Hadassah

by Tommy Tenney

  For the first part of the meal I sat and listened, striving to appear calm, trying to eat, attempting to slow the pounding of my heart as Haman, the source of all my worst nightmares, sat within one cubit of me. Close enough to smell sour wine upon his breath. To count his pulse in the vein of his neck and the pores bridging the tip of his nose. I watched the moist wrinkles of his lips as they opened and closed and twisted a hundred ways. All the while, the man never stopped talking.

  It’s strange, I thought to myself. He looks like a human being. A loathsome specimen, to be sure, but a cunning re-creation of humanity nevertheless. I closed my eyes and pictured something closer to the truth: a long, stooped creature with a scimitar rising from one fist, its reptilian maw barely visible beneath the overhanging cowl of a loose black robe.

  To regain control of my imagination, I willfully pictured another truth that caused me to wince outwardly, although neither man noticed. My mother’s death. I forced myself to remember the beloved mouth that had kissed me goodnight lifelessly kissing dust in some corner of the floor.

  I looked across the table at her executioner, and I resolved that his evil edict must be thwarted, even if it cost me my life.

  47

  I turned my gaze upon Xerxes—nothing else, no one else at all. I had already taught myself to delight in his presence. Now that discipline had met its greatest test.

  The murderer prattled on with Xerxes and virtually ignored me, as though I were beneath his newfound prestige—despite my being the source of his invitation. He drove the conversation upon every subject in which his status had given him exclusive knowledge—as though Xerxes needed reminding of how intimate they had now become.

  Growing ever more intoxicated on the wine and his precedent-setting status as sole dinner guest of the King and Queen, Haman grew louder and more repulsive with every passing moment. Xerxes was far more alert, though. Knowing that something important was afoot with me, that I would never have risked death to invite Haman without some dire provocation, he kept his gaze half fixed on his obnoxious guest and half on me. I could see his thoughts reeling, his quizzical stare trying to grasp the meaning of this odd trio and failing to understand.

  At last, when Haman had finally lapsed into a sort of waking stupor in his seat, the King turned to me and repeated privately what he had proclaimed so publicly in the throne room. “So, what is your petition, my Queen? It will indeed be granted to you, even if it is half the kingdom.”

  I took a deep breath. “My petition and my request is . . .” And I knew in an instant. The time was not right; Haman had made himself the focus of this meal, ruining the planned moment in the process. So I continued—“ . . . if I have found favor with the King, and if it pleases you to grant my petition and grant what you request, would you and Haman come to a second banquet that I will prepare for you? Tomorrow I will do as you ask and tell you what I seek.”

  He nodded slowly, boring into me with his eyes. I realized then that if my sudden reticence had produced an unintended benefit, it surely was to pique the King’s interest. My delays had intrigued him even more than he was already. As so often happens between men and women, he sensed that something major was in the works yet lacked the acumen to discern just what it was. And I, remembering the immense nature of my request, had grasped intuitively that he was not yet ready to hear it, that this night was not the one on which my purpose should be revealed.

  It was still early evening when the King and Haman left my banquet to return to their various duties. Haman had spurned the relatively spartan yet prestigiously situated quarters that Memucan had occupied, instead taking over a recently built villa not far from the King’s Gate. On his way out of the Palace grounds, he spied a lone figure in the shadows.

  It was Mordecai, still clad in sackcloth and ashes, sitting numbly in the portico after many days and nights of fasting and prayer. (In fact, had I known how badly he had neglected his health and pushed himself to extremes during these times, I would have forcibly summoned him to the Palace and personally fed him meats and wine.)

  I am not even sure Mordecai saw Haman pass, so deep was his combination of fatigue, despondency and fervent prayer. Of course, even had he been in the heartiest of health and good spirits, Mordecai still would not have risen to bow for Haman.

  So when the man passed, still basking in the glow of his ascendancy, of his favor with the King and Queen, of his overall high station in life, Haman’s entire mood crashed to earth when he saw the lone Jew oblivious to his glory. He glanced aside from his litter, gritted his teeth and swore loudly. Mordecai did not even stir at the sound. Not only did he fail to honor Haman, but he did not even seem to notice his presence.

  The Amalekite spat angrily and waved his carriers onward. To exact his revenge within sight of the Gate guards without the King’s authorization would have invited disaster. This could wait—although not for long. He would indulge his rage and his upcoming revenge once he arrived home. And he did just that a few minutes later, storming into his living quarters and loudly ordering everyone into his presence: his wife, his ten sons and a few trusted lieutenants who had stayed around to celebrate his ascendancy and hear the reports of this most unusual meal with the royals.

  “What a night!” he exclaimed, waving his arms wildly as he spoke. “This was probably the pinnacle of my existence—the summit of any man’s aspirations! Picture this: me, Xerxes and the Queen dining alone on this Palace veranda with the whole citadel and capital city spread out below us. Discussing affairs of state—me regaling the King with all this nonsense from the top of my head about how he can replenish his treasury and vanquish the Greeks and generally become the most exalted ruler in human history. Blah-blah-blah. And the Queen just sitting there, soaking up my every word. I tell you, the woman dotes on the very ground I walk on. Oh! And she invited me back for another banquet tomorrow night! Certainly you can detect a pattern here, my entrance to an even greater position with the King and Queen, also! Can you believe my good fortune?”

