A Journey to the End of the Millennium

by A. B. Yehoshua

  What sorrow? What suffering? the boy whispered to his father in astonishment. That’s just the Point, his father replied immediately with a smile. This was exactly how he must explain it to Abulafia’s new wife, so that she would rescind her repudiation of the partnership. That was why Ben Attar had ventured upon the ocean waves and, not content with coming himself, had brought both his wives with him, so they too might testify in his favor. And that was why he himself had been hired for the journey, to bear witness that in the eyes of God too this double bond was pleasing. This new wife set great store by the will of God. And if—here the father winked at his son—the child too would testify to the easy and affectionate relations prevailing between the two wives … But the boy, alarmed at his father’s intention of involving him, was seized by a vague terror, and with a new stubbornness he ducked out from under his father’s caressing hand. No, he wouldn’t say a word. He didn’t know a thing. He would say nothing. The father’s smile froze now on his face, not only because of his son’s dogged refusal but at the sight of a line of black-clad, singing monks processing calmly down the narrow street, waving billowing censers, either to atone for the sins of the day that was past or to send abroad a fragrant enticement for the day that was to come. The sudden sight of two strangers sitting beside the door of the Jews’ house in the middle of the night startled the monks so much that for a moment they stood rooted to the spot, before hurriedly crossing themselves and departing.

  The child trembled at the sight of the monks vanishing toward the nearby monastery of Saint Germain, whose bell rang to greet them, and he entreated his father to go indoors. The father, however, was troubled by a new thought on account of the boy’s firm refusal to support him in his testimony in favor of Ben Attar’s double marriage. Is it possible that the boy can see what I am not willing to see? he thought to himself, and he decided to take another look at the texts that Ben Attar had brought from Tangier in the name of the sage Ben Ghiyyat, in the hope of finding an apposite verse or a telling parable from the words of the sages and ancients to strengthen their case. Before the day dawned, he resolved to return to the ship and rummage in the ivory casket that had been left behind, and at the same time to relieve the hunger occasioned by his long sleep.

  But the child refused to return alone to the strange dark house and insisted on going with his father, saying that he remembered the way back very well. Because he did not know that the ship he had left two days earlier had meanwhile been brought closer to the island, at first he denied it was the same one and insisted that it was a different one that simply resembled their own, which was moored farther away. Elbaz had difficulty in getting the boy to admit his mistake, perhaps because the old guardship really had changed and seemed to have shrunk in the intervening hours. The large triangular sail had completely disappeared, and the old shields and ornaments that had adorned the ship’s sides had been removed. But when Abu Lutfi, hearing the sounds of argument breaking the still of the night, called to them from the deck, the boy was forced to admit that it really was the selfsame ship whose mast had slid between his skinny legs for so many days that it had become like a part of his body.

  At once the black slave was sent ashore in a dinghy to fetch the returning passengers. Despite the short time that had elapsed since their last leavetaking, Abu Lutfi was glad to have the rabbi back on board, hoping that his holy presence might restore some order to the ship—for from the moment she had reached her final berth and been tied up on the northern shore of the Seine a certain licentiousness had begun to proliferate on board, not only because her owner was away but because of the absence of his two wives, whose quiet, courtly presence had held the winds in check. When the rabbi and his son climbed on board, they were confronted by a mess of dirty plates and a group of sleeping drunkards sprawled before Abd el-Shafi, who was seated aloft on the old bridge, wrapped in a leopard skin that he had helped himself to from the hold and humming an old tune that had probably been sung by the Vikings when they had attacked this town a hundred years before. Seeing the rabbi walking across the deck, the captain let fly a vulgar expression that he would never have used during the long journey. But the rabbi ignored it, hesitating as he was between looking for the ivory casket and quelling his hunger pangs. Fearing that immoderate eating might shed reproach on the hospitality of Abulafia and his wife, he decided to descend into the hold and slake his craving with dried figs and carobs. But Abu Lutfi, observing how hungry he was, gave orders for a meal of fish from the new river to be prepared for the two visitors.

