Land of Silence

by Tessa Afshar

With the advent of these unpopular changes, the well-run routine of the palace household turned on its head. Phasaelis ran off to her father, King Aretas. Herodias and her alluring daughter, Salome, took up residence, bringing with them unreasonable demands and onerous requirements. Poor Chuza spent long hours in the palace, trying to smooth the ruffled feathers of the many household servants who had taken an instant dislike to Herodias. He spent even longer hours figuring out ways to appease the new lady of the house.

  From one day to the next my brother-in-law did not know what new crisis he might have to face. Many nights, he could not even come home. I knew Joanna felt lonely and concerned for her husband’s work. We spent many hours praying during those months. Though they were arduous times, they brought us closer to each other and to God.

  Chuza escaped from the weight of his job whenever he could and joined us for prayer. He said that those prayer times saved his sanity. They did not save his hair, however. He began to lose it in handfuls until you could see his scalp clear through. Fortunately, Chuza was so attractive that even with thinning hair he did not lose his charms.

  After Chuza gave me the money from the sale of my furnishings, I dragged myself to another physician, this one a Greek who had set up his business in southern Perea. He had come to gather minerals from the Salt Sea, having heard of their restorative powers, and remained long enough to build a reputation as a clever man.

  Traveling never came easy for me. Constant bleeding made me weak; I needed rest more often than other women. Jews did not like to travel near me lest I touch them by accident and make them unclean.

  Moreover, the expense of caravans and inns and road levies, added to that of medicines and physicians, became another concern. Once my funds from the sale of my furnishings dwindled, I would have nothing left with which to support myself.

  I chose to bear the expense of this particular journey because Anaximander the physician had healed several cases that had been considered incurable. Equally important, he had little interest in evil spirits and incantations. He believed disorders had natural causes and would therefore also have a natural cure.

  He took copious notes when we met for the first time, asking questions so awkward I thought of walking out a few times. The man had no sense of propriety. His long, pale forehead shone with sweat as he wrote on his rolled-out parchment. “Acute effluvium of blood. Chronic pain in the lower abdomen. Crisis lasting nine years. Repeated relapse of patient after occasional bouts of freedom from hemorrhage.” He spoke out loud as he wrote, as if I actually could understand what confounding words such as effluvium, chronic, or relapse might mean.

  “Have you noticed if certain foods or activities exacerbate your condition?”

  “No.”

  He rolled up his sleeves. I saw him open a plain box made of olive wood. Inside sat a menacing assortment of metal instruments: long and short, fat and thin, oblong and spoonlike, designed to pull and push and cut flesh. “I must examine you.”

  “Examine me?” I asked faintly.

  “Ah. You Jews and your preoccupation with modesty. How am I to diagnose you properly without looking for the cause of your illness? Your servant girl may stay if you wish.”

  “If you think it indispensable.”

  I lay back on a couch, stiff with embarrassment. Examine me, he did. He poked and prodded and sniffed and stared and stopped in the middle of his torment to take more notes. Tears dribbled down my cheeks. I would as soon slap him as pay the man.

  “There is an imbalance in your humors. If we bleed you, we will restore balance to your body.”

  “Pardon, Anaximander, but you did hear the part about my being here because I am bleeding? For nine years?” I threw my hands up in the air. “How will more bleeding help that?”

  “You know nothing about it, woman. Do you wish to be cured or not?”

  I shrugged. What harm would losing a little more blood do me? “Proceed, physician.”

  He made me turn over on my belly. With a sharp razor, he cut five precise lines deep into the flesh of my back, where it dipped lowest. I grimaced. I could feel my blood drip down my side. With a deft movement, Anaximander caught the flow in a thin-lipped bowl. Protecting his couch from the stain, I guessed. He sat near me and watched as my life seeped out of me in slow rivulets. Keziah slumped in the chair near me, looking whiter than salt, chewing her nails.

