Poisoned Honey

by Beatrice Gormley

But then a cheerful thought flashed through my mind: after my wedding a year from now, I’ll hardly have to see Alexandros at all. That made me feel almost kindly toward him.

  Back home, my grandmother hugged me and whispered, “The Lord has blessed you, my dear. You and Nicolaos looked just like the devoted lovers Rachel and Jacob in the old story.”

  Two years before, when my cousin Susannah became betrothed to Silas, a screen had seemed to come between us, even before she left our family compound for her husband’s house. Susannah was on one side of the screen, with all betrothed girls and married women. I was left on the other side.

  But now I, too, had stepped through the screen of betrothal. The next time Susannah visited our house, she was eager to talk to me. Handing little Kanarit over to our grandmother, she sat down on the steps beside me. “Are you going to live with your in-laws before the wedding?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. “They suggested that, but Abba didn’t want me to leave before I had to.”

  Susannah’s eyes twinkled as she gazed at me. “Maybe you wouldn’t have minded, though. Do you feel warm all over when Nicolaos is near? Yes, I know how it feels.” She leaned close to me, whispering, “And the man feels the same way-even more so!”

  “How do you know?” I asked in wonder.

  Susannah giggled. “Silas told me. He says when he desires me, he feels as if he’s on fire … there.” She glanced down below the belt of her tunic, bit her lip, and burst out laughing. “Oh, Mari! I’m so happy for you.”

  As we talked on, Susannah showed me amulets that she’d bought for herself and her little girl from Ramla, the wise woman from Egypt. “I wish you could have met her, Mari. She’s so … so different! She has a man as companion, and sometimes he seems to be her servant—her bodyguard, her musician—but sometimes he seems more like a husband. Oh—and guess what? Ramla has a bird, a parrot, that she talks to, and the bird talks back!”

  “Really?” This was so amazing that for just one moment, I forgot about being betrothed. I also remembered something I hadn’t thought about for a long time. “I used to talk to a sparrow,” I mused. Susannah gave an astonished laugh, and I corrected myself quickly. “I mean, I used to pretend that the sparrow talked to me.”

  Then I forgot about the sparrow as Susannah turned the conversation to weddings, and to what happens in the bridal chamber when the bride and groom are alone.

  FIVE

  A LIFE OF BLESSINGS

  Although my family’s business was sardines, we also owned farmland on the plain of Gennesaret, north of Mount Arbel. We had a wheat field, a vineyard, and an apricot orchard. At harvest times, the whole family would camp out in the countryside to work—and play. Harvest was the happiest season.

  During the year of my betrothal, Nicolaos’s family invited me to their apricot harvest. Abba escorted me to an orchard on a neighboring hillside and left me with Nicolaos’s mother, Lydia. I would spend the next several days with them.

  “Welcome to our family, Mariamne,” she said. She had a wide, generous smile and a soft, generous way of hugging. She showed me the tent where I’d sleep with the other unmarried girls.

  As the days went by, the harvest proceeded much as it did in my family’s orchard. The men knocked ripe fruit from the branches with poles. Women and girls gathered the fallen fruit into baskets and carried them down to the tents. There, other women pitted the apricots and laid them out to dry on cloths.

  That whole week, I was in a constant flutter with Nicolaos so near. We couldn’t be alone together, of course, but I often felt his gaze on me as I carried a basket out of the orchard. Any ordinary remark from him, such as “Let me lift that heavy basket for you,” or “It’s hot for this time of year, isn’t it?” sounded like love poetry. We found many chances to “accidentally” brush against each other, gasping at the slightest touch.

  I was a little shy with all these strangers at first, but Nicolaos’s relatives were so welcoming that I soon felt at ease. I was glad to find out that Nicolaos’s family, like mine, stayed up in the evening to tell stories. I thought this was the best way to listen to stories: tired after the day’s harvesting, sitting in the shadows around the campfire.

  The first night, Nicolaos’s older brother, Thaddaios, told a story he’d heard from his father, who had remembered Herod the Great’s reign. In old King Herod’s day, Galilee was part of the kingdom of Greater Judea. But King Herod kept his power by pleasing the Romans, and there were many Jews who opposed him. The rebels hid in caves on the sheer north face of Mount Arbel.

