by Chris Aslan
“Did he say how much it was worth?”
“I didn’t want to ask straightaway, so instead I asked him how the jar opened. ‘There is no opening, which only adds to its value,’ the merchant said. ‘It is like an egg: there is no door in or out and yet it contains a golden treasure.’” I had never seen Father so animated and I laughed at his impression of the merchant’s voice.
“What happened next?”
“So I asked him, ‘How do you open it? They must have got the nard in there somehow.’ The merchant smiled at me indulgently. ‘It is a secret which even I do not know. All I can tell you is that the only way to release even one drop of nard is to break the jar.’ My eyes must have widened, which was what the merchant was after. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Impossible to believe! Who could afford such extravagance? A gift for a mighty king. More than a year’s wages poured out in such extravagance.’ He was happy to boast of the price to an ordinary villager, knowing I would never actually be his client. We talked a little more and then another customer came and I thanked him and left. I waited until I was back on the main street again and then I couldn’t contain myself. I just started laughing and thanking God. People must have thought I was mad.”
“More than a year’s wages?” I flung my arms around Father and we laughed and cried at the same time.
“Miri, do you know what this means?” he asked, holding me and kissing my forehead. “When we sell the jar it will give us more than enough for both your dowries, with enough left over for Eleazar to ask for any girl in the village.”
“When are we going to tell Marta about the jar?” I asked, my eyes shining.
Father thought for a moment. “We’ll tell her tonight, after Eleazar is asleep. I don’t want us to mention this in front of Annas. When he asks for her, let it be for love.”
I climbed the olive trees and beat them with a lightness in my spirit; the patter of falling olives seemed like the sound of blessing falling from heaven. We joined the others for midday meal, and even Eleazar noticed that something was up and asked, “Why is everyone so happy?”
Father and I looked away, smiling, not wanting to catch each other’s eye. After midday meal, Annas insisted on helping Father with his biggest tree. Father protested that it would be too hot in the heat of the day, but both men were in high spirits and headed off together. I lay down next to Eleazar, who was asleep, but I knew that a nap was impossible. My head was buzzing with Father’s news. God had rewarded my father for the kindness he had shown a stranger in need. I imagined what Yokkan or some of the other militants would have done, hounding the dying man off their land rather than risk being defiled or made unclean.
Once Eleazar had woken up, we trudged up to the largest olive tree in our grove. Father and Annas had stripped down to their grubby linen waist cloths, tucking them between their legs to preserve modesty for those below. Marta and I began gathering the olives littered around us. Both men were covered in sweat, leaves and bits of twig. “I know it’s early, but I don’t think the donkeys can carry more than we’ve harvested,” said Annas, and called over to Eleazar, “How about a swim to cool off?”
Father grinned and nodded and both men swung down from the branches, beaming like boys. Marta offered Annas his robe, averting her eyes modestly. I held up Father’s for him to shrug into. “Can you de-leaf me a bit first,” he said, and I picked up one of the empty olive sacks and wiped him down.
Eleazar whooped ahead of the group, keen for a swim, and the men walked on together with Annas’s donkey, both carrying full shoulder bags of olives. Marta and I followed behind with our own donkey.
“Is everything alright? You’ve suddenly become very quiet,” said Marta.
“Yes, it’s fine. I’m just tired,” I lied. I wasn’t fine at all. I would have to wait until that night, once I was sure everyone else was asleep, before I woke up Father and beckoned him up onto the roof. I hoped lamplight would be enough to put my fears to rest. I had to see his shoulder again. As I’d wiped away the leaves and twigs, I thought I’d seen something on his back, just out of his line of vision. Perhaps it was nothing – I only saw it fleetingly. Perhaps there was a perfectly good explanation for that small, white patch I thought I saw; something that would calm the fear that sat like a stone in the pit of my stomach.
