by Tommy Tenney
And besides the satisfaction of obeying my race’s religious laws, I enjoyed another unexpected benefit: While every other girl swiftly gained a visible fat layer around her hips and thighs, I remained slender. None of the other girls could explain how I did it—I of course said nothing about the dietary laws or their source, although I gave plenty of general advice about staying away from the rich and fatty foods.
I hope it does not sound like I held these young women in contempt. Far from it. In fact, though I was not the oldest of the girls, many of them began to seek my company for counsel. Perhaps they sensed the regard Hegai already had expressed for me. Or maybe they discerned that something in my upbringing had imbued me with a certain reserve upon gaining the Palace, rather than the hedonistic abandon that the others had embraced.
Eventually, I did make some friends among the other girls. But the emotional rigors of the competition ahead seemed to limit our closeness. The sense of loneliness never really went away, a feeling I had been familiar with my whole life.
And Jesse—I simply would not let my mind stray his direction too long. My thoughts and images of him had acquired the same sense of palpable horror as those of my family’s murder. Something else I struggled to forget.
In fact, during those early days the only thing that would occasionally jolt me from my isolation would be the fleeting sight of that twisted cross trotting by on the side of a warhorse in the distance or briefly seen on the tunic of some figure in a crowd. I never failed to shudder and weaken at the briefest glimpse. For a time I harbored the mistaken conclusion that those two lines, crossed like the first letter of Xerxes’ name and then twisted to the right at the ends, was the King’s royal emblem. Thank G-d I soon learned better and the origin of the symbol soon faded into mystery—for I never could have given myself, no matter the consequences, to a man who bore that hateful sign as his own.
24
Upon returning to my room that very first night after the emotional reunion with Mordecai, I began to feel an actual physical ache in my chest, the pain of a heart breaking. One fact made itself immediately clear to me—that the heart in question was not my own. I searched my feelings to try and place the strange emotion. No, the heart I could feel breaking was not Mordecai’s, either.
Then I heard the voice of old Jacob again as he spoke in our home, as clearly as if he had stood there with me in the room.
“I felt like a child so overcome with joy at His return that all I could do was leap as high into His presence as I could.”
And then I realized what I was feeling. It was the same presence Mordecai and I had both experienced so vividly upon Jacob’s departure.
The presence of G-d himself.
The grief of a great Father’s heart, as deep and warm as that of ten thousand earthly fathers and more, all at once poured itself into mine. And a question poured in along with it. It came not as a voice but an unspoken lament. . . .
Why could you not weep for my presence, and rejoice at finding it, the way you weep for Mordecai’s? Like a child rejoining its parent?
The power of this question struck me so forcefully that I felt my knees buckle under me. My eyes, which had dried only a few minutes before since my parting with Mordecai, started to pour tears uncontrollably. Long buried, like my own tears for my parents, my tears for G-d shredded from me like old skin. I could hardly catch my breath; the grief was so fresh that it actually ripped the air from my lungs. I bent over my bed and tried to mask the sobs, not wishing to be mistaken for some homesick girl.
What was this sudden strange attraction for G-d, the same G-d I had avoided, even rejected? Why did I now feel a pull that had eluded me for so long?
Stop. Stop, I pleaded. The broken heart felt as if it was beating wildly inside my own chest. I could feel its power, its agelessness. Yet because it was divine, its sorrow was so much deeper—it coursed through my body like the throb of a bowstring across a violin.
But it was more than emotion—it was a person. The sensation of His nearness and His love for me brought back, for the first time in years, the tangible feel of my mother’s love. Sensations returned full force. The proximity of her cheek. The warmth and softness of her breast against my face. The distinctive smell of her. The velvet cooing of her voice.
I wept for them both, my mother and my Creator. So intense was the grief that it left my chest feeling hollowed into some inner crater—sapping my last ounce of strength yet leaving me to weep on.
