A Ceiling Made of Eggshells

by Gail Carson Levine

  I found Papá in his study and told him I was going to visit Ledicia. “I’ll take Hamdun.” I couldn’t go unchaperoned.

  Hamdun was weeding in our back garden. He left his task, and we set out. At the judería gate, he said, “Mistress?”

  “It’s all right,” I lied. “Papá knows.”

  We skirted the market, where the few Jews sold wares along with the many Christians. Through the window of his shop, I saw Pero. Head bent over his workbench, he failed to see me, so I had a few moments to admire his beautiful handiwork on its bed of velvet. I leaned close to examine a gold pendant, diamond-shaped, on which were etched bells and roses entwined on a leafy stem in a space no bigger than a fingernail.

  “Pero . . .”

  He looked up. “I expected Papá.” He came to the window.

  “Everything is marvelous.” I gestured at the display.

  “What’s your favorite?”

  “That one.” I pointed at the gold pendant.

  “Look at this.” He picked up a silver ring that had a square, protruding front, set with a ruby and an emerald. “Watch.” He flicked a minuscule clasp, and the front opened to reveal a tiny space. “For a relic of a saint, or for poison.”

  He made such things? People bought them?

  “I sold several before— You have a week to persuade Belo. I know you’ve come to ask for time.” He smiled his toothy camel smile. “Marina will be delighted to see you.” His display of jewelry rested on a tray hidden under the velvet. He carried everything inside, closed the shutters, disappeared from sight, then opened the door to the house.

  I told Hamdun to wait and went in.

  24

  On the second floor, Pero led me through an arch into a living room, where a Moorish maidservant was polishing a silver floor vase. “Sit! Take your ease.” He told the servant to fetch Marina. “Tell her Loma is here.”

  Next to the vase was a settle piled with cushions. I sat and looked around, taking a moment to gather my courage. Across from me, the room overlooked the courtyard. A painted wooden crucifix hung above the arch we’d entered through. The chamber’s chief beauty was the ceiling, with its grid of beaded beams and the plaster between them painted a sea-foam green.

  I took a deep breath. “I need more than a week.”

  “You can’t have it.”

  “He won’t come around in a week.” If he ever would. “Please give me a month.”

  “A week.”

  “Bela would curse you.”

  “She would. I don’t think even she could have saved me from gambling.”

  Marina bustled in. “Loma!” She took my hands in hers and shook them. “I’m so happy you’ve come! After Samuel’s wedding, Pero said we might have a visitor, but I didn’t suspect it would be you.” Her eyes glistened.

  “I’m glad to see you.”

  “And to see Pero, yes?” She finally dropped my hands.

  “And his beautiful jewelry.”

  “Everything he does is a masterpiece. You must stay for dinner! I always make too much. We were about to sit down.”

  If Ledicia and her family didn’t come to our house for dinner, as they often did, Papá would tell everyone I was with her. If she came, they would be frightened, but I doubted they’d look for me here.

  If I stayed, maybe I could persuade Pero to give me more time. “If I can eat what you’re serving, I’ll be happy to stay.”

  “Let’s see,” Pero said. “What is it today?”

  “Goose stew with cinnamon, as my mother makes it.”

  “Can someone bring Hamdun inside and give him a meal, too?”

  “Yes!” Marina hurried out, calling behind her. “I’m so pleased you’re here!”

  When she was gone, I said, “Belo is angry. He’ll come around, but by degrees. Not quickly.”

  “A week. Denouncing my own family will bring me Old Christian customers.”

  Marina came back, followed by two Muslim maids bearing trays. “Come.”

  We followed her through another arch into a pretty dining room, which also overlooked the courtyard. The maids set their trays down on the long table. One went to an open cabinet and lifted out a bowl. Between this cupboard and one just like it hung another crucifix—at least three feet long, big enough to show the whites of Jesus’s eyes.

  “Not that cupboard,” Marina said. “The other one.”

  Pero looked sharply at her.

  Blushing she added, “We should all eat from the same cupboard.”

