by Roberta Rich
Assunta could be as relentless as a magistrate. Hannah knew from experience that the nun would give her no peace until she had divulged the whole unhappy story.
“It shames me to tell you, Assunta. After our father of blessed memory died, Asher, who had once been my favourite brother, sent me a letter accusing me of stealing Papa’s violin. It was a beautiful instrument made of cherry wood by a violin maker in Cremona, with a fine horsehair bow. When we were children, Papa played it at night at the foot of our beds to coax us to sleep.” Hannah thought she had put her resentment about Asher’s false accusation behind her, but she felt it rising in her again as she recounted the wretched details.
“Go on.”
“With Isaac’s help, I wrote a letter denying any wrongdoing. Asher sent another letter, refusing to believe me, calling me a liar as well as a thief. No amount of reasoning could convince him I was innocent.”
“So your dispute has not been resolved?”
“When I see him, I hope to convince him he was mistaken.”
“Perhaps.” Assunta looked as doubtful as Hannah felt. “Your brother sounds like an obstinate man.”
“All men are obstinate.” Especially my husband. The person dearest to my heart would not give me his blessing to sail for Venice. I may not have a husband when I return to Constantinople. Many wives have received the get, the Jewish divorce document, for less. “If Asher will have me, I will remain with him for a day or two until I can find a boat to take me to the di Padovani villa, a journey of three days.”
“I worry for your safety. A Jewess travelling alone will attract unwanted attention from ruffians and Jew baiters. You know as well as I, Jews are not allowed to travel outside the city limits without permission.”
Within the ghetto, dressed as she was—in blue cioppà and red head scarf—Hannah would appear as any other Jewish matron. Outside the confines of the tiny island of two thousand souls she would be conspicuous. “But what can be done?”
“If only you could move about as freely as me.”
Assunta was lying on her berth, half naked, wearing only a shift. Hannah was amused by the dark tufts under Assunta’s arms, as dense as mouse nests.
“You move about freely because you are bigger and stronger than most men.”
“True enough, but that is not what I meant. A nun is freer than most women to come and go. Out of respect for our habit, men do not regard us as objects of prey. Even pickpockets and cutpurses leave us alone, assuming rightly we have nothing of value to steal.”
“How I envy you, Assunta. Oh, to be a nun! To live in a dusty cell in a convent, praying five times a day, eating nothing but polenta and stale bread donated by a munificent baker. I wish devoutly for such a life.” Hannah spoke in jest, but she could tell from Assunta’s face that she took the words literally.
“And so you can!”
Assunta gave Hannah a great slap on the back that nearly knocked her off the edge of her berth, where she was sitting.
“You must disguise yourself as a nun.” Assunta rummaged in her bag and brought out a length of black gabardine. “Here,” she said, handing the cloth to Hannah. “Sew yourself a nun’s habit. I was going to make a new robe for myself during the voyage, but you need this more than I. Take my wooden rosary. String this crucifix around your neck.” She dropped the articles beside Hannah. “Learn the Pater Noster.” Assunta fumbled around in her valise until she found a swatch of white linen. “For the wimple and cornette,” she said, passing the swatch to Hannah. “They will protect you from the rudeness of men who have nothing better to do than pester unaccompanied women.”
Hannah was so startled at the thought of pretending to be someone else, in particular a nun, that she needed a moment to collect herself. “But is it not a crime to disguise oneself as a nun?”
“What do you care? All you have to do is learn a few prayers and rules of comportment and no one will be the wiser.”
“I am with child, or have you forgotten? How can I pass myself off as a nun?”
“By making the robe very full and the veil and wimple very long.” She leaned over to whisper in Hannah’s ear. “You would not be the first nun to carry a child. They say the convents in Florence are little better than brothels. It is scandalous what those sisters get up to.”
Hannah said, “God would never forgive me.”
“And if you are caught travelling about Venice and the Veneto without permission? If you are discovered to have raised a Christian child as a Jew?”
“The idea of such a disguise is grotesque.”
