“What do you mean, Tia?” He shook her when she did not answer. “I don’t understand you.”
Her tears fell against the dirt and moistened the parched earth as she tried to speak. “Your parents did not die of the fever.”
“What?” He was more baffled than ever before.
“We are them!” she cried out angrily.
“No.” He nearly choked. “No.” Was she just being cruel with her words? He could not decipher what kind of tale this would be. In his periphery, he could see the podium where the victims were still screaming, still alive. “No.” He shook his head as though the forceful, sweeping motion might be enough to sweep away the reality. “It can’t be!”
Her words came as gently as the tears that were now streaming down his cheeks. “They were Jews.” She squeezed his hand as the world he knew came crashing down. She tried to lift her head but fell back against the earth. “I am a Jew,” she added quietly.
He gazed at his aunt not quite believing the words that were coming out of her mouth. “But you are a respected, Catholic noblewoman!”
She took his hand in her own, closed her eyes, then shook her head limply. “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t,” she whispered.
In that moment, he realized the dire situation they faced. His parents had been secret Jews. His aunt was one too. If she was discovered, they could all be executed. He reached out and let his fingers clasp the diamond cross that lay flat against her chest. His thoughts turned to the parents he never knew. He squeezed his eyes and felt his hands tighten around the warm metal. The smell of fire filled his mind. The fog of smoke clouded all his memories. Suddenly, he heard a snap. Upon opening his eyes, he discovered that he had ripped the thing from around his aunt’s neck. A bright red scratch showed against the side of Doña Antonia’s neck where the chain had come apart. He squeezed the cross in his palm until his flesh turned raw.
Soon, all was burnt to ashes and the last screams were silenced. Doña Antonia sat up, her lace dress muddied and her hair matted with sweat and dirt. “You are the Señor of the house now,” she said quietly.
He looked down at his hands. They’d never seemed this big before. He turned the cross about in his palm, looked up and nodded.
They sat not speaking for some time before José lifted his aunt in his arms and made his way back to the carriage.
2
That evening, Doña Antonia and José sat in the candlelit parlor of their home not uttering a word to one another. A thousand thoughts and sights and sounds were careening through him. The tilted axis of his mind was spinning beyond control. In this devastated chaos, he was silent. He searched for words but found only the fury of screams.
The wood floor-panels creaked and José turned to find Reyna standing in the doorway. Her smooth hair fell loose to her elbows, two dark rivers glistening against her cotton night-dress. She stepped forward and moved across the parlor barefoot then sat beside José. Taking his hand in her own, she frowned although her intent had been to offer a smile.
A warm breeze wafted through the open shutters and José turned his gaze to the dark sea beyond. Outside, the moonlit waves crashed against the rocks and splashed up towards the billowing canopies spraying the elevated marble pavilion with salt and sea and sand. “All my life, I believed a fever had taken my parents’ lives.” He began after some time. “I can’t pretend today didn’t happen. I know what I saw.”
Doña Antonia closed her eyes. The room was quiet except for the faint tick of the grand old clock and the quiet thrashing of the sea. They all three waited quietly and knowingly.
Doña Antonia’s eyes darted throughout the room as she assessed her surroundings. She examined the clock. It was several hours past midnight and though the staff had long ago been dismissed and were sleeping soundly in their quarters, there was still a lurking sense that the walls had ears.
It took some time. The hands on the clock inched forward with steady determination. Moments passed like lifetimes—violently, steadily, silently.
But time did pass. And then, quite suddenly, she spoke. Doña Antonia’s words came in an eerie flood of pulsating sound. They were hushed words that traveled in baritone waves, boldly masculine, without the cowardice of whispers. Like a small tremor, her words rippled throughout the room.
“We were given the option to convert or leave the country.” Doña Antonia turned to her daughter. “Your father was so sick, he would have never survived the journey.” After a long, deep breath, she continued. “There was nowhere to go anyhow. Europe is no place for Jews.” She shrugged pathetically, then looked over to José. “They came for your parents.”
José’s eyes narrowed as he tried to tap into memories passed.
“You were just an infant,” she continued gently. “Of course you don’t remember.” Her eyes seemed to retreat into some dark, faraway memory. “They wanted to make an example—” She froze mid-thought. “Your parents refused to convert.” The words came cautiously as though treading through a dimly lit place in her mind. “They took them, and they were gone.” Her fingertips made their way to her temples. “We had the two of you to think of, so we converted. I chose to give up my religion, but to give up my faith,” she looked at her daughter, then back at José. “That was not a choice I have ever had.” She waited for either of them to respond. When they didn’t, she turned her attention to Reyna. “I was young and alone when your father died, raising two small children on my own. I did what any mother would. I professed to be a worshiper of Christ. I donated huge sums of money to the church and to the Queen and soon fell under her protection. She took it upon herself to guide me in my new life as a devoted, Catholic noblewoman, and in return the donations never stopped. In my heart, I have never forgotten who I am. Reyna, you must understand that my reluctance surrounding your marriage was never a matter of age.”
