Apprentice

by Maggie Anton

  Achti was so fascinated with my amulet studies that I talked about them until Zahra waved for us to return. I didn’t see how complaining to Ukva would help Achti at all; it would only force him into the unenviable position of having to choose between his wife and his mother. Rami had supported me because he didn’t want me to repudiate our betrothal. After we were married, I’d have no such power, but that would be the same even if I married Abba.

  Achti complained about being treated as a slave, but that’s what a female was—first belonging to her father and then to her husband. Most women could only hope for kindness, but at least Achti and I had Grandfather’s lands for protection.

  Ukva had just arrived, and I waited while Achti washed his hands and feet. Then I took my seat and said amen after Ukva made the appropriate blessings. It felt strange to eat with so few people; whatever anyone said would be heard by all of us.

  Rami shared the case he’d heard in court that morning, a complicated situation involving false witnesses. While everyone agreed that their evidence must be disregarded, the problem was whether that applied only to this one case or was evidence they’d given in earlier cases now tainted? And what about in the future—were they forever prohibited from acting as witnesses? Rami explained all the arguments very well, and I marveled at how eloquently he spoke when it wasn’t just the two of us.

  Achti was right about the meat, which was poorly seasoned and lacked salt. Since I could eat as much as I liked at home, I made a point of giving her my small portion. I could feel Pushbi’s eyes boring into me and I prepared to explain why I’d refused her main course. But she said nothing about my actions. I grew increasingly uncomfortable. I was wondering if I could leave early instead of waiting until Rami decided it was time for him to return to Father’s lectures, when I noticed that Achti brushed Ukva’s arm as she refilled his cup.

  I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was a week since the full moon and Achti, regular as the moon itself, had always become dashtana just after it began to wane. I watched for any sign that Achti was avoiding physical contact with Ukva and then recalled that she had washed his feet when he came home.

  But how was that possible? She should have been niddah, when intimacy between husband and wife was forbidden.

  My heart leapt in exultation. Achti had to be pregnant. I commended myself for giving her my meat. Of course Achti wouldn’t say anything; it was far too early. Perhaps she wasn’t sure herself. But when it was finally time to leave, and I found a private moment to ask how long ago she’d immersed in the mikvah, her blushing cheeks were all the answer I needed.

  I said nothing about my discovery, for fear of inciting the Evil Eye. Achti wasn’t living under Father’s roof anymore and had likely lost any protection his piety provided the rest of us, so I became determined to prepare an amulet for her and to deliver it without anyone knowing. Achti mustn’t lose this pregnancy—and not only because of the joy a baby would bring her. Once Achti was a mother herself, Pushbi’s place in the family hierarchy would have to change.

  A few days later, I learned that I had less than a week remaining if I wanted to write Achti’s amulet, for there would be a hiatus in my training at Kimchit’s during the month of Tammuz. Of course there would be, I chided myself, for no one goes outside during that month between the fourth and ninth hours, when the heat is strongest and the demon Ketev Meriri is active. Just the thought of encountering the hideous thing, a huge flaming ball with one enormous eye, made me shudder.

  Justice could not be delayed an entire month, however, so Father and his students would arrive in court well before the fourth hour and then stay beyond the ninth. But my training was not so important to risk exposing me to a demon so dangerous that a mere glimpse of it caused a person to collapse.

  At first I considered waiting until after Tammuz to make Achti’s amulet. But while discussing an entirely different topic with Kimchit, I found that delaying wasn’t a good option either.

  “Why does this mother keep buying new amulets?” I asked when I noticed that I was writing the exact same incantation I’d written for her only months before. “We both know that her son has been healthy the entire time.”

  “Just because a child appears healthy, we can’t assume that his amulet is still effective,” Kimchit replied. “Amulets lose power over time, since presumably they are fighting demons and illnesses on occasion.”

  “How can anyone know when they need a new one?”