“No, the sight of you swinging from a rope would be grotesque.” Assunta gave Hannah a shake. “You are a Jew regardless of whether you have a rosary and crucifix swishing at your waist. God knows what is in your heart. Is not being a Jew more than just wearing a…what do you call the men’s prayer shawl?”
“Tallit.“
“And those little black boxes containing the Scripture?”
“Phylacteries.”
Assunta sat down next to Hannah on her berth, which groaned under her weight. “Am I not right?”
“Outward manifestations demonstrate inner faith.” How pompous Hannah sounded to herself.
Assunta said, “It is to find your son. Can’t you pretend for his sake? God knows you are a Jew. You know you are a Jew. Other Jews know you are a Jew. What else matters?”
Hannah thought of her role in the world: Jewess, wife, mother. Take away her faith and her entire being would cease to be, like a clock from which a cog has been removed. But in refusing to accept Assunta’s advice wasn’t Hannah guilty of what she had accused Isaac of: stubbornness?
Hannah smoothed the gabardine over her knees. What harm would there be in at least having a nun’s habit in her bag? “Why are you being so generous to me?” It was a blunt question, one Assunta herself might have asked.
“Before your husband washed up on the shores of Malta years ago with his silkworm eggs and his clever ideas, our convent was so poor it seemed we would need to send our Sisters back to their families and shut our doors forever. Now, thanks to Isaac, we have a full workshop, with orders coming from Venice and Leghorn. The Grand Master of Malta orders his robes from us. We twist the silk thread Isaac weaves into tents for the ladies of the Sultan’s harem to picnic in. What I am doing for you is little enough compared with what your husband did for my convent.”
“But to masquerade as a nun?”
“Hannah, do you remember the story of the Venetian merchants who stole the body of Saint Mark from Alexandria in the year 828 and returned it to Venice? It was a furta sacra, a holy theft.”
“I would not be much of a Venetian if I did not.”
“They abducted his body from the very heart of the mausoleum and placed it aboard a cargo ship bound for Venice. To escape detection by Muslim customs authorities, they concealed Saint Mark’s body in a barrel of raw pork.”
Hannah shuddered. “Please stop.”
“The Muslim inspectors were so repulsed when they lifted the lid and saw the pork that they immediately replaced the lid and waved the merchants on their way.”
“But would God forgive me?”
“Is God such a simpleton as to be deceived by a black robe and a wimple?” Assunta said. “My point is, Hannah, sometimes we must do things against our nature to accomplish a higher purpose.”
The image of Matteo as she had last seen him came to Hannah: he was trotting through the market, his hand clasped in hers. “I will do as you suggest.”
“Good girl.” Assunta smiled, which transformed her broad face into one filled with intelligence and character.
“You are kind,” Hannah said, unfolding the fabric and shaking out the wrinkles. Hannah reached for the sewing articles in her valise: scissors, needle, thread and thimble. She took up the scissors and with Assunta’s help cut out two halves of a simple robe. Before she could change her mind, she picked up the needle, threaded it and began to baste the seams in place. How horrified Isaac—indeed, ev
eryone she knew—would be if they could see her now.
Hannah remained in her cabin day and night, stitching a robe from Assunta’s fabric. It was a simple matter to sew, not much different from any long robe. But the wimple? Hannah had no clear idea how to construct such a headdress. Assunta had little aptitude for sewing. However, demonstrating with her own wimple, she pointed out that it must be high in the front like the prow of a ship and longish in the back to cover the neck.
Hannah had come to admire Assunta, the woman she now shared this cabin with, but how alone she still felt. The swell of the waves and the rocking of the boat, the slamming of her body from one side of her berth to the other, made her nauseous. Isaac would have held her hand, encouraged her to go on deck and stare at the horizon until her stomach grew accustomed to the violent sea, but he was not here. She must fend for herself.
“It is not just a simple matter of sewing a habit, though, Hannah. You must learn to act like a nun,” said Assunta a few days later.
“I know. Latin prayers, and standing and bowing, and singing, and prostrating myself before God. There are no doubt a thousand tiny, daily acts of piety that are part of a nun’s life. So many opportunities for mistakes. A mispronounced word, a false gesture or remark and I will be exposed as a fraud.”