  He paused, and his head seemed to sway, whether from drunkenness or an inability to further describe the grandeur of it all. “And it occurred to me”—and at that he turned to the warriors beside him—“that maybe this is the best position I could possibly have. Even better than the throne itself. I mean, think about it. First, there are risks in making another overthrow attempt. Second, there’s the fact that I am not descended from their precious Persian nobility, so even if I seize power, I might never be accepted. Third, this King is foolish, weakened, financially dependent on me and enamored of every golden word that drips from my mouth. I mean, when I proposed exterminating the Jews, he acquiesced so quickly I was astounded. I made the most rudimentary defense for my position, and he accepted it immediately. He gave me his signet ring—the second most powerful symbol of authority in the Empire after the scepter itself. On my word he sentenced tens of thousands of people to death. Fourth, I already occupy the second highest position in the land, higher than the generals, higher than the seven Princes of the Face, higher than any Palace official—I even control the King’s schedule. Many believe my post is as powerful in reality as that of the King! Wouldn’t you agree that this is the best position I could occupy? It’s ideal!”

  His oldest friend and captain raised a toast to Haman the Magnificent. Haman drank deeply, then looked into his glass with a reflective, even sentimental look. “I am truly humbled to see how far this life has taken me. To work a heartbeat away from the throne of the world’s strongest kingdom, to be rich beyond measure, to have ten strapping sons already beginning to lead my troops in my absence, carrying on my tradition—I am truly blessed by the gods.”

  “Wife,” he said abruptly, turning to Zeresh, “did you hear they have even invited me back for another feast tomorrow night? It seems I am to become a regular dinner guest with the royal couple!”

  But then, in a transformation so lightning quick his listeners jerked back in shock, he scowled and began to snarl. />
  “Oh, but then the indignity that stole all the joy of it! It makes it seem like nothing! That worthless piece of—”

  “What is it, Haman?” interrupted Zeresh. “Tell us!”

  “Mordecai! That moldy little worm! He was at the Gate as I passed. Did not even stir, let alone rise to pay me the homage I am due—and that Xerxes ordered for me. Ah! Isn’t it amazing how quickly one insult can ruin even the highest satisfaction? All the heights of the evening, the contentments of a lifetime, then seeing that creature sit there in his stench steals away all my happiness! All my triumph!”

  Zeresh laid a hand upon his arm. “Well, then, do not let him rob your joy. Take the initiative. Maybe now is the time to put all that immense influence to good use.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  She chuckled, then went silent for a moment. “Have a gallows pole built fifty cubits high tonight, here in the yard, and in the morning ask the King’s permission to execute Mordecai upon it. Then go to your private royal banquet tomorrow night in peace and vindication.”

  A broad smile crossed Haman’s face. He leaned forward and gave his wife an unusual embrace. “She really has good ideas, don’t you think?” he said to his lieutenants.

  Goblets of wine raised up across the room. Haman nearly wept with joy. Mordecai, the bane of his existence, now had mere hours to live.

  Within minutes Haman was shouting at workmen to hasten the process of preparing the longest private gallows pole ever seen in Susa. His plan was already in place—he would only bring it out in public view minutes before the execution, stunning both the condemned man and the whole city in the process. No one would ever disrespect him again. He tried to imagine the sight of Mordecai impaled atop the shaft, but the thought was too blissful for him to even contemplate.

  But this eventful night was not yet spent of its surprises. Deep in the innermost chambers of the Palace complex, King Xerxes was suffering through a sleepless night. He knew from my demeanor that something significant was brewing. What was it? No matter how relentlessly he tried to clear his mind, it would not stop tumbling forth with a cavalcade of anxious and even irrational thoughts. He was simply not at peace; his mind could not digest the myriad events and threats to his power churning like bile through the pit of his stomach. He briefly thought of calling for me, but he quickly put the idea aside. He was not at his best—body and soul—and far too restless.

  Now, you could say that intestinal indigestion kept the King awake. In fact, he had indulged heartily at my banquet. He had not been eating much of late, or so I had heard, but that night he had stuffed himself on the feast I had prepared. I suppose it was impossible for him to resist my urgings to eat.

  Or perhaps the cause was his bewilderment over my strange behavior and my even more mysterious request. Or even the many cares that afflicted him in those days—finances, Palace intrigues, his stubborn obsession with exterminating the Greeks.

  But I say it was the Spirit of the Most High sent down to trouble his slumber and cast his attention in a direction of G-d’s own choosing. The only insomnia cure Xerxes could think of at that moment was to have someone read to him from the most lifeless and stultifying document in the Palace’s world-renowned library—the Chronicles of the King, the court records, if you please.

  He had a vintage volume brought to him, a huge, bulky tome with a cover that resembled a richly jeweled tapestry more than the front of a book. It took the labors of both his eunuch and another aide pulling a specially-built wooden stand to even open it.

