Hadassah

by Tommy Tenney

  They were all staring her way.

  My heart sank and broke at the same moment. Carylina was a fine girl, a worthy candidate, I realized. Somehow, I felt more disappointed for Mordecai and Jesse than for myself. All those certainties about G-d and His destiny, His divine interventions. We would all muddle through without it, made sadder yet wiser by our disillusion. Maybe even discover a new chastened and reasonable estimation of G-d in the process.

  Then, in a sort of luminous slow-motion cadence, as though the whole scene were taking place inside a jar of honey, I saw Memucan’s hand go out to Carylina’s shoulder, grasp it, then, in the slowness of great moments, move her aside.

  He was walking toward me. Or was another girl standing behind me? I glanced around and saw no other nearby.

  Within three steps of me, Memucan knelt. Before I could utter a word of apology, or even surprise, he was bowing his head before me. I felt like I was turned to stone, without and within.

  He looked up with an inscrutable expression on his tanned and confident face. “My lady, Star of Susa, your presence is desired within the court of His Majesty King Xerxes of Persia. Would you honor me with your hand?”

  The world came to a halt. The wind ceased to blow. The clouds in the sky stopped floating past. The mouths of the women behind him remained in gaped expressions. Even my racing thoughts had come gracefully to rest like an autumn leaf gliding to the surface of the water. They delicately settled upon a single thought, which emblazoned itself across my brain and mesmerized my faculties. He remembers my name!

  He wants to see me. He wants me to come. . . . And then my emotions swung between He wants me! and He is angry. . . .

  A noise knocked on the door of my consciousness. It was a familiar sound—one I had heard at a happier time. A noise like water. A sign of goodwill, of celebration.

  I broke back into the waking world and found that the noise was applause. It occurred to me, ever so briefly, that I might well be a queen.

  My knees gave way, and I would have fallen except for Memucan’s hand under my arm. I willed myself to breathe. I tried to apply the news to my brain, to make it stick like an artisan pressing gold leaf onto stone. The staggering nature of it had rendered my intellect immune to rational thought.

  I tumbled into a lucid moment and found that I had grabbed Memucan’s hand. “Is everything all right?” I managed to ask.

  Memucan flashed the same kind of smile I had seen Rachel give Jesse when he was a little boy in our house, asking silly questions. “The only possible harm is what could befall me if I answered your question, my lady,” he answered. “His Majesty will make his intention perfectly clear when we arrive. Please come with me, yet do not be troubled.”

  Memucan lifted my hand and led me like I was a blind person. I kept stealing glances his way, wondering one moment if what he had hinted could possibly be true.

  Finally Memucan whispered to me, “Madam, please. Did I not kneel before you? I can say no more, but surely you know you have cause for joy.”

  Cause for joy.

  Some part of me knew these were the best possible words I could have hoped to hear. Yet the fact they presented to me lingered somewhere just beyond my understanding, a stranger at the door. Could I fully accept their truth?

  In a far grander version of my procession five days before, I walked shakily past the gathered well-wishers. The golden litter before me had room for four and was carried by half a dozen of the largest men I had ever seen, Nubians, from the blackness of their skin, with more gold on their limbs than any slave I had ever laid eyes on. Drummers and escorts dressed in Palace finery stood to one side.

  I was not ready—in my despondency, I had failed to stay prepared for this possible outcome. Harboring great misgivings about my appearance, I climbed into the litter.

  Then something unexpected happened. A thick brocade curtain was drawn around the litter’s edge, and I found myself enclosed inside a sort of improvised tent, open only to the sky for light. The flap opened, and I recognized two of my handmaidens stepping eagerly inside. Their arms were filled with rich embroidered clothing.

  “We’ve come to dress you, your Highness,” said Sakyl.

  I nearly fainted with relief. Within a few minutes their skillful hands had not only folded my body into the most stunning set of robes I had ever seen but adorned my face with all my favorite cosmetics. I could have kissed their feet in sheer gratitude.

