Apprentice

by Maggie Anton

  Despite my trepidation, I had no choice but to satisfy my mother-in-law’s curiosity. But instead of dismissing me when I told her Zahra was in labor, Pushbi pointed to the bench near her bed and indicated I should sit down.

  “Your breasts are larger and you walk like a pregnant woman,” she accused me. “Are you with child?”

  I was so astonished by her direct question that all I could do was nod.

  “I knew it.” Pushbi chortled for a moment, undeniably pleased with herself, and then asked, “When are you due?”

  “Around Purim, I think.”

  “So you’ve only immersed once since the wedding?”

  I nodded again, this time impressed with her sharpness.

  Pushbi locked eyes with mine. “If your sister hasn’t conceived by the winter tekufa, I want you to move to your father’s house and stay there until you give birth.”

  “But why?” I had no objection to her command and would, in fact, be happy to obey it. Yet I needed to know the reason.

  “My family has been cursed, likely from envy over the good matches I’ve made for my sons,” she replied bitterly. “First little Nanai’s death, then my illness, and finally Achti’s miscarriage and resulting failure to conceive. These can only be the work of a powerful kashafa.”

  “Are you certain? Maybe all this envy has provoked the Evil Eye against you.” Heaven forbid that Pushbi should figure out who had cursed her.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Believe me, I know witchcraft when I encounter it.”

  My throat constricted at Pushbi’s certainty, but I had the presence of mind to respond innocently: “Maybe you could have Rahel install some kasa d’charasha for protection.”

  Plainly she thought me naive. “Your sister-in-law is a novice compared to the kashafa who did this,” Pushbi said with disdain.

  It took all my control to hide my relief at not being a suspect. “Then how will I be safe in my father’s house?”

  “Listen to me,” she said. “Chama’s family, like your father’s, descends from priests who served in the Holy Temple and were taught all sorts of secret priestly magic. When Jerusalem was destroyed, they brought that knowledge with them to Bavel.”

  “But…,” I began.

  Pushbi held up her hand to prevent further questions. “Chama’s father died when he was young, and Chama never got to learn the priestly traditions. He wanted our sons to be rabbis, so he had them study Torah instead,” she explained. “Your family’s fortune and fecundity prove that your father has mastered both subjects.”

  “I always thought his great piety protected us,” I said slowly, my mind whirling to take in what I’d heard.

  Grandfather had told me that priests had practiced magic in the Temple—magic that some priests, including Father, still knew. Had he taught it to any of my brothers? More important, could I persuade him to teach me or was such knowledge forbidden to women?

  Mother returned to check on Zahra that evening and sent Shayla back to the villa. The following morning, Rami walked Mother home and returned that afternoon with Shayla. I knew none of my sisters-in-law had taken over two days to give birth, but nobody would tell me anything. I could see the fear in Achti’s eyes at the evening meal, and when I went to bed that night, I prepared myself to learn of Zahra’s death when I awoke.

  But instead there was Mother breaking her fast with Ukva as Achti cuddled a newborn in her arms. It took several days for the baby to learn how to suckle properly, but eight days after his birth, less than a week before Rosh Hashana, Zahra’s son was circumcised and named Yehezkel, after the prophet. But he was not freed. Keshisha’s son would remain a slave and Zahra’s duties now included being a wet nurse.

  Achti was so happy with the new baby that I found the courage to tell her that I was expecting a child in Adar. To my great surprise, I learned that my trepidation had been misplaced. My sister was not only thrilled with the news but she confided that if all went well she too would deliver a child in the coming year. I was so pleased to hear that all my worry had been for nothing that I hugged her so hard she laughingly complained I was hurting her.

  As Sukkot drew to a close and the beer brewing commenced, Father interrupted our Shabbat afternoon meal to announce that he and Mother would be traveling to Machoza for Abba bar Joseph’s wedding.

  My first reaction was to thank Heaven that Abba would now be so occupied with his own wife that he’d finally stop harassing Rami. Then, strangely, I recalled the day I told Father I wanted to marry both of them and Abba had said he’d be the last. Now hopefully everyone would agree that what I said had no significance. My thoughts were interrupted by the realization that Father was asking a question.

