Go away, Ugly Camel Head!
“Saul, who seems so interested in everyone, comes close just to hear. You’ll have a deaf husband if Papá gives you to him. Esdras will be on crutches in two years if he keeps his legs at all.”
Yuda ran through them all. This one was a miser; this one couldn’t say a truthful sentence; this one was so foolish he could barely speak sensibly. All the vices and weaknesses of humanity fell from my brother’s tongue, as if the aljama were a modern Sodom and Gomorrah. “If I still gambled, I wouldn’t wager on your happiness with any of them.”
I thanked him for worrying about me. I’d developed a knack for sarcasm.
But he was better at it. “It’s what brothers are for.”
Samuel, the brother who truly wanted me to be happy, joined me next. “If I were Papá, I’d choose Yose Serrano for you.”
“Yose?” Yuda had just told me how bland he was. “Why?”
“We’re friends. He’s thoughtful. Watch him with his brothers.”
I did. He stood out because he was the tallest, and gangling, as if he hadn’t yet gotten used to the length of his legs and arms. He wasn’t as handsome as Benahe, but his face pleased me: long, narrow nose; thin lips, but a wide mouth; greenish-brown eyes.
Though Yose’s long legs made him fast, he was often tagged because half his attention was always on his two younger brothers. If one stumbled, Yose caught him. If the brother managed to fall, Yose comforted him. Sometimes he played with a brother riding his shoulders.
A promising future papá. Nothing mattered more than that.
But I made other discoveries. When the boys chatted, he listened more often than he spoke, but when he did speak, the others paid attention. When someone made a joke, he had a habit of shaking his head while laughing. When he made a joke, he blushed.
His papá was the physician Don Israel, and his abuelo sat with Belo on the board that governed the aljama. No one could object to his family.
Then, two weeks before my birthday, he smiled at me. I looked around, sure the smile was for someone else, but no one was looking his way. The smile was for me.
I smiled back. His smile widened, almost cracking his face in half.
On July 7, 1488, a Monday, I turned twelve and became a woman. When I woke up, I stayed in bed, assessing myself.
I felt exactly as I had the day before! Had I really become a woman months or even a year ago and failed to notice? Or was I still a child, and would I have to masquerade as an adult until the change actually came, if it ever did?
If I had to pretend to be grown-up, I would. My husband and children would never know.
Husband! Today it would begin. I imagined Yose Serrano’s smiling lips coming close, kissing me. His lips were soft!
My birthday was noticed.
At dinner, Papá beamed at me. “Another young woman in the family. It’s an occasion.”
The littles sat by me, as usual. The youngest—my nieces Clara and Jamila and my brother Jento—sat closest so I could help them with their food. Flanking them were my five-year-old nephew, Todros, and my seven-year-old niece, Beatriz.
Sunny Todros said, “I like Occasion. Where is it?”
“Ignoramus!” said Beatriz, trotting out her latest favorite word.
Papá said, holding up a platter, “A young man should be the beneficiary of these eggs, but I don’t know who’s worthy of them.” He touched his forehead. “I’m thinking, Loma.”
I blushed. I had made the eggs, which were baked with carrots.
Had Belo mentioned Don Solomon’s great-grandson to Papá? Could I? I wished Belo would say something—wish me joy, acknowledge the day. He had said the blessing and nothing after that.
“She’s a beauty,” Ledicia said. “Look at those eyes and those thick eyelashes.”
My kind sister. Yuda was at his own home or at Dueyna’s parents’, or he’d have found a way to remind me that I was an unblinking lizard.
I had reminded myself.
Samuel helped himself to more eggs. “Loma’s outer beauty will draw in her betrothed, but her inner beauty will hold him.”
Oh my.
Vellida laughed. “Don’t make the poor boy always lose at backgammon. I let Jacob win most of the time.”
Belo pushed back his chair at the head of the table. “The eggs are cooked to death, and Loma is too undercooked to be ready to marry anyone. I’m going to the synagogue.” He left the table, and I heard him stump down the stairs.