  Here, Thaddaios pointed to the bulk of the mountain, even darker than the night sky. Light flickered from a watch fire on the summit.

  “Herod lowered his soldiers on ropes from the top of the cliff. They seized the rebels and hurled them off the mountain to their death. And their wives and children with them.”

  I shuddered, feeling with the rebels the panic in their bones, which were about to crack like sticks on the rocks below.

  “But there was one rebel, a real hero, who threw his own family off the cliff,” an uncle put in. “Herod thought he had this man cornered; he tried to make him surrender. But the rebel threw off his wife, then his daughters, then each of his three sons. Then he spit at Herod and leaped off himself.”

  “Thank the Lord that he didn’t give me a ‘real hero’ for a husband,” said Lydia dryly. There was laughter, especially from the other women. “Anyway,” she added, “these are peaceful days around our lake, thank the Lord even more for that.”

  One of the young men spoke up. “Yes, we’re as peaceful as oxen plowing the fields ahead of the farmer’s whip. We peacefully pay and pay the taxes, like nanny goats giving milk.”

  “Hush!” said Thaddaios. “Do you want to get us into trouble? Herod Antipas has ears everywhere.”

  The young man was silent, but an old man’s voice spoke out of the dark. “When, oh when, will the Lord send us his Anointed One?” There was a terrible longing in his voice, more frightening than the thought of falling off a cliff.

  Nicolaos’s brother seemed at a loss—he couldn’t scold an older relative. But his mother spoke up to change the subject. “We Jews have faced terrible trials many times, and the Lord always sends help,” said Lydia. “Do you remember Queen Esther? Instead of throwing her family off a cliff, she saved the lives of all her people.”

  This was one of the stories my grandmother told. It took place long ago when the Jews lived in exile in Persia, far to the east. The story began when the king of Persia, Ahasuerus, divorced his queen, Vashti.

  Although I’d heard the story over and over, it struck me for the first time what a harsh man the king was. Why did he divorce Vashti? Only because she embarrassed him in front of his banquet guests. He summoned her to parade her beauty before his guests, but she refused. Surely divorce was too severe a punishment for that!

  As the story went on, the king ordered a search for a new queen among all the maidens of the kingdom. Mordecai, a Jew who worked for the palace, turned in his own cousin and ward, Esther. This part of the story, too, disturbed me now. I couldn’t imagine my father meekly delivering me to the king’s palace. He’d send me off somewhere, perhaps up in the hills with my aunt in Arbel, until after the king chose a bride.

  “Poor Esther!” I exclaimed. “Why didn’t her guardian, Mordecai, hide her? Didn’t he care that Esther might have to marry a Gentile?”

  I’d spoken softly, but Lydia heard, and she gave me a tolerant smile. “You know it all comes out right in the end.”

  So I listened quietly to the rest of Esther’s story. But to tell the truth, I didn’t think it was much more cheerful than the story about the Galilean rebel who threw his wife and children off the cliff to spite King Herod. Esther, beautiful and charming, was chosen as Ahasuerus’s new queen. She did persuade him to spare his Jewish subjects from a massacre. But first she had to risk death, just to approach the king without being summoned!

  Nicolaos, as well as the o
ther men, seemed the most interested in the end of the story, when there was a great battle. King Ahasuerus decreed that the Jews in Persia could defend themselves from the slaughter, set for the fourteenth day of the month of Adar.

  “And the Jews slaughtered their enemies instead, and won a glorious victory,” Lydia concluded. “And so we honor Esther when we celebrate Purim, to this day.”

  Good-natured repartee broke out as to whether Esther or Mordecai was the true hero of the story. While the others were talking, Nicolaos caught my eye. He smiled straight at me, and I dared to smile back as if the two of us were alone. It wouldn’t be long before I could stroke his face, brushing my fingers right over those dimples. My bold thought made me blush and lower my eyes.

