A Journey to the End of the Millennium

by A. B. Yehoshua

  When the women caught sight of the young visitors pressed against the outer wall of their cottage, they were as joyful as hunters who have caught a splendid prey. The boy and the black slave calculated the chances of running for their lives, but the women caught the girl and invited her into their cottage, so that her two companions had no choice but to follow in the hope of rescuing her. They found themselves in a large room with a rush-covered floor, and in a corner a small fire burned, over which hung on a spit a delicious-smelling piglet, its eyes closed with a self-important air. The boy’s soul shuddered at the proximity of the forbidden, unclean beast, but the African turned excitedly toward a row of brightly painted wooden images, all representing the same young man, with impassive countenance and a short beard, spreading his arms out wide to save his soul or to embrace the world, it was impossible to tell which. While the two women laughed heartily, in fact somewhat indecently, at the young visitors’ confusion, the door of an inner chamber opened and a third woman appeared, carrying a skinny baby in her arms and followed by a lean yet agile older man carelessly dressed in paint-stained garments, whose name, Pigealle, the youngsters had difficulty catching.

  Just as the pagan was astonished at the sight of the row of figurines, so the man seemed excited at the sight of the dark-skinned denizen of the desert who had happened into his house, and dragged him firmly over to the window the better to inspect his face. The women had already sensed the man’s urgent desire, and as though by tacit agreement they smiled at the visitors and set about busily making them welcome. First they removed their sodden robes and made signs that it would be better if the visitors took off their baggy trousers too, so as to dry them by the fire, and meanwhile they hurried to cut thin slices from the hindquarters of the piglet dozing over the fire.

  The only son of the rabbi from Seville, unable to bear the disgrace that had come upon him, leaped to his feet to thrust away the slice of abominable meat being offered to him on the tip of a knife. But he was unable to prevent the girl, whose nakedness was covered by a sheepskin coat, from snatching the morsel and putting it to her mouth. Even the African, who might or might not have reverted from his temporary Judaism to his original paganism, was seized by a frenzy of eating and also drinking, since the lean old man, who had not taken his eyes off the young man since he had removed his trousers and revealed his black nakedness, plied him with ruby wine, possibly with the intention of befuddling his mind and diminishing his resistance. Indeed, the Frankish wine achieved its purpose well, for the youth, after giving thanks in the form of a deep obeisance toward one of the figurines, submitted himself to the ministrations of the women, who led him into the inner chamber and laid him on a bed, then gracefully folded one of his legs and gently stroked his young manhood so that it roused itself until its narrow slit stared at the enthusiastic artisan, who was already screwing up his eyes and drawing a first bright scarlet line on a wooden panel.

  And so the youngsters were held captive by these strange but insistent hosts, who barred the door of the cottage until the old artist had finished studying, with line and color, what could be learned from the naked body of a member of an unknown race lying before him. But in the midst of the silence of the slowly passing hours there rose the old wail of the accursed girl, which threatened to become a scream. The women hurriedly silenced her with fine fragrant slices from the haunches of the piglet, whose face still bore a pensive and melancholy air. The boy from Seville, who knew himself and was aware that the hunger raging inside him was liable to drive him out of his wits, closed his eyes and covered them with his hands, and tried his hardest to imagine how his father the rabbi would reason in his place. After a short while he came to a simple conclusion, in the spirit of the logic of his sire’s bold discourses. If heaven, which watched over all and exacted payment for every deed, had not hastened to take the soul of a Jewish girl who was gorging herself ceaselessly and with evident pleasure on the forbidden and abominable meat, it might be meant as a clear sign to him that instead of being a martyr to his hunger, which was bringing him close to fainting, it would be better to strengthen himself so he could be ready to escape and raise the alarm.

