by Maggie Anton
Rivka sighed in resignation. Was her husband’s craving to teach truly that powerful? “I see that your need to teach Talmud is so strong that you cannot resist instructing your wife.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Very well then, teach them whatever you think is appropriate, but please try to be discreet.” She emphasized the word “discreet.”
Did Salomon understand the importance of discretion? Everyone else knew how much the demons hated Torah scholars. Did he realize his selfish need to teach might make Joheved and Miriam their target? As if the world wasn’t dangerous enough. Rivka reached up to stroke the amulet around her neck.
“Don’t worry, Rivka. Torah study confers divine protection.” Salomon leaned down and spoke softly to her, “And I promise to find great scholars to marry our daughters, so they will have husbands more learned than they are.”
Rivka rearranged the dishes in their previous position, and the family managed a relatively calm breakfast.
Joheved was still thinking about her parents’ fight when they turned onto Rue de la Petite Tannerie. Catharina was waiting for them at the door to her father’s shop. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” she said, hugging Joheved, then Miriam. “Papa is already down by the canal, setting up the frames.”
Catharina led them down a well-worn path through cattails and rushes towards the Rû Cordé canal. A few years ago, to improve sanitation, Count Thibault had ordered a canal dug off the Seine. Tanners relocated onto two streets near where the canal exited under the town walls, thus sparing Troyes’ inhabitants from drinking their effluent. The canal was not without its undesirable effects; city authorities regularly fished out the bodies of careless drunkards.
As far back as she could remember, Joheved had been warned to stay well away from the river’s edge. She worried that the ground near the canal might be slippery and muddy, but to her relief, much usage had tamped the trail solid. There were even clumps of fresh green moss growing nearby. Perhaps they could collect some later to take home for the privy.
They reached a clearing where the sheepskins lay in small piles, surrounded by swarms of flies. The stench of decomposing animal remains assaulted them, and Catharina quickly moved them upwind to where her father was fastening one of the raw skins into an open wooden frame. The stink was not so bad there, but Joheved had trouble breathing and began to cough.
“Here, take a deep breath of this.” Catharina’s father thrust a damp handkerchief at her. The pungent smell of vinegar replaced that of dead sheep and Joheved’s head cleared.
“Merci, I feel better now.”
“Let me explain what we’ll be doing today.” The parchment maker held up four fingers. “Parchment is made in four stages. The first one is getting the skins attached to these wooden frames and into the river. We also need to scrape the wool from the outsides and the flesh from the insides, but if we can’t get it all off today, it can be done later.”
“I’m fairly handy with knives,” Salomon said. “I’ve been pruning grapevines for years.”
“Excellent. The girls can pin the skins between the frames, then you and I will clean them up and get them into the water.”
He was surprised that the Jewish scholar was also a winemaker; the cathedral and abbey scholars who frequented his shop seemed to do nothing except write their manuscripts and pray. And they looked like it, too, all pale and flabby. But Salomon was sinewy and tanned, apparently used to hard work outdoors.
They soon made an efficient team. Joheved and Miriam grabbed opposite ends of a sheepskin and pulled. When they stretched it as far as they could, Catharina slid a frame around the skin and closed it tight. Then the framed skin went to one of the men, who scraped it with his knives until the girls announced that the next frame was ready. At that time, no matter how much or little had been cleaned from the skin, he dropped the frame into a holding area that the parchment maker had prepared in the shallow water.
The day grew steadily warmer. Joheved pushed her vinegar-soaked handkerchief up on her forehead to catch the sweat forming there, and Miriam removed hers entirely. “I can’t believe it, but your father was right,” she said to Catharina. “I can barely smell the sheepskins any more, even though you’d think they’d really stink now that it’s gotten so warm.”
Joheved cautiously sniffed the air. “Maybe the vinegar in our noses has stopped us from smelling anything?”
Catharina laughed as they tried to figure out if their noses still worked. “I have an idea. I’ll find some flowers and a dead fish, and you see if you can tell the difference between them.”
The parchment maker laughed too. Not only was his daughter happy, but the piles of sheepskins were shrinking rapidly. “You probably don’t smell the skins because there aren’t so many of them. I believe we can get them all into the frames by tomorrow afternoon. And in this heat, that’s not a moment too soon.”
He added emphasis to his statement by splashing himself after he dropped his latest frame into the canal. Then he grinned at the sweating girls and sent a gentle stream of water in their direction. They rewarded him with squeals and giggles.
Salomon was trying to work efficiently, but he could only manage to scrape the skin three times on each side before a new frame was ready for him. A breeze coming off the river afforded some relief from the heat and smell, but his chemise was drenched with perspiration. He watched with amusement and envy as his daughters got wetter and wetter.
Joheved and Miriam heard a sudden splash as something heavy fell in the water. They anxiously scanned the work area for their father, and just when they were sure the river demons had seized him, he resurfaced and waved to them from the middle of the canal.
“Miriam, look.” Joheved grabbed her sister and pointed towards the water. “Papa’s all right. He’s swimming!”