But if you’re real, I found myself crying silently to Him, then why? Why did you let these bad things happen to me? Why all the death and loss?
This time the answer came to me.
When those horrible things took place, my heart broke with you. I wept for you as strongly as you weep now.
In the depths of my being, I gradually came to the realization that I had forgiven Him. I understood. The breach of those last few years was gone. But not my tears—I now wept because I knew for certain I had caused the sadness I had felt. My rejection and resentment had broken G-d’s heart as badly as all the tragedies that had ever scarred my life. I resolved there and then to try and atone for the pain I had caused Him with every minute left to me on earth. I was a Jew in spirit now, not just by lineage.
And from that fateful morning on, I found that I could feel His presence more in that pagan, foreign environment than I ever had in the familiar confines of Mordecai’s home. It truly seemed He was flanking my steps, a silent yet wise companion, His Spirit whispering into my innermost being words of instruction and exhortation.
G-d spoke to me about my challenges ahead. The first words of wisdom that came to me had to do with my upcoming night with the King.
It is not about you. It is about the King. Focus on him.
And I resolved, in the months ahead, to do just that.
It must have been a jarring sight for those accustomed to crossing the Palace grounds every day: a crowd of nearly one hundred beautiful young women moving across the terrace, chattering and calling to one another like an oversize flock of geese.
Hegai wore a grim expression and seemed not to notice the clamor behind him as he led us toward a cluster of Palace outbuildings. The loud procession traced its path beneath the shadows of the Inner Court, circled its massive bulk, then left it behind and after nearly half a mile of seemingly aimless wandering, came to a broad, low-slung building ringed by soldiers. We stopped before a pair of solid-brass doors crossed by half a dozen bars and locks. Two soldiers at sentry stepped forward and demanded Hegai’s orders, which he promptly held out for their perusal. One of them read the tablet carefully, then nodded approval to his companion. The men turned back and spent several minutes sliding aside the bars and twisting the locks. Then they leaned into the doors and slowly pushed them open.
At once, the group fell silent.
The open doorway revealed a vast hall shrouded in near darkness—its shadow seeming to yawn heavenward and engulf us with the suddenness of a storm cloud passing over the sun. One guard lit a torch and gave it to Hegai, who carried it into the gloom. And then, like a spark thrown into a gas pit, the room filled with light.
It took us only a second to see the reason. As far as the torch’s glow could reach blazed a glory of reflected gold. I almost put my hands over my eyes—so brightly gleamed the room before me. I squinted, allowed my eyes to focus and still could not find a single object on which to comfortably settle my gaze. The radiance was too stunning to absorb.
The nearest objects to present themselves clearly were glittering tiaras in a row. Behind them stretched a near-forest of hanging strands of necklaces, jewels and trinkets. A commotion immediately began when three girls converged upon the display, clawing at the baubles and one another in a cacophony of shrieks and insults.
“Stop!” Hegai yelled at the top of his lungs—the first time I had ever heard him raise his voice. “This is one of the kingdom’s most important rooms, and you will treat it as such!”
Ch
astened, the three girls turned around with their arms slack at their sides.
“This is the bounty room,” Hegai continued, his tone stern, “where the Crown stores the plunder of three dozen countries until it is needed for royal use. What you see before you includes the fortune of Babylon, gold from the pharaohs, the wealth of Phoenicia and countries you’ve never even heard of. Today, they all lay at your disposal. What you choose to wear, subject only to the dictates of good taste and beauty, will be yours for the keeping. All you can wear out of this chamber is yours.”
Then the previous roar of female delight erupted again, and I watched the group break up into countless shrieking, grabbing figures. Several more torches were brought in to illuminate the room’s endless reaches as the girls burrowed their way through the rows of piled-up gold jewelry, their voices echoing shrilly across the metal stacks.