  A plan took shape in his head, and slowly he removed his hands and opened his eyes. He found a great silence all around, for the sated girl had fallen asleep at the feet of one of the women, while from the adjoining chamber there came only the sound of chisel on wood. Rising to his feet, he started to walk across the large chamber in feigned aimlessness, blushing at the sight of the Frankish babe sucking at the pale round breast of the young woman, who eyed the boy calmly. Then, casually, he turned toward the remains of the piglet, still hovering above the dying fire. With an effort he stared into the eyes of the roasted creature as though trying to learn the secret of its stubborn persistence in its unclean nature. Suddenly his face lit up, and he decided to punish it for its obstinacy, and reaching out, he grabbed a pinkish chunk, brought it warily to his mouth, and licked it with the tip of his tongue, wondering at the flavor, which resembled salted butter rather than meat. Before nausea could well up, he thrust the piece of meat into his mouth and chewed it rapidly, then, before its uncleanness had a chance to affect him, he tore off another chunk and thrust it into his mouth, and then another, and one last one to strengthen his spirit in the face of the terrible deed he had done. Only then did he approach the door, unbar it, and run for dear life, paying no heed to the voices of the women, who tried to stop him.

  From the pink color of the sky, which had cleared, he realized that they had been detained for a long time and that evening was approaching. He made for the river, which to the best of his knowledge lay straight ahead. For the first time since he had joined the expedition he was utterly alone, among the empty fields that surrounded the small Parisian isle. Since he was careful to avoid isolated cottages along the way, particularly a large one with many windows from which loud sounds of singing were coming, the boy seemed to have caught the girl’s slantwise movement, and his little legs took him along paths that led westward rather than south, so that as twilight descended he found himself not, as he had hoped, on the bank of the river but on top of the little star-shaped hill crowned with a ruined Roman arch where he had stood with the leader of the expedition on that first evening. Then the boy’s body shook with a sob of gratitude that he had been shown the way. Because he could not spew forth what he had eaten, he fell to his knees, as he had learned to do from the black pagan, and swore to expiate the sin he had sinned by means of fasting and prayer. As the twilight extinguished the sun’s dazzling death throes, and on the island in the midst of the river the Parisians began to kindle the lights that would show the little wayfarer the right direction to take, he chose once more the avenue that led him to the open square beside the riverbank, in the hub of which he was surprised to discover the little pile of stones that he had made with his own hands on that distant evening, which still stood, indicating the way back.

  When the boy reached the boat, he was not surprised to hear that the black slave and the girl had returned before him and had been taken by Abulafia to his house on the opposite bank, but he was surprised that his father had not waited anxiously for his return but had accepted Abulafia’s invitation to say his evening prayers in the tabernacle. Had the dumb girl managed to recount the sin of the abominable meat, and had his father decided to disown him? Deep sorrow seized the boy, and he tried to drive out the impurity that clung to his guts with a cake of dried figs sprinkled with cinnamon. But the fragrant sweetness spreading in his mouth did not calm his soul, and he decided to seek consolation from Abu Lutfi and Abd el-Shafi, who, being gentiles and therefore living their uncleanness without blame or guilt, might be able to soothe away the sin that burned inside him. He was surprised to find them on the old bridge, sitting and conversing conspiratorially with a third man, a stranger clad in the local garb. Seeing the boy approaching, they fell suddenly silent, and he too halted, as it occurred to him that their impurity, even if it were as wi
de as the sea, did not extend to the eating of pork, and that if the smell of his abomination assailed their nostrils, their wrath might be doubled at his assault on two faiths at once. So he turned back to the stern and descended into the hold, which during the day had given up all its cargo, now scattered in the world, and stood dark and empty, with only the tawny camel stepping through the emptiness as through the desert.

  In this dark space the boy was suddenly flooded with longing for the second wife, beside whose cabin only had he been able to surrender himself to long hours of sweet slumber. He groped his way to the bowels of the ship, to rediscover the scent of the abandoned cabin. There, by the light of a lamp, surrounded by the fragrance of herbs and nard burning on a little incense burner, he discovered the ship’s grieving owner in the company of the first wife. They were sitting together on a blanket spread on the ground, dining in silence. Deep in the bowels of the ship, attentive to the faint flow of the river beneath them, Ben Attar and his wife seemed cut off not only from the existence of the city of Paris but also from whatever was being hatched above their heads on the bridge.