“Let us have a lesson. Put down that needle.”
As Hannah pushed her half-sewn habit to the back of the berth, the ship heaved so forcefully she was nearly knocked to the floor. To give herself courage in rough weather, Hannah reminded herself that each swell carried her closer to Matteo.
“I will provoke you as you will be provoked,” said Assunta. She thought a moment then said, “You are in the Rialto market to buy a snapper. The fishwife demands an outrageous price. You offer her half of what she asks. She says, ‘You bargain worse than a dirty Jew.’ Your response?” Assunta waited. When Hannah said nothing, Assunta jabbed her arm.
“You are an ignorant piece of human waste,” Hannah began. “As for your fish, I have seen livelier specimens floating belly up in the canal, poisoned by the pig tanners’ filth. You are—”
“Do not play the fool.”
Hannah laughed. “I would say, ‘My convent is a poor one, dear lady. I can afford three scudi and no more.’ Then I would pause a moment, and if she did not accept, I would turn on my heel and walk away, my eyes meekly fixed on the ground.”
“Suppose our fishwife says to you, ‘Take pity, Sister. I have five children to feed and a husband who is bent and crippled and unable to work.’ ”
Hannah said, “I would tell her, ‘God bless you and your children. We at the convent work for God’s wages and He is a poor paymaster.’ ”
“Well put, Hannah. I am proud of you.”
Hannah bowed her head, holding her palms together under her chin as though in prayer. “Thank you, Sister.”
“What shall you call yourself?”
“I am Sister Benedicta of the Holy Order of—”
“Say you are from Malta. Few people have been there.”
“Saint Ursula of Valletta.” This was Assunta’s convent.
“A wise choice. Did you know Saint Ursula’s breasts were torn off because she refused to marry the chieftain of a band of Huns?”
“A woman after my own heart.”
“Next lesson. Take up my Book of Hours.”
Hannah accepted the prayer book reluctantly, as if the gold tooling on the worn leather cover might scorch her hand.
“Hold it more naturally.” Assunta shoved Hannah’s hand across her belly as though closing a troublesome gate. “Like that. And now the rosary. Let me fix it around your waist.” She tied it fast, with a square knot any sailor on the Fortuna would have been proud of.
There was a knock at their cabin door. Hannah opened the door, ready to say “Shalom Aleichem,” but caught herself in time. A cabin boy was standing there. In his hands was a plate of something pale, iridescent with fat, glistening with blood. “For you, Sister, for your blessing on me and the ship and our safe voyage.”
“Sausage!” Assunta said. “What a timely gift. Thank you, my son. Sister Benedicta, give this boy our blessing.”
Hannah made the sign of the cross then kissed her thumb as she had seen Assunta do countless times, but she did not take the plate from the boy, waiting, instead, for Assunta to step forward. Vileness in the form of a sausage—a sausage fashioned of the most odious parts of the swine: eyeballs, lips, intestines, testicles, anus. A feeling of nausea swept over her. She clasped the post of her berth for support.
The boy thrust the plate at Hannah, who had no choice but to accept the meat. She held it as far as possible from her body. Assunta remained seated. Hannah said, “May the Holy Virgin—” she expected her tongue to fall from her head, but it did not “—bless you, and all whom you hold dear. Thank you for this gift.” She closed the cabin door with a shove of her hip and placed the plate behind the door.
“You are making splendid progress,” said Assunta. She retrieved the sausage and was soon fussing with the small charcoal brazier. Within moments the small cabin filled with the stink of pork. “While I am cooking, you practise your prayers.”
Hannah opened the Book of Hours. She could not read a word, and suspected that neither could Assunta, but she bowed her head, lowered her eyes and moved her lips. She knew no Latin; however, she was acquainted with Osmanlica, the language of the Ottomans, so she mumbled a few words, pretending to pray.
“Very convincing, Hannah. I am proud of you. You will fool all but the most devout. What are you reciting so solemnly?”
“A shopping list—eggs, lentils, butter, milk, bread and radishes.”
