And so they walked, the ship owner and the little rabbi’s son, on this mild evening toward the city. The road they were following was so wide and straight that it might be properly termed an avenue, and after a long time there opened out before them a huge square, and Ben Attar asked the boy to help him erect a small column of stones in its center, as a landmark for their return, in case they were obliged to return alone. From there, still in the same eastward direction, they walked between little squares of green and neatly trimmed bushes, and past a pool of water behind which another stone arch could be seen, only this was a tiny one, only chest height, perhaps a miniature copy of the big one on the hill. If the two travelers had turned around, they would have seen, even at this twilight hour, the straight line that extended between the two arches, but their faces were looking straight ahead, toward the lights of little lanterns swaying all along the river toward the city, and the first faces of the somewhat noisy Parisians themselves, with their sharp features, their watchful eyes, a bald patch at the top of their skulls and shaven faces after the manner of players.
Meantime the island was filled with little lights, as though the inhabitants were vying with one another to display their personal light. In the throng of men and women strolling vociferously along the river, little Elbaz suddenly lost his self-confidence, and the hand that upon the ocean had held firmly to the tip of the mast gave way to panic and now laid hold of Ben Attar’s robe, which despite its striking colors attracted no attention from anyone, as though these strangers were walking not into a remote provincial town in darkest Europe but into a real metropolis, like Cordoba or Granada in Andalus, cities that receive many foreign visitors every single day without favoring them with so much as a second glance. Is it the boy who is inspiring such trust all around us, Ben Attar wondered, or do the local folk possess such self-confidence that they can receive any stranger without hostility, so long as he is ready to converse with them?
Indeed, Ben Attar, and even his young companion, began to feel that not only the traders standing at their stalls but even the people walking along the riverbank were constantly exchanging rapid remarks, and occasionally even uttering a word or two in the direction of the two strangers, as though the mere fact of speaking in such a musical language was a source of pleasure and blessing and whoever said nothing was the poorer for it. But since the two southerners had no words with which to reply and an ungarnished smile was no longer sufficient, they kept their heads bowed and began to look down at the rounded cobbles, upon which the feet of men and women, bound in curious leather leggings, pranced lithely, so as not to tread in the horse, swine, and dog droppings scattered everywhere. So intent were their eyes on the legs all around them that the rabbi’s son fancied he found among them those of his father, who had remained on board the ship—that is to say, his manner of walking—and stirred by this discovery, the boy tugged on Ben Attar’s robe, and in his soft Andalusian Arabic he whispered excitedly, Sir, the man walking in front of us could well be a Jew.
Surprisingly, Ben Attar was attracted by the boy’s idea, not because of the man’s gait but because of the hat that was pulled down on his head. Without further reflection he turned to follow the man, who, if he really was a Jew, might be expected not to turn into one of the taverns whose dim lights flickered around them, but would head for his home, which would certainly be found in a street in which other Jews lived, and so, unsuspected, they might arrive at the Levitas house, where Abulafia resided, for it was not possible that Jews who maintained their faith did not live close to other Jews. Even if it emerged that the man walking in front of them was not a Jew, to judge by the gentleness of his step there was no doubt that he was a kindly person, who would not object to serving unwittingly as a guide.
But a guide to what place? At first their Jew followed the river, which now revealed to them the walls of the large island, resembling for an instant a gigantic illuminated ship sailing along beside them. Even though the majority of the people went down the steps that led to a ferry that would convey them to the island, their Jew chose instead to continue on his way along the riverbank, until they reached a dark spot where the water almost licked at the earth, and there was a modest bridge of planks, half of it floating in the air and the rest immersed in the water. Their anonymous guide led them straight into the heart of the island crowded with houses and winding lanes and full of dark-uniformed guards, who were playing dice at the corners of the lanes and jabbering ceaselessly in their beloved language. From basement windows rose smells of dinner cooking, as though it were not so much the heart of the city that they had reached as its belly. The child, who had eaten nothing since midday, hesitantly turned his steps aside until, half afraid and half hopeful, he halted in front of a portly Parisian who was engaged in dissecting a whole roast piglet into fine pink slices.