  While awaiting this meal of the third watch, which was already introducing a fine sliver of light into the sky over the darkened city, the rabbi went in search of the ivory casket. When the muse had taken hold of him off the rugged coast of Brittany, the casket had vanished, and he had completely forgotten about it. He could not locate it amid the jumble of clothes and objects in his cabin, nor was it in Ben Attar’s. Climbing back up to the old bridge, he sought the little casket among the bundles and under the leopard skin that adorned Abd el-Shafi, who stared at him drunkenly, but there was no trace of it. Had Abu Lutfi included it among the merchandise to be offered for sale? Cautiously he questioned the Ishmaelite partner, who instantly swore that he would never dare to touch a casket containing holy words. Had one of the women taken it, then? the rabbi wondered. But they could not read. Out of respect, the rabbi considered sending his son to search their cabins, but eventually he mustered the determination to go himself, in case the search brought him some further helpful understanding. Entering first the first wife’s cabin in the bow, he saw at once that it had been completely cleared, leaving behind nothing but a faint lingering hint of her fragrance in the air. Had she taken her clothes and possessions with her for fear of losing them, or was she preparing herself for a long stay ashore? Either way, most of her belongings had gone, and what little remained was neatly bundled and tied with a red cord and stowed beside her carefully folded bedclothes. The rabbi headed for the hold, where the young camel stood all alone, staring sadly between his front legs at a new Parisian mouse. Before the rabbi found the little cell draped with a curtain, he lost his bearings among the large sacks, but eventually with trembling hands he moved aside the rope mat, and with a lighted candle he stooped and entered and excitedly encountered the second wife’s bed, which had been left covered in a mess of her clothes and other belongings, as though she had fled in a panic with the intention of returning at once. And here, among the smooth silk robes that perfumed his hands, he found the ivory casket, which might have been casually abandoned here or carefully concealed for the purpose of some secret ritual.

  Elbaz had not been so close to a woman’s clothes and objects since his wife’s death, and for a moment he was shaken by desire. So he hastily departed, clutching the casket inside his robe and stroking the camel’s delicate narrow head as he passed, out of compassion, and perhaps by way of atoning for the sinful thoughts that had flitted through his mind a moment earlier. On deck he found Abd el-Shafi, who had come down from his seat on the bridge to show the boy how to fillet a fish without damaging it. So well had the rabbi’s son learned his lesson that without being asked he filleted the rabbi’s fish too, and the rabbi, unable to contain himself any longer, threw himself upon the tender white flesh.

  Only as dawn was breaking did the rabbi, sated and a little tipsy, manage to reexamine the parchments that Ben Ghiyyat had sent him and understand why he had so neglected them during the last days of the journey that he had almost lost them. The verses from the stories of the patriarchs, judges, and kings that the North African sage had selected and copied in his large, fair hand seemed childish and irksome, far removed from the nobility of the three-cornered love that had sailed beside the rabbi for so many days. Thus he asked Abu Lutfi, who had not taken his eyes off him, to replace the parchments in the ivory casket and keep it under his protection, hidden in a safe place beside his couch. While the Arab reverentially picked up the pieces of parchment, smoothed th
em, and arranged them in order of size, the rabbi screwed up his eyes in the brightening light and sensed the traces of the couplings that had taken place on the ship now riding quietly on the river. Suddenly he was assailed by a vague excitement, and he swore to himself by the beloved memory of his wife to devote all his power and wisdom to the defence of the integrity of his employer’s family.

