It has taken me many years to fully understand the layers of emotion I experienced that day.
The first layer was, as I've just described, an unexpected wave of delayed grief over the death of my mother. But below that, just below it in fact, was my first taste of adulthood, with all its undertones of yearning and independence. In short, it had finally occurred to me that I was growing up. Time was not standing still anymore. I had now entered my childbearing years, yet I remained a virtual inmate at the hands of my benevolent despot of a fatherwho-was-not-my-father. I was a woman now, for G-d's sake. Yes, my little friend, I was in the frame of mind to use His name for my own ends, I'm sorry to say. The fact that I wasn't even allowed to leave the house filled me with resolve. Something had to change!
t was only a matter of weeks before these emotions escalated into an unquenchable thirst to physically leave the home. One day as I stood behind Rachel stirring the soup pot, I asked her a question.
“Momma Rachel,” I began, using her favorite appellation, “I remember you have said that Jewish folks like to dress up and fool people into thinking the girls are boys and boys are girls.”
“That is true,” she answered. “There is a long tradition among our people of using clever disguises, in play and in times of danger, as well.”
I thought for a moment, absorbing the news and planning how to use it.
“Rachel, you know how badly I wish to see the city. Would you dress me up to look like a boy? Maybe even a non-Jewish one?”
I remember that she turned to me and shot me the sharpest glance I had ever witnessed from a woman. And yet I could not tell if she was actually displeased with me or merely seized with a sudden and very acute curiosity regarding my question.
“Why not Jewish?”
“Oh, you know. Mordecai is so careful, after-well, you know.”
“Yes, but he would never let you leave the house in the first place. You know that.”
“Yes. I was hoping you would keep it between us. And I would feel that I had not disobeyed him so badly by dressing as a Persian.” She laughed and tapped me on the head with a wet hand.
“That is you, Hadassah. Trying to disobey without breaking any rules.” She shook her head sideways for a long moment, her expression rueful and amused. “Yes, I will help you, my dear. I think he is wrong to keep you cooped in here like this. You must know, Hadassah, that I will bring up the matter of letting you leave these walls to Mordecai.”
“That's fine,” I said. “That's wonderful, in fact.”
And Rachel did not let me down. She arrived the following day carrying a bundle filled with not only the clothing we'd discussed but a wealth of cosmetics and accessories.
First she wet my hair from a pitcher of well water, then rolled it tightly around my head. Next she tied a scarf snugly around it and placed a large shepherd's hat atop the whole mass. I changed into loose-fitting desert clothes, slipped on some worn sandals and presented myself for inspection with arms held wide.
Rachel frowned. “I don't know, Hadassah. You still look awfully delicate.” She stood, walked outside and returned with a handful of dirt, which she proceeded to rub onto my cheeks. “Just for a little character. A little roughing up.”
She examined her work and shook her head appraisingly. “My love, will you let me send a friend along with you? Someone to watch over you, make certain nothing bad happens?”
I scowled. “You mean Jesse, don't you?”
She shrugged disarmingly. “Maybe-have you got someone else in mind?”
“Yes,” I huffed. “No one.”
“Hadassah-”
"I'm serious. It won't mean a thing with one of you tagging
along beside me." I regretted the rudeness of my words as soon as they left my mouth yet felt too engrossed in the emotion to apologize. Instead, I laid a hand on Rachel's shoulder and smiled grudgingly.
“I'll be all right,” I said.
“Just don't say a word. Promise me? If anyone hears your voice they'll make you out for sure, and someone will assume you're a runaway slave. You'll get frog-marched into the garrison, and it'll take days to sort out.... You just don't want that sort of thing. Promise?”
“I promise.” And I meant it. Someone could have dropped a boulder on my toes and I would not have uttered a sound.
And so I walked out of Mordecai's door for the first time in years. Alone.
My young friend, I cannot describe to you the exhilaration I felt walking down that street. I felt like the wind was new, more brisk, cooler upon my face. It seemed like my legs were full of energy, my feet as light as air. I fought the urge to throw out my arms and burst into song. What a feeling! By the time I'd reached the corner and turned back-and caught Rachel peering at me through a barely opened crack in the door-it seemed like I had become a new person.
I waved cautiously at Rachel, barely suppressing a giggle of excitement, then turned toward the open road. It was midmorning, and the lane adjoining our home featured its usual moderate foot traffic. I passed a donkey cart loaded high with bags of rice. Wonderful-the driver did not even catch my eye, so weary and fixed was he upon the road ahead. How silly of me, I admonished myself, to think I would attract every gaze simply because I was excited to be here. I realized in an instant, as I passed a group of young men holding skewers of lamb meat, the elementary lesson that everyone has his own worries and concerns for the day. It wasn't about me. All I had to do was blend in, stay quiet and unobtrusive, and I might as well have never been there. Strange. New concept for a girl accustomed to being the center of her household's attention.