  “Which of my students will accompany us?”

  “I will,” my brother Tachlifa said immediately. “We can stay with Pazi’s family there.”

  “I heard that Abaye will be there,” Rabbah bar Huna replied. “So I’ll go too.”

  “I suppose it would be rude for me to decline if the other students are going,” Rami said to Father, who did not try to dissuade him.

  My brothers Nachman and Mari exchanged worried looks. If both of them attended the wedding, only Hanan and Pinchas would be left to continue processing the date beer.

  Father threw his arm around Mari. “Your wife can come and see her relatives in Machoza,” he said. “In fact, you and Nachman should both come. Hanan can find some men to take your place at the vats.”

  Hanan nodded glumly. As the oldest brewer among my brothers, he would naturally be in charge if Father were away. “At least the date crushing is complete,” he said.

  Nachman gave Mari an elated punch on the arm. “Who wouldn’t prefer a wedding over stirring fermenting dates all day?”

  I spoke without thinking anything except how nice it would be to see Machoza with Rami. “May other wives come along?”

  “Of course,” Father boomed. “It’s a wedding.”

  “You cannot go,” Mother whispered. “Not in your condition.”

  Pazi quietly added, “Considering your previous difficulties with Abba, appearing at his wedding might provoke the Evil Eye.”

  Rami sighed with resignation. “How long will I be gone?”

  “At least two weeks,” Father replied.

  Rami’s face fell. Not only would he and I be separated for the first time since our wedding, but the other students would have their wives with them.

  If Rami’s absence weren’t bad enough, Grandfather’s health deteriorated so severely that Mother declined to go to Machoza. To make matters worse, the fanatic high priest Kartir had ordered his Magi to exhume recently buried Jewish corpses. Normally nobody plans a funeral until after the death, but it was clear that Grandfather couldn’t have a normal funeral if the Magi were digging up Jewish cemeteries.

  “Explain to me again why the Magi do this?” I asked Zahra.

  “You know about corpse impurity?” She tried unsuccessfully to hide the impatience in her voice.

  I nodded. “Jews avoid corpse impurity too, especially priestly families.”

  Zahra sighed. “Persians believe that the earth is one of Ahura Mazda’s holy creations, one that must not be polluted. That’s why their privies are lined with stone, so excrement never touches the earth. And dead flesh is much more polluting than excrement, even more than menstrual blood.”

  “Corpse impurity is the most severe kind mentioned in the Torah,” I said.

  “Dead flesh is not exactly the same as a corpse.”

  “Of course it is.” I was growing impatient too.

  “No,” Zahra insisted. “Once the flesh is gone, the bones are pure and can be buried. That’s why Persian dead are placed on stones, in a desolate area with many birds of prey and carnivorous beasts, until only the bones remain.”

  I was utterly aghast. Grandfather was going to die soon, so soon that he’d already made his deathbed bequests and farewells. If we didn’t do something, some Magus would exhume his body and take it aw
ay for wild animals to devour. But what could we do? Bahram might be the Persian king, but he was ruled by his high priest—instead of the other way around.

  SEVENTEEN

  I was devastated when a solemn Timonus arrived at our home first thing in the morning a few days later.

  “It was a good death,” he declared, as he handed me Grandfather’s Mishna codex. “The angel Samael took him without a struggle as he slept.”

  Achti sighed. “To think that Grandfather Hanan almost lived long enough to see his great-granddaughter married.”

  I thought I’d accepted that Grandfather’s death was imminent, and would therefore grieve less when it came. But I felt hollow inside and knew I’d start bawling if I tried to speak. Never again would I hear his husky voice or feel his gentle hugs. Never again would I have someone who so patiently answered my questions, no matter how trivial.

  On our way to the villa, Timonus had us turn onto a different street than usual. “I want to pass the cemetery and see if the Magi are still there.”