Mamá put down her spoon. “I blame her horoscope.”
20
I swallowed hard and refused to cry.
Papá stood. “I’ll speak with your abuelo, Loma. Don’t worry.” He left but didn’t go downstairs. He liked discord no more than I did.
But he kept his promises. He’d talk to Belo.
In the silence, Todros said, “Tía Loma, if you get married and have your own babies, you won’t have time to play with us.”
I kissed the top of his head. “If I had a hundred babies, I’d find the time.”
Belo wanted me to have children and be happy, I was sure of it. He loved me.
But he must have insisted I wasn’t ready when Papá spoke to him, because days and weeks passed with no more mention of suitors. In August, Yuda completed his apprenticeship and set up his own shop four streets from our house, and he and Dueyna moved there from their first home.
We all went to see it. The shop filled half the first floor of the house. The upper window shutter, pulled out and supported by poles, created an awning; and the lower shutter, pulled out and held up by four legs, created a counter. There, on a length of velvet, Yuda had spread an assortment of his handiwork: buckles, rings, necklaces, clasps, and brooches. I picked up a pendant—a circle set with five emeralds.
“It’s marvelous,” I told him, meaning it.
But I didn’t return. I doubt that Belo, Mamá, my sisters, or Samuel did, either. Papá may have.
In September, Yose was betrothed to Gracia, the daughter of another wealthy family. Had he smiled at her, too, or had I been his real choice?
I wondered if Don Solomon’s great-grandson had also been betrothed by now.
Desperate to win Belo’s approval, which, a year earlier, had seemed my birthright, I worked on my cooking, my sewing, and my foot massaging. In his presence, I hardly spoke, because I feared I’d say something undercooked. Whenever he tasted a dish I’d prepared, the breath flew out of me, and I waited, empty, for his judgment—
—which didn’t come. He ate without commenting.
My appetite dwindled. I became less plump—a little less plump, because Aljohar noticed and plied me with treats.
Though my sisters had been betrothed quickly after their twelfth birthday, not all young women were, and families often waited a few years to make a match for their sons. A wife hadn’t been chosen for Samuel yet. I had a while before my single state would be gossiped about.
Finally, one evening in October, Belo remarked on my silence. “Loma, you’re like a deer lately, all eyes and no words. Have you stopped talking to your abuelo?”
We were playing backgammon in his study. Disconcerted by the question, I failed to send one of his counters to the penalty bar, and I suspected he’d brought up my silence only to gain an advantage in the game.
I shook my head and then remembered to speak. “I haven’t stopped.”
He moved two counters onto his home board.
“Belo? Did you like my honey fritters?” They’d been one of the desserts at dinner. Papá had called them balls of sweet gold.
While I waited, I took my turn throwing the dice and moving my counters.
“Loma, your cooking is fine. Excellent.” He smiled into my eyes. “You are my perfect granddaughter, and you have plenty of time to get married.”
How did he know that was what I meant?
He went on. “God willing, I’ll dandle your babies on my knees.”
He never dandled the current crop of bab
ies. But maybe for the children of his favorite, he would. I smiled back at him, relieved.
“You are in early youth, but only the Almighty knows how many vigorous years I have left, and I’d like to keep you with me while I still can travel.”
Did he expect his spasms to get worse? I hoped he’d stay well!
But I wanted to get married. God, I thought, is that wrong?
In February 1489, Samuel was betrothed to the soft-spoken and sweet Josefina Bivach. I became the only adult child in the family not to be married or have a wedding planned. At dinner, I added my congratulations to everyone else’s and shrunk my envy into a speck in the corner of my heart.
When the meal was over, I hastened to my bedroom and then to the courtyard, hoping Samuel would join me. We used to study together there, and only he and I would come out in winter.
He came. I kept my hands behind my back.
“You’re happy for me, Loma?”
I nodded, smiling.
“What are you hiding?”