I kept walking until I stood surrounded by views I had never seen from my rooftop perch. Entirely new sights and smells assaulted my senses from doorways and outflung awnings-a rack festooned with small cups of foreign spices, the unprecedented sight of a fire spit from which a roasted pig sent its aroma drifting in clouds of woodsmoke, around the corner an ornate stand hung with jewelry and items of clothing from faraway lands.
Then I realized, and I turned-I was completely out of sight from my home. I had truly ventured forth at last. I made a mental note of how to return and continued uphill, keeping the Palace rooftop straight ahead as my guide. I crossed the dried-mud bridge over the equally muddy Kerkha River and walked on. It seemed the farther I went, the more exotic and crowded the streets became. Soon the sound of barkers, haggling shoppers, workers and soldiers shouting became louder than any sound I had heard since that of thunder in a summer storm the year before.
Finally, my long climb ended at some sort of open plaza, I turned a corner and there it was. The majestic portico, the mighty arch of Xerxes, with the King's Gate soaring dizzily behind it, a wonder of height and expansiveness beyond any image I had ever conjured. I tried to picture what it would be like to live in the Palace, surrounded by vast gardens and servants and unspeakable opulence. Rachel had told me that much of the gold in the world was now hoarded within that building.
My mind could not contain it. So I simply gazed for a long moment, trying to catch my breath.
nd so many people! I had forgotten that the King's Gate was the center of commerce not only for Susa itself but the entire Persian Empire. My eager eyes traveled across the intricate spectacle, the swirling patchwork of color and detail and motion. There were columns of soldiers marching through the crowd in a line so precise you would have thought someone had drawn it with a pen. The sun shone majestically off their breastplates and lance tips. There were camel necks craning above the crowd, their humps trailing through the throng like islands in a sea. Canopies of bright red, purple, gold and rich yellows protected piles of glinting foreign goods-pitchers and vases and bolts of silk and beaded curtains and kettles and even curved, threatening knives and sabers-from the elements.
And the sound of it-the harsh exclamations of a thousand hagglers, barkers shouting out the wonders of their goods, laughter of passersby. The noise reached a volume I had never considered possible.
Trying to absorb it all, I realized that I was standing against the tide like a stone in a river's current. A sharp nudge in the shoulder made me look up into the cross glance of a thin, very brown, turbaned man. The wheel of his cart crunched slowly by me, just inches away from my big toe. Then a middle-aged woman loaded with heavy slings across her shoulders grazed my arm and shouted at me in a language I could not understand.
I began to fear for the survival of my disguise, so I turned to reorient myself for home. This had certainly been enough excitement for one day, at least for this first time.
And then it hit me. Mordecai might be here-somewhere. He had told me he often spent hours just outside the portico, dealing with royal vendors. As soon as the thought exploded in my mind, I realized this was what I had wanted all along: to see Mordecai on my own, from the covert vantage point of my disguise. A way to silently mock him, perhaps-to flaunt the boldness of my transgressioneven though I would never reveal myself.
But could I find him in all this crush of humanity? I turned back toward the Palace itself and willed myself to navigate the thickest part of the multitude.
Act like you know where you're headed, I spoke to my hesitation. You belong here. You have a destination in mind. You just don't know where it is.... I teased myself with the barest hints of a smile as I moved forward.
Then the Palace walls grew closer, and I caught more glimpses of the guards, their faces tense with concentration and purpose. Their fists clutched thick, tall lances. At their waists shone jewelencrusted handles of scimitars. The sight made me blanch and suddenly feel quite tiny, quite frivolous in my adolescent adventure. What am I thinking? Who was I to believe I could walk into such an official, solemn place simply in pursuit of a lark?
I turned away from the soldiers and allowed my curiosity to overcome my intimidation. Maybe I would just walk over this way, along the high wall lined with tent stalls-and then I saw him. He was sitting on the thick cushion he brought home every day, a small sunshade over his head, holding his stylus against an easel erected in front of him.
I had never seen him in an environment like this, so confident, his face devoid of the worry and doting affection that often constricted his features when he was around me. He squinted with the effort of forming a precise letter stroke upon the sheet, then looked out over its edge-and looked right at me.
I averted my gaze in a panic and turned away. My heart galloped suddenly in my chest. Has he seen me? Surely he had felt the intensity of my gaze, the lingering pause of my scrutiny. I did not even turn back to satisfy my curiosity. I began to run as fast I could through the crowd.
And when I started forward once more, I ran straight into the lanky form of a young boy. I looked up warily only to meet the familiar smile of Jesse, Rachel's grandson. I could feel my face instantly tense into a scowl. Upon my own soul-so much for my sense of utter freedom and abandon! And then I realized that Rachel had surely ordered him on his little surveillance mission, and my anger redoubled. My ally, my helper had betrayed me.
“What do you want?” I grumped crossly.
“Nothing. Just to make sure you're safe,” he said with a slight grin.
“Well, you can go back to your precious grandmother and tell her I'm fine. I don't need anybody like you spying on me.”