The parchment maker stared at Salomon in amazement. It never occurred to him to bathe in the river. He knew that Jews went to the public baths regularly, but most Christians avoided immersing themselves in water for fear of the demons who lurked there. The “stews” were also notorious places of assignation for whores, another reason respectable Christian folk avoided them.
Salomon swam gracefully towards the shallow water where his daughters stood waiting for him. “Papa, Papa, I didn’t know you could swim.” Miriam wanted to hug him, but he was so wet that she just clung to his hand instead.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” He pushed his wet hair back off his face. “My father Isaac—may his merit protect us—taught me how to swim in this very river when I was a boy. And on hot days in Mayence, the yeshiva students often go swimming together in the Rhine. You see, there is a Mishnah in Tractate Kiddushin that says that a father is obligated to teach his son to swim.”
“Oh, Papa, can you teach us to swim?” Wouldn’t it be wonderful, swimming around in the cool water on hot days?
“No, Joheved, a father is only required to teach his sons to swim, not his daughters.” Salomon spoke in a voice that brooked no discussion.
Joheved’s face fell in disappointment, so he added, “Considering how your mother feels about demons, I can only imagine the fuss she’d make if I took you into the water. She’s already angry enough at me for teaching you Talmud.”
The afternoon passed swiftly. The next day went just as smoothly, and as the parchment maker predicted, they were able to finish well before sunset. When the girls set off to collect moss to take home, Salomon asked when they should return.
“I don’t see any reason to burden you further,” the parchment maker replied. “After these skins have sat in the Seine for several days, they’ll be soft and fairly clean. I’m sure my son will be home in time for the second stage, when we move the frames into troughs of lime solution.”
“But I’d like to see the complete procedure, even if I can’t help very much. What happens after the skins sit in the lime? Could you use help with the next part?”
The parchment maker stepped into the water to attach a net over the frames to keep hungry fi
sh away. “After they’ve spent two weeks in the lime water, we scrape each skin clean of all remaining wool and fat. This is easier than what we did today, because the lime causes most of it to come off in the troughs. Then we rinse the skins in the river and put them back in lime for another two weeks.”
“What happens when they’re finished with the lime?” As much as Salomon wanted to participate in the entire process, he couldn’t make a commitment for months of work. He had new students to instruct and the vineyard to tend.
The parchment maker heard the hesitancy in Salomon’s voice and wanted to reassure him. “Next comes the third stage. We let the skins dry, all the while cleaning them with pumice, chalk and water. Then they’re ready to be thinned, which is the final step. Sometimes it takes months before we’re finished. We take our time and work carefully, until all that remains is to trim the parchment and fold it into sheaves.”
Salomon felt around the frames to make sure that the netting covered his side completely. “So when should I come back for the third part?”
“Just wait for a rainy summer day when it’s too wet to work in your vineyard. You’ll be welcome to join my family in the workroom, thinning and scraping the skins into parchment.”
As spring ripened into summer, the weather remained excellent, much to Salomon’s consternation. The better the climate and the more luxuriant his plants’ growth, the more the vintner fretted over the possible disasters awaiting him. A late May frost would cut down his tender buds before they flowered, and too much rain in early summer could hamper fertilization by washing away the pollen. Then, if midsummer was cool and humid, mildew would destroy the grapes before they’d even begun to grow.
Salomon could only pray for the warm, calm weather that facilitated the critical flowering and fruit-set. And so far this year the Creator obliged him; the young grapes hung heavy on the vines, slowly becoming translucent. But peril still threatened. A sudden hail shower could crash down with a summer storm, and the result would be destruction of leaves, shoots and grapes.
This summer Salomon divided his time between tending his vineyard and tending his new young students. The first thing he had to do was teach Menachem and Ephraim to ask questions, to shower him with their most difficult queries. He did this by asking them questions in return, and not just academic ones.
Why didn’t the lions on Noah’s ark eat the other animals? What did Abraham say to the Holy One when he was told to sacrifice his son? How did Sarah die? Why did Moses break the tablets containing the Ten Commandments? How did Rachel help her older sister Leah marry Jacob first? Why wasn’t Joseph buried in Egypt?
Joheved and Miriam loved this part of studying Torah, when Salomon told them about the people in the Bible. Midrash he called them, stories that explained so much more than the original text. And judging from Menachem and Ephraim’s rapt expressions, Joheved could see that they loved it too.
She and Miriam would sit near the kitchen, listening carefully as they silently spun thread, embroidered or did mending. They knew their father expected them to question him at bedtime, even more vigorously than the boys did. Still they were careful to give no indication of how closely they followed their father’s lectures. Although Rivka no longer spoke of it, the girls were sure there’d be trouble if their studies became public knowledge.
No matter how much Rivka disapproved of her daughters studying, she had to admit that their spinning and needlework had improved greatly. Joheved in particular had become quite adept at spinning flax into thread for weaving linen. The process was tedious, but her hands took on a life of their own as she listened to her father teach Torah.
