Land of Silence

by Tessa Afshar

  I asked Viriato to speak to Master Ezer. I knew Ethan’s father might refuse me; he had every reason to hold me in contempt. But I had no other recourse. He knew everyone connected to our trade. He would be able to find us the right buyer. “For the sake of his friendship with my father,” I told Viriato, “tell him to help us.”

  Of course the house had to be sold with the business. It sat on the same parcel of land. Such a purchase required a large outlay of cash. I worried that we would not be able to find a buyer, for as I had come to learn from personal experience, merchants rarely had this much coin to spare. I knew I would have to accept any offer, even if it proved unreasonably low. Without the income from the workshop, I could maintain neither the cost of the taxes nor the upkeep of our many servants.

  Master Ezer sent his response a mere three days after receiving my plea for help. “He says he has found a buyer for you,” Viriato said.

  “Who is it?”

  “That, he will not say. Apparently the buyer wishes to remain anonymous.”

  “Why? For what purpose?”

  Viriato shrugged. “Master Ezer said to tell you that he can be trusted.”

  It went against the grain, giving up our inheritance into unknown hands. In the end, what choice had we? I signed the contracts and received an unexpectedly large sum of money for my pains. More than fair. Astonished, I wrote Master Ezer a letter of thanks.

  My mother grieved more over the loss of her home than the death of her husband. She had said her good-bye to him bit by bit, at his sickbed. She had grown accustomed to his loss over the long months. But she was not prepared for the loss of her house.

  We planned to move to Tiberias so that we could be near Joanna. It was the one bright spot of my life, the knowledge that I would be able to see my sister again so soon.

  I found my mother packing a trunk the next morning, filled with papers. “What are these?”

  “Your father’s accounts and receipts and who knows what. He never threw anything away. You might need them one day, Elianna. You never know.”

  “Perhaps we should give them to the new owner. If they are related to the business of the workshop, he should have them.”

  “I haven’t gone through them. They are above my head. I do know that there are private papers mixed in here. Perhaps you can sift through them and leave behind what you wish.”

  The thought of dealing with accounts turned my stomach. “Let’s bring them with us to Tiberias. I will deal with them later. If I find anything of worth for the new owner, I will return it to him then.”

  My mother rubbed her left arm and shoulder. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her once-pretty face looked ravaged with early lines. I felt a stab of pity for her. She had lost more than I had in the past few years. I thought of enfolding her in a comforting embrace, but she had never been a tactile woman. I could not remember the last time she had hugged me, and I knew that if I tried to hold her in my arms now, she would turn into a block of wood.

  “You are tired, Mother,” I said gently. “Why don’t you lie down for a few hours? Keziah can bring supper to your chamber.”

  The next morning, Mother rose out of her bed later than usual. Her skin looked gray and ill. “Go back to bed at once,” I said, alarmed, and sent for the physician.

  “It is her heart, I believe,” the physician said after completing his examination. “She needs more rest.”

  I snorted. A whole house to pack. Servants to dismiss. A journey in a caravan all the way to Galilee. How was I supposed to provide more rest for my mother? I insisted she stay in bed the whole day and tried my best to assure her that we could take care of every detail without her.

  That evening, I began to menstruate. It was not my time of the month. I could not have been more vexed at the inconvenience my body had wrought. Menstruating women were considered unclean. My mother remained constrained by her heart and I by my untimely bleeding. I crossed my arms and barked orders, frustrated that I could not help. The bleeding stopped after three days. It seemed a simple enough aberration in the function of my body. And yet something nagged at me. A faint buzz of worry I could not shake followed in my wake.

  A week later, even though the bleeding had stopped and I could now be considered clean, I decided to make a hasty journey to the pool of Bethesda in the north of the city, near the Sheep Gate. This pool was famed amongst our people for its curative properties.

  A great number of invalids had gathered around the pool, seeking healing for their various ailments. Some sat; others lay on mats, waiting, hoping. According to legend, an angel of the Lord went into the waters and stirred the pool at certain seasons. The one who went in first after the stirring of the water would be healed of her ailment. I sat and waited, looking about me with widened eyes. The lame, the blind, the infirm, the paralyzed lined up in the five porticoes, filling every space, faces drawn with anxiety and pain, desperate for healing.

  I never attempted to enter into that pool, even when the waters did stir with a delicate agitation that seemed to come from nowhere. How could I take away the chance of another who was truly sick by making my way into those waters first?

  It occurred to me that my own life, blighted as it seemed to me, had yet many blessings to offer. I retained my health, my sight, my strength. I had a mother and a sister who loved me. I had life. I left the pool of Bethesda more thankful than I had been in many days.

  What shall I say of our departure from the only home I had ever known, except that it was tearful and wrenching? We took our leave of each household and workshop servant; I was astonished by the show of their deep sorrow when they bid me farewell. These people loved me, I realized with a jolt. I was not merely their mistress. I had grown precious to them.

  I had set aside a bit of coin for everyone as an expression of appreciation for their faithful service to our family. In addition, I had managed to find a small length of inexpensive fabric as a personal gift for each one. To my amazement, their eyes filled when I handed them the fabric; men and women clutched at the simple gift and reminisced about the time we had woven each piece. I wished I could have taken all of them with me to Tiberias. How I would long for their company.

