asleep. I was praying.”
Another depth of this wife was suddenly illuminated.
“You pray?”
“Of course.”
“To your god.”
“I often pray here. The heavens declare the glory of God.”
“What … may I ask … if you can tell me, do you pray about?” The question hung in the air until I wished I had not asked it.
Reta spoke quietly. “I pray for you, my husband, and your work. And for this little one. And for the Savior of my people.”
“Who’s that?” I asked quickly, wanting to move the conversation to safer ground.
“The Lord knows! He will be the fulfilment of promises.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, husband, it has been a hundred years since I sat in the synagogue.”
“But you pray for me?” The question escaped unbidden from a place I did not know.
“Always, dear husband.” She kissed my cheek and went down to bed, leaving me to ponder.
The next time I sat with Reta on the roof, she seemed to feel freer to speak of her people and her faith than she had before.
“I wonder …” she began.
“Wonder what?”
Her eyes were intent upon the new star. “Someday, my people say, a Messiah will be born.”
“So you said.”
“And that a star will herald his birth. Perhaps …”
“Perhaps this star is for our own son’s birth,” I joked.
“Or our daughter’s,” Reta replied, though the one thing we had discussed was our certainty that the child would be a boy. Salvi had four boys already, and Daria seemed the only exception in generations of my family.
I persisted in asking Reta questions about her people’s understanding of a herald star and their savior. To my surprise, Reta had kept the worn scroll Omar had brought me so many years before; she brought it out now from some hidden place and found the prophecies of a star and Israel’s future king.
One night, Reta ventured a tentative question without looking at me. “My husband, you do believe in your gods, don’t you?”
I shrugged. I made the ritual sacrifices each year, as my father had, and I had even made a few secret sacrifices to the gods years before, asking for a child, but that was all. The stars had never moved me to wonder about spiritual matters. I was interested in their beauty. In my school, many were mathematicians who delighted in measuring and calculating the angles and positions of the stars, watching them echo the records of years past. Others were gamblers, trying to outwit the charts with predictions of unforeseen portents. Some were explorers by nature, always restless to discover and conquer. One or two were aesthetes like me who simply gloried in the beauty of the stars. Most simply wanted to gain an audience with the king. Still, some shared my wife’s metaphysical interest.
Among these was my friend Balzar. Balzar was one of the few astronomers who had not inherited his position in the school, so for an outsider like me, he was a natural ally. Even forty years after he had been accepted, and despite his mystical abilities to dream and interpret dreams, Balzar was not as respected as his wisdom deserved. It was Balzar who had kept me from returning home to my father’s contempt when I had been scorned by the others, and who had been a refuge for me another time. Though he did not have the title, to me, Balzar was chief among the astronomers. And it was Balzar’s belief, and Reta’s, that made me begin to wonder how to interpret the new star.
A concern was growing among us to understand the new star. The king had sent urgent, anxious messages, requiring us to determine its meaning. Our usual scribing was put aside for this more pressing matter. Shaz, my oldest enemy in the magi—who now served at the king’s court—sent a message requiring a formal assembly to consider this star so the king could take appropriate action. The very tone of his letter gritted me like sand in the teeth in a storm. If Balzar was above all in the matter of dreams, Shaz was the master of commanding people to serve his own interests. Too well did I remember him once claiming my calculations as his own. I was nearly discredited for deception. I would never forget Shaz’s gilded smile as the others cackled at my work. The ranks were closing me out, and it was only when I caught a small slip in Shaz’s copying and corrected it that my position was saved.
But nothing had changed. Shaz glittered with success and was now returning, a carrion bird, to gather our wisdom.
We prepared for the assembly. I wrote a translation of the prophecies Reta read to me from Omar’s scroll and waited.
Shaz arrived on the appointed day, borne on a litter by slaves. For solidarity’s sake, he had donned the black robe, but colorful glints of silk beneath set him apart from his peers. If anything, Shaz had grown more imperious in his manner since our time studying together. I was reminded how much I despised him, and for the hundredth time, I wondered how his wife could bear his touch.
I was disappointed when, early in the discussion, someone else mentioned the idea of a Jewish Messiah, and several heads nodded familiarity with the idea. My careful piece of research was common knowledge.
Shaz, however, sneered at this. “Some uncle’s feeble recollection is not what I have been sent here to find. The king seeks proof. Does anyone have anything else to offer?”
After such an opening to the council, no one felt free to speak. Shaz noted any ideas ventured with a skeptical eye. My gaze fell upon the notes I had transcribed. Was it worth Shaz’s withering commentary to share them? I looked at Balzar’s earnest face with its long white beard. Balzar often inspired me with his lifelong dedication to seeking the truth. I recalled the vow I had made when I joined the magi—to seek truth and to share it freely. All these years I had been diligent and content in my studies, but my vow had never before been challenged. I swallowed my pride, accepted the inevitable experience of being belittled yet again by Shaz, and rose to my feet.