  “Obviously a new amulet is necessary after recovering from an illness.” Kimchit’s voice grew somber. “But for a woman like our client, who has seen three of her four sons succumb, it is evident that her remaining boy is the target of powerful demons. His amulets, under regular attack, will weaken more rapidly.”

  The poor child—all those awful shaydim assaulting him again and again. But then I had a less benevolent thought.

  “How long do amulets usually last?” If even healthy people needed to buy new amulets periodically, inscribing amulets could be a lucrative business.

  “Careful folks, and wealthy ones, replace them yearly, before Rosh Hashana.” Kimchit’s tone made it clear that this was an admirable habit. “Others do so less often, usually to their regret.”

  “You must get a good deal of business in Av and Elul,” I said. These were the months preceding the New Year.

  “So much that all the most auspicious days and times are already spoken for,” she replied proudly.

  “But I need to inscribe one for my pregnant sister.” My voice rose in alarm.

  “Then you have one opportunity left before Tammuz begins, and luckily for your sister nobody has claimed it.”

  I had no choice, for liliths might be closing in on Achti even now. Second Day at the fifth hour, under the influence of Michael, was when I’d write an amulet to protect her pregnancy. But that would leave me only three days to deliver it to her.

  TEN

  In the end I was forced to trust the amulet to Rami. As usual, I met him in the garden, and as usual, Abba was there to spy on us. Again I couldn’t understand why Rami’s presence filled me with joy while Abba’s made me so uncomfortable.

  “Rami, I need an important favor from you.” I hoped I sounded sufficiently piteous to stir his compassion. “Can you deliver something to Achti without anyone knowing, not even her slaves? Also without looking to see what it is or asking me any questions about it?”

  “No questions at all, Dodi?”

  I couldn’t tell if he was serious or teasing me, so I assumed the latter. “This isn’t very promising.” I playfully shook my finger at him. “The first thing you do is ask me a question.”

  “So how can I know when to deliver this object or…uh, how to get it from you?” He grinned and added, “Oh no, I just asked more questions.”

  “Will you do it, then?”

  “As long as I don’t have to lie to Mother or Ukva.”

  “You shouldn’t, especially if you are successful.”

  “Is this item…I mean, I hope it’s not very large.”

  I smiled at how he’d avoided asking a question. “It will come in a linen bag, small enough to fit in your hand.”

  “To be delivered as soon as possible, I assume.”

  I nodded. “You needn’t say anything to Achti when you give it to her. She’ll know it’s from me. But you must put it into her hand—don’t just leave it among her things.”

  He scratched his head in thought. “I’ll do it just before Shabbat. Mother will be out shopping much of the day.”

  Thankfully, nothing interfered with Rami fulfilling this task for me.

  As summer came to a close, I began to suspect that Kimchit was using me, that she had no intention of teaching me the third amulet that would make me an expert. Not only was she collecting payment for the amulets I inscribed, but I would also be her solution to the problem of how her family could make their living once she was no longer able to write. Her sons and daughters-in-law prepared the physical parts
of the amulets: the small pieces of papyrus or parchment, the wood or metal tubes, and the red ribbons and thread. But none of them were sufficiently literate to write an amulet.

  The shorter the day, the more my frustration seethed. Once Sukkot was over, I wouldn’t be training with Kimchit any longer. I’d return to inscribing bowls for Rahel, doing only occasional amulets when Kimchit was especially busy, and those I’d write at home. So I decided to confront her directly.

  “Kimchit.” I made my voice as sweet as honey. “Are there any other amulet spells I can learn besides these two?”

  I must have sounded too sweet because her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why do you ask?”

  “My father says that to be an expert at writing amulets, the scribe needs to write three different kinds…”

  I never got a chance to finish because Kimchit’s eyes blazed. “Your father says…,” she fumed. “Just because he’s a rabbi who knows kosher meat doesn’t mean he knows about amulets. These rabbis are getting too arrogant, trying to regulate things that are none of their business.”