  Finally they both leaned back with beaming glances, smiled their approval and swiftly left. Just as quickly, the curtain was pulled back and the same crowd, still waiting, cheered my transformation. I sat down; the seat rose and began to move forward.

  A group of spectators came into view, trailing stragglers back toward the royal chambers. Hundreds and hundreds of people drifted our way as though blown by some errant wind. I could see the faraway gate into the inner courtyard standing open and a faint glimpse of the gate beyond, open as well.

  This time as we broke into the sunshine, I was not only shaded from its glare by a canopy but cooled by the swaying of palm branches. And now rather than the applause of a partisan crowd, I was greeted with lowered eyes and heads bowing in some sort of deference. The sight of it shocked me—I had been a concubine wondering and worrying about my future only moments before. What had I done to merit such honor?

  We crossed the outer courtyard and turned for the Inner Court. As we turned, I saw through the open door another magnificent hall. Its acres of shadowed heights were cleaved in half by pillars of sunlight streaming down from windows I could hardly see. Down lower, a carpet of scarlet lay stretched onto the terrace, its edges lined with threads of gold that glittered in the sun. And on either side stood soldiers, members of the Immortals, a group of the King’s personal bodyguards, in full gold-threaded regalia with their scabbards held high and their faces frozen in expressions of grim determination. The tops of their helmet plumes and the blades of their lances traced a perfect row leading inward, in toward the source of all this splendor.

  We came to the end of the red carpet, and the litter, along with the whole drum-beating procession, stopped at once. The litter began to lower, and Memucan fixed me with a knowing look.

  “His Majesty awaits you, your Highness.”

  What had he called me?

  But there was no time for questions. The litter had reached the ground, and it was now the moment for me to step out. I felt the blood rush from my head as I took my first step, and just at the sides of my vision, I realized that I was being watched more intensely, and by a greater number of people, than I had ever been in my whole life. The crowd had knitted together into a solid mass, a human wall lining either side of my path. It was almost as if every pair of eyes was a tiny pinprick fixed somewhere upon my person. I fleetingly wished for the anonymity of Mordecai’s home, its isolation and peace.

  I looked ahead and peered into the shadow of the Inner Court. Some great pomp and ceremony loomed ahead, I could tell, but I could not make it out precisely. Then I passed under the portal and into the great room. And I saw.

  36

  The grand room and its hundreds of hushed occupants seemed to swirl around a central figure. There, at the very core of my vision, stood Xerxes upon a dais much like the one I had seen at the banquet. He was watching me intently, and his smile seemed only for me. Even much of the entourage behind him was the same as the previous event—the Seven Princes, the man who had rushed out at the banquet’s end, and then someone I did not recognize. An older woman scowling in my direction. The mother of the King, I instantly presumed.

  I stepped up my pace along the narrowing path through hundreds of new spectators. With every successive step I took, Xerxes stepped another toward me, so that by the time I had covered half the distance to the platform, he was standing at its base with his hand held out.

  He looked magnificent. A gold breastplate covered his torso and was etched with layer upon layer of fine engravings. A silk cape flowed behind him.
Again—you will not be surprised—gold shone from his every extremity.

  And then I was there, within just two arms’ length of him. Everything else fell away—the presence of the thousands around us, the splendor of our surroundings, the grandness of the occasion. All that existed were his eyes, which bore into mine with a fire that seemed to warm every inch of my body. Despite my wish to maintain a regal expression, I could not help but shyly smile again at the sight of him.

  I tried to kneel, but he took my hand and raised me up at once. He spoke in a low, intimate voice, as though all the others did not exist.

  “Welcome, Star of Susa.”

  I could not hold back my smile. My delight seemed about to burst my heart. “My greetings to you, your Majesty King Xerxes.”

  Then my own joy seemed to superimpose itself onto his face, for his lips widened into a smile that seemed almost unkingly, nearly too joyous for the formal atmosphere.

  He turned aside and held out his hand to the crowd. A stooped, white-bearded man stood, his back bent seemingly from the weight of an object he held in both hands. The old man—a priest of some sort, I presumed—strained to extend the object into Xerxes’ grip.