Chapter Three
Muffled and irritated bleating comes from the stable where the sheep and goats are penned in on this sunny spring day. I know how they feel. Today is our weekly holy day and we are expected to rest – even though for me it means more work later. On days like this, our compound never feels big enough. We’re all cooped up together with no chores with which to escape interaction. I suspect Marta has forgotten what day it is and is losing herself in her weaving. She’s always managed to immerse herself in everyday tasks so completely it’s as if she’s in a trance. I envy her.
In our compound, Shoshanna is napping inside while the rest of us sit in the shade of the kitchen area. Rivka is braiding her hair. I don’t know why; she’ll only have to undo each braid before Shoshanna wakes up, otherwise she’ll get an earful about fallen women and stoning.
I’m helping my husband learn by heart another chapter of the law. He’s been allowed to borrow a scroll from the prayer house. Holy Halfai is grooming Ishmael to sit at his feet and become an official apprentice of the law. I’m not happy about this, as it will mean he’ll see more of Imma, who still hasn’t forgiven me, even though she has no idea about what really happened. Ishmael has about as much talent for reading as my brother. My reading is much better but I bite my tongue except to praise. I’m trying to keep on Ishmael’s good side and he hasn’t hit me for a while. The text is written in the holy language, not the language we speak every day. I can more or less understand it, but I have to concentrate.
“This word here looks complicated,” I say, pointing at the word atonement. I wait patiently as he mouths each syllable. When he eventually succeeds I whisper, “You’ll have Holy Halfai sitting at your feet soon enough.”
“You shouldn’t call him that; it’s not respectful,” he says with a smile, and I feel as if I’m wobbling on the edge of an abyss, because for a moment he sounded like my father. I look down at the text, forcing my emotions to shut down. I don’t even realize what Ishmael is reading aloud until a slow smile spreads over Rivka’s face. Ishmael is so caught up in the memorization of each word that he hasn’t realized either.
It’s too much for Rivka to remain silent. “Ishmael, why don’t you get Mariam to read aloud that last part a few times to help you really commit it to memory?” He nods, his brow furrowed as his lips silently echo each word.
I read, “And the leper in whom the plague is, his clothes shall be rent, and his head bare, and he shall put a covering upon his upper lip, and shall cry, Unclean, unclean.”
“Do that last bit again, about the covering,” says Ishmael, as Rivka smirks.
“Come on, Ishmael,” says Rivka. “I expect Mariam memorized this bit ages ago.”
I continue, “All the days wherein the plague shall be in him he shall be defiled; he is unclean: he shall dwell alone; without the camp shall his habitation be.”
Ishmael manages to repeat this back to me without a single mistake and nods in quiet satisfaction at his success. Rivka looks satisfied too. I keep my face a blank mask. I won’t let her hurt me. Instead, I imagine that I have the same terrible power as one of our prophets of old. “Be defiled forever,” I declare dramatically in my head, and white, crusty bulges break out all over Rivka’s face as she shrieks, falls to the ground, tearing at her hair and rending her garments, scraping at her face with shards of broken pottery. It almost makes me smile.
At sundown we eat together and I’m finally allowed to do all the chores that have built up over the day. It’s late by the time I blow out the lamp. Rivka, Shoshanna, and Ishmael all appear to be asleep, but as I lie down next to him, I feel Ishmael’s hands reach down the hem of my tunic, tugging it up. I never feel ready
for his approaches, and try not to tense as it only makes his entrance into me feel more uncomfortable. He is like a farmer eager to sow his seed and digs deep in order to plant it. I hear him labouring on top of me, his mouth so close to my nose that I can smell the remnants of fish we ate for supper. I try to listen out for Rivka and Shoshanna’s steady breathing, to reassure myself that they’re still asleep. Then I try to think about something else. My mind wanders towards my brother, Eleazar, but thinking about him will only make me tense up more. Instead a memory surfaces from early childhood. I’d woken up in the middle of the night, thirsty for water. I could hear sighs and groans in the darkness, followed by a breathy chuckle. I didn’t feel scared by the noises because whoever was making them sounded happy.