  When they caught sight of the young visitor coming to offer his condolences, they smiled at him affectionately and invited him to join their meal and help himself to some of the remaining stew. At first he wished to refuse, not only because he was not in the least hungry, but also because he was afraid to dip his defiled fingers into a clean cooking pot. But he also feared that they might suspect him of refusing to touch the pot because tears of mourning might have fallen into it or because of the touch of the dead woman’s spirit that still inhabited the cabin. Therefore, so as not to offend the owner, in whose hand lay his own safe return to Seville, he dipped cautious fingertips into the pot and picked out a chunk of meat that still smelled of sheep droppings. When he put it into his mouth and closed his eyes, he could see a simultaneously nauseating and attractive image of the furtive faces of the green-clad women in the cottage, standing around the head of the piglet, about to cut off its ears. Finally the nausea that had been restrained thanks to the friendly looks of the gentile women burst forth, and the boy turned deathly pale and swayed fearfully. He tried to escape, but his strength deserted him, and leaning over among the soot-stained timbers, he vomited up clean and unclean meats together. When he saw what was happening in the beloved wife’s cabin he let out a wild shriek, as though the raucous little demon that inhabited the girl had entered him too.

  Surprisingly, the owner and his only wife showed no signs of revulsion, nor of anger at the way he had sullied the cabin of their memories, but rather of terror, as though the death that had struck their household once might succumb to the temptation to strike again. With hands experienced in childrearing they discerned a fever lurking behind the pallor, and so they hurriedly wrapped the little body in a blanket and laid a damp cloth on the eyes that stared at them guiltily. Ben Attar hastened up onto the bridge to tell Abd el-Shafi to send a sailor to clean up the cabin. And he dispatched the young pagan, who had just returned from the house on the other bank, to summon Rabbi Elbaz back from Master Levitas’s tabernacle, the splendor of which had driven all thoughts of his only son’s absence out of his mind.

  But before Elbaz could arrive and take charge of the boy, who had fallen asleep, Ben Attar took advantage of the respite afforded by this chance occurrence to interrupt his self-imposed mourning in the bowels of the ship, if only for a short while, and to inspect the goods that were ready to leave the ship. He gratefully inhaled the cool night air of the Parisian isle, from which rose the smoke of many fires and sounds of merriment. Screwing up his eyes, he tried to discern on the other bank the place between the vines and the chapel where his young wife rested, waiting to take her last leave of her husband when the memorial was erected on her grave.

  He shivered slightly. His wife’s hand was touching his nape. Though it seemed to him that her touch was firmer than usual, he was not certain, for ever since they had arrived at Worms they had avoided touching each other. He looked closely at the dear face that had accompanied him since his youth and that now invited him to descend to the cabin, which was ready for his return, cleaned and tidied and fumigated with lavender to dispel any unpleasant odor. Only the feverish child was still there. Should he be moved somewhere else, or stay there until his father arrived? Ben Attar decided not to touch the boy but to wait for Rabbi Elbaz, who indeed arrived after a short while, alarmed and breathless, stumbling on the rope ladder, and hastened to bend over the child curled up on the floor and call his name anxiously. Then the boy’s bloodshot eyes opened, and despite their tiredness they stared severely at his father’s face. Did he know about the sin he had committed? And if he did, could he save him from the harsh verdict?

  At least it is not the cold arching spasm that draws the head toward its death. A strange hope burst forth in the Andalusian rabbi’s soul at the sight of his son curled up on the floor of the cabin like a soft bundle. Was it possible that the absent woman had sent an evil spirit to harm the rabbi, because of the permission he had given to transport her unburied from Verdun to Paris? Me, not him, he shouted bitterly at the spirit, and hurriedly picked the child up in his arms to take him away from the ship to the Jews’ tabernacle.