  I recognized what it was, as anyone would. But my mind refused to acknowledge its meaning, however unmistakable. Back and forth I vacillated between the import of this object and my mind’s more fearful scenarios. Now the evidence of my own eyes was overwhelming.

  Encrusted with more gems and diamonds than I had ever seen on something so compact, its circular shape was, of course, solid gold. It was actually hard to look at for a variety of reasons—first, because of all its gleam, even there in the shadows. Second, because of its breathtaking extravagance.

  And third, the most momentous—the implied meaning of a crown.

  Xerxes turned to me with the diadem held before him. He glanced down at its jeweled tips, then at me.

  “Star of Susa, I choose you to be my consort, my wife, my queen.”

  A deafening cheer filled the room, and both of our smiles stretched even wider.

  I felt a barrier give way within me—all the anxiety and pressure and grief of the last year drained away, while a flood of pure gratitude poured down from somewhere above me and filled my heart to bursting. I lowered my eyes and shut them against the tears already welling inside.

  It is over. It is over, and G-d has truly been with me, guiding my ways. He has blessed my efforts.

  “I call you Esther, ‘E-star,’ the beautiful Star, the Queen of Persia,” Xerxes continued, “mistress of all the land that lies between the Nile and the Indus and all who reside therein. Let all who live beneath my rule hold you dear in their hearts as their beloved sovereign. Let every Persian revere you as the embodiment of all that is lovely and tender. Star, I today name you Esther. Receive your crown.”

  Upon hearing my new name, I once again felt that a gift had just been delivered straight from G-d. Esther means star. He had thought this through, remembered my name and given me a most fitting new name. The simple thoughtfulness of it, from someone like Xerxes, suddenly made me want to weep.

  I knelt then and bent my head toward him. The crown was settled upon my head more heavily than I had dreamed. I thanked G-d for all the training I had received, suddenly aware that unless I wore it with unusual care and grace, it would surely fall with a mortifying thud. And then it occurred to me that the need for caution was symbolic as well as physical. The heaviest burden I would ever shoulder had just been laid upon me.

  But I stood, more carefully than I ever had before, and took his hand in mine. He suddenly held both hands high above us. I caught the edge of the crown, afraid it would slip, as he stepped forward to face the crowd and shouted, “Persians, your queen!”

  And with a loud rustle of fabric and shuffling of feet, the entire assembly fell into a vast communal kneel. Sound died away and left me beside him staring at a sea of varicolored backs, with only the echo of their motion to fill our ears.

  Xerxes waved them up again with a magnanimous sweep of his hand, and the crowd began to stand again.

  “I declare a national holiday! Let there be joy and feasting throughout the kingdom—for I, your king, declare it!” The crowd cheered.

  I turned to face Xerxes. Once again, he and I were the only persons in the room. The illusion was just as quickly dispelled, for all at once he held up both of his magnificent arms and shouted, “Let the celebration begin!” Another cheer erupted, and then a wondrous series of seemingly well-planned movements swept into action around me. The crowd parted as if on cue around a column of servants carrying tables of steaming food. Another line moved quickly into their midst with great golden vats of wine. Yet a third danced in, playing lyres and harps and flutes, filling the room with melodies and songs that sent a thrill quivering through my core.

  In less than a few moments of furious motion, the solemn assembly had been transformed into a lively banquet hall.

  And now I was walking up the steps where once I had stood at the bottom and quaked, holding the hand of—was it true?—my husband. The phrase whirled through my whole being with its intensity and joy.

  We reached the top of the steps, and he looked at me for a long moment, leaned over and kissed me for the second time. His lips felt strong and smooth. Again the hall rang out with thousands of hurrahs. He turned toward my left ear and whispered, “I am sorry for such a surprise, my dear. In order to protect your life, I had to keep my decision secret. There are some at court for whom your selection is not welcome news. But come, my dear. Let us quit this place and speak no more of such things. There will be banquets and briefings aplenty for the next few days.”