I brought out the prayer shawl I’d made for him for this occasion. I’d carded and woven the lamb’s wool for the lower part of the shawl. The silk collar I’d bought, but I’d sewn it on myself. “Do you like it?”
He draped it over one arm and examined it. “I’ve never seen one so marvelous.”
That couldn’t be true, but I accepted the compliment. “None made with so much pleasure.”
He took my hands. “God will make you as happy as I am, and your husband will be the luckiest man in Spain. Look what an angel you are to Belo, to this whole family.”
“Belo is my benefactor!”
“He used to be, but you’ve changed places.”
I didn’t know if I liked this idea.
Samuel went on. “God sees your goodness. We’ll both have happy lives.”
This was the first time I was praised for traveling with Belo but not the last. It was never said in Belo’s presence, but the same compliment came from Papá and Ledicia. Yuda, when he cornered me alone, called me Angelic Pitiable Lizard.
In March 1490, when I was nearing fourteen, our whole family drew pity. Yuda and his wife stealthily followed a priest after Sabbath services. I don’t know exactly how it fell out, but I imagined the scene:
They slip through the judería gate.
Yuda coughs wetly. A cheep of fear escapes Dueyna.
The priest turns and smiles. This has happened before. “Yes?” He recognizes that Yuda is a prize. He bows. “Yes, Don Yuda?”
“Weekly we hear your words—”
“Christ’s words.”
“I can withstand anything, but I don’t want eternal torment for my wife.”
He might have put it some other odious way. We knew nothing until a priest visited the house and delivered the terrible news. The priest came during dinner, so all of us received the shock at once.
Mamá ran out of the dining room, shrieking, “He’s always been a viper!”
Yuda was probably imagining this scene and grinning.
I hid it, but I wanted to do as Mamá did: scream, tear my hair, and spread blame. With a converso brother, who would marry me?
21
After Mamá left, the priest said that Yuda’s and Dueyna’s baptism would take place on Easter Sunday. “We’re hoping that more Cantalas will follow them to the font.” He bowed and departed.
Maybe this wouldn’t have happened if I’d told someone when Yuda had suggested to me that God favored Christians.
Papá and Belo left for the cathedral to seek an audience with the bishop. Samuel hastened to the parents of his betrothed to make sure they still wanted him to join the family, which it turned out they did. Vellida and Ledicia remained at the table and spoke in whispers.
The littles came to me. Even Jento, Jamila, and Clara were old enough to partially understand. I told them that Yuda was being silly and everything would be all right for us if not for him. “Want to play backgammon?”
They all nodded.
I took the bowl of almonds from the table and led them to my bedroom. They climbed on the bed, or I helped them up.
“Todros and Beatriz will play together as a pair against the rest of us,” I announced. The rest of us were Clara, Jamila, and Jento. “No discord!”
I let Todros and Beatriz set up the counters while Jamila bounced on the bed and made their task more difficult.
“Winners get three almonds apiece,” I said.
“What do the losers get?” Jamila asked.
“Tickled!”
Ledicia came in. “I’ll take over. You’re to go to the cathedral.”
The breath caught in my throat. To see Yuda? Me, alone in the cathedral?
I left as Beatriz said, “Do you know how to play, Mamá?”
“Tía Loma isn’t the only one who can play games.”
Papá, Vellida, and Samuel were waiting in the vestibule when I came downstairs. I wouldn’t have to be alone. I took my cloak off the peg by the door.
As we hurried toward the judería gate, Papá said, “The bishop is letting us talk to Yuda. It’s a great favor to Belo.”
“Why are we coming?” Samuel asked.
“You may be able to talk more sense into him than we can.”
We crossed the plaza in front of the cathedral. How much taller and grander it was than our synagogue. Belo stood under an orange tree about ten paces from the entrance. Next to him were a priest and a man I soon learned was the bishop, whose tunic was so elaborately embroidered that my eyes lingered on it rather than on his pale face and oddly pushed-out jaw.
The priest—young and thin as a tent pole—started for the side of the cathedral. “Come!”