“Oh,” he said knowingly. “I'm sure you're fine. Only tell me, Hadassah, or whoever you are, what is the way back to your house?”
Why, that was easy. I turned and craned my head only to realize that half a dozen streets fanned out from the square, each identical to the one that had brought me here. I sighed heavily and planted my hands on my hips. The sun was scorching my face. My elaborate clothing began to feel heavy and hot. My head became confused with weariness and fatigue.
I turned back to him and put on a world-weary expression. “Well, don't sit there gloating, you big goat. Why don't you help me?”
“I'm sorry,” he persisted, his expression lit with a perverse joy. “Did I hear you say the word help?”
“Yes. Friends are supposed to help each other.”
“Friends. Fine. Follow me.”
At that he turned and began to run, long, loping strides through and around the milling people. I followed, only too happy to have someone who knew the way. An odd version of my previous exhilaration returned as I wove my way daringly around a never-ending assortment of people, desperate not to lose sight of Jesse's back. Soon a clearing emerged in the crowd and I actually caught up with him, glancing over at his flushed features as I matched his strides. He just smiled, for Jesse was a good-natured and kind soul; then he jerked his chin back toward the Palace portico. I shrugged and followed him through the dregs of the marketplace to where the people stopped and the abruptness of Palace wall began.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
He turned around and smiled for an answer.
“Aren't we going home?”
“No. Since we're here already, I'm going to show you a special place.”
I started to object, but he turned again and began to run. I could only shrug once more and follow. After we ducked behind a stand selling roasted figs and nuts, I followed him up a steep rise behind the canopy and the merchants' tethered donkeys. We climbed to a clearing above the crowd, and I stopped to catch my breath. He seemed about to pause and consider the awesome view, but instead Jesse threw his elbows back and started to run forward. I feared he was about to fall off the incline back into the market below, but he launched himself into the air and vaulted with his feet carving the air beneath him. I rushed forward to see him land flat on the back of a gryphon, one of the giant half-eagle, half-lion statues that flanked the portico itself.
Laughing in the breeze, he turned back and waved to me.
“Come on!”
I shook my head. The view was quite sufficient from here.
“Are you a coward? Shall I call you Hadassah the Mouse?”
I cringed at his words, for no one had ever called me a coward before. Besides, I knew enough of Jesse's little jibes to realize that if I failed this test, I might very well hear about it for years. Hadassah the Mouse might well follow me to my grave.
Without consciously making the decision, I felt my legs flex, my fists clench and my arms start to pump up and down. I propelled myself forward, planted my foot and jumped.
And for a glorious moment I felt all the freedom and lightness of a bird.
A second later the unyielding statue's flank struck me hard upon the shins. I splayed gracelessly against the stone but held on. A hand reached down into my field of view and I grasped it, held it firmly and pulled.
The next second I was astride the gryphon's back, sitting behind Jesse as if we were actually riding the beast. I looked down and felt my mouth fall open. Below us stretched a dizzying sea of turbaned heads, bright canopies and milling livestock. Not only the marketplace but all of Susa stretched on in a vast patchwork of rooftops and jagged streets to the edge of desert and the snow-capped mountains beyond.
I felt exposed up there, prominent beyond all hope of concealment, yet as I looked down I noticed something remarkable: no one was looking at us. At least nobody I could spot. The market had a life of its own, and that milling existence did not cease, nor did it care, for the existence of two exhilarated youth.
I felt like someone spying in plain sight, snooping on someone too stupid to turn around and even sense my presence. Could Mordecai see me? I craned my neck back in the direction of his spot and saw nothing. My hands-where were my hands?-oh my, I suddenly realized I had encircled Jesse's waist in a manner that felt, well, somehow it did not feel as innocent as child's play anymore.
Jesse hiked up one leg and swung around to face me, his own features clouded by an expression of curiosity and anticipation. With a quickness that made me jump, he reached out and pulled off my shepherd's hat, brushed the dust from my cheeks, ruffled out my hair. I no doubt looked like a girl again. The air suddenly grew thick-and not from heat. I felt
my head lighten, my cheeks flush. But I did not pull back. Suddenly Jesse was the center of the universe, the epicenter of my fracturing field of view.
And then he did it. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine. I pursed my mouth against the pressure and felt the most delightful sensation. More than that, of course. I felt a shock of intimacy, of a closeness beyond embarrassment. And then confusion. What in the world had just happened? I had never entertained, for even one moment, my thawing feelings toward him. I would later learn that there are women-a large portion of women-who spend hours, days even, basking in their contemplations of men. Believe it or not, I was not one of them. The flush of my affection for Jesse felt like the breath was being squeezed from me.
Then the moment passed, and shyness overtook me. I was now ready for flight and a return home. I swung one leg back to the other and jumped to the ground, a leap that left the soles of my feet tingling.
One Night With the King: A Special Movie Edition of the Bestselling Novel, Hadassah by Tommy Tenney;Mark Andrew Olsen Page 8