In the morning Joheved and Miriam attended services, and after disner they crossed the short distance beyond the city walls to the vineyard. From their vantage point atop a small rise, the vines’ bright green foliage was easily identified among the golden fields of grain. The road was surrounded by tall stalks of wheat, soon to be cut, and the remains of oat fields already harvested. Here and there livestock grazed on fallow land, which would be enriched with their manure.
Summer was Joheved’s favorite time to work in the vineyard. The earth between rows was soft and warm, squishing pleasantly between her bare toes as she and Miriam hoed the ground free of weeds. Under their father’s or grandmother’s supervision, they lifted some foliage and attached it to the trellis, while other parts they trimmed off altogether. The leafy vines on their trellis were only slightly taller than the girls were, offering excellent conditions for “hide and seek” games.
Despite Grandmama Leah’s failing memory, she still knew exactly which leaves should remain and which should be pulled off to allow maximum sunlight to reach the grapes. She lectured them continually on the importance of careful foliage control, as if neglecting to trim leaves properly was a moral failing.
“You must have enough leaves to feed the growing grapes, but shaded branches produce thin, soapy wine.” Leah tore off several offending leaves and let them flutter to the ground. “Leaves must also be trimmed to reduce the vine’s vigor or else they will grow excessively and smother their own grapes, as well as next season’s latent buds.”
Grandmama Leah’s lessons on viticulture had been interesting the first few times she offered them, but she repeated them so often now that Joheved and Miriam paid attention only out of politeness. They wouldn’t dream of telling her that she had already given them the same advice several times that day.
In another part of the vineyard, the men hired by Isaac haParnas were working on the vines that Salomon’s family had not been able to prune last winter. These plants were unlikely to produce grapes worth pressing this season, but their leaves still had to be trimmed.
Joheved and Miriam, remembering how their grandmother had antagonized previous workers, tried to keep Grandmama Leah occupied far away from the Parnas’s employees.
One day she suddenly started screeching, “Someone’s stealing my grapes!” She picked up a discarded branch and, shaking it at the men in the distance, began running towards them. “Keep away from my grapes, you thieves! Get out of my vineyard!”
“Grandmama, stop! Wait for us!” Joheved and Miriam took off after her, but she was amazingly agile for her years and eluded them among the vines. “Nobody’s stealing your grapes; those men work for us.”
Salomon managed to catch up with her before the workers could make out what she was shouting at them. “It’s all right, Mama, it’s all right,” he repeatedly reassured her, using his most soothing voice. When she grew calmer, he tried to distract her. “Mama, look at those grey clouds. Do you think it will hail?”
Leah stared silently at the darkening sky and then declared, “Don’t worry. This storm will only rain gently for a few days, which is just what the vineyard needs.”
“Perhaps we ought to be getting back home then.” Salomon sighed, unable to hide the sadness he felt whenever he was forced to confront his mother’s deterioration. Most of the time he tried not to dwell on her condition; it was too depressing, and there didn’t seem to be anything anyone could do to cure her.
When night fell, he was still worrying about his mother. The air was sultry and humid, leaving Troyes’ inhabitants feeling damp and poorly rested when the church bells woke them at dawn the next morning. It was drizzling when Salomon’s family left for services, and by disner, the rain was coming down so heavily that Salomon announced that they might as well help the parchment maker finish his skins. Joheved and Miriam drew their cloaks tightly around them and set out with their father along the muddy street towards the canal.
They walked carefully along the road, staying as close as possible to the buildings where the jutting second floors offered a narrow shelter for pedestrians below. The girls tried to keep well away from the center of the street, where the running water was moving faster and faster, taking with it all the garbage that had accumulated since the previous rainstorm. As they hurried along, they encountered servants emptying the fetid contents of
their masters’ waste pits into the small creek that had recently been the road. They grinned at each other to acknowledge that they had managed to avoid that odious chore.
The parchment maker was at home with both his son and daughter, each working on sheepskins stretched out on frames. He greeted Salomon cheerfully and waved them over to dry out in front of the hearth. Then he showed Salomon how to scrape the skin clean with various small knives, to remove even the tiniest blemish on its surface. At the same time, Catharina taught the girls to rub the scraped skin with pumice to make it soft and smooth. Soon they were all busily occupied.
The parchment maker’s son announced that he had recently done business with a Jew who raised sheep nearby. “His name is Samuel and he has a small estate near Ramerupt. He was glad to find a tanner who would deal with him regularly because his son’s a student who needs a lot of parchment.” The youth smiled at Salomon. “I happened to mention that we had a Jewish scholar in town who frequently bought from us, and the man nearly attacked me with questions about you.”
“Really now,” Salomon said, his eyebrows raised slightly. “What interest could a man who raises sheep have in me?”
“Well, first off, he was curious how long you’ve lived in Troyes because he couldn’t remember any scholars here. I said you’d grown up here but only moved back again last year.”
“I don’t think I know him.” Salomon stroked his beard. “I wonder if his family comes to Troyes for Rosh Hashanah.”
“I doubt it. You see, he asked about your family and nearly jumped out of his