  Just before leaving, I received a letter from Claudia. She had managed to wrangle Titus’s permission to accompany him to Rome. I had hoped to hear from her soon, worried about the outcome of their precarious position.

  Perhaps your God has chosen to work a miracle, for I have no other way of explaining our good fortune. Titus has been forgiven. We are to remain in Rome for the present. Future travel back to Palestine is not out of the question, however, though it will be under very different circumstances, I hope.

  I miss you already, my dearest Elianna. Write to me and tell me your news whenever you can. Have you and Ethan worked things out, after all? I cannot believe that you truly wished to divorce him! It is plain enough that you love him as deeply as I’ve known any woman to love a man. Forgive me for meddling. I wish only for your happiness.

  Your friend,

  Claudia

  She knew nothing about Decimus Calvus. I had given her the excuse I had given everyone—that I simply did not wish to be married since the circumstances of my life prevented me from entering a happy and equal union. I had not wished to burden her with my troubles, knowing how her own difficulties weighed on her.

  I wrote her back, expressing my delight at her news.

  My separation from Ethan is indeed permanent. You may be surprised to know that he is already married to another. It is for the best, Claudia. He deserves a good wife who will bring him joy. I think Sarai is the right woman for him.

  It made me cringe to see those words before my eyes in plain black and white. Somehow, they made my loss seem irrevocably real. I let her know of our imminent move and included the directions to our new house so that she could maintain a regular correspondence if she chose. I sealed the letter and placed a kiss for my friend over the wax. Who knew if I would ever see
her again in this lifetime?

  Once again, Viriato accompanied us to Galilee. He came only to see us safely through the journey, refusing to allow us to go alone, even though we had hired a large and well-defended caravan. Afterward, he intended to return to Jerusalem and Ethan, where he belonged.

  Chuza had rented a modest house on a dead-end street for my mother and me, close enough to his own home that we could walk to visit Joanna whenever we wished. With its two chambers, walls of undressed stone, cobbled floors, and a garden the size of an old carpet we used to keep in our formal hall, the house was a far cry from our comfortable circumstances back in Jerusalem. Still, there was a flat roof that made a lovely bed on a warm, starry night. It sufficed for our needs. Having no income, I wanted to ensure that our funds would last throughout the years, so that we would never become a burden to Joanna and her husband. Better to live modestly now than risk poverty and debt in the coming years.

  Of the servants, only Keziah came with us. She was an orphan, raised in our home since childhood. It would have broken her heart if we had left her behind. I felt grateful for her quiet, uncomplaining presence. She was a piece of home I could keep. For years, I had only seen her as a useful worker, faithful, sweet-natured, and obedient. After Joanna married, Keziah had seemed to take note of my despondence. Without a word, she started to take on Joanna’s small ministrations to me. She cooked me special meals, brought flowers into my room, combed my hair gently until the tangles came loose. I took Keziah with us because I grew to see her as more than a mere servant. It was one of the best decisions I ever made.

  The day after we arrived at our new house, we had to bid another good-bye, this time to Viriato. “So, you are leaving us. Who will replace my giant?” I said on the frosty morning of his departure.

  He grinned, making the scar pucker under his eye. “I will come back and make sure you aren’t in too much trouble.”

  My eyes brimmed. “Take care of him, Viriato. Make sure he is happy and well.”

  He rubbed his face with a broad palm. “I will do my best, mistress.”

  I nodded. “Try not to land yourself in any more mines. Avoid Roman soldiers at all costs.”

  “I have found a better way to take my revenge; don’t you worry. I double the price when I sell them our goods.”

  I laughed. “How I shall miss you. Write me when you can.”

  Viriato grimaced. “You complain you cannot read my writing.”

  “Write short letters, then. And try to make them legible.”

  We were laughing when he left, but my heart cracked at the pain of it. It was my twentieth birthday, I realized.

  “I am concerned for Mother. She is fading,” Joanna said as she helped me hang Ethan’s Babylonian tapestry. “She pants when she takes three steps.”

  “The physician said it was her heart. She needs to rest more,” I said, frowning.

  “How can we force her to do nothing? That would kill her outright. You know how our mother has to keep busy.”

  “Perhaps we can arrange for a day at one of Tiberias’s spas? The warm springs of Emmaus are famed to have curative powers.”

  Joanna brightened. “That is a marvelous idea. I shall ask Chuza to arrange it.”

  She still lit up like a lampstand at the mention of her husband’s name. After five months of marriage, they appeared more in love than they had when they first became betrothed. If Joanna spent three hours with us, she began to complain that she missed Chuza. I had at least done this one thing right. I had managed to ensure that she could marry her beloved.

  The spa visit did not cure Mother. Neither did all the rest we pressed upon her. Before winter ended, she was lost to us. Joanna and I, along with Chuza, traveled hastily to Jerusalem so that we could lay her remains to rest with her husband and son according to her wishes.