  The maid went to the other cabinet and fetched a bowl that looked identical to the first. I understood. Considerately, Marina didn’t want me to have to eat from a bowl that had held dairy.

  Apparently, since she had two sets of dishes, Marina was still observing at least some Jewish laws about food.

  “Ask Cook to make fritters for dessert,” she told the maids.

  Pero bent his head and began in a strong enough voice that the sound would follow the servants out, “Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty through Christ, our Lord. Amen.”

  I murmured, and Marina echoed loudly, “Amen.” She added, “There are more places to direct my prayers now: Christ, the Holy Mother, the Holy Ghost, God—although I don’t know if He’s the same God. And there are many saints.” She giggled. “How can anything bad befall us?” Her expression changed. “Maybe one of them will send us a baby.”

  Poor Marina. We were both childless, and she had to endure Ugly Camel Head, too.

  “Christ is a comfort,” he said. “And church is a comfort, too, isn’t it, Wife?”

  She ladled stew into my bowl. “If I understood any of it. The singing is pretty, the incense smells nice, and they light as many candles as we—as the Jews—do.”

  The stew was delicious, moist, and with the flavors of home: cinnamon, ginger, pepper, garlic.

  I’d never spent so much time with Marina. She was naturally chatty, or she was nervous.

  “How do you pass your day?” I asked.

  “Christian women go out more than Jewish ones do, so I go to the market myself every day, and I don’t have to take anyone with me. Sometimes I sit in the plaza outside the cathedral and watch the pigeons. My family doesn’t visit me, and my neighbors don’t, either. I work in the kitchen a lot. I have to watch the servants—”

  “Salad, Loma?” Pero passed me the plate.

  Undeterred, she went on. “—or they do things wrong.”

  I didn’t ask what things, because I guessed. If she weren’t supervising, the servants might add milk to a stew or melt cheese into a sauce. Unless they were stupid, they would have seen enough to report her. Or perhaps they were so well paid they didn’t care.

  I could threaten to denounce her.

  Would I do it to save Papá and Belo? I wasn’t sure.

  Would that save us? Probably not. The Inquisition would just pull all of us in.

  The meal passed slowly. Pero took helping after helping. I told them about Samuel’s new house. Marina asked questions, and the minutes ticked by.

  Finally, Pero put down his knife. A maid came and piled the dishes on a tray.

  “I’ll see how the fritters are coming.” Marina started to follow the maid out, then turned. “It’s such a pleasure to have you here!”

  When she was out of earshot, my heart began to pound. Could I threaten Pero?

  “A week, Loma.”

  I swallowed acid. My breath came shallowly. I wet my lips.

  Marina returned alone with a platter. “I didn’t need help to carry just this.”

  I complimented the fritters, which I couldn’t taste.

  Pero spoke of the early summer we were having.

  Marina smiled at us and burst out, “Loma, come often! I change the menu every day, and I never serve”—she mouthed the word without saying it—“pork.”

  She had given me as many reasons to denounce her to the inquisitors for Judaizing as Pero had to denounce us for help
ing other New Christians do so.

  When the fritters were gone, she offered me almonds or a tour of her kitchen, but I said I had to go home.

  “First, Brother, would you show me more of your handiwork? Our sisters told me to see everything.”

  In his workshop, I said, “Pero . . .”

  He shook his head. “You can’t say anything that will change my mind.”

  “You don’t know what I’m going to say.”

  He folded his arms. “What?”

  “You gave me your hospitality.”

  “You’re my sister.”

  “Then you still have family feeling for us. We’re not so different.” He and I were nothing alike! “We’ve both taken unusual paths. I’ll probably never marry, and you converted.” I was just talking to give myself time to think. Was there any way to lessen his malice? “Are Christians not supposed to be kind?”

  “You have a week.”

  I shouldn’t have come. “Then I’ll fail. Goodbye, Brother.” I collected Hamdun from the kitchen and started for the judería.

  But halfway there, God or Bela sent me wisdom, and I told Hamdun we were going back. When we arrived, Pero was carrying his tray of jewelry to the window again.