  The next morning, gathering apricots at the top of the orchard, I shaded my eyes to gaze over the farmland to the lake. This was a good world: the blue water holding up our fishing boats, the golden wheat fields on the plain, and our prosperous town on the shore. It seemed that I was meant to spend my life in this fertile land, with this happy family. I murmured a prayer: “Praised be the Lord, who has chosen me for a life of blessings.”

  (Now I believe that demons must have overheard my prayer. They must have rubbed their hands in glee and remarked, This one will be an easy target. Just wait.)

  At the end of the harvest, when the last fruit had been gathered and the apricot trees held only their dusty leaves, Nicolaos’s brother walked me back to my family’s orchard. I wore their gift, a costly silk scarf the color of apricots, orange blushing to pink.

  “We would have been glad to keep Mariamne,” Thaddaios told my father with a broad smile. “My mother wants her to come home and move in with us right now, rather than wait until the wedding.”

  My father smiled, not so broadly, and murmured polite thanks, but he put a firm arm around my shoulders. “The wedding will be time enough.” When Thaddaios was out of earshot, he folded me in his arms, muttering, “Mari, my dear little daughter! How can I bear to see you go?”

  My father’s sorrow rushed from his heart into mine, and I clung to him. I’d hidden something from myself up until then: marrying Nicolaos would mean leaving my father.

  Pulling back and taking both my hands, my father searched my face. Then he looked away, as if he was ashamed of what he was going to say. “I’m troubled.” He sighed. “I have strange dreams. They seem to tell me it’s not right for you to marry. But how could that be so? What kind of life could a woman have without a husband, without children?”

  I had never seen my father look so distraught, and it hurt me that I’d been so happy with Nicolaos and his family while Abba was suffering. I lifted his hands to my face and kissed one hand, then the other, to soothe him.

  “Lord forgive me,” whispered my father. “I should not have told you of my perverse dreams. It must be my own selfish heart that wants to keep you with me.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but my father added quickly, “We are blessed that you will leave us to join Nicolaos and his family. On your wedding day, I will release you to them with rejoicing.”

  SIX

  THE MISSION

  On the afternoon of my last happy day, Chloe and I sat in the courtyard at the bottom of the steps. The year of my betrothal had sped by; it was almost Tishri, autumn, again. Outside the kitchen shed, Yael laid a fire and set a pot to boil.

  Chloe was finishing the embroidery on one sleeve of my wedding robe while I worked on the other. The robe was white linen, the fine goods that Magdala was famous for. We held the cloth carefully in our laps, away from the chickens pecking around the yard.

  “I can’t believe you’re getting married tomorrow, can you, Mari?” asked my sister for the seventh time. She knotted a blue thread, the last stitch in the last flower, and bit it off. “You’re so lucky. Nicolaos is so nice. Do you think they’ll find someone that nice for me? Cousin Susannah’s husband is nice, too.”

  “What do you think, that the marriage luck will be all used up by the time you’re thirteen?” I teased. “Don’t be silly; of course they’ll find someone nice for you.” But I, too, could hardly believe I was getting married. The biggest day of my life was rushing toward me, like a swift-sailing boat, to scoop me up and fly off with me.

  “But after you leave, I’ll be here without you for a long time,” Chloe said sadly. “And you’ll live on the other side of town, and …”

  “You’ll come visit me, won’t you?” I asked. I was often impatient with Chloe’s little fears and anxieties, but today I felt tender toward her. I wanted everyone to be happy.

  “Of course, if you want me to.” Chloe gave me a pleased glance. We stood to fold the finished robe. As we carried it upstairs and laid it carefully on a rack, she went on, “Imma’s taking you to the mikvah tonight, isn’t she?”

  I nodded. This would be my first time at the women’s mikvah, the ritual bath. Ritual purity is not the same thing as ordinary cleanliness. A person does not step into the mikvah to wash off ordinary dirt, as one washes a melon from the field before slicing it. The wedding was a sacred ceremony, and I must be pure of heart for it.

  That evening, as I left the house with my mother, I was excited but nervous. I’d always thought the entrance to the mikvah looked something like a tomb. Past the synagogue and around a corner, a flight of black stone stairs led down to an archway.