“Mother,” I cried out. “Mother, I’m thirsty.”
There was sudden silence and then the shuffle of clothing being adjusted, and I heard my mother’s voice, a little strained, whisper, “Hush, Miri. Don’t wake your brother and sister. I will fetch you water.”
I felt her approach me in the darkness, patting me and then pressing a clay cup into my hands. I drank deeply and lay back, not quite satisfied because I knew that I had curtailed something secret and special.
Ishmael labours faster and then his whole body convulses, and with a strangled moan, he slumps on top of me. I’m relieved it’s over. This is the only part I sort of enjoy, when he suddenly seems weak and vulnerable, as I bear his weight, and he doesn’t bat my hand away if I caress the curls on the back of his head. It lasts just a moment before he withdraws, gets up and goes outside to cleanse himself. I’m about to follow him when I hear my mother-in-law whisper, “Let his seed settle in you and take root. You can cleanse yourself in the morning.” Rivka lets out a loud, irritated sigh.
Grateful for the darkness, I lie there in silence and think about the many ways a person can be rendered unclean. Inevitably, my thoughts turn to Father.
I’d woken him in the night and we’d gone up to the flat roof. He’d seemed puzzled, but followed me silently. Then I lifted my lamp and asked him to remove his tunic. I held the lamp up against his back, close enough that he flinched from its heat. It was there: a pale white lesion with crusty edges and a leathery surface.
“Well?” Father asked quietly. I swallowed, unable to speak. “Miri?” Father turned and looked at my face and then he knew too.
“I would never have noticed it if I hadn’t been wiping your back. No one needs to know. We don’t have to tell anyone.”
Father, his eyes shining with tears, was about to embrace me and then remembered and stopped. He paused in thought for a moment, his head bowed. “Yes, we could probably live like that for quite a while. The mark would grow bigger and possibly others would start, but for a while longer we could hide it.” He glanced up. “Until one day it would be me raising my lamp and checking you or Marta or Eleazar and finding marks on you as well. Miri, this uncleanness will spread, not just over me but to others as well. How can I stay here and endanger you all, along with everyone else in our village?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s something else? We don’t even know if it’s…”
“I will present myself to Halfai tomorrow,” said Father. “He will know.”
We sat for a moment in silence. I tried to keep my voice steady. “Why is God punishing us? You were just trying to help that man.”
Again Father reached for me and then stopped himself; a habit he would continue over the next few days with heartbreaking regularity. “Miri, I trust in him with all my heart, my mind and my strength. I don’t understand this, but I’m not trusting in my understanding. I’m trusting in his.”
I began to weep and Father watched, unable to take me in his arms. Then he, too, started to cry. I reached out for him. “No,” he said, drawing back. “Please, Miri, you must keep your distance. Now go and wash your hands.”
And that was the moment I began to understand the true evil of this disease.
It felt as if I didn’t sleep at all that night until Marta shook me awake in the morning. “Where’s Father?” I asked.
“He left without eating breakfast,” she said. “He wouldn’t say where he was going. Miri, is something wrong?”
I’m not very good at lying first thing in the morning, but was saved by the sound of one of our neighbours with three cows, who was walking the street with her milk pail, calling out for customers. Marta grabbed a jug and a few coppers and hurried outside.
I was still eating breakfast when Father returned, his face ashen.
“Marta,” he said, standing back from us. “We have visitors.”
Halfai, his wife Heras, and a gaggle of the village elders entered the compound, keeping as close to the door as possible. Marta quickly roused herself, bowing to the guests and hissing at me to fill a basin with water to wash their feet.
“No,” said Halfai to her. “That will not be necessary. We are not staying long.” He looked around the compound. “Where is Eleazar?”
“I think he’s playing with some of the other boys,” said Marta. “Why? Has he done something wrong? Father, is Eleazar alright?”
“I can go and find him,” I said.