Assunta laughed as she flipped the sausage on the brazier, let it cook for several minutes and then forked a fat piece onto a plate. “You have one more test.”
“I cannot,” Hannah said, putting the Book of Hours on the table.
Assunta sliced off a morsel from the great lump. “Start with this.” She speared the piece and held it out to Hannah. “Eat.”
“This is not necessary.”
“Do not make a drama out of a simple act.”
Hannah pressed her lips closed, rather like Matteo when she would try to feed him salted cod.
“And you think your Isaac is stubborn?”
Hannah took the pork between her fingers. She stood at the porthole. With no effort at all she could open her fingers and the hateful piece would fall into the sea.
“Are all Jews as mulish as you?”
“I cannot do it.”
“You mean you will not do it.” Assunta took the meat from Hannah and held it to her lips, making the kind of jiggling gesture mothers use to encourage a child to eat. Hannah shuddered at the smell. She would gag if Assunta did not remove the meat. She closed her eyes.
“Then I shall have my Book of Hours and rosary back. Oh, and that habit you are so busily sewing, please.”
Assunta ate the morsel with great satisfaction, rolling her eyes and patting her stomach. Once she had swallowed, she said, “I wash my hands of you.”
Hannah cut off a piece. It stuck to her fingers. Greasy, of course, with the stench of pigpens and snouts and grunting. Pigs—eaters of garbage, creators of filth.
“Anyone would think you are holding excrement between your fingers.”
The meat hovered close to Hannah’s mouth. Assunta sighed. “All this work for naught.” She untied the rosary from Hannah’s waist, then retrieved the Book of Hours from the table and put it back in her valise. “Now my habit, if you please.”
“Wait.” Hannah, still holding the meat, bent her elbow, which now felt as stiff as an iron rod. Her hand met her lips and she popped the sausage in. The morsel seemed much larger on her tongue than it had in her hand. When she bit into it, it stuck to the roof of her mouth. She manoeuvred the morsel around, chewing as fast as she could.
“Swallow and be done with it.”
Hannah began to gag. Assunta slapped her on the back
and offered a mug of water. “Now another piece.”
And so it went until Hannah had choked down three bites. Her belly swirled in protest. If, may God not be listening, she was ever forced to eat human flesh, it would taste very much like this fat-glistening, shimmering sausage.
CHAPTER 6
Villa di Padovani,
San Lorenzo, the Veneto
FROM THE GARDEN came the warbling of skylarks. Cesca’s dozen snares, made of horsehair and weighted down with pebbles, awaited them under the overgrown rose bushes. Such tasty little birds when well cooked, but yes, she must admit, a little too bony. She cracked two brown eggs into a chipped blue bowl to prepare an omelette for Matteo, which she would serve him when he finished his lessons with Foscari. Every day, upstairs in his study with the shutters closed, Foscari interrogated Matteo about every aspect of his life with Hannah and Isaac so that the boy could answer any questions the judge might ask him. Chastened by his humiliation in court, Foscari was leaving nothing to chance. But from Matteo’s sullen replies and Foscari’s badgering tone, the sessions were not going well.
Cesca had also tried. Matteo, instead of being cooperative, refused to give more than a few curt words in reply to her questions. For example, the other day when she asked him whether the blanket belonged to him, he pursed his lips and refused to speak. He would relent in time, Cesca was sure. But it was taking far too long.
There was a speck of blood in one of the yolks, a bad portent. Was Hannah not coming in spite of Cesca’s letter? It had been two months and still no sign of her cloud of dark, curly hair and flat bosom.
Cesca glanced out the window toward the canal. A boat drew up to the dock; a man, accompanied by an enormous dog, disembarked. He handed the boatman some coins, hesitated for a moment, studying the villa, then began to walk up the lawn toward her.
The man paused again, as though he had spied her through the window. Was he entranced by her? Most men were. But his eyes jumped from roof to portico to loggia. It was the villa, not her neat waist and blond hair, that mesmerized him. As he drew closer with his extravagant white beard and moustache, the brindle mastiff lumbering behind him, Cesca realized who he was.