  I began to feel weak and dizzy. The physician must have finally grown convinced that I had lost enough blood to suit him. By pressing a linen towel into the cuts, he stopped the flow. I only wished it were as simple to stop the flow of my flux.

  “You must rest for seven days. Drink broth made from the flesh of a young bull five times a day. At the end of that period, use the mud that I have packed in this kerchief to create a warm poultice over your belly and lower parts. This mud comes from the Salt Sea and has great restorative powers. Apply it for at least three full days, making sure to keep it warm that whole time. Finally, bathe in a churning river, preferably when it is cold. You shall be cured if you follow my instructions with care.”

  I was certainly cured of the heaviness of my purse.

  Keziah helped me walk back to the quarters we occupied during our stay in Perea. If not for her strong arm around my waist, I would have collapsed in the street. The additional loss of blood had made me so dizzy that my steps wobbled as we made our way back to the inn. I collapsed in my bed and lost consciousness for twelve hours.

  Keziah waited by my bed with a bowl of rich broth when I awoke. She had procured this delicacy with some difficulty and at great expense. It tasted marvelous to my parched throat. I stayed in bed for seven whole days without putting up any argument. It wasn’t merely that I wished to follow the physician’s instructions to the letter. I felt too weary to move. Anaximander’s remedy had nearly done me in.

  At the end of seven days, Keziah made the poultice of mud according to the Greek’s instructions and, after warming it over the fire, handed it to me. This proved to be a wonderful treatment for one’s most hated enemy. The mud stung upon contact with the sensitive skin of my lower abdomen. But for three days I gritted my teeth and applied it faithfully as he had instructed me.

  We had to walk almost two hours to arrive at the Jordan River for the final stage of my treatment. We picked a spot that seemed to have the strongest current, the water churning and frothing vigorously. I could do nothing about the temperature. To me it seemed more than cold enough. Stepping ankle-deep into the water, I gasped.

  “Are you certain, mistress? It looks deep in that spot.”

  “I will be fine,” I said, not certain that my assurance would prove true. Lord God, please preserve me, I prayed. Please pour your healing balm into me and restore me. Take away this plague of blood from me forever.

  I stepped deeper until the water reached my thigh. Grabbing hold of a long branch, I held on for dear life, resisting the pull of the current that tried to wash me away. Cautiously, I stepped forward; the water rose to my waist. Without warning, my foot slipped and I sank.

  I did not know how to swim.

  For long moments I struggled underwater, my body waving and undulating painfully, my lungs screaming for air. Somehow, I managed to find a foothold again and stood. The current had moved me deeper into the river and now I stood chest-deep. Taking long, gasping breaths, I remained still until the pounding in my chest quieted down. Then I closed my eyes and abandoned myself to the washing of the water.

  Use this river to make me clean, Lord. Wash away my shame. As you rebuilt the crumbled walls of Jerusalem during the time of Nehemiah, reach down and rebuild this ruined body.

  By the time I emerged from the river, I felt spent. To my delight, for a whole day and night my body did not bleed. Then the flux returned, making me a captive more than ever, for after Anaximander’s treatment I grew weaker than before and could not regain even my former strength.

  After paying Anaximander and covering our expenses in Perea for two weeks, my f
unds once again grew alarmingly low. Soon I would be unable to maintain my own house. What could I do?

  Joanna and Chuza promised to help me so that I might remain in the house, but I considered this too great an expense. Joanna already had more than enough trouble. She had not become pregnant again since her last miscarriage, and her mother-in-law, Merab, wanted Chuza to set her aside in favor of a more fertile woman. Chuza had remonstrated with her, but how long could a man withstand a mother’s constant nagging? If I accepted financial help from Chuza, I would only add to the condemnation Merab heaped upon my sister.

  One night as I studied the Scriptures, I came upon a passage from the prophet Isaiah:

  Come, everyone who thirsts,

  come to the waters;

  and he who has no money,

  come, buy and eat!

  Come, buy wine and milk

  without money and without price. . . .