  But the rabbi from Seville, as he sat deep in thought on the deck of the ship, did not imagine that this pledge of defense would have to be called upon this very day, which was dawning slowly and stirring deep fears not only in Mistress Esther-Minna, who had hardly closed her eyes all night, but also in her brother, Master Levitas, who despite his habitual equanimity and confidence was wondering whether the little tribunal that he had organized so hastily in Villa Le Juif would be able to get to the root of the matter and conclude its work before sunset, so that he would be able to rid his home speedily of this southern company that had taken up residence with excessive alacrity. Even though Ben Attar and his small retinue had made every effort to maintain a polite silence during the night, Mistress Esther-Minna was unable to avoid the feeling that her secure existence was being invaded. Since she had lain awake most of the night, she had been unable not to hear the groaning of the bolts of the front door in the middle of the night and the light footsteps disappearing outside. At first she had tried to restrain herself and had not stirred from her bed. But when a long time had passed and the footsteps did not return, she went downstairs and discovered that the door was wide open, the house was abandoned, and there was no one outside in the street. Then she experienced a strange feeling, joyful, yet painful too, that the second wife might have decided to disappear suddenly, either from fear at what the next day would bring or from a sense of guilt at her redundant status. The thought of that dark young woman wandering all alone outside upset her so much that she decided to waken Abulafia to go out and bring her back, for she now felt stirred by compassion.

  Before waking her husband she went to confirm her suspicion, but she found Ben Attar’s first wife sleeping peacefully in her place, and the second wife too in the place that had been allotted her, the wretched girl’s cubicle, lying naked in her husband’s embrace. When Mistress Esther-Minna realized her mistake, she found the courage to draw aside the curtain to the rabbi’s bedchamber, and there she discovered an empty bed. Was it possible, she asked Abulafia as the morning dawned, that the legal genius who had been brought especially from Andalus had already fled the field of combat? But Abulafia refused to believe that. No, it was not, he said; why should he run away? It was evident that for some reason Abulafia was in a very good mood, as if he nursed another secret that his wife did not share.

  Indeed, this new happy mood that had come upon Abulafia since his uncle’s astonishing arrival exacerbated his new wife’s constant anxiety for the well-being of her marriage, for despite its sweet and bitter moments, it was still impossible to tell whether its spiritual (as opposed to its emotional and physical) sanctity had yet penetrated her young husband’s heart. Even though she was convinced that the hastily convened tribunal that her brother had arranged in Villa Le Juif would have the skill to repulse this bizarre and impertinent invasion that had originated in the south and attacked them from the west, whether it was personal or religious in nature, still she was nagged by a fear that lurking behind this was a new scheme to revive the proscribed partnership. That would revive Abulafia’s traveling, and he would be once more exposed not merely to the menace of highway robbers but also to the temptation of dual matrimony, which the sturdy uncle was trying to demonstrate in the heart of her home could be undertaken without pain or effort.

  In the intensifying light of day, when it was impossible to ignore the happiness not only of Ben Attar but of Abulafia too on seeing Rabbi Elbaz returning from his nocturnal visit to the ship, contented after roaming the narrow streets of the Parisian island and replete after his fish breakfast, Mistress Esther-Minna’s beautiful eyes darkened, and biting her thin lips she went to the yard to gain encouragement from her brother, who was inspecting the wheels of the large wagon that was to transport the parties to their tribunal. Since Ben Attar insisted adamantly that the two wives must accompany them, firm in his faith that their presence at his side would strengthen, not weaken, his case, the driver must be asked to give additional power to the wagon by joining a partner to the stout, shaggy horse that was already standing harnessed and ready. How fortunate, Master Levitas chuckled to himself, that the Ishmaelite partner had remained on the ship and did not demand to be a party in the legal dispute, so that they were spared from having to order a third horse. Handing a coin to the Frankish wagoner, he sent him to hire one of the horses that were plowing a field close to the large monastery. And even though Villa Le Juif was not far away and the whole business should be over by evening, Mistress Esther-Minna’s brother sensibly ordered the servants to make ready plenty of food and drink, as provisions for all the travelers, no matter which side of the barricades they stood on, so that the adjudication should be conducted in a mood of satiety and good cheer on all sides.