  Yes, the rabbi from Seville had suddenly lost his faith in the ship’s owner, and even rejected rudely the compassion of the first wife, who offered to help him to cover the child. In this way Elbaz fell prey to an evil thought, for he suspected Ben Attar of trying to punish him for his unsuccessful speech in the synagogue in Worms. Since Ben Attar knew that it was forbidden to accuse a man in the midst of his grief or to impede him in his despair, he immediately told Abd el-Shafi to order his sailors to make a stretcher out of ropes so they could move the sick child safely to the opposite bank. The gates to the island were already closed, so they put out a boat and carefully lowered the boy, strapped to the stretcher, onto it, and also his anxious father, and in case of any mishap they also sent the black slave, for whom this was the third crossing to the south bank this day. There was something wonderfully graceful about the little boat pulling away from the colorful, wide-bellied Muslim ship onto the calm surface of the moonlit river, gliding over it almost without a ripple from north to south, toward the convent of Saint Germain des Prés, which was in the process of being rebuilt.

  It was nearly midnight when a heavy knock sounded on the ironclad door of the Jews’ house, and the nephew and partner and his wife, who was now a partner despite herself, were asked urgently to take in a sick child with a secret abomination burning within him, lending his eyes a sunken look as though they were outlined with kohl and painting his cheeks with a porcine pinkness. Mistress Esther-Minna welcomed the sick child with great animation, which betrayed, despite her evident distress, signs of mysterious joy. It was as though by means of this sick child coming to be nursed back to health in her house she might be reattached to the members of the expedition, and above all to its leader, whose failure had brought her down as well. Despite the advanced hour, she spared neither her maidservant nor the sleep of her husband, although he immediately sank back onto his bed. She did not even spare the howling of the girl, who had returned from her outing excited and disturbed but not dejected. It was Mistress Esther-Minna’s aim now to be simple and generous, and not only clever and right. She welcomed her little guest by turning the sleeping arrangements upside down. First she moved Master Levitas to one side of the little tabernacle and put Rabbi Elbaz to sleep there too, so that he could share in honoring the commandment, and then she entreated Abulafia to take a coverlet and disappear into his daughter’s chamber to find his sleep by her side, all to enable her to set the boy down next to her in her husband’s bed, so that she could watch over him with her full attention until morning.

  Mistress Abulafia lay awake and alert beside the motherless child from Seville, determined not to miss a breath or a murmur, a sigh or a groan, whether due to pain or to a dream. Outside, the kindly moon had sunk in the sky, and black
velvet sailed slowly upon the Seine, which embraced between its two graceful banks the heart of little Paris. Then a new and terrible dread mingled with a gentle, uncomprehended happiness in the soul of this childless woman who was no longer young, as she swore to herself that she would not allow the angel of death to strike a second blow at these dark-skinned southerners, who had been dragged to Europe by the force of her repudiation. Instead, she would enlist the full force of her virtue and resourcefulness in the service of this sick child, to whom it was not only her duty but her desire to be a second mother.

  So awake was Mistress Esther-Minna that she dispensed not only with sleep but with the lightest catnap. She rose from her bed and stood like a sentry over the sick child, who tossed and turned in his sleep as his sin donned and doffed various nightmarish forms. So deep was the silence all around that Mistress Esther-Minna felt that she could not only catch every rustle and creak of her house but even interpret it correctly. From the other side of the wall came Abulafia’s rapid breathing, as he tried to ignore his daughter’s disturbed spirit while she lay beside him. Below, in the little tabernacle, the rabbi was pouring out his prayers in a whisper, so as not to disturb Master Levitas’s sleep, perfumed as it was with the joyful command to dwell in booths. So wonderful was the silence all around her that she imagined that if she opened her window and strained her ears she would catch not only the thudding of the water against the side of the ship but even the idolater’s footsteps as he made his way longingly to the sculptor’s cottage. And if she tried very hard, closing her eyes and inclining her head and extinguishing every stray thought or wish inside herself, she might even hear the faintest sigh of the first wife as she sought love in the bowels of the ship.