Alabaster

by Chris Aslan

  “Only by those who know no better,” he says, and I smile.

  “I’ve come to you for help.” He raises an eyebrow. “How often do you go to the capital?”

  “Once or twice a month. I’m heading there tomorrow,” he says. “Why?”

  “How heavily laden is your camel?” I ask.

  “Sometimes I take olives to press for oil, but usually it’s only on the way back that I load her down.”

  “My sister weaves carpets,” I explain. “They’re good quality and knotted, not just flat-weave. Could I give you one to try to sell in the capital? Marta has several. They’re not very heavy. We really need your help.”

  I see him weighing up the risks of helping a shunned woman. “Bring one to me,” he says, turning away as if the conversation is finished. “I’ll see what I can do. Bring it to my home and leave it with my wife.”

  I understand. He doesn’t need trouble from Halfai, and already one or two people have begun to stare. I hurry home with my jar.

  Two days later I visit his stall again in the heat of the afternoon when few customers are around. Good news: he sold the carpet and got a price higher than our relative Yoezer usually pays Marta for the larger sizes. “People in the capital have money,” says Tauma, clinking coins into my hand. “And that Yoezer has been robbing you with the price he paid your sister.”

  I thank him and hand one of the silver coins back.

  “It’s too much,” he says.

  “I hope we can do business again. Can I drop off the other completed rugs at your compound this evening?”

  When I get home and tell Marta the news, she can’t believe the price we got. “Like I said, I know I can’t weave, but I can sell. Let me be responsible for that side of things. Also, I have another plan.”

  “A plan?”

  “I think it’s time that Master Marta started training some apprentices.”

  Marta isn’t keen but then I tell her about the two little girls at Elisheba’s, tainted by Rohel’s sin and never likely to shake the stigma. “How will they ever find husbands, and what will they live on if they don’t?”

  Reluctantly, Marta agrees to a trial period of one carpet. I hug her and then head to Elisheba’s. Now I just have to convince Elisheba and the girls.

  I suggest the idea, and then Elisheba gives me a bone-crushing hug and begins to weep. Neither of the girls wants to leave the compound, though.

  “What’s this?” Elisheba thunders, clipping them both on the backs of their heads. “Our guest offers you the opportunity to learn a skill – to be able to walk around our village with your heads held high and to afford nice clothes – and you do this?” She mimics them both before giving them a withering look. Then she turns to me. “We will come just after sunrise. It’s time for all of us to leave this compound.”

  The next day, true to her word, Elisheba and the girls arrive just as we’re finishing breakfast. Elisheba looks determined, but also a little shaken. “Whenever someone wanted to speak to me, I just kept walking, telling them that my daughters are learning to be weavers and that we mustn’t keep their master waiting.”

  “Then let me introduce you to your master, Marta,” I say, as the girls look up solemnly.

  Marta gets up and then crouches in front of the two girls. “Mmm,” she says, feeling one of Sholum’s spindly forearms. “Not much meat there. And you –” she gives the other girl a hard stare – “are going to be a problem. How can we have two Martas here? Eh? Mariam will call for Marta to come for midday meal and up you’ll run and all my food will be gobbled up by the time she realizes it was you.” The little girl smiles shyly but says nothing. “There’s only one thing for it. From now on, you will be called Little Marta.” Little Marta nods. “Now, let’s begin.”

  Marta leads them over to the loom and sits them down on a mat, one on either side of her, while Elisheba and I watch. “You see these warp threads? They’re all boring and brown, just like dirt. We have to make a garden grow amongst them. Look at all the colours we have up here to make flowers grow.” She points at the coloured yarn hanging down from the branches, adjusting them to make sure that the girls can reach. “Just like a flower garden, our carpet will grow slowly,” she says, and already the girls have forgotten us. “But not too slow,” she adds with mock ferocity, rapping Sholum gently on the knuckles and causing a giggle.

  I grab the water jug and walk with Elisheba down to the well. People stare at us – two disgraced women happily in conversation together; by unspoken agreement, we try extra hard to smile in the face of disapproval. “I will be back for the girls at sundown,” she says as we part, and gives my hand a squeeze.