I was the last girl to reach the rows. Not only did the girls’ behavior disgust me, but I felt at a loss the moment my gaze fell upon the stolen riches of so many conquered nations—no doubt including my own. I walked through the aisles and let my eyes drift across the staggering array of wealth; unlike the others, I felt empty and aimless. From the sounds of gaiety around me, the candidates were finding plenty of trinkets and jewelry, but I saw only gaudy relics. How in the world did they know what to choose? How did they have the least idea what would appeal to Xerxes?
I heard steps behind me and turned to Hegai, who was standing close with a concerned look. “Is everything all right, Star?” he asked.
“Oh certainly, Hegai. I’m just a little overwhelmed, is all.”
“I’m watching you, and awe is not what I see in your eyes. Please. Tell me. You haven’t selected a single thing. If you do not hurry, all the best pieces will be gone. Despite the amount of spoils here, only a finite number are actually wearable by a young woman.”
I took a deep breath and decided to tell him the truth. “Hegai, my problem is this—I can pick out a hundred objects that might have some appeal to me, but what does the King like? What does he prefer? I won’t feel capable of truly pleasing him on that night until I know more about him.”
Hegai did not answer. He simply stood there unmoving, the faintest hint of a smile upon his lips, his head shaking slightly. I was becoming concerned, thinking I had violated some unknown protocol. Why does he not reply, I asked myself frantically. Finally I spoke up.
“Master Hegai, did I offend you in some way?”
At my words he shook his head more vigorously and began to laugh. “No, no, Star. Far from it. You see, this is the first time a girl, or anyone in the harem for that matter, has ever asked me that simple question. Can you believe it?”
“No. It seems like the first question one would ask.”
“Indeed it does, my dear. However, this place does not lend itself to focusing on others, as I’m sure you have noticed by now.”
“Well, will you teach me? Or at least give me some idea? I really want to know.”
“Yes, Star. I will teach you. And I’ll do more than that. You’ve just solidified your position as my favored candidate. Prepare to move out of your present quarters. I am giving you the double suite and seven handmaidens to serve you, as befits the leading candidate. Your conduct will serve as an example for the other girls, and I will repeatedly exhort them to follow your lead. I’m sure you are equal to the task, are you not, Star?”
Now came my turn to stand and dumbly nod my head yes. I had anticipated being answered with a few sentences of instruction, nothing more. A rumor had circulated at lunch that one of the girls could be chosen as a favorite over time. I had not given it further thought.
But Hegai was not finished. He abruptly grasped my hand and pulled me back into the stacks of jewelry. “I know just the piece for you, dear Star.” For a moment, hearing his voice like that, I flashed back to Rachel sifting through her bag of disguises for my first stolen trip out of the house. My eyes misted over at the thought—until Hegai’s own rummaging brought me back to the present. He stood up with a triumphant look. “Aha!” He reached over and placed a small metal object on my palm.
“Don’t look at it until we leave,” he said with a conspirator’s smile.
And I did not. I kept my fingers tightly wrapped around the piece until the treasure hunt had ended and I had filed out of the building with the other girls. Nearly a dozen of my peers, seemingly every inch of their bare skin encircled by bracelets and hung with jewels, turned to me with perplexed looks. “Why, Star, you didn’t get anything!” one of them nearly yelled at me. “Are you stupid?”
I only smiled, and then, when we had left the building’s shadow, I allowed my clenched hand to open.
I gasped.
My hand had seemed to report a familiar shape, but I had not dared to believe it. Yet there it was—a Shield of David, six-pointed star, with a precious stone shining from its center.
It was a near replica of the one given me by my father—my one link to the past—which I had been compelled to tearfully leave behind on the morning of my departure for the Palace.
I could almost feel G-d standing just behind me, a smile playing upon His face as He rejoiced at the chance to allow me this unexpected gift. As I had so often recently, I wept silently, grateful for the rich sensation of His presence. Quietly, I averted my face from the others and whispered a humble prayer of thanks.