When Ben Attar saw that the fragrant morsels of suckling pig failed to distract their chosen guide and that on the contrary he hastened his steps and lowered his eyes, muttering something as he did so, he was confirmed in his view that the boy had guessed right and this really was a Jew. So he continued to dog the man’s footsteps when he turned into a long dark alley, which led them through a small opening in the wall of the island to another bridge, no less dilapidated than the first, which took them to the southern bank. Even though it seemed more desolate than the northern bank, it had something gay and liberated about it, at least to judge by the merry, casually dressed young people who sat in the square by a fountain that ran into a stone basin adorned with torches, listening to a musician who was playing a small harp and bestowing friendly glances on Ben Attar and the boy, who were tailing their Jew. No longer able to ignore the pair following him, this man halted in a dark alleyway beside a large stone that projected from one of the houses and considered whether to say something, but he merely looked straight at them out of the darkness.
Abulafia? Ben Attar pleadingly whispered the name of the man who for more than a year had steeped his soul in sadness. A relieved smile flitted across the Jew’s face as he realized that there had been a purpose in his being pressed into service as a guide. Raising his arm, he gestured firmly toward the largest dwelling in this small alley, and without saying a word he opened a wicket hidden behind the stone and vanished inside.
Ben Attar was immediately alert. The presence nearby of Abulafia and his new wife had pricked all his senses. But then he admonished himself, for a hasty, unconsidered entrance at this evening hour was liable to confound his hopes of paying a formal visit with his two wives to the home of this woman who found him so repugnant. Accordingly, instead of making for the front door, he lingered and even retreated somewhat, inspecting the new home that his nephew and business partner was inhabiting and considering the best way to draw him out of it. But the windows of this house were small and out of reach, as though they belonged to a fortress rather than a dwelling. Little Elbaz, his impudence aggravated by the hunger that had been haunting him since the afternoon, offered the fruit of his great experience, and boldly laying hold of the heavy, dark wall with his skinny hands, he located hidden projections that enabled him to raise himself to one of the windowsills. For a long while he stayed there, hanging in silence, unable to break free of the attraction of the view afforded to anyone who happens to peep into someone else’s house. Meanwhile, Ben Attar, careful to make no sound, was stealthily pacing around the rear courtyard, attracted by familiar smells, and eventually recognized among the logs and broken cartwheels some of the sacks and brassware and skins that had been sold to Benveniste at half-price on the last ill-fated trip to Barcelona.
By now jealousy had rekindled his pain and longing. Unable to restrain himself, he called in a firm whisper to the boy to come down and tell him what he had seen. It transpired that the boy’s eyes had been transfixed by those of a girl about his own age, who had stared at him without uttering a word. In that case I have reached my goal, Ben Attar thought excitedly, and concealing his face with his scarf and placing t
he boy in front of him, he knocked on the door, which was very soon opened by an old servant woman with a kindly expression. While she was wondering whether she ought to be alarmed at the shrouded figure standing before her, the boy, who had learned his part well, bowed deeply and gracefully, and with a gentleness that would dispel any unseemly fear pronounced the name that had floated soundlessly before the advancing prow of the ship for the past eight weeks.
Although only two years had passed since the partners’ last meeting, Ben Attar had prepared himself to find Abulafia changed. Even so, he was surprised at the appearance of the man who came toward them. This was not because of his long hair or the pallor and gauntness of his face, but because of a new expression, a kind of inner, spiritual, somewhat artificial smile, as if he were forever attempting to understand the secret of the world yet did not believe that it was possible to do so. Had the new wife really managed to exchange the memory of pain over the drowned wife for a spiritual smile? The nephew’s eyes had not yet noticed his uncle, who had withdrawn into the shadow of the doorway, but they were drawn toward the boy, who had begun to prattle to the master of the house in Arabic, so stirring Abulafia with emotion that he could not refrain from touching the child to make sure it was not a dream standing on the threshold of his house. Then Ben Attar lowered his scarf, enjoying not so much the astonishment but the pain that suffused his nephew’s beautiful face as he closed his eyes as though he were about to faint.