  Master Ezer and Jerusha came to the burial. They remained woodenly polite. Their eyes never met mine. I could not blame them, of course. Even if Ethan had not shared the full story of what he had witnessed, they knew that I had trampled on my promise and hurt their son abominably. How could they soften toward me now? How could they forgive my betrayal?

  I had learned from the years of living with my father that the greatest consideration I could offer them was to disappear into the background and cause as little offense by my presence as possible. They seemed to appreciate my unobtrusive silence, though they left as early as custom allowed.

  I sat alone by that tomb and ached. Father, mother, brother, husband, home, work, friends . . . gone. How would I bear the burden of so much loss? I could not even weep anymore. It was as though my tears had dried up after too many calamities.

  How I longed to feel that I truly belonged to someone for just one moment. I knew Joanna loved me, but she belonged to her husband and his family now. He had become the center of her world, as rightly he should. I was a mere extension. An afterthought. One day, perhaps, I would be the maiden aunt who spoilt her children. That would be the extent of my family.

  We returned to Tiberias that same week. The day I arrived at my new home, now empty save for Keziah and me, I started to bleed.

  My body turned traitor.

  It wept blood as it mourned the destruction of every love. It hemorrhaged inconsolable sorrow.

  And I became unclean.

  I became like Egypt with its ten plagues. Instead of frogs and locusts, God had sent me death, betrayal, loneliness, sickness, and isolation. At every turn, a new plague visited me.

  For years I had known in my heart that I was unworthy. Guilty. Sinful. Now my shame became a public thing, evident for all to perceive. My touch made others unclean. I became a burden rather than a blessing. I became an outcast—an object of disgust and pity.

  TWENTY-TWO

  If a woman has a discharge of blood for many days, not at the time of her menstrual impurity, or if she has a discharge beyond the time of her impurity, all the days of the discharge she shall continue in uncleanness. . . . Every bed on which she lies, all the days of her discharge, shall be to her as the bed of her impurity. And everything on which she sits shall be unclean.

  LEVITICUS 15:25-26

  “KEZIAH, YOU DON’T HAVE TO STAY with me. I will find you a good home, here in Galilee or back in Jerusalem if you prefer. It cannot be pleasant serving a woman deemed unclean.”

  Twelve months had passed since my sickness began. Twelve months of hopes crushed. There were days in those months when the bleeding stopped. I would spend hours wondering, hoping I was free of this scourge. According to the Law, seven days needed to pass from the time of menstrual impurity before a woman could be considered clean once more. But I never had seven uninterrupted days of recovery.

  Once, I had four whole days of freedom. And then it started again, the cycle of my torment. There were days when my symptoms were light, barely there, a faint reminder that I could not be a full part of our society. Other days, I hemorrhaged until I could not move. My body had turned into a prison. I could not escape it. I could not leave it behind. I remained chained, held captive by its broken bars. I could not even go to the synagogue or celebrate the Passover in the community of our people.

  I felt it unfair to hold Keziah to my restricted life. I rarely left the house, lest my touch inconvenience others. My world had shrunk to the four walls of our home. I could not work. I could not offer help to anyone.

  Keziah shook her head, a fat braid bouncing down her back. “No, mistress! Don’t send me away. I would rather remain with you in your sickness. Where would I go that would be better than here? You never mistreat me. Who would be as kind to me as you are?”

  I sighed. “For now, then, you may remain. But you might change your mind if I find no cure.”

  “You will find help, mistress. I am sure of it. God will heal you.”

  I couldn’t help smiling at her vehement faith. “It has been a whole year, Keziah. And I have seen three physicians already. One eminent enough to serve Herod the tetrarch. No one seems to
know what to do for me.”

  “You have to be patient like Abraham and Sarah.”

  I groaned. “They waited over twenty years! Stop trying to cheer me. You will make me cry.”

  Keziah laughed. “Well, I have a surprise for you. And it will cheer you, I promise.”

  “What surprise?”

  “You will see.”

  I threw my hands in the air and sat down to write a letter to Viriato. He wrote at least once a month, giving me news of Jerusalem. Lydia’s purple, for that is how I had come to think of it, had become the rage, fulfilling Master Ezer’s best expectations. They were kept busy with the new increase in their business. I had a sense that Viriato held back more than he revealed, but then I knew that there were lines neither of us could cross. We never discussed Ethan or Sarai.

  I asked him once about my father’s workshop and the house. He assured me that they fared well, and the workers were content with their new situation. He never referred to the new owner. I suspected it might be Master Ezer himself. I could not think of a better arrangement, though how he had managed to accrue enough cash to pay us so generously, I could not fathom. I had given half the income to Joanna and Chuza. The other half would have to see me through the rest of my life, though if the physicians had their say, my life had better be a short one. They ate up denarii the way fish drank water. And you had to pay them whether they cured you or tortured you without results.

  I was midsentence in my letter when a knock sounded at the door. I frowned. Joanna would have come in without waiting for an invitation. Keziah opened the door, and there on the threshold stood my old friend, Viriato.

  I shot to my feet with a small gasp of delight. The old familiar grin slashed across his bear of a face. “The blessings of the Lord to you, mistress.”