  He set it down. “A week.”

  “Belo is just angry. He loves his family, and you’re still his grandson. Papá loves you. You may need their love someday, even as a Christian. If they’re”—dead, but I couldn’t say the word—“they won’t be able to help you.”

  I meant, You may need their money and influence. Pero would gamble again, and eventually he’d lose again, or someone would denounce him for winning. Christian punishment was even harsher than Jewish. Belo and Papá had Christian friends.

  “I won’t be ruined now for future aid I may never need.”

  “Suppose I go to Papá? Belo is impossible to persuade to do anything, even to discard his worn-out shoes.”

  That won a smile. He decided. “Yes, go to Papá. It doesn’t have to be Belo who speaks in my favor. A week, though.”

  I probably wouldn’t need more than an hour for Papá.

  The rest of my wisdom came purely from Bela. “Can’t we continue to be brother and sister? I’ll visit when I can. I want to see what you create next.”

  His face relaxed. “You’ll be welcome when you come.”

  Another inspiration arrived from Bela. “Pero . . .” I touched Bela’s amulet. “Would you make a dozen like it?” I could give one to each little and have a few left over for new babies, protecting them and appeasing Pero in one stroke. “Not exactly the same. Use your artistry, but don’t make them so rich I can’t pay for them by myself.”

  He smiled one of his rare, real smiles.

  “Goodbye, Pero.”

  Hamdun, who’d been sitting cross-legged on the cobblestones, stood.

  When we neared the judería gate, Hamdun said in his soft, musical voice, “Loma, there’s a saying: The wise can herd lions.” He smiled at me.

  I wasn’t sure what he meant, but it sounded well-meaning. “Thank you.”

  Luckily, Ledicia hadn’t come to our house for dinner, so my lie wasn’t discovered. I went to Papá in his study that night and brought the necklace Pero had given me.

  Papá moved from his desk to a floor cushion and patted the one next to him. “What’s this?”

  I sat and told him what Pero had said at Samuel’s wedding about Belo ruining his business. I didn’t mention the threat, though I’d decided I would if I had to.

  The necklace jingled in his hand. “Your abuelo is pitiless when he’s angry. I’ll wear the necklace, and I won’t be shy about saying who made it. Belo doesn’t have to know.”

  In two weeks, I picked up the amulets, each one made of quartz, not gems, in a different color, each incised, like mine, with the Hebrew letters for God, on thin silver chains—better than my velvet one. How pretty they were. I said so and got another real smile in return.

  As a mark of favor because he was my brother, I let Jento pick his amulet before I distributed the others.

  He closed his fist around the dark green pendant with flecks of red, a surprising choice because of its somberness. I remembered Belo telling me that Bela said I was a cabinet of hidden drawers. Seemingly, Jento was, too.

  I lowered the chain around his neck. “Now nothing can harm you.”

  But my confidence in amulets was less than it had been.

  I chose the other littles’ pendants myself based on eye color, skin tone, and temperament. When each had one, I felt I had done what I could against the malevolent forces of the world.

  At first, I visited Pero to keep him from being angry at us. But soon I went for his wife’s company. We talked by the hour—about cooking, sewing, spinning, weaving. Then we began to play backgammon together.

  Hers was a child’s game, just a rush to the end, with no strategy to take advantage of the luck of the dice. I won almost every game, but she wasn’t troubled. Her nature was happy, fortunate for someone married to my brother.

  I’d never had a friend before, only sisters and Samuel, and we all knew everything about each other. With Marina, there was discovery, which I relished.

  “We’re going to Gerona,” I announced a few days before we left.

  “Exciting!”

  It used to be. Now it was my life.

  25

  Alas, we didn’t enter a paradise free of trouble from my troublesome brother.

  Belo and I journeyed here and there for almost two months—away from the littles, who changed and grew without me. As we journeyed, I imagined their comings and goings and wished they could remain exactly the same when I was away—if the Almighty would accomplish that without harming them.