But Abulafia immediately reined himself in. He knew only too well that fainting on his own doorstep would be considered an escape not only by his guest but also by his wife and her brother, who would come running at once, and so he changed his plan and hastened to embrace Ben Attar, not with that strong, natural embrace of the summer meetings in the woods near Barcelona, but with a soft, desperate hug tinged with guilt and pain, and also with a new repudiation, a hug that repelled even as it clasped the North African traveler. Ben Attar had covered such a vast, impossible distance to come here that he had earned a high status in the eyes of the master of the house, a status that instantly relieved Abulafia of any scruples concerning the nature of the reply that he must give his twice-wed uncle when the latter made his request for hospitality. My house is your house, he said clearly, repeating the words in Hebrew so as to avoid any possible misunderstanding, whether on the part of the business partner who had returned or on that of his new wife, whose gown now rustled at his side.
The generous host did not yet know that behind the solitary uncle stood an old guardship lying at anchor not far away. But it was clear from the flash that lit his eyes and the blush that suffused his cheeks that he would not have modified his generous invitation if he had known that hospitality was being requested not just for a young, ill-defined child but for an entire household. For it became more evident by the minute that he was animated by joy at the sight of this guest who had descended upon him with almost magical suddenness, and his excitement caused him to bend down affectionately once again toward the unknown, suntanned child and hoist him tenderly in the air, this child who for many days had swayed at the masthead of a doughty ship. And the new wife, Mistress Esther-Minna, realizing that she had been bested in the first, lightning-quick engagement of the present campaign, smiled too at the uplifted child, who lay gripped in the arms of the master of the house, perhaps in hopes of receiving, once he was back on the ground, something to eat.
Not once but many times in the course of the voyage Ben Attar had asked himself, when the ship was becalmed at night, creaking to herself upon the darkling sea beneath a heaven pregnant with stars, which of Satan’s brood had tempted him into abandoning his home and his children and endangering both his two beloved wives and his merchandise on such a ghastly escapade. Why should he insist on winning back the heart of his partner Abulafia, when he might have found a replacement for him, or even two replacements, who, even if they might not have traded with the same talent or reliability as his dear nephew, could have dealt with the old markets of Provence and Toulouse and made him a decent profit, which would preserve his good and honored name and the prosperity of both his houses? And each time he had reminded himself once again that in truth it was not Abulafia’s heart that he was trying to win back by means of this crazy journey, but that his new wife, who, though he had never beheld her face nor heard her voice, was extremely important to him, particularly from the moment she had reached out so surely from a distance to impugn his honor.
It was because of the importance of this unknown, distant woman, which had only increased as the journey dragged on and its tribulations became more severe, that he had not only held firm to his purpose but even managed to instill confidence and faith in the other travelers and the crew. So when he finally stood in the entrance of the house, clad in the multicolored robe that his two wives had made for him and inspecting his new kinswoman, who had come up from the Rhine Valley and united herself with his nephew, he knew clearly that this daring adventure had not been in vain. It was indeed right for him to have come from so far away to pit himself against such a woman, who, even though she was ten years older than her young husband, even though fine wrinkles showed on her face, still retained in her high cheekbones and her bright pearl-like eyes traces of a peculiar, exotic beauty, like that of a fine white hound or a fox. Who could say, he reflected with an inward chuckle, whether some savage Viking or Saxon blood might not be coursing in her pious veins, or glimmering in the deep blue stare with which her eyes were now fixing his own?
7.
Supper was laid for them in a large, overfurnished room with woolen rugs on the floor. So astonished was the North African traveler, however, at the rapidity and ease with which he had been accepted into this dreamed-of house that he was incapable of tasting the food that was set before him in heavy dull copper dishes. Instead, he watched the boy from Seville attack the chunks of cock served in a large pot and slake his thirst eagerly from a large crystal goblet that Mistress Esther-Minna casually refilled for him as though she were pouring water rather than wine. Was it the savor of roast pork in the street that had given the lad such a lusty appetite? Ben Attar asked himself as he smiled with embarrassment at his hosts, as though he himself were somehow guilty of this imported hunger. As he watched and wondered, the good wine gradually overcame the young diner, the fork slipped from his hand, his eyelids drooped, and the little pigtail that he had grown on the voyage began to nod, until full-blown slumber unceremoniously overtook him as he was, at table, converting the promised hospitality from a pious gesture to a necessity.