“When I was a boy,” I began, “a Hebrew book of stars discovered by a trader became mine. In these last weeks as we have pondered this new star, I have read in this book of Hebrew prophecies that fit our situation aptly.”
I could see Shaz was interested, almost against his will.
“Do you have these Hebrew prophecies?” he asked.
“I do. Here is the original, and here is the translation a friend helped me to do.”
Reta had begged me to keep her identity as a Hebrew secret. Insecure enough among the wealthy wives of the astronomers, Reta was worried old racial tensions would surface if her origins were widely known.
A few more outlandish interpretations were offered and rejected while my little Jewish scroll was passed around and copied by the astronomers. Balzar, who read more widely than most, appeared deeply moved by the Hebrew poetry. Shaz dismissed us all to our tasks for the evening, demanding our presence the next week for a decision.
I picked up the water clocks and the measuring sticks and carried them to our usual place outside the city. The star had moved farther to the west. I found myself straining my ears for a message from the star, and though it radiated beauty and mystery, the skies were silent. When we finished making our calculations and recording all we observed, we h
eaded back to the city. With his stiff joints, Balzar was, as usual, the slowest. As I carried the equipment, I fell into step with him, my arm supporting his, his thoughts lifting my own.
“‘The heavens declare the glory of God,’” he quoted, as Reta had. “It’s true, Melchi, isn’t it?” He beamed at the beauties around him.
“How do you do it?” I asked. “How do you cultivate this interest in the gods?”
“What do you mean?”
“For me, the stars are like jewels—lovely, fascinating, but that’s all. Perhaps they reflect what is happening here, but the idea that they can be messages from a god—it’s unsettling.”
“Why is that?” Balzar asked.
“It changes everything if there is something beyond what you can see. Or Someone. This god of my wife’s—” I stopped.
“Your wife?”
“Reta is a Hebrew. She is Jewish.” I knew I could trust Balzar, but for Reta’s sake I explained her desire for secrecy.
“My first wife was half-Jewish. Jewish. People were not always kind. I will protect this truth about your wife. Tell me more of your questions, Melchior.”
I shrugged. Did I have questions? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that belief in a god reoriented everything. My father’s death, Omar’s, the new star, the spaces between the stars—all these had shaken me, revealing space beyond my view of beauty, but it was an uncomfortable place to be, nothing like the happy worship Balzar quoted.
“What is the deepest desire of your heart?” Balzar asked me.
I hesitated, though I knew my answer immediately. I considered the conventional answer: my wife was expecting a child, and desire for a safe delivery was certainly one I held. My thoughts of truth, however, convinced me to be honest with him.
“All my life, I have dreamed of reaching up and grasping the unmoving star,” I said.
Balzar nodded seriously. Then, as we reached the doorway of his house, he patted my arm. “You may be closer to God than you think.”
~ 9 ~
Delegation
A week later the council reconvened, and Shaz was again presiding. “The king agrees that the Hebrew prophecies are convincing. The ephemerides, the star charts, certainly point to a regal birth in Israel. We believe that the birth of a new king in Israel is the meaning of this star.”
Balzar patted me on the back.
Shaz continued. “The business at hand now is to select a delegation to represent our king and to deliver the official gifts.”
I looked around, trying to imagine who would be sent. When I had first joined the astronomers’ school, I had been surprised to discover how much rivalry there was. Though I had seen much striving for position when I lived among the merchants, I had not realized how universal the activity was. It was not enough for many of these men to be magi; they wanted positions at the king’s court, and they would peck and strike at anyone who stood in the way.
My first day in the city I had learned several important lessons. One was that I had not been accepted into the astronomy school; I had been accepted to be tested. The other was that the test would be harder for me than for the others, simply because no one knew my family.
Breeding and family counted to Shaz more than to anyone else. Being the nephew of the chief astronomer had gotten him further than my mere calculations had, and he was all too aware of the benefits of a system that promoted its sons. The decision regarding the delegation to the new king would not be Shaz’s alone, however. The chief astronomer was responsible for such choices. The process was a delicate one, done publicly in council as it was. Raised eyebrows, averted glances, cleared throats were all part of the subtle game I had seen played before.
“Our king has asked for four magi as well as servants,” Shaz explained. “Horses will of course be made available, and king’s guards will secure the gifts.”
His face expressionless, the chief astronomer gestured in Shaz’s direction. “We would, of course, be honored to have you, Alshazak, lead our delegation.”
As Shaz bowed in ritual agreement, I could see his eyes glow with the pleasure of being recognized.
The chief astronomer’s second choice was equally predictable: his other son-in-law, Caspar. I wondered once again how my own career might have advanced had Stela chosen me instead of Shaz. Not that I had ever expected it. I had learned the politics of the magi early on.