  Sholum’s dextrous little fingers are perfect for knotting, and she learns fast. Little Marta is slower but Marta is happy with her progress. Big Marta is such a good teacher that I even feel a twinge of jealousy. She’s strict with the girls but also remarkably patient, coaxing excellence from them. She tells them stories about the origins of the design they’re working on, and lets them watch her weave at her normal speed, so they know what to aim for.

  The girls respond to her with a quiet obedience that soon solidifies into devotion. They call her “master” just like the boys on their street refer to their own teachers of carpentry or leatherwork.

  “Yesterday was so boring,” the apprentices tell Marta on the first day of the week. “We had to stay at home, and we missed you so much. We didn’t want to rest. We just want to work on the carpet.”

  After the first few days, the girls start to arrive and leave without Elisheba. Often she sends them with a plate of food enough for all four of us. We try to make sure that the bowl never returns empty, and Marta also gives the girls a few cooking lessons.

  I ask Aunt Shiphra to speak with one of the saddle-makers and a woman who weaves coloured linen to find out how much they pay their apprentices. Then I negotiate with Marta and we agree that the girls will work for free on the first three carpets, but that after that, if the quality of their work is good, they will receive a portion of every sale. Marta no longer talks about a trial period.

  Marta has just one drop spindle and usually spends most of winter spinning wool for the summer weaving. Now, with the extra hands, she’s worried we’ll run out of wool. I speak to Tauma and on market day he introduces me to one of the traders. He agrees to bring spun and dyed wool next week for a good price. Tauma also knows the other camel owners in neighbouring villages, and I’m able to put in an order for soft camel down so we can weave some luxury carpets as well.

  Marta starts the girls on a small carpet, knowing that at first they’ll weave slowly. When it’s cut from the loom, I feel extravagant and go down to the bird-seller in the market and return with two plump pigeons. We celebrate with meat. “Here, take this to your mother,” Marta says, rolling up the carpet and handing it to her apprentices. “She should enjoy the first fruits of your labours.”

  “I thought I was in charge of business,” I say, after the girls have left.

  “You couldn’t have sold that,” says Marta, aghast. “It was full of mistakes. I wouldn’t put my name to such a carpet, but Elisheba will love it.”

  Although Marta is busier than ever, now she takes more care over her appearance. Her hair has regained its sheen and the dark hollows under her eyes have disappeared.

  “I’m thinking about expansion,” I say that evening, as we boil up the pigeon bones to make broth. “Look at the difference we’re making in the lives of these girls. There are so few opportunities for girls to learn a trade. I’ve been thinking about the upper room. We could finish it properly and then set up a couple of looms inside. That way you could weave in winter and spring as well.”

  Marta smiles. “You’re good at weaving words,” she says. “Certainly better than weaving anything else.”

  I pinch her, grinning. “Maybe it’s time for us to finally put the jar to good use.”

  “No,” she says. “Father gave it to us for our dowries, Miri. We
can’t just go and spend it on some fantasy.”

  “Look around you, Marta. Where are these husbands we’re to marry? Why do we save for a future that will never happen? At least think about it and we can talk more in a few days.”

  The next day at the well, one of the women who are supposed to be shunning me informs me that Imma and Ishmael are betrothed. Of course, it comes as no surprise, but I still find it hard to mask my emotions. I try to work out why I feel so sad. Is it because I worry for Imma that Ishmael will beat her, or because I’m worried that he won’t? In which case, what does that say about me?

  The following morning at the well, there is a flurry of discussion. “Mariam, have you heard?” says another of the women who would usually shun me. “The occupiers have caught one of the militant leaders along with most of his army.”

  It seems that the rules of shunning don’t apply when there’s the possibility of giving me bad news.

  “Yokkan and Eleazar might be amongst them,” she continues, looking disappointed at my stony-faced response. “They might be nailed along with their leader.”

  “Whatever God wills,” I say, heaving up the bucket.

  “Did you hear that?” the woman says to another of the gossips. “She has no heart, that girl.”