Mistress Esther-Minna, not having been vouchsafed any fruit of her own womb, was moved by any child who fell into her hands, especially such a dusky lad as this, whose locks were as curly as those of her husband, and who was also a half-orphan, according to his companion. Consequently, it was not surprising that she forgot, or at any rate deferred, the repudiation she had imposed upon her guest and called the two old Christian maids to pick up the boy and carefully remove his trousers, not realizing that children’s sleep is made of cast iron and not spun from cobwebs like her own—particularly because in this house they were accustomed to dealing with a girl whose slumber deserted her at the slightest sudden movement, to be replaced by raucous, tormented grunts. Even though it was forbidden in this house to call Abulafia’s daughter bewitched or accursed, her fundamental nature had still not changed.
Even Ben Attar minded his language when he caught sight of the child standing in the doorway, conjuring up a flickering image of a baby crawling in the bottom of the boat on the first trip to Barcelona, trying to dig her little fingers into his eyes. His heart warmed toward her, and he surreptitiously signaled to the girl, in whose face her late mother’s beauty struggled with the blankness of her deformed soul, to come closer to him. Perhaps something really did sparkle in the foggy rage of her memory, since she did not flee in haste as usual from the strange visitor but stood fixed in the doorway, retreating before the master of the house. The moment he learne
d of the alarming appearance of the rejected business partner, Master Yehiel Levitas, Mistress Esther-Minna’s younger brother, shrewdly grasped not only that the first round was lost but that the second too was in jeopardy, and so he hastened to introduce himself politely, if somewhat coolly, to this distant, strange kinsman, who now gave a shallow bow of greeting. The brother did not delay but at once addressed the North African in clear, simple, and very slow Hebrew, as though the worry was not only about some difference in accent, dialect, or vocabulary but about a mental gap dividing north from south. Since, unlike his brother-in-law, he felt no guilt toward the visitor, he was not afraid to ask, after some brief courtesies, a direct question aimed at elucidating the purpose of his visit. Abulafia’s face reddened in embarrassment at the coarse question posed by his brother-in-law, who was short and fair-haired like his sister but lacked the jewel-like quality of her eyes, and before Ben Attar managed to reply, Abulafia was attempting to soften the question in trilingual speech. First, in Frankish, he indicated to his precipitate brother-in-law the boundaries of correct comportment. Then, in Arabic, he addressed the dear man who had come from so far away and restored his faith in the expanse of friendship that had been spread out before him here. Finally, in the holy tongue that they could all understand, he urged the weary uncle to sit down at last and taste the food that was growing cold on the table.
Ben Attar was satisfied, however, with the directness shown by Master Levitas, supported by his sister’s beautiful, limpid eyes. He was worried now not for himself, his hunger and his tiredness, but for his ship, concealed in the vegetation of the riverbank, whose anxiety for her master, vanished in a strange city, floated above her like an additional sail. Little unexpected tears welled up at the sight of these Jews, whose repudiation had forced him not only to make this long, dangerous journey but also to conceal from them the existence of his companions, and to insinuate himself into their home by night, alone with a strange child. He stared straight into the other’s yellow, foxlike eyes and tried to answer him also in clear, simple, and very slow Hebrew, as though his worry too was not only about a difference in accent, dialect, and vocabulary but about a deep religious gap dividing north from south. We have come to demand divine justice against you and your repudiation, he said, and to that end we have brought with us a learned rabbi from Seville. He was careful not to add any more, so that the plural speech he had adopted, surprising even himself for a moment, might remain vague. Although he was not yet ready to reveal the two wives he had brought with him, to introduce them as daring guests in the house that had opened its doors to him, he was reluctant to impugn their honor by ignoring them.
A Journey to the End of the Millennium Page 12