Reyna’s eyes wandered around the room as though examining the parlor for the first time. “It was a matter of faith…” Her voice trailed off as she finished her mother’s thought. Reyna blinked slowly, as though the weight of her lids had become a burden. “It’s been a long day,” she said quietly, then stood from her place. “I’m very tired.” The hem of her white gown hovered just above the floor as she glided away, quiet as a ghost.
“My parents died for something,” José said once her silhouette had disappeared into the dark corridor. “They chose their faith over me. They chose this faith over their own lives. And for what? I want to learn.”
Doña Antonia frowned then shook her head. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Better die standing than to die kneeling.”
“Careful, niño. Your tongue runs faster than your wit.”
“I need to know why they left me.” His voice began to crack and Doña Antonia was still for a moment.
“The risks are too great.”
“Then why do you choose to live this way?”
“I never had a choice.”
“This is the life you chose!”
“You fool, you don’t choose your faith. Your faith chooses you.”
“I want to learn.”
“No!” She rose to her feet.
“I’m not here to ask your permission.” He stood and was suddenly towering over her. “Only your blessing.”
Doña Antonia scoffed. “I am your guardian and I will decide what’s best for you.”
“No,” José leaned forward. “I am the Señor of the house.” His voice was calm and cool. “I will decide.” For once, the widow was stunned to silence. José pulled her into his embrace.
“I am the Señor of this house,” he repeated quietly.
She pulled away and looked into his eyes as though peering into the future. “You’re a fool,” she whispered.
“Then you’ll have it arranged?”
“I suppose I must.” She shrugged. “You are the man of the house.”
Several days had passed since the issue of faith had been raised in the Mendez hou
sehold. José took his breakfast on the terrace while reading the latest book he had acquired, a translated edition of Kitab al-Manazir, The Book of Optics. It was blasphemous. It was wondrous. Could it be possible that light traveled at a particular speed? Alhazen, the 10th century Arabic philosopher thought so. If it were true, the implications would be staggering. As he sat contemplating the possibilities, an elderly man with a hunchback and a trim grey beard approached with a stack of books in his arms.
“I’m your new Latin tutor.”
“What happened to Don Miguel?”
The man shrugged. “I do not know Don Miguel.” He clutched his books as a moment of silence passed between them. The old man began to back away. “I see you were not expecting me.”
“No,” José said. The two were silent for a moment before José bid him farewell in Latin.
The old man’s blue eyes darted about in confusion. He shifted from one foot to the other then turned away hurriedly.
“Wait,” José called out. He was puzzled that the man did not speak a word of Latin. “Did my aunt send for you?”
The elderly man hesitated.
José gestured for him to sit. “Join me.”
Don Carlos did not reply but placed his books on the ground and quietly sat down.
“Please, eat something.”
Don Carlos picked up a bread roll and took a courtesy bite. “I’m not here to teach you Latin.”
José downed the remainder of his tea and returned his glass to its coaster. He turned the glass around and watched the sun’s rays glisten off the crystal surface. Their eyes met and exchanged a knowing look. “I figured as much.” José leaned forward. “I was hoping you could teach me something far more valuable.”
The man nodded slowly. He slid a leather book across the table towards José. “Do not open this until later tonight when you are sure all the household is sleeping.”
Over the next few weeks, Don Carlos and José met each morning on the pavilion. Don Carlos brought books with binders indicating the study of Virgil, the collected works of Julius Caesar and the first century historian, Tacitus, but beneath the false book covers lay a secret world of ancient Hebrew texts, beginning with Portuguese translations of the Old Testament. José plowed through them in a matter of weeks, approaching his studies methodically, studying for hours each day, searching, always searching. José was on a mission.
Dark circles formed beneath his eyes and his once robust frame began to wither. José was losing weight and losing sleep. Don Carlos began to grow concerned about his new pupil. “Why are you doing this?” Don Carlos asked one day.
José laid down a recently completed volume of the Prophets. “Another,” he instructed Don Carlos without bothering to answer his question. Don Carlos returned to their next lesson with volumes of the Mishna and Gemara translated from Ancient Hebrew and Aramaic.
“My boy, why are you doing this?” he tried for the second time.
José did not bother looking up. “I can’t stop.” His voice was raspy as his eyes moved along the words of the text.
“José!” Don Carlos brought his fist down hard causing the table to shake.
Startled, José looked up. He could feel his eyes burning, glazed and bloodshot. “I can’t stop,” he repeated himself. “I need to know why my parents left me.”
Soon he was delving into metaphysics and once again, astronomy, through the mystical teachings of the Zohar. Never before had his mind operated on so many different planes simultaneously. It was as if Kabbalah was a language stored in his memory before birth and the process of learning was merely an exercise in recollection.
One dark night, he walked along the beach with Reyna by his side. He took her hand and they lay out on the cool sand beneath the stars.
“What if one of the servants discovers your books and reports you?” Her voice was serious, even angry. “You don’t need to do this.”
“Of course I need to do this.” He was disappointed she did not understand.
“It’s not too late to go back to the way it was.”
“Go back?”
“Yes. Burn your books. Forget all this.”