  “What?” Achti exclaimed. “I thought Father and Rav Huna complained to the exilarch.”

  “And received the answer that his hands are tied when it comes to controlling the Magi.” Timonus shook his head in acquiescence. “Kartir is too powerful.”

  I followed Timonus with dread, praying that somehow Elohim had intervened to halt this horrific desecration of Jewish graves. But when we approached the cemetery, the sound of loud male voices accompanied by the stench of death wafting on a drifting breeze made it clear that He had not. I fought to control my nausea.

  “You stay here,” Timonus cautioned us. “I’ll see what’s happening.”

  “No,” Achti screeched. “I must see Nanai’s grave.” Her face grew rigid with anger. “If they’ve touched my child…” She left the threat unsaid.

  Timonus knew he couldn’t stop her, so he turned to me. “This is no place for a woman in your condition.”

  I couldn’t have agreed more. “I’ll go back to the crossroad.” I didn’t care that I was alone. I had to get away from that smell.

  Thank Heaven my wait wasn’t long. Achti arrived first, and promptly vomited. I looked at her anxiously.

  “Nanai’s grave is undisturbed,” she answered my unspoken query. “They only want recent burials.”

  Timonus wasn’t far behind her. “Your mother won’t like it, and my master will like it less, since he, his sons, and grandsons are priests,” he said slowly. “Yet I see no alternative to burying Hanan somewhere on the villa’s property, where the Magi won’t know about it.”

  It was a relief to leave the cemetery, and a greater relief to arrive home and learn that Grandfather’s body was already wrapped in its shroud, prepared for burial—a burial that Jewish tradition said should happen within twenty-four hours.

  Except that we had no gravesite.

  Mother was furious—at the fanatical Magi, at the exilarch’s cowardice, and at Father for leaving her to deal with all this trouble while he enjoyed himself at a wedding in another city.

  “As much as it would serve my husband right,” she muttered. “Burying my father here would make it difficult, not only for my husband, but for all the males in our family to walk about our property in purity.”

  “Not to mention future generations,” Achti added.

  “Where else can we secretly bury him?” Timonus asked.

  I suddenly had a bizarre thought. “Maybe we can bury him at the cemetery after all.” They looked at me with incredulity, but I continued: “The Magi aren’t going to look in graves they’ve already exhumed, so all we need to do is dig the hole deeper and bury Grandfather’s body below. When they return, everything will look exactly as before.”

  Timonus broke the silence. “We’d have to wait until dark.”

  “Which would give you time to recruit the men necessary to dig such a deep pit,” I said, attempting to bolster my idea.

  Mother held her chin while she thought. “I’ve seen funerals held at night for people who die on Shabbat, so I suppose it is possible. But it will have to be a quiet funeral, no keening women or crowds of mourners.”

  When I made my suggestion, I’d forgotten how frightening the cemetery was at sunset. But that was pleasant compared to going there on a moonless night while carrying a corpse. The air was deathly still, and not even a bird peeped or a mouse scampered as we passed silently in the dark. Mother and Timonus agreed that there should be no torches and that everyone should wear dark clothing. It offered only slight comfort that my brothers Hanan and Pinchas, along with my older nephews, accompanied us to the cemetery’s gate before following along outside the low wall.

  Timonus had returned to the cemetery in late afternoon to scout for a likely grave, one close to the wall so Grandfather’s male descendants could grieve nearby without physically entering the graveyard. Hanan recognized the spot as where the elderly man who’d read the first Torah portion on Shavuot had been interred the previous week. Evidently many from priestly families preferred to be buried near the cemetery’s edge.

  The women in my family huddled around the slaves carrying Grandfather’s body, weeping quietly, myself hardest of all. Mother led the procession, and two slaves carrying shovels brought up the rear. I clutched Rahel’s hand, trembling with fright despite Mother’s assurance that it was safe for me to enter the graveyard because I was performing a mitzvah.

  “You must not give in to fear,” Mother said as we carefully surrounded the exceedingly deep pit. “Burying a rabbi as pious as my blessed father, particularly in these difficult circumstances, is such a meritorious mitzvah that Heaven will surely protect us.” She looked up at the mention of Heaven.