  At home, I ask Marta to leave the apprentices for a moment and I tell her the news, figuring that she’ll hear it from Cousin Mara or Aunt Shiphra soon enough. Marta clings to me and begins to weep.

  “Listen, we don’t even know which group they joined,” I say, trying to comfort her. “There are so many insurgent groups now.”

  “I pray for them every morning and every night,” she sobs.

  “That’s all you can do,” I whisper. After the way Eleazar abandoned her, I really don’t care if he’s alive or not.

  The rest of the day is subdued. I spend it turning the drying apricots on our roof for the last time, and then at sunset inspect each one for worms before tying them up in a sack. After the apprentices have left, Marta busies herself cooking and shoos me away when I try to help. Instead, I climb the ladder to the upper room with the sack of dried apricots. We use the upper room mainly for storage. I stop and survey the mud-brick walls, unfinished beams and the uneven and unplaned floorboards, trying to guess what it might cost to renovate. I’m still lost in thought when there is a knock at the compound door. I hear Marta answer it and I assume it must be Shiphra or Mara, come to discuss the news of the captured militia leader.

  Instead, there’s a shriek and then Marta is weeping. It must be news about Yokkan and Eleazar. I swallow, giving myself a moment to prepare for the news, but then, as I climb down the ladder, Marta is laughing. “Miri! Come quick!”

  It’s dusk and the visitor below is in shadow. I clatter down the remaining rungs and almost collide with the young man below, falling into his arms. It’s not Eleazar. I know him, but I can’t think where from.

  “It’s me, Mariam,” he says, grinning. Why can I not place him? Then I gasp with recognition and stumble back, trying to put distance between us.

  “It’s alright,” says Malchus. “Look.” He pulls back his robe where the leprous lesion once worked along his chin and jaw, creeping down to his shoulder blade. Now, the lesion is totally gone. His skin is smooth and healthy. “See? You don’t need to be afraid or keep your distance,” he says.

  “How can this be?” I stammer, as Marta laughs and cries at the same time.

  “He cured me!” Malchus says again. “I found the doctor and he cured me.”

  “But that’s impossible! I don’t understand.”

  “I know,” he laughs. “But here I am.”

  “And Father?”

  He shakes his head. “He got weaker each day until I had to carry him. By then I was weak, too, and could barely walk myself.”

  “Why wouldn’t he take the stupid donkey?” I cry. Marta sits Malchus down and offers him a bowl of broth.

  “Your father kept urging me to leave him behind, but how could I? He was like a father to me. We slept in a disused grave cave in some foothills. The next morning I woke and he was gone. I kept looking for him, but he’d hidden himself in one of the caves. I couldn’t find him. I don’t know what else I could have done.”

  “Was there a leper colony nearby?” Marta asks, clinging on to a last shred of hope. “A place where he could recover?”

  Malchus shakes his head. “He didn’t want me to find him. He knew that we would never make it to the doctor together.” Malchus is whispering now, his voice heavy with emotion. “He died so I would have a chance to live.”

  “Oh, Father,” I cry, and cling to Marta. We both weep and then so does Malchus. I don’t want to believe this news, and part of me wishes Malchus had never returned so we could be left with a glimmer of hope.

  “I was so sure he was still alive,” Marta sobs eventually. “Every day I pray for Father and for the boys.”

  Malchus looks up, wiping his eyes.

  “You mean Eleazar and Yokkan?” he says. We just stare at him stupidly. “Of course they’re alive. That’s what I’ve come to tell you.”

  Chapter Nine

  This is too much for Marta, who continues to sob; joy and sorrow blended. I just feel weary. “Tell us about them,” I say to Malchus.

  “Well, after I was cured, I went home. First I saw the holy man and he inspected me and pronounced me clean. He conducted the cleansing rituals and then I returned to my father’s house. At first they wouldn’t let me in and thought I was a ghost, but then the whole street came out to see me and celebrate. They killed a sheep in my name and we all feasted. I was being given a second chance at life, but I couldn’t live my old life again. How could I stay in the same town as my wife, who was now a mother to another man’s children? Wherever I went, people wanted to touch me and poke me and show me to their friends. I just wanted to be normal. There were also debts I had to repay to your father. I knew I had to come back here and tell you about him. And I wanted to find the doctor. I knew I could never repay him, but I wanted to thank him properly for what he did.