  I wondered about those words for a long time. The Lord was promising provision to those who feared that they would go hungry and thirsty. “If you have nothing, come to me,” he was saying. “I will be your provider.”

  But there was more than a practical assurance in God’s words. He wasn’t merely saying that in our poverty, he would provide. He had more for us. After making the promise about filling our hunger, the Lord of heaven gave a strange command: Hear, that your soul may live.

  God wanted to fill the hunger of our souls.

  Come and buy that which will bring life to your soul. It costs no money to become whole. The famine of your heart can be satisfied the way an empty belly can be filled.

  I hugged the roll of parchment to my chest. Heretofore, my greatest needs had seemed physical ones. My flesh needed healing. My finances needed restoring. These were necessary to my well-being, to my survival even. And yet were these truly the most important needs of my life?

  I remembered with sudden clarity Joseph’s death and the guilt I had never been able to overcome, though so many years had passed from that tragic day. As if it were only yesterday, I felt again my father’s blame and his constant rejection. I relived the grief of his injury and death, and my mother’s loss. The pain of Ethan’s wrenching abandonment overwhelmed me once more.

  If the soul had blood to shed for every wound, I would be a mangled carcass now. More than a roof over my head, more than a healed body, I needed to have my soul restored. The Lord promised that this was possible. It was free. It was available. But I did not know how to obtain it. How did you go about finding wholeness and holiness when you were this unworthy? My flesh might have been unclean, but my heart was even more so.

  I had no spiritual currency with which to come to God. I had no righteousness, no true depth of prayer, no great understanding of his Word. My sin was ever before me. Yet here was this incomprehensible promise: “He who has no money, come, buy.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  With God we shall do valiantly;

  it is he who will tread down our foes.

  PSALM 108:13

  ONE RAY OF JOY pierced the troubled clouds of my life. I received a letter from Claudia informing me that she and Titus would be visiting Judea soon. Better still, they had been invited to remain at the palace of Herod Antipas for a full week, so she would be a Sabbath-journey’s walk from my home. Of course, it took two whole months for her to actually arrive at my door. How those sixty days crawled and tarried!

  I could tell Claudia was shocked by my appearance. We had not set eyes on each other for eleven years. I was thirty-one years old and a far cry from the vibrant girl she had known. I had lost weight; my skin had grown white and pasty. And nothing could hide the frailty of my body, which forced me to sit after only a little activity.

  “Oh, Elianna!” she cried and burst into tears before taking me into her arms. It had been so long since someone who loved me had touched me with tenderness. I still refused to allow Joanna any contact with my skin lest her womb be contaminated by my malady. Even Keziah was not allowed to come near me; it was the only thing I could do to protect her from being polluted by my illness. Heaven knew she already had to bear with our neighbors’ scorn for the mere indiscretion of living with me.

  After a moment of consternation, I leaned into Claudia’s embrace and started to weep. I loved the Roman arms that did not reject me, but held me tighter and grew damp with our tears.

  Finally, we drew apart and dried our eyes. “Tell me about Titus. How is he?”

  “He fares well. Elianna, I cannot explain what turned the tides of our fortunes or why our former enemy, Sejanus, decided to forgive Titus and think of him in a favorable way.

  “The years have not been kind to the emperor. Tiberius has all but retired from public life. This keeps Sejanus very busy; he practically runs the empire. Who knows how many seditious plots he has had to undo? Perhaps he grew to appreciate my husband’s honesty. At least he knew that Titus would not stab him in the back while speaking a vacuous compliment.”

  “What does Titus do now?”

  “He has been appointed a praetor, as we hoped.”

  “Isn’t that an army commander?” I asked, settling myself on my cushion and leaning against the wall.

  “It can be. In this case, Titus is a magistrate who works through the tribunal. We have been stationed in Sicilia for some years. I think Sejanus is thinking of sending us back to Palestine soon.”

  “Oh no! I am sorry, Claudia. I know how you hated it here.”