  I cringed as she stomped around the room. “How dare he, or any rabbi, decide what makes an expert amulet scribe? Who made them authorities on the subject? I’ve been writing amulets for years, yet in his eyes I’m not an expert because I specialize in two types?” She was puffed up like an angry cat defending its territory from another feline. “And you, a girl who hasn’t grown breasts yet, who has only been writing them a few months, would suddenly become an expert if you wrote three?”

  “Maybe I misunderstood,” I said meekly. “He was talking about the Rabbis in Eretz Israel and probably that’s what they believe.” It was a shock to hear a Jew, even an am-ha’aretz, venting such resentment. It never occurred to me that they might begrudge rabbis just as Rahel did.

  “I’m not surprised. When it comes to fighting demons, nobody in the West knows anything compared to us Chaldeans.”

  “I’m sure my family wouldn’t have sent me to study with you if you weren’t an expert.” I hoped that would mollify her.

  Luckily Kimchit was someone whose anger burned quickly, only to cool just as fast. By the time I was ready to leave, her outburst against rabbis was long over. But as I walked home, I mulled over the implications of her tirade. The am-ha’aretz in Sura might know that Father was a pious man and that his court didn’t take bribes, but most were content to merely follow what the Torah said. They neither knew what the Rabbis taught nor cared to know. Maybe there were even some who knew but rejected it. I would have to be careful what I said around the am-ha’aretz.

  My suspicion of being used lessened as I reconsidered what would happen in the future. As long as I continued to write proven amulets, Kimchit’s family would have a source of income producing the paraphernalia that accompanied them. At first I thought that they were getting the better bargain, but then I realized that this was a skill I could practice after Rami and I were married, one that did not require me to say any spells aloud or even leave my house. But I still wanted to learn a third spell, so Father and his colleagues would consider me an expert at writing amulets, and my failure to accomplish this gnawed at me.

  Other things also conspired to irritate me. Pazi and Tazi were trained silk weavers, whose specialty was the colorful silk ribbons Persians loved to wear. Since red silk ribbons were highly sought after for tying amulets to children’s arms or necks, I begged the twins to teach me the skill. Both were pleased to do so, but unfortunately I found weaving silk even more painstaking than Mother’s finest linen. The silk thread was thinner than any we spun from green flax, and incredibly slippery. As much as I wished I’d never begun the endeavor, quitting was too shameful to contemplate. So I struggled on, furious at myself for overreaching.

  Worse, the weather was scorching, with only a rare reprieve when the south wind blew in cooler air from the ocean that lay beyond the southern marshes. Sleeping on the roof offered minimal relief, and with so many hot, drowsy people confined to the same space, tempers were short and arguments frequent.

  Father’s students were no exception, which may explain why Rami and Abba got into such a heated battle over a simple piece of Mishna. The passage from Tractate Bava Batra was concerned with rules for building, and enlarging, doors and windows that open into a courtyard shared by several families.

  Father began with the Mishna, as usual. “In a communal courtyard, a man may not build one door directly opposite another’s, nor a window opposite another’s window. If it is small, he may not enlarge it. If it is a single opening, he may not make it into two.”

  After he was sure the students had memorized this, he asked how this rule is derived from Torah. My brother Nachman answered, “From the passage in Bamidbar where Bilam tries to curse Israel and praises them instead, saying, ‘How goodly are your tents, O Jacob, how fair your dwellings, Israel.’”

  Before Nachman could explain what was so good and fair about Israel’s dwellings, Abba interrupted. “Bilam saw that their tents were set up in such a fashion that no doorway faced another, thus giving each family privacy.”

  Rami looked at Abba with disdain. “Is this true?” he asked scornfully. “Perhaps the prohibition on enlarging doorways is to prevent a man from claiming a larger piece of land in the courtyard, since if he widens his door from four cubits to eight, he becomes entitled to the eight-cubit-wide swath that leads to his door.”