  Her voice was strong yet soothing. Slowly my dread ebbed away as I gazed at the myriad stars above, bright and twinkling in the moonless sky. Each one represented an angel who watched over us, and I wondered which was mine and which had been Grandfather’s. Did my unborn child have his own star yet, or was the angel assigned only when he was born?

  My thoughts came back to earth when I heard the thump of the shrouded corpse landing at the bottom of the grave. I was thankful that the prayers and eulogy had been said earlier and all that remained was to cover it with dirt. I was more thankful that we didn’t have to fill the tremendous hole. Timonus stopped us when the soil reached the level where the Magi had left it.

  For some there was an unseemly rush to the villa. I walked slowly, taking in the vast canopy of sky and remembering how I used to love sleeping on the roof. We were in the month of Cheshvan, and I strained to find the stars that made up its constellation, the Scorpion. I’d never heard a convincing explanation for why Cheshvan’s zodiac sign was such a vile creature. Tishrei’s sign, the Scales, made sense since during that month, between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, our sins were balanced against our mitzvot as the Heavenly Court judged us.

  Tears ran down my face as I thought of Grandfather, who’d been judged for such a long life. Somehow he’d merited living to see me wed, but not to see my baby born. Persians, and probably most Jews, said that one’s lifespan was written in the stars, but the Torah was clear that if Israel recites Elohim’s words at home and away, teaches them to his children, and puts them in his heart, his days and that of his children will increase.

  Despite the hour, no one went to bed upon returning home. Cook had prepared some food, and the wine and beer were soon flowing. Everyone had stories about Grandfather, and Mother shared how calmly he’d reacted when her grandfather Rav arrived unexpectedly at her wedding.

  “Knowing that he hadn’t been invited, my mother was terrified to learn that Rav was at the gate. But my father told her not to worry, that he would take care of it,” Mother said. “I, of course, had no idea anything was wrong, for nobody told me that Rav disapproved of my marrying Hisda. I thought my grandfather didn’t eat anything and went home early that night because he wasn’t feeling well.”

  We sat in silence for a while, taking pride in how G
randfather had avoided a breach between his family and Rav.

  “I hope Grandfather and that old priest liked each other,” Pinchas said, a bit irreverently I thought. “They’ll be sharing the same grave until the Messiah comes.”

  “Who’s going to put the original body back?” His wife, Beloria, asked.

  Until that moment I hadn’t considered what happened to the remains of the bodies the Magi had exhumed.

  As usual, Timonus was well informed. “Most families have someone follow the Magi to see where they leave the body,” he explained. “Then they must wait until only the bones remain, after which they are permitted to collect and rebury them.”

  “Grandfather wouldn’t have liked that,” Hanan declared.

  I stifled a yawn and then realized that with Rami away there was no reason to walk back to Sura. I made my way upstairs to my old kiton, where I recalled all those nights after Achti’s wedding when Grandfather had shared my room and discussed Mishna with me. His snoring had bothered me then, but tonight I missed it.

  Knowing those days were gone forever, and missing Rami too, I cried myself to sleep.

  “Dodi, I will never attend another wedding without you,” Rami whispered in my ear as he pulled me closer. “Truly I would have preferred being at your grandfather’s funeral.”

  Snuggled in bed together despite the warm evening, our desire satisfied, neither of us felt the need to sleep. “Was the wedding that awful,” I teased him, “or did you miss me?”

  He kissed me gently. “Both. In Machoza the men are even worse about goading the bridegroom than in Sura. It brought back so many unpleasant memories that I left the room.”

  I was curious if Abba had been successful that first night but knew better than to ask Rami. “What did the bride look like? What kind of jewels did she wear?” I asked instead.

  He gave the best answer a husband could. “Choran had more jewels than Rav Nachman’s wife Yalta, but she still couldn’t compare to you. As for her face, in that respect she and Abba were like twins—both dark, proud, and arrogant.”