  Imma greeted the mikvah attendant, a woman she knew. The attendant smiled in a kindly way as she handed me a towel. “So tomorrow is her wedding day?” she asked my mother. “May the Lord shower blessings on both families!”

  In the windowless chamber before the pool, I undressed by the light of a lamp and wrapped myself in the towel. I shivered—not because I was cold but because my first mikvah was such a serious occasion. I felt a building excitement … or was it dread? Just for an instant, I remembered Susannah’s older sister, who had died in childbirth.

  My mother led me into the next chamber. To my relief, this room was larger, and it was lit not only by lamps but also by the stars from a skylight over the pool. Handing Imma the towel, I walked down the steps into the water.

  I was careful to keep my eyes and mouth closed, but my hands open and the fingers separated so that the water could touch me all over. I drew up my knees, floating free. The cool water flowed through my hair, lifting it and then pulling it down.

  When I was sure I was thoroughly wet, I stood up in the pool and recited the prayer of the mikvah, as Imma had instructed me: “Who has sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us on immersion.” Then I ducked under the water for the second immersion.

  And then … I seemed to be raised up, although I was under the water; and bathed with light, although my eyes were closed. I understood that I was in holy water, in Miryam’s Well.

  Miryam. I knew that voice, clear and strong.

  Miryam of Magdala, the woman’s voice went on. This day, if you choose, you are consecrated to a high purpose.

  I do choose it! I cried from my heart.

  It is a steep and rocky way, said the voice. It is lonely; it is perilous. You will need the courage of an eagle.

  I was afraid, but still my heart burned to set out on the way. I choose it, I responded.

  “Mariamne.” My mother was calling from far away. “Mariamne!”

  I broke the surface, pushing my wet hair from my face. I felt such tenderness toward my mother. I saw that all her annoying work to turn me into a proper Jewish wife was done out of love for me. “Dear Imma!” I said.

  “You aren’t supposed to stay in all day,” Imma said at the same time, holding out the towel. But she was beaming as I climbed the steps. She wrapped me in the towel and held me close.

  In that moment, I felt that Imma and I understood each other perfectly. “Imma,” I said, “I found Miryam’s Well. With the ears of my soul, I heard her tell me my mission.”

  My mother smiled at me fondly. “The way you make such a story out of things! Those readings you hear in the
synagogue, you know, they’re very holy, of course, but you aren’t supposed to take them literally. Isn’t it exciting enough to get married?”

  “But I truly heard Miryam’s voice,” I insisted as I pulled on my tunic. “She warned me that my way would be steep and rocky—perilous, she said.”

  Imma wound my wet hair in a scarf. “I see what it is. It’s natural for a maiden to worry about the dangers of childbirth. Are you thinking of your poor cousin, may she rest in peace?”

  “I did think of her while I was undressing,” I admitted as we left the mikvah, “but that’s not what I’m talking—”

  “That was a completely different situation,” my mother broke in. At the top of the steps, the manservant was waiting for us with a torch. As we followed him down the avenue toward home, she began to explain all the reasons why I wouldn’t die in childbirth like Susannah’s older sister.

  I interrupted, trying to describe how it felt to be bathed in light and hear the prophet Miryam’s voice. But Imma made a joke of it. “I told you not to stay under so long—if you hold your breath like that, of course you’ll start hearing voices. You’ve always let your imagination run away with you, even as a young child. Ai, that time you jumped off the top of the stairs, thinking you could fly!”

  We entered the courtyard, lowering our voices so as not to disturb Abba and the rest, already in bed. “Imma, this was a real vision,” I protested.

  Stopping at the bottom of the stairs, Imma took me by the shoulders. “My daughter,” she said kindly, “are you worried about the wedding night?”

  It dawned on me that she meant, was I afraid of being alone in bed with Nicolaos. “No!” I exclaimed. I forgot to keep my voice down, and the chickens in the shed rustled and clucked. “Not at all,” I whispered, feeling warm. I could have added, “I can’t wait.”

  My mother seemed to understand my unspoken words because she chuckled and patted my shoulders. “Ah yes, I remember how it feels, to be giddy with love….” Turning away with a sigh, she began to climb the stairs.