  “Wherever I went, he had been there just a day or so before. I kept missing him. By the time I caught up with him, a group of militants from the hills had come down to listen to him speak. When you hear him, you’ll understand. Yokkan and Eleazar were with them, but after listening to the doctor, they decided not to rejoin the militants but to follow the doctor; to sit at his feet and to go where he goes.”

  “So they’re both alive and well? They’ve not been injured?” Marta asks.

  “They’re both fine,” Malchus smiles. “It won’t be easy for them to return, especially Eleazar. He still feels shame at his behaviour towards you.”

  “Return here?” says Marta.

  “I didn’t tell them who I was. I’d never seen Eleazar before, and Yokkan only once. When I asked Eleazar about his parents, he told me they were both dead. I asked him if he had any other family and he said that he didn’t, because he’d run away and now they would never want to see him again.”

  Maybe my brother isn’t so stupid after all, I think to myself.

  “How do you thank a man who is dead? How do you repay him with your gratitude? I kept thinking about this, and then I heard that the teacher planned to come down to the capital. I thought that maybe I could arrange for him to come here, and then you would be reunited with Eleazar.”

  “Wait, I’m confused,” I say. “The teacher is the doctor? They’re the same person?”

  Malchus nods. “When the teacher heard that Eleazar and Yokkan had run away, of course he insisted that we come and visit. He sent me ahead so that you could prepare. They come tomorrow evening. Also, I want to give you this.” He rummages in the cloth sack he’s been carrying, and pulls out a small bag of coins. “When I left home, my father and brother gave me this. It should cover the costs of the teacher’s time here.”

  Everything is moving too fast. “So, you’re asking us to host the teacher who will come here tomorro
w with Eleazar and Yokkan?”

  “And the teacher’s friends.” Malchus nods and passes the bag to me. It’s heavy with coins.

  “Malchus, how much is in here? We can afford to feed the teacher and Eleazar and Yokkan ourselves. Aunt Shiphra will definitely help.”

  Malchus chuckles. “How much have you heard about the teacher?”

  I look blank. I don’t think he realizes that I’m shunned and don’t hear anything from anyone down at the well.

  “He’s all anyone talks about. Surely you’ve heard something?” says Malchus. “Wherever he goes, he’s mobbed. I was only able to get close to him because I was a leper and people had to get out of my way. Every day, more and more people are following him. It won’t just be a few friends.”

  “And he wants to come here, to our house?” says Marta. “Shouldn’t he stay with Halfai, our village holy man?”

  “He wants to stay here,” says Malchus. “It is a very great honour.”

  “How many people will come? Give me a number,” says Marta.

  “I don’t know,” Malchus replies unhelpfully. “Can your aunt host the overflow?”

  “The overflow?” Marta looks pale. “Surely he won’t want to stay in a leper’s home. We don’t have much of a reputation in our village.”

  “He doesn’t care about stuff like that,” says Malchus. He looks up at the night sky where a half-moon is rising. “And now, I should be getting back to the capital to let them know it’s arranged.”

  “Go? But you’ve just got here. It’s late,” I say.

  “I’ll be fine. I need to let the teacher know that everything is ready. God willing, tomorrow you’ll see your brother and cousin again.”

  After he’s gone we just sit there, stunned, trying to take it all in. I can’t stop thinking about Father, and then I wonder what it will be like to see Eleazar tomorrow. If only it was Father who was returning.

  “He didn’t even tell us how the teacher – the doctor – cured him,” I say.

  Marta is still lost in thought. “Empty the pouch,” she says after a while. “We need to know how much we have. There’s no way we can get the upper room ready by tomorrow evening, but we can put carpets up on the roof and I can move the loom and see if the neighbours will lend us more seating mats for guests down here. We’ll need to borrow lamps. Would Elisheba be willing to bake bread for us? We’re going to need a lot of bread. And we’ll need at least one sheep.”