  “Do not try to apply your talents at making this interesting,” Xerxes warned Harbona. “I did not call you here to be informed. I summoned you here in order to fall asleep at last. Start at the beginning. By the way, how far back does this volume go? Does it extend back more than four years?”

  Harbona nodded yes.

  “Good, because I need to be able to say that I’ve ‘read’ the records of what transpired during my absence at war. Proceed.”

  And so the eunuch launched into a mind-numbing list of ancient administrative budget meetings, of endless appropriations and favors given and received. Events that had taken place just before Xerxes’ departure for the ill-fated war with Greece. The King’s eyelids were predictably starting to weigh heavier and heavier when the reader began an entry that caused them to jerk open again.

  “ . . . that Mordecai of Susa has on this day rendered an exemplary service to the Crown by thwarting an attempt on the life of the King and of his kingdom. Xerxes will be forever in his debt.”

  Suddenly recalling those memory-jolting words, the King sat upright in his bed with an alarmed expression. “Read that again.”

  Harbona did just that.

  “I remember that! Is there any record of us having done anything to reward this man?”

  He peered down and scanned several lines before looking up again. “No, your Majesty. There is none. It is noted that Bigthana and Teresh were executed, but nothing of a reward.”

  “You know, I left for war shortly after that. I would not be surprised if we failed to do anything to recognize Mordecai.”

  On the surface, it might have seemed insignificant, his failure to show the usual extravagant gratitude to a man of little consequence. After all, the lowly scribe had probably gained a great deal of notoriety from the incident. Some might say that was reward enough. But something about the oversight bothered him. How many other matters had fallen through the cracks during his absence?

  To not honor loyalty could weaken the Empire! After several hours of tossing and pondering, Xerxes resolved to do something, something beyond the norm. While he felt strangely calmed by the decision, it was not enough to grant him sleep. The King continued to lie awake, tortured by anxious thoughts, while Harbona droned on.

  48

  In the morning after his sleepless night, the King found that Haman was waiting outside his chambers well before his right-hand man’s usual hour of arrival. He had no idea, of course, that his Master of the Audiences had arisen early for his own reason—supervising the erecting of the tallest impalement pole Susa’s horizon had ever seen. The task had required half a dozen men to accomplish.

  Haman considered the early start crucial to carrying out the plans of the day. He could now gain a head start on Mordecai’s execution and move on with his life hours before anticipated. After being summoned to the King’s bedside he stood before the monarch, swaying slightly with a good-natured air of anticipation and compliance.

  “How may I serve you this morning, your Majesty? And by the way, I am so glad to see you a bit early, for I had a pressing request to make of the King.”

  “Really. Would you like to go first?”

  Haman made a mock frown. “No, sire. Your assignment comes first, obviously.”

  “Well, Haman, I have a thorny question which afflicted me sorely and kept me from sleep last night,” he answered. “And it occurred to me that you might help solve it.”

  “I, too, was up planning something. But, after you, your Majesty.”

  “Well, I wonder how you suggest that I honor and reward a man who has rendered exemplary service to the Crown and who has gone too long unrewarded.”

  Haman reared back, his eyebrows shot up playfully and a wry smile toyed with his lips. “A man? And who might that man be, if I may ask?”

  The sleepy royal insomniac did not smile, although Haman certainly must have tried to imagine that he could discern the faintest hints of a grin somewhere in his expression. It had to be him the King wanted to reward.

  “Let us keep him nameless for now,” the King replied.

  Haman crossed his arms confidently and looked upward to feign the search for a difficult answer. “Well, your Majesty, if this man has truly rendered valuable service to the Crown and the Empire, I would say . . .” He rolled his gaze all about the room. And he began to describe his own personal dream, full of his seditious desires for the throne.

  “First, take a royal r
obe, one that your Majesty himself has worn in public, and place it upon this man’s shoulders before a large audience of courtiers. Then have a high-level dignitary, a well-known trusted servant of your Majesty—maybe Carshena—place this man upon your most imposing warhorse arrayed in full royal regalia including the royal crest, and have this dignitary lead him through the main streets of Susa for hours, proclaiming at the top of his voice that ‘here is a man whom the King wishes to honor for great and meritorious service.’”

  Xerxes considered the suggestion with a slow nod. “That would certainly make a lavish show of gratitude. And that is what I need.”

  “Do you?” said Haman, obviously already savoring the sound of his own name as the recipient of this treatment.

  “Yes. Indeed, you have served me well, Haman.”

  For Haman, this statement must have sealed his hopes. He was indeed the man to whom the King was referring. “It is my honor, your Majesty,” he said with a modest bow.

  “So what I want you to do is arrange for all these things—the robe, the horse, the royal proclamation—and make certain it is done exactly as you suggested! The man I wish to honor is a royal scribe here in Susa. His name is Mordecai. But I choose you, Haman, to be my high dignitary and lead Mordecai on a parade of tribute through the streets of Susa.”

  Of all the things I regret in this life, one of those I lament most is not having been in the King’s chamber at that moment to see Haman’s face. However, having quizzed the King for hours and hours on the subject, I can paint the ensuing reaction with utter confidence and accuracy.