Choosing the remaining candidates proved a more difficult matter. The chief astronomer listened to requests from several rising young men, but there was no obvious candidate from among them.
Finally Hasin, Balzar’s son, nudged his father. “Tell them your dream, Father,” he urged.
At this, all ears perked up. Dreams were held in high regard among the magi, and the telling of dreams was an art form of which Balzar was a master.
Balzar rose to his feet slowly, clasped his hands in front of his stomach in his customary posture, and began. “At this time last year, I awoke from sleep with my dream carefully and fully preserved as if in wax. Joy filled my heart as I thought in my bed upon this dream. I have long pondered its meaning and wondered if it foretold my death. Lately I have begun to wonder if it might foretell something else.
“In my dream, I was traveling across the desert by night, as I have not done for twenty years. I was not alone, but I did not recognize my companions. We rode on horses, not camels. I felt we were being pulled to a destination, one I eagerly anticipated but did not know. The stars guided us in their song.
“I sorrowed to awaken from this dream, so real it seemed.”
Balzar sank back into his chair. Describing the dream had brought him a smile as of a happy memory. His description had been more brief than most dream stories, but there was a ring of authenticity to it.
Discussion of Balzar’s dream and its interpretation was lengthy. At first, magi tried to be tactful, but Balzar cut through their fine words. “We must state the matter plainly: I am old. My health is uncertain. If I were chosen to be part of this delegation, it is altogether possible the journey could kill me. I am aware of this. I am also aware that I could die in my comfortable bed tomorrow. I am not afraid to try.”
“The trip will be strenuous,” Caspar pointed out.
“But this task is one of diplomacy. We require wisdom, not might,” argued another.
“And there are dangers on the highway.”
“If Balzar were to become ill …?”
“I could be left behind.”
“It would not slow our trip.”
“Nor is speed the essential thing.”
“Except that our king wants a prompt delivery of his gifts to the new king,” Shaz reminded. “I do not think Bal—”
The chief astronomer interrupted Shaz. “Balthazar’s dream is persuasive. I appoint him as our final representative.”
As the magi began rising from this long council, I had to speak. “You’ve only chosen three.”
The chief astronomer looked at me. “I thought it was understood, Melchior.”
I shook my head.
“As the one responsible for the discovery of the prophetic scroll,” said the chief astronomer, “you will join the delegation to Jerusalem.”
The moment stood still with clarity. I saw Shaz roll his eyes, heard the cacophony of laughter from those who evidently thought it was a good joke that I hadn’t realized my reward. Balzar squeezed my shoulder. My heart filled with delight as my skin prickled with astonishment. I had watched the negotiations of many councils. I knew myself to be a perpetual spectator to the politics, and now, with no effort or ambition on my part, I was chosen.
The stars shone in the heavens as I floated home, too dazed and delighted to discuss the matter further.
Reta was already in bed when I crept in, though she awoke at my entrance. Her sleep had become more and more fragmented as the pregna
ncy progressed. She knew the subject of our council, and, yawning as she rolled over, she said, “Let me guess: Shaz and Caspar.”
“They chose me.”
“You!” Reta sat up and looked full in my face. “Are you joking?”
I shook my head. Reta stood up, walked slowly across the room, then stopped and came back to sit on the bed. “You. Going,” she said. With her hair around her shoulders, she looked like a young girl. Her lips quivered, and then tears coursed silently down her cheeks. I reached an arm out, but she shook it off and stroked her hair with her hands.
“Are you not happy?” I asked carefully. “It’s a great honor.”
She looked up, tears still streaming from her eyes. “Oh, Melchior,” she said, “it is such an honor I had never dreamed of. I feel struck with it—like a blow. It is a shock.”
“A good shock.”
She held her face in her hands as if to steady herself. Her small voice floated up through her hair. “When—when will you leave?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t discuss details.”
“Days? Weeks?”
“Days likely,” I said. “As soon as the stars are favorable. Shaz will want to get going.”
“And the trip will take—”
“One month. Possibly two.”
She looked up at me, tears spent, eyes flat. “Your child is expected in one month or possibly two.”
She said nothing else to me before I left two days later, other than what was absolutely necessary. She said nothing when in guilt and haste I brought home a birthing chair and a basket and set them up. She said nothing when I told her Balzar had arranged for two Hebrew midwives to visit and to be prepared to deliver the child. She said nothing at my eyes, which were rimmed red with tears, or my kiss as I prepared to leave.
“I will hurry back,” I said. “You know I have no choice, but I will hurry home.”
Eyes dulled, Reta handed me my bags, so hurriedly packed, and food she had prepared, and recited a blessing.
“The Lord bless you and keep you and make His face to shine upon you.”
