by Chris Aslan
“I don’t know,” I say. It’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot. “We could really do with some of those day labourers you talked about last night.”
We both smile. He chooses a tree, takes off his linen shawl and lays it down to sit on. My smile fades. He looks up questioningly. “Do you mind if I stay here to pray?”
“Please, make yourself at home,” I say. He’s chosen the exact place where Ishmael raped me. “But wouldn’t you prefer the shade of a different tree?”
“Is there something wrong with this one?” he asks. Of course, I can’t say anything – I just shake my head. I feel his gaze on me.
Then he starts to pray for me. At first I don’t realize he’s praying and look around because he’s talking to his father, but there’s no one else here. He hasn’t assumed the correct position for praying and he’s not using the holy language we’re supposed to pray in. All I know is that I’m flooded with a sense of peace and calm. I realize, suddenly, that whenever I pass this tree from now on, I won’t remember the rape – I’ll remember this moment. I’m crying, but I’m not sad. His words are just for me.
Back at the compound, Marta is relieved to see me. “Everyone’s disappearing. Malchus is gone, too, and so is the doctor.”
I tell her that the teacher wants to spend some time alone. Looking at Marta, I suspect he’s not the only one. “And Malchus went to the colony to organize the lepers. He’s leading them all to the main road so that the doctor can cure them.”
“But what if he gets reinfected?” says Marta.
I shrug. “I suppose he’ll just get cured again.” Marta’s cheeks look hollowed out. “They’re leaving today.” I put an arm around her. “I’m sorry that I upset you yesterday.”
“No, the doctor was right,” she says. “His words were so, so rich. I feel like I’ve swallowed a sheep without chewing. Once everything quietens down and I’m back at my loom, I’m going to mull over everything he said and digest it properly. I’m so glad I got to hear him and didn’t just stay in the kitchen.”
“Me too. Where are El and Yokkan?”
“They’re still up on the roof asleep with some of the other guests. Come, help me prepare breakfast, and we could do with some more water.”
The day grows steadily more chaotic. Up on the roof, the guests are fed on plentiful leftovers from last night, and then Eleazar and Yokkan suggest a trip to the brook to bathe, as the teacher still hasn’t returned. We manage to clear up the roof, but soon we’re busy providing leftovers for a growing number of sick who have come to our home from the smaller villages nearby. Word has spread. There’s an old woman almost doubled over with a hunched back, a young shepherd from our own village with a severe squint, a pretty little girl with a disfiguring skin rash down one side of her face, and a boy of around twelve who has been put in an extra robe, worn the wrong way round with the sleeves tied behind him to keep his arms away from his face, which he seems desperate to claw.
These sick people are the reason most of the bystanders from our village have gathered – hoping to see a spectacular curing, but also not wanting to get too close, lest they themselves be infected with misfortune. There’s a commotion as the doctor is spotted trudging down from the olive hills.
Aunt Shiphra rolls up her tunic sleeves and marches outside. “Let him through,” she barks. “He hasn’t eaten anything yet. Let him have some breakfast and then he’ll see you.” She’s reassuringly formidable and holds the crowd back to let the teacher past. He rewards her with a grateful smile, and then Marta hurries him to the ladder. He’ll have the roof almost to himself and we’ve plumped the cushions and laid out his own private feast. Marta, apparently, was watching him as he taught last night, observing whatever he seemed to pick at most from all the plates before him, and now we’ve assembled his favourites. Mara even managed to rig up a few poles and some sacking to provide shade.
He doesn’t make the ladder. “Master,” a tearful woman pleads. “Please, it’s my son. He’s full of devils. They make him do terrible things to himself.” As if he’s following her cue, the boy tied in the robe falls to the ground, shrieking and writhing about, savagely kicking the squinting shepherd. The villagers crowd in to watch the spectacle, and our compound wall is swiftly lined with youths. I’m being jostled dangerously close to the flailing boy and manage to dash past him and up a few rungs of the ladder.
“Get out!” the teacher commands, and the boy gives an ear-piercing scream, arching his back as his mother flutters helplessly around him, and then he collapses. I’m not the only one to gasp.