  Indeed, both parties set forth together in good cheer and comradeship, three on one side of the wagon and four on the other, since the boy chose to sit next to the sturdy Frankish driver, who marveled without cease at the darkness of the little Jew’s skin. As soon as they had laboriously climbed a steep hill, still scattered with the remains of Roman stones and columns from the fine houses of the city of Lutetia, which had been sacked by marauders from the north, the road ran level and smooth past a peasant hut, a field of barley, and a hedge of vines. Thanks to the pleasantness of the road they felt no weariness when at midday, after only three hours of traveling, Master Levitas called a halt so that they could eat in a charming wood, which had not only a stream winding among the trees but also a hillock from which one could see the estate of Villa Le Juif on the horizon. Perhaps because he was convinced that the clear verdict of the tribunal would make this their last meal together, he had decided to embellish it with fine embroidered tablecloths spread upon the ground and with elegant cutlery. And even though Mistress Esther-Minna was perfectly able to arrange everything herself, her brother helped her and sliced the long loaves of bread and the dark cheese and offered the large slices on his knife first to the three men and then, after a moment’s hesitation, to the two women too, whom fear had brought closer to each other ever since they had disembarked from the ship. When Master Levitas felt that his usually firm hand was trembling slightly under the burning looks coming from behind the fine veils, he allowed himself to blush a little and to smile shyly into his little beard, before hastily drawing out of the folds of his robe a red leather-bound prayerbook in Amram Gaon’s edition, which he wanted to compare with the one he had noticed in Ben Attar’s bag, which turned out to be in the edition by Saadia Gaon. This was not merely because of a sudden upsurge of scholarly curiosity, but also so that religious conversation might ensure that this simple meal in the bosom of nature did not become a partaking of the sacrifices of the dead.

  All at once Rabbi Elbaz, seized by a troubling thought, hastily thrust away the bread and cheese, which he placed on the plate of the ever-hungry child, and arose in agitation and went to the stream to refresh his face and hands. Then he addressed Master Levitas, who was still feeling the two prayerbooks with his thin fingers, with a question about the character and identity of the tribunal awaiting them on the horizon. Levitas seemed to hesitate slightly, as though he were afraid to enumerate the special merits of the judges, and contented himself with general praise of the good qualities of the Jews in Villa Le Juif, which was the large estate of an extensive family, containing various workmen, servants, and retainers and even a large winery, which made wine untouched by gentile hands for the benefit of those Jews who strictly observed the law concerning the wine of idolatry. A real law court was not needed in such a family estate, where any problems sorted themselves out. But for the sake of the visitors coming from
so far, with their southern plaint, he had decided to assemble a special rustic law court.

  Indeed, an impression of fertile fields and vineyards welcomed the party before they entered a gate in the moss-clad stone wall that surrounded Villa Le Juif, which consisted of no more than eight or nine single-story buildings arranged around a central courtyard. To judge by the long-haired children who came running up excitedly, the local Jews already seemed to know about the debate that was about to take place in their courtyard. There was no doubt that the knowledge that a rabbi had been specially brought from Andalus to assist in the contest particularly inflamed the locals’ curiosity, which was already very excited, not only because of the pleasure of an argument but also because of the inherent attraction of the subject matter.

  This attraction had even drawn in one or two Christians, like wasps to a honeycomb, from the neighboring estates; they pronounced their urgent desire to be present at a dispute between Jews and, who knew, maybe even to assist, thanks to their religious superiority, in the formulation of the verdict. Since word had got around that the two women who were at the center of the case would be present, it was clear to all and sundry that the little synagogue of Villa Le Juif would not suffice for such a gathering, and a more spacious and less sacred place that could contain such a large crowd would be required. Consequently, Meshullam the Priest, the proprietor of the winery and a close friend of Master Levitas, had given orders for the open main hall of the winery, which stood on a lower level, to be cleared, and already the large wooden vats and the jars had been removed, the small casks had been stacked one on top of another, and the piles of wood that had been prepared against the approaching cold weather had been dismantled in order to form a sort of small raised dais on which the judges would sit, so that they could survey not only the parties to the suit but also the feelings of the public standing behind them.