  On July 29, 1490, we were back. Papá met us at the top of the stairs. Mamá was shouting from the living room about the misery of having a son like Pero.

  In Belo’s study, Papá told us. Marina had come to the house the week before. Three priests and two constables from the hermandad had taken Pero. When they left, she’d rushed to her parents and then to us.

  Belo’s face was untroubled. I saw he wouldn’t have a spell again over Pero.

  We all knew how the inquisitors proceeded. My brother would be imprisoned and tortured until he confessed to the sin he’d been accused of. He, who feared a mere flogging, would say whatever they wanted.

  But he might manage to wait before confessing—to see if Belo would rescue him. If Belo didn’t come—and quickly—he’d take revenge. He’d accuse us. The Inquisition would widen its net to draw us in.

  Belo had to help him!

  “Papá,” Papá said to Belo, “we have to go.”

  “Where?” Belo sat at his desk. “This doesn’t concern us. Loma, please have Aljohar make up a bowl of something for me. I’m hungry.”

  Swollen with heart-hatred for Pero as well as for Mamá, Belo, and even Papá, I went to the kitchen. Aljohar had a stew simmering over the fire. With trembling hands, I ladled a generous helping into a bowl, set the bowl on a tray, and added a slice of bread.

  Bela, what would you do?

  She wouldn’t be furious with everyone.

  But I was. What could I do?

  On my way back upstairs, I heard Papá’s low tones in the living room with Mamá.

  In the study, Belo thanked me for the stew. “We’ve been gone so long, I forgot I wrote this. Let me read it to you: ‘Eternity belongs to the Eternal One; all else—’”

  “If you don’t help Pero, I’ll never come in here or travel with you again.” My hand flew to my mouth. The words, which hadn’t been on my tongue when I came in, wouldn’t soften anyone’s heart. “I’m sorry! I—” I stopped, unwilling to take them back.

  “I won’t help him. Go.”

  I left for my bedroom, where I threw myself on my bed and stared up at the wooden ceiling, my eyes dry. Pero would die, after turning the gaze of the inquisitors toward us. We’d all be killed, and I wouldn’t be able to stop any of
it.

  Fatima’s soft knock interrupted my circling thoughts. She said Belo wanted me in his study.

  I went, resolved not to stay if he hadn’t decided to help Pero.

  He stood at his window, looking out over the street. From the doorway, I could see only the clay roof of the house across the street and a square of blue sky.

  “Why do you believe I should attempt to save my worthless grandson?”

  “Because Bela would want you to.” Because otherwise he’ll kill all of us. But I was afraid to say that for fear of bringing on a spell.

  “How old were you when your bela died?”

  “Seven.”

  He sat heavily in his chair. “She showed her soft side to children. She’d be as angry at Pero as I am.”

  That might be true, but I had an answer from watching Ledicia, my model of a good mother.

  “Do you remember when Jamila’s skirt caught flame in the kitchen?”

  “I heard about it.”

  “Ledicia had told her a dozen times to stay away from the fireplace. When the fire was out and Ledicia saw she was fine, she yelled for half an hour.” I smiled at the memory. Do you think I speak just to hear noise come out of my mouth? Do you think I’m not worth listening to? Your mother is your mother, so you have someone to obey. “Bela would have wanted you to save Pero so she could punish him afterward.”

  “You’re right. Bela would have felt as you say. I’ll do what I can to rescue him, but I’ll leave the yelling and punishing to you and your papá, and if I fail—”

  He saw my face.

  “I’ll do my best, but if my best fails, I won’t suffer. He’s a worm to me.”

  I wondered if I could ever become a worm to him.

  Belo took Papá with him to the hermandad, and when they returned, it was with the news that the three of us were to travel to Segovia, where Don Solomon lived and where Pero had been taken. I’d been to Segovia twice before, but never to see inquisitors!

  This time, I had to leave the littles, not to help all the Jews of Spain but to save one worthless brother.

  Before we left home, I pulled Ledicia aside and asked her to find out if Marina was all right. “Nothing is her fault. Help her if you can.”