“No,” Halfai was abrupt. He turned to one of the elders who, with a silent nod, left in search of my brother. “You may not leave,” Halfai said, turning back to us.
“I don’t understand. Father?” Marta looked to Father but his head was bowed, his hair obscuring his face.
Clearing his throat, Halfai then announced, “This household is quarantined for seven days. For this duration you may not leave. At dawn, a water jug left outside your compound door will be filled with water. Likewise you may leave coins for any items you need to purchase. Heras will ensure that you have what you need.”
“Quarantined?” said Marta. “Has someone died?”
Halfai ignored her and continued. “Marta and Mariam, daughters of Shimon, you will disrobe and present yourself to Heras for inspection. If there is any white spot upon you, it will be examined in seven days. If still present, you will become unclean to all others and you will be exiled from the village.”
“Are you talking about leprosy?” Marta asked. “Why would we be at risk? I can’t remember there being any lepers in our village for years.”
Halfai and the elders prepared to leave. “No, you should stay here, Shimon,” said Halfai to my father.
“But if my daughters must disrobe?”
“You may turn your face away until their examination is completed.”
Marta and I glanced at each other and then at Heras. She was a plump, browbeaten woman who looked at us both with a blend of sympathy and wariness. She bolted the door after Halfai, and my father turned to stare at the trunk of the apricot tree.
“Must we disrobe here? Can’t we at least go into the inner room?” asked Marta.
“The inspection must be done in sunlight. My husband knows about these things,” said Heras. We began to undress, suddenly self-conscious, although we had bathed together many times. I tried to cover my breasts but Heras shook her head and mimed the position we were to take, with arms outstretched and legs apart. She began with Marta, running her eyes over every part of her body, but careful not to come too close or to touch us. “And now lift your heels, one at a time,” she said. Then it was my turn.
I stared straight ahead, feeling goose pimples break out down my back, due to scrutiny, not cold.
“You may clothe yourselves,” she said, once she was done. “You are both clean.”
I glanced over at Father and saw his shoulders slump a little and his head tip back in a silent prayer of thanks.
As we slipped our tunics over our heads, we could hear Eleazar coming up our street. “Why do I have to come with you and the others don’t? I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Eleazar,” Father called out, still facing away towards the tree. “That is no way to speak to an elder. Wait outside until honourable Halfai invites you to join us.”
Eleazar whined. “Eleazar!” Father shouted. I had rarely heard him raise his voice like this.
We dressed hurriedly, and once our headscarves were on, Heras went to the door, unbolted it and hurried out, clearly relieved to be leaving. Halfai entered, followed by a fuming Eleazar.
“Shimon, son of Hillel, and Eleazar, son of Shimon, you will disrobe and present yourselves before me,” said Halfai formally. “Marta and Mariam, you will avert your gaze.”
“What? I’m not –” Eleazar’s voice was cut short by a look from Father. Marta and I turned to face the apricot tree as Father had done. “Will this do?” Marta asked. I glanced round and caught a glimpse of Eleazar’s face as anger was replaced with confusion and fear. We stared at the tree. My hands began to sweat and my chest tighten.
“Raise your arms like this, and spread your legs,” said Halfai. After what seemed like an age, he said, “There is no mark upon you. You are clean.”
Hearing this, I almost released my bladder in relief, but then a moment later he said, “Now you, Shimon,” and I felt my stomach clench again. This time the examination took longer. I glanced at Marta. Her jaw was clenched. She wouldn’t look at me, keeping her eyes fixed on the tree, just as she’d been told.
Halfai sighed. It was not a quick sigh of exasperation but slower and filled with sadness. “Shimon, son of Hillel, there is a white mark upon you.”
I felt dizzy and wondered if I would pass out.
“It may be a temporary affliction. If it is gone within seven days, then you need only fulfil the purification rituals and return to your usual life. If, however, the spot remains, then you will be exiled from this village and may never return without warning those around you, declaring – for as long as you are able to do so – the words ‘unclean, unclean’.”