  Abba stood up and put his hands on his hips. “But then enlarging his door from two cubits to four would be permitted,” he shot back. “Since even the smallest door is entitled to four cubits of land in front of it.”

  The next instant Rami was on his feet and glaring at Abba. “How can this be about privacy?” His voice dripped sarcasm. “The residents’ actions inside can just as easily be seen through a small doorway as through a large one.”

  Abba took a step toward Rami and shook his head in exasperation. “You have it backward. It is the other occupants who lose their privacy when someone enlarges his doorway.” His eyes shot daggers at Rami. “For it is more difficult for me to conceal my activities from neighbors who have a large doorway than from those with a small opening.”

  The other students, roused from their heat-induced torpor by this unexpected show of hostility, waited anxiously to see how Rami would respond. But none more anxiously than me. My heart was in my throat as I hoped Rami would redeem himself.

  “This Mishna is not just about privacy.” His voice hard as stone, Rami clenched his fists and took two steps toward Abba. “If a man converts his four-cubit-wide doorway into two two-cubit-wide doorways, he will then take eight cubits of land from the courtyard instead of the four he had previously.”

  Abba clenched his fists too, and for a few moments it looked as though he might physically attack Rami. Father exchanged glances with Nachman and Mari, who positioned themselves where they could separate the two combatants if necessary. Horrified at the scene unfolding before me, I closed my eyes.

  The next thing I heard was Abba lecturing Rami as if he were speaking to a particularly dull child. “As I told you before, if this ruling were about land, then converting an eight-cubit-wide doorway into two four-cubit-wide doorways would be permitted, since he gains nothing.”

  I opened my eyes to see Abba smirking. “But our Mishna prohibits making any single doorway into two,” he declared.

  Rami looked down at the floor in defeat, and my heart sank. But Abba had to humiliate him further. I knew snakes don’t smile, but the triumphant grin on Abba’s face made me think of a snake gloating over its victim before biting it.

  “It certainly is about privacy,” Abba said so smugly that I wanted to hit him. “For I am more able to conceal my activities from neighbors with one doorway than from those with two.”

  Father quickly interrupted with the next part of the Mishna, “But one may open into the public domain.” This, he pointed out, validated both Rami’s and Abba’s arguments. “For the man with a door opening onto the str
eet is neither entitled to any land in front of it,” he said soothingly, “nor does he have any expectation of privacy.”

  I felt so furious at Abba’s arrogance and so wretched for Rami’s shame that I didn’t know which I wanted to do more, slap Abba’s smug face or give Rami a hug. Instead, I deliberately left the midday meal early, knowing Rami would follow me to the garden. There I intended to confide in him about Achti’s pregnancy, which would surely put him into a better mood.

  It was so hot outside that I was confident we’d be alone. Yet before I could tell Rami anything, there was Abba advancing toward us with that smirk still on his face. Abba stopped so close that I knew he’d hear anything I said. My accumulated frustration boiled over and I completely lost my head.

  I threw my arms around Rami, kissing him long and hard. He must have been surprised at first, but he soon returned my embrace in kind, and I was transported to a place where nothing existed except his lips and mine. When we finally stepped apart, Abba was gone.

  That night sleep would not come, as I replayed the day’s events over and over. What had possessed me to kiss Rami in public like that? For not only Abba and Rami knew about my breach of modesty, but Zahra and who knows how many slaves had been watching too. This meant that Mother, and maybe even Father, would soon hear about it.

  “Dada?” Pazi whispered. “Is that you tossing and turning?”

  “It’s too hot to sleep,” I lied.

  “It’s been this hot for days, and you’ve never had trouble sleeping.” She moved her bedding close to mine. “What’s the matter?”

  The concern in her voice made me start crying, and after I finally sniffed away my tears, I told her about Rami and Abba and what I’d done in the garden. “I don’t know what to do,” I concluded, fresh tears filling my eyes.