25
And so after just a few dozen nights in my original simple but elegant room, I moved into a luxury suite featuring its own sitting area with a goose-down divan and three deep chairs, a separate bedroom and its own expansive bathroom. Now I truly felt like I was living in a palace. The beauty treatments would now come to me. Instead of waiting in line by the pool, I would lie on my bed and wait for the masseuses to tiptoe in and begun their work.
No, I cannot claim to have been mistreated, that is the honest truth.
My life in the harem house rapidly settled into a very predictable although incredibly pampered routine. I would wake before dawn, change into loose clothing and walk out into the courtyard for some early morning stretching exercises. The excursions also served, of course, as my occasion to meet Mordecai on his way to work at the King’s Gate. I would hug him tightly through the gate, my affection for him having only grown deeper with time away from his home, and bring him up-to-date on harem gossip. This, of course, had far less value for him than his Palace gossip held for me. Mordecai seemed to know everything about the endless hierarchies and political game playing behind these marble walls.
In those days Xerxes, who had barely escaped with his life during earlier Grecian Wars with his father, was obsessed with his long-planned counterattack against Athens. More than anything, he wanted to go down in history as the man who conquered Greece. As a result, the Palace was filled with talk of war—was the King’s authority stable enough to risk years away in battle? Who would emerge as his key general? And who would serve as High Regent during his absence?
Echoes of these great rivalries reverberated only dimly at the harem; we heard of them and realized their importance yet heard very little of their latest developments. Because much of the time the information Mordecai possessed was even more current than Hegai’s, I gained an extra edge—yet another reason why other girls came to speak with me.
I gradually allowed myself to linger longer at the gate with Mordecai. I had little cause to spend much time at the breakfast table. Long after he had left for work I would remain outside and stretch, then find a secluded spot in which to pray. What had once been a ceremonial function—a series of loudly spoken pronouncements, a ritual Mordecai performed in private, one that I had once assumed to be a mumbled series of incantations—had now become an intimate means of communication with a divine presence who now felt closer to me than my own self. I found that I could not pray loudly or formally; I simply conversed with G-d.
Even as my time of private prayer ended each day and I took the morning’s myrrh bath, I asked G-d
to show me ways of following Him. After drying off, while the masseuse’s hands kneaded the fragrant myrrh oil into my back for an hour, I continued silently speaking to Him.
The first time I rose from my hour’s massage, my body redolent with myrrh—and realized I would be receiving a similar treatment that afternoon and every afternoon after that for the next six months—I felt like the historic Queen of Sheba Mordecai had taught me about. I could not help but take pleasure in the experience, but ever before me was the destination—one night with the King.
And Hegai, for his part, stayed true to his pledge—he began to periodically, tidbit by tidbit, educate me regarding the King’s preferences. Sometimes it would be a hurriedly whispered phrase as he rushed past me at poolside: “He likes women lean; stay true to your diet!” or “When it comes to clothing, simplicity is better; that is for certain.” Then, twice in the first six weeks, he appeared at my door and spent several hours discussing the King’s personality. It seemed like almost a welcome outlet for him—a place to express his opinions on countless royal subjects with little fear of reprisal.
Xerxes, by Hegai’s account, was surprisingly insecure for being the ruler of all the civilized world. As a result, he could be given to wild whims and erratic behavior depending on who was influencing him at the moment. Paranoid about being assassinated, he was constantly on the watch for signs of loyalty or treachery. Either one could bring wildly varying reactions.
As for matters of the bedroom, Hegai knew far less, yet more than anyone else. Xerxes was an adventurous lover, I was told—assuming he truly fancied the girl. He had spent his youth with captured beauties from Alexandria, Damascus and Cush and had found that a woman in fear for her life made for a vivacious and compliant partner. This knowledge tended to make him act gruff and intimidating.
“The governing paradox of sexual love,” Hegai told me, “is that the quickest way to ruin your own pleasure is making it your first priority. Center your attentions on your partner’s bliss, and your own will find expression along with it.”