  And so, while the celebrants ate and drank and danced, Xerxes and I and the assembled courtiers slipped away through a back entrance. The largest litter I had yet seen carried us across the courtyards and through the royal gates into the King’s chambers.

  And yes, even now I do not tire of telling you about the size and beauty of all that surrounded us, or the splendor of the Palace, or the grandiosity of the moment. At the risk of being overbearing, can I just tell you that everywhere I looked, my eye was assaulted with the magnitude of it all, that once again my capacity for awe was pummeled at every turn by the sheer weight of extravagance around me?

  Anyway, none of it truly mattered to me. More than ever before, the world consisted of me and the King. The closer we came to his bedchamber, the smaller the world became—until it had shrunk down to little more than the space between our lips. The moment our litter nudged the landing of the Palace entrance, the King was on his feet. He turned to me and swept me up into his arms. Xerxes nearly sprinted through the short hallway into his bedchamber, calling good-humored condemnations of death along the way to any functionary who dared intrude.

  I was still held closely in his arms when we entered the room. He used his back to push the giant door shut. Then, as soon as the great clang of its closing stopped echoing, he looked at me with deep longing and, yes, love. His next kiss was both intimate and powerful. I was shaken to the core of my being. Next, he laid me on the bed, and I can tell you no more.

  As a candidate yourself, if you do not know the rudiments of physical love, I will not spoil your surprise—or your shock, as the case may be. Your preparations will inform you on that matter easily and thoroughly enough. But more than likely, you already know more than I did—as today’s generation is so much more aware than mine.

  Suffice it to say that our mutual hunger raged unchecked—at no time did I even think of demurring or becoming submissive, for my desire for him was genuine. I had fallen in love with him. I had seen past his outer facade at some hour of that previous night’s unconsummated love, and now I had reached his heart. I knew the cause for my previous despondency. It wasn’t about winning a contest. I simply loved the King.

  Given the ceremony that had just ended and his bold and public declaration of love for me, the intimacy was far more than simply physical.
/>   In fact, what followed that time of glorious passion was not more lovemaking but another long night of soul-baring conversation. To my amazement, Xerxes even sought my naïve advice on kingdom affairs during those precious moments, and he remarked on my insight when my suggestions found his favor.

  It was then that I began to feel like a queen—the wife of a King.

  37

  I have drawn back the curtain on this very private moment because I want to explain something about intimacy. I have heard this word used as a substitute for sexual congress, and I regret that the usage has become so common. It is an injustice to reduce such a profound and important concept down to merely a prudish euphemism.

  Intimacy, while definitely something I felt during and after the consummation of our union, was far more than just the closeness created by the joining of our bodies.

  Intimacy was the joy we felt in each other’s company—joy we could have felt walking together or having a deep conversation—as well as the trust, the mutual understanding, the romantic feelings of tenderness, the visual attraction, the longing to be cherished. It was all these things and more. That, too, is intimacy.

  You will never spark this complete array of feelings in a king or any other man unless you do much more than simply tickle his eye, teasingly drop your pretty eyelashes, or even please him in bed.

  First, you must be someone who knows who she is and how she fits into the world, who needs no one but G-d to make her a whole person. Neediness can be highly seductive, but only for a very short incendiary period, and usually only with a man who is flawed in his own right. After that first blush, a healthy man will want to shrug you off as quickly as he can. What attracts him the most, and the longest, is a woman who does not need him to be complete yet chooses out of her wholeness and completeness to give herself utterly to him. This I learned from the instructions of the Chamberlain, Hegai, and, yes, from the writings of Solomon.

  Secondly, you must approach him with a sincere and delicate mixture of qualities. As I have already described, I had inwardly cultivated a true passion for Xerxes before that very first night together. This ember smoldered quite well after I first met him. But that passion was not based on what I could gain from him, his position or his prestige. I had caught a glimpse of him not long before coming to the Palace and knew him to be a handsome and charismatic man. Wouldn’t those qualities be winsome in even a commoner? I think so.