Belo and the rest of us followed him toward a wall broken by an archway.
“It’s the cloister,” Belo said. “Not indoors.”
We passed under the arch. Yuda and Dueyna sat on a bench under an olive tree. I couldn’t bear to look at my brother, so I scanned the cloister, which was bigger but much like our courtyard at home.
“Son! Daughter!” Papá rushed to them.
Dueyna wore a gold cross half the size of my hand on a gold chain. She stood, and Papá kissed her forehead.
“We’ll give you your privacy,” the bishop said, backing through the archway. The priest followed.
Yuda stood. “Greetings, Belo, Papá . . .” He named us all.
Belo’s voice was a groan. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Yuda rocked back and forth on his heels. “God is punishing the Jews. Christians are His chosen now, and I don’t want Dueyna to be tormented in hell.”
If this was the reason, why hadn’t he converted when he first talked to me about it?
Papá stepped away. “Samuel, talk to him.”
“I don’t want to lose my brother.” My sweet brother kissed my dreadful brother’s cheek above his beard.
“I’m still your brother,” Yuda said.
“I won’t see much of you if you convert.”
Quickly, as if the words had been waiting on his lips, Yuda said, “How often do you visit my shop now?”
Ah. That was one grievance, one reason for hurting us.
Samuel blushed. “I’ll come more often.”
Papá jumped on this. “We all will. The Christians won’t love you as your family does. They’ll use you.”
Yuda added, “Now my shop won’t have to be in the judería.”
If a person didn’t care about being Jewish, that was sensible.
Vellida said, “Dueyna, you’ve always been devout. Do you want to convert?”
She blinked her pretty eyes. “Yuda says the Christians have become God’s chosen people. He says I don’t have to cook pork.” She shuddered. “I couldn’t touch it!”
“Then you should fear the inquisitors, you fools,” Belo said.
A suspicion landed on me. “Yuda, did you gamble again?”
Dueyna’s head jerked toward him. “Did you?”
“No.” He
shrugged. “Yes, but I was going to convert anyway.”
“Yuda!” Dueyna cried.
Belo smiled a tight smile at me. “Clever, Loma.” The smile vanished. “How much is your debt?”
Yuda named a sum that widened my eyes. Samuel gasped.
“You’re going to convert and leave it unpaid?” Papá said.
Yuda didn’t answer. Of course he was. The aljama wouldn’t be able to collect the money, because the priests would protect their new convert.
Belo stood. “We’ll pay your debt whether you convert or not, but if you do, next time, you can face Christian justice, and you’ll discover it’s much harsher than ours.” He started to leave. “And less just.”
Yuda said, “Christ will save me.”
Papá said, “Dueyna, if you like, we’ll take you to your parents.”
“I’m a dutiful wife. I’ll convert with my husband.”
At home, Belo retired to his study and didn’t ask me to join him, so I went with the others to the living room, where we sat on cushions around the low table that always held bowls of nuts and dried fruit.
Vellida said, “Loma, young men will still want to attach themselves to our family.”
I nodded, preferring not to argue.
Ledicia came in and said the littles were napping. When we told her what had happened she said, “At least, we won’t have to see Yuda anymore.”
“What will he call the bishop?” I said.
“Your Excellency Pale Lima Bean,” Vellida said, laughing.
Papá’s shout came from the direction of Belo’s study.
A moment later, Fatima hurried in. “Loma, you’re to go to your belo.”
I ran, guessing what had happened. I heard my brother and sisters behind me.
We crowded into the study. Belo was on the floor with his shoulders propped up against the cushion I usually sat on.
He said, sounding like himself, “Go away, all of you except Loma.” His face didn’t droop on either side.
They left. I was sure Papá would send for the physician.
A man sang a Spanish song in the street.
“Can I help you into your chair?”
“I can get myself into my own chair!” He put his hands flat on the floor, pushed, his shoulders high and straining, and failed to rise. “You may assist me.”
A Ceiling Made of Eggshells Page 11