“Is he dead?” a few people ask.
The teacher kneels down and unties the sleeves of the robe, gently tugging them loose. The boy opens his eyes and looks up at him. “Thank you,” he says.
“No,” says the mother, eyes wide. “It’s not possible. He’s never spoken a word before.”
“Help him up,” says the teacher.
Together they help the boy to his feet. “Thank you,” he says again to the teacher, and then turns to the woman and says, “Thank you, Mother.” For a moment she just looks at him, as if winded.
“Oh, my boy,” she gasps, clasping him to her. “Oh, my precious boy.” They weep together.
I’m crying now, as are some of the others around me; even some of the youths up on the wall. Other people are cheering, and one woman starts to ululate in celebration. There’s no time to stop and remind ourselves that what the teacher is doing isn’t possible.
We watch in amazement as he cures each of them. Amongst the crowd I see Ishmael with his arm round Imma’s shoulders. Next to them are Rivka and Shoshanna. I feel a twinge of jealousy for a moment, but then I see their expressions of wonder and I’m glad that their curiosity to even enter our courtyard was stronger than their disdain of me.
I see Eleazar and the other guests come up the street but there’s no way they’ll get past the crowd, which keeps encroaching, and the teacher has to keep backing up until he actually climbs a few rungs of the ladder. I scamper up to the roof to give him space as he perches himself on the highest rung and begins to teach.
The crowd grows quiet. Everyone wants to hear what he has to say. I notice Marta down below, making faces at me. It takes me a moment to understand what she’s trying to communicate, and I nod. I take one of the fresh flatbreads from the carefully laid food cloth and heap up a plate of boiled eggs, olives, strained yogurt with herbs, and honey yogurt, passing it to him to graze as he speaks. He won’t starve.
We lose track of time and the teacher stops only when we hear the distinct clanging of approaching bells. People look at each other. They know the sound but they can’t work out why we’re hearing it inside the village. Then we hear the voices: “Unclean, unclean.”
The crowd protests and a few look around them for stones to throw. Why are these lepers breaking the law and entering the village? Fear of contagion is stronger than curiosity and the crowd jostles and pushes, clearing the way from the well to our compound. Inside the compound, people shrink back. I fear that my trampled vegetable patch will never recover. Leading the lepers is Malchus. In his arms is a ragged bundle. I realize that he’s carrying one of the lepers.
Malchus steps through the compound doorway but the lepers pause, unsure.
“Come,” says Marta, stepping forward. “Come in. You’re welcome here.”
The teacher climbs down the ladder. There are around eight of them. Malchus lays down the woman in his arms. She’s the first one the teacher touches. He actually touches her. People look at each other in shock.
“Auntie, be well,” he says. He stretches out his hand and she takes it. Then he helps her to her feet. She pulls away the rags that cover her mouth and begins to explore herself for signs of the disease. It’s hard for any of us to tell if she’s been cured or not, as she’s pitifully gaunt. However, I look again and she seems to be growing healthier before our very eyes. “Marta,” says the teacher, and Marta nods, fetching some food fo
r the woman to eat. The crowd is too gripped to cheer, and we watch as the teacher touches each of the lepers and cures them. It’s as if his wholeness, his wellness, is more contagious; more powerful.
“Now show yourselves to your holy man and give thanks to God,” says the teacher. Malchus has an enormous grin on his face as his eyes shine with tears and he grabs the teacher in a fierce embrace. The lepers, or ex-lepers, still seem in shock, staring at one another, and touching each other’s skin in wonder. Then one of the leper women starts to laugh and grabs Mara, drawing her into a little jig. Mara is frozen for a moment, every instinct telling her to shrink back. She peers closer and it’s clear that this woman has been cured. Mara laughs shyly and then enters into the spirit of things, and they start to dance together.
What is happening? The laws of our village are ripping at the seams as lepers mingle with villagers, who in their joy embrace them. Both throw their hands in the air thanking God. I see one of my neighbours disappear into her compound and come out with several robes, which she gives to the most ragged of the lepers, and then another neighbour does likewise. I didn’t realize it was possible to laugh and cry at the same time. I feel so overwhelmed.
How has this one man managed to change the lives not just of the sick, but of all of us? Our village will never be the same again. A thought suddenly pierces my heart. What if Father had stayed in the colony? If he’d conserved his strength would he be here now, laughing and healthy, joining in the celebration?
The well-dressed guest I’d mistaken for the doctor yesterday climbs up on the wall and manages to get the teacher’s attention. It seems it’s time for them to leave.
The teacher looks back up at me. “Thank you for breakfast, Mariam,” he says. “I’m glad you’re my apprentice.”
I can’t believe that he’s given me this honour, and I smile through my tears as the crowd sweeps him out of our compound and down the street. I stay behind helping Marta to put together a sack of food that will travel well. We run after the crowd, which is at the well, and follow until we go past the brook and the stoning spot. The teacher stops and calls for Marta and me. I think it’s because he wants the sack of food. He doesn’t even notice it. Instead, he thanks us both for opening our home to him, and then he embraces us. We’re not even related or married. This man really doesn’t know the rules of our village, but no one seems to mind.
“Eleazar, Yokkan.” He calls them forward. I’ve barely had time to think about them with everything that’s gone on. “I want you to stay.”
“What?” says Eleazar.
“But we’re your apprentices,” says Yokkan. “Where you go, we go.”
“A true apprentice obeys his master’s command,” says the teacher. He clasps Eleazar’s neck in his hand and leans forward so their foreheads touch. It’s an intimate gesture. “I promise I will come back to you,” the teacher says softly. “But there’s work I have for you here in the village.”
“What work?” Eleazar sounds uncertain.
“You’re good at going. Now I want you to learn to stay. Your sisters will teach you,” he adds, with a smile in our direction. “And the harvest will be ripe soon.” I think he means our olives. “Yokkan, you too.”
Yokkan nods. He’s never been that obedient with anyone. “But can we walk with you halfway to the capital?”
The teacher agrees.
“Where’s Malchus?” says Marta. We ask around but apparently he’s helping the healed lepers with something. “He didn’t say goodbye,” she whispers sadly.
We watch as the teacher and his apprentices and many of the young men from the village walk along the main road, a small dust cloud following in their wake.
“There you are.”
We turn around and see Malchus with some others; they’re all wet. I have to look twice before I recognize them as the former lepers. Dressed in clean clothes and freshly bathed from the brook, they’re barely recognizable.
Marta lights up in the way she used to with Annas. “We thought you’d gone,” she says.
“How could I leave without thanking you both and all of your neighbours and relatives for hosting us so wonderfully? I’m truly grateful.”
“Really, it was nothing,” says Marta, beaming, and I snort, giving her a playful shove. “Well, it did feel a little overwhelming,” she adds.
“Next time, I’ll serve you. I promise,” he says. We look puzzled. “I’m coming back to help you harvest the olives,” he says. “It’s the teacher’s wish.” With a parting grin, he and the other cured lepers are off.
We walk back through the village. People smile and nod to us in greeting. It seems that our social standing has been transformed almost as much as the lepers’. We pause at the well, where a group of women are eagerly gathered around a stranger, asking her questions. I peer closer and realize that it’s Crazy Mariam.
She’s shy, but articulate and unexpectedly pretty. I think of the jokes I’ve heard people make about her over the years, and the times we’ve mocked her. I remember one time, as girls, we threw stones at her when she came too close because we were worried she would attack us, even though she just wanted to play with us.
“Mariam,” I say, taking one of her hands in mine. “It’s so good to see you like this.” We both smile awkwardly at each other. “Could you ask your mother for me if she’s free the day after tomorrow? We’d like to invite you both to our home.”
She smiles earnestly. “Where do you live?”
“Our home is where the teacher stayed,” I say. She’ll remember that. We all will.
Returning to our home, we’re faced with a scene of utter ruin. My vegetable patch is now a refuse pond. Looking closer, someone’s sandal bobs semi-submerged amongst mutton bones and vegetable peelings. There are borrowed pots, plates, lamps, and seating mats everywhere.
“I know what you’re like,” I say to Marta with a sigh. “You won’t be able to rest until everything is clean and put away. I’ll fetch water.”
We spend the rest of the day clearing up. Aunt Shiphra and Mara come to help us, even though they’re as exhausted as we are. Still, it’s a pleasant kind of exhaustion, and every now and then one of us will say, “Could you believe it when –” and then recount one of the many recent marvels.
Borrowed bowls and plates are returned heaped with leftovers. I’m tasked with carrying clay lamps up and down the street, trying to ensure that everyone gets their own lamp back. Then I do the same with the seating mats. At least we don’t have to worry about preparing meals today or for the next few days, as we can easily subsist on all the leftovers.
As it turns out, we even end up with hot date cakes. Ide brings them round in the afternoon. She dances in, pinches my cheeks, and then plants a large kiss on my forehead. I try not to pull away. “God bless you,” she says to me. “God bless you for bringing the doctor to us.” I don’t try to correct her – she’s too busy twirling, showing off her restored foot. She laughs and leaves. We can’t help smiling.
“I’m glad Ide is the subject of so much village gossip right now,” I say. “But gossip about something good, and not someone else’s misfortune.”
I make several more trips to the well, and most of the water I bring back is used to scrub the unclean place, which is in a state best left undescribed. Finally, as the sun sets, Marta straightens her back, surveys the compound, and pronounces it clean. We’ve just sat down when Eleazar and Yokkan return. Yokkan, Mara, and Shiphra head back to their own compound.
For a moment we feel awkward. When we met yesterday it was in the midst of all the drama of the feast and the curing. Now it’s just the three of us and at first none of us speak, and then we interrupt each other.
Marta sits Eleazar down and boils water for mint tea. I lay out some of the leftover food and date cakes, as we might as well have our evening meal now. Eleazar just looks pensive. Once we’re all seated, he speaks.
“I was talking with Yokkan on the way back about what the teacher said; wha
t he commanded us.” He pauses and Marta is wise enough not to fill the silence with words. “Neither of us wanted to stay here. Being his apprentices has been a life-changing adventure. You wouldn’t believe some of the things we’ve seen, even after what you’ve seen him do.” He sighs. “But he’s right. We ran away. Miri, I knew that you’d be fine in your new home…” I realize at this point that we never told Eleazar the real reason I was marrying Ishmael, and that he doesn’t know yet that I’m divorced. “But Marta, how could I have just abandoned you to living alone? I failed you, just like I failed Father.”
Marta puts a hand on his knee. I just listen. I’ve never seen Eleazar apologize before, but I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive him just yet. “Now I’m here again, and I want to live right. I was stupid before and thought that living right meant following all the old laws. The teacher has changed everything. Being with him changes people. I’ve changed.” He holds Marta’s gaze. “I’m so sorry. I want to make it right between us.” He looks at me, too, when he says that.
I want to tell him that it’s too late. I want him to know that all the suffering he’s caused can’t just be cancelled with a few words. He’s not even crying, even though Marta is freely weeping now. Why shouldn’t he suffer? Anger, like an old friend, stirs in my belly. Then I think about the lepers and Not-Crazy Mariam and all the other people no one had hope for, and I think about how their lives have just changed beyond recognition in the space of one day, all because the teacher came to our village.
“I still feel really angry towards you,” I say evenly to my brother. “And I’m not ready to trust you, or even forgive you. But I am ready to try.”
“Come here,” says Marta, and grabs us both in an uncomfortable embrace. Both Eleazar and I reach an arm around her, but we’re not ready to embrace each other just yet.
Chapter Eleven
My mother was known for her carpet-weaving, but she was also good with the needle. As children, our robes and tunics constantly got torn, but she could mend the tear with tiny stitches that never rucked or pulled at the cloth, so that the tear was almost invisible. However, when it came to large rips or rents she dispensed with this method. Instead, she transformed the rip into a feature, using her brightest threads and adding a little embroidery around the tear. Eleazar had a brown-coloured robe covered in a random pattern with such details, each embroidered rip telling a story of his various scrapes with tree branches or thorn bushes.