  The generous mouth flashed its charming smile. “I hated seeing my husband sink under the weight of an inferior position. As praetor, he shall enjoy the rank and influence due his abilities. We shall be very happy here.

  “Do you know, I believe that your prayers may have opened the door to good fortune for us. Remember how you told us about your God and the way he helped Cyrus the Persian? Titus still talks of it.”

  I shook my head. “I am glad that story made an impression.”

  “Indeed. Titus has a very positive view of your God, unlike most Roman officials who are stationed here. They only perceive him as a source of trouble—an agitator of revolutionaries.”

  Claudia adjusted her skirt as she stretched her feet. “My husband seems strangely drawn to your God. He even visited the outer courts of your Temple in Jerusalem once. It made him very popular with certain Jewish officials, though he had not gone to gain favor. He went to satisfy his own curiosity.”

  “Titus could get along with anybody. Even your cruel Sejanus could not resist him for long.”

  Claudia slapped her thigh and sat up straight. “I almost forgot. Guess who we ran into while at Herod’s palace here in Tiberias?”

  “Chuza?”

  “Well, yes. But I did not mean your sister’s husband. I was referring to Decimus Calvus. Remember him?”

  “Yes. I have a vague recollection,” I said through frozen lips. I had not seen the man or heard of him in over ten years.

  “He has been transferred to Galilee recently. Time has graced him with favor. He has been promoted to senior centurion and commands a cohort.”

  “He is here in Tiberias?” I emptied my voice from the dread that chilled me to my bones.

  “Indeed. You might run into him, Elianna. This is not such a large city.”

  Would I never be rid of that man? “I doubt our paths shall cross. I rarely leave the house.”

  “Do not be shocked by what I am about to say. Once, I thought he liked you. A lot. He often stared at you with that narrow-eyed, thoughtful look men get when they want a woman.”

  “The Lord spare me from such liking.” I could not suppress a shiver.

  “You disapprove of him? Because he is a Roman?”

  “Because he is untrustworthy.”

  “I am sorry to hear it. I confess, when I ran into him this week, I thought . . . that is, I hoped you might be open to a new relationship. Calvus is divorced, you know? And you are as pretty as ever. Prettier, even, with a kind of fragility that is sure to please a man.”
r />   My eyes snapped open. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Why not? You would make the best of wives.”

  I groaned. “First, he would make a terrible husband. I would rather have a bleeding disease. Oh, wait. I already do. That should count for the second.”

  Claudia giggled. “I have so missed you. We must find you a new physician. If you were in Rome, you would have been healed ten times over by now.”

  “I once had a physician trained in Rome.”

  “What happened?”

  “I was a lot poorer when he left.”

  Claudia made a noise between choking and laughter. “What of this prophet everyone is buzzing about?”

  “What prophet?” I couldn’t help sounding bored. Apart from the topic of brilliant physicians, nothing irked me so much as talk of new prophets. Because of my sickness, folks felt it their duty to point out any self-proclaimed holy man who poked his head out of a bush in the wilderness. I was content with reading the proclamations of the Lord as spoken through the old, established prophets. I was content with his Word. New prophets had little to offer but empty promises and trouble.

  “He is one of yours. Everyone is astonished by the miracles he has been performing all over the Galilean and Judean countryside. The blind see, the dumb speak. Genuine miracles, by the sound of it.”

  “Have you seen one?”

  “Well, no.”

  “There you are. By next year, he will be forgotten and I will still be sick.”

  My two best friends happened to come to Tiberias within a few days of each other. Several weeks earlier, Viriato had written to say that he would arrive in Galilee for business and intended to stop at my home to see me. The evening we expected him, a knock sounded at the door. I had sent Keziah to pick up provisions for our meal. In order to save my dwindling funds, we normally ate very simply, and except for Chuza’s generous gifts of occasional wine and pastries left over from one of Herod’s feasts, our regular diet was unsuitable for someone with Viriato’s healthy appetite. I planned to feed him a stew with real meat that night. None of the usual watery barley soups for our giant.