“Can you do that? Can you forget what you saw? Can you really pretend that nothing’s changed?”
She folded her eyes away from view.
“People are being massacred. My people, your people. I need to know what they’re dying for.” He shook his head. “I think I’m starting to understand.”
“What is it?”
José thought it over. “It’s something I wouldn’t let anyone take away from me. I can’t explain it.”
“Try.”
He shook his head. “I can’t teach it to you any more than I can teach you the feel of this sand…” His voice trailed off. “You have to touch it, to ever know it.”
She sat up and caressed the sand in her fingers. “I don’t care about any of it. I just don’t want to lose my best friend.” They sat quietly for a few moments.
“See that.” José pointed towards a cluster of stars that took the form of an archer and his bow. “Do you see?” he said still pointing.
Her eyes scanned the night sky.
“I’m not sure they are actually there,” he explained.
“But they’re so bright?”
“They only appear that way. Those stars burned out long ago. It took some time for the light to reach us.”
When she didn’t reply, he tried to explain further. “What you see is their legacy. It’s what’s left behind.”
Her eyes scanned the bright sky.
“There is something real. Something true,” he continued. “It never fades. It never dies. It keeps giving even when it’s gone.”
She twisted her body towards him and rested her cheek on the cool sand. “I won’t lose you?” Even in the darkness, her eyes glistened brightly.
“Never.”
For a time, the sound of crashing waves filled the silent lull between them. Then, they slept undisturbed until they awoke at sunrise to the cries of seagulls. They hurried home and returned to their beds with sand in their pockets and the taste of the sea in their mouths.
In the morning, a messenger arrived with a scroll of parchment secured by the dagger in his belt. It was a month to the day since Doña Antonia had been called to the palace to discuss the matter of Reyna’s marriage. “The King and Queen request that you relay your blessing upon the betrothal of your daughter, Doña Reyna Mendez to Prince Alfonso of Aragon, cousin to the Emperor.” He handed her a gilded mirror encrusted with rubies, diamonds, and pearls. “A gift from her Majesty as a token of her affection. I take it I may relay your blessing to the King and Queen?”
Doña Antonia swallowed the knot rising in her throat and tried to quiet the tremble in her voice as she spoke. “With great sadness, I am forced to decline this proposition, with all due respect to the King and Queen. We cannot let our blood mix with that of the holiest of Christendom. That would be a sin in itself. We are common people, of no importance. We could not bring honor to the royal family any more than a candle could bring light to the sun. Our place in this world is at the feet of her Highness, as loving and loyal servants, but we dare not try to rise above our station. For such ambition is not favorable in the eyes of the Lord.” She did not wait for a response, but turned from the messenger and hurried up the steps with her skirt bunched up in her fists.
She made her way into the grand foyer and rang the servants’ bell. An elderly maid appeared just moments later. “Find Reyna and José and tell them I’d like an audience with them in my study.”
José observed his aunt from the upper landing of the grand mahogany stairwell. She gathered the hem of her skirt and hurried into her study. He followed and watched as she sat, then stood, then sat again, then paced for a time before realizing he was standing before her.
A moment later, Reyna arrived, an occurrence that seemed to startle Doña Antonia.
“Sit down,” she instructed the two of them. Sh
e continued pacing, though her voice was calm and cool.
“You’ll both pack a small bag. Only essentials. Whatever you may need for a short journey.”
“Where are we going?” Reyna sounded worried.
“There’s no time to explain.” Doña Antonia was resolute. “Now pack up your things. It’s all been planned.” She turned to José. “Are you hearing me?”
José held out a small sack before him. “I’ve been prepared for some time.”
Doña Antonia blinked incredulously.
“They’re coming for everything.” Doña Antonia continued pacing. “If it can’t be through marriage it will be through confiscation.” She looked up. “I’ve been transferring our assets overseas for some time. I thought it might come to this.” She rang the servants’ bell and instructed her maidservant Isabel to gather the household. It took only a few moments before the entire domestic staff was gathered before her.
Doña Antonia began by doling out a small fortune in gold ducats to each one of them. “Some of you may have realized something is amiss in this household. Leave Lisbon for a while if you can. Return to your families in the countryside. You are no longer safe here. I trust you will keep anything you may have heard to yourselves. I want to thank you for your loyalty.” She paused for a moment, then dismissed the stunned staff.
Once they had gone, she turned her gaze toward the sea. For the past two days, people were flocking to the shore to have a look at an enormous, beached whale. Onlookers stood about tossing water from buckets over his mammoth frame. His narrow, black eye was glazed over with fear. Doña Antonia prayed the tide would sweep the majestic beast away, back into the luminous dark from which he had emerged. She prayed, though she knew her prayer was in vain.
That evening, King James and Queen Catharine ordered Doña Antonia’s house raided. Doña Antonia, José, and Reyna lodged at the edge of town under false names while the authorities stormed up the marble stairs leading up to the grand villa. They broke down the door to discover absolute stillness, the house in perfect order, not a soul in sight. They scoured all four wings of the mansion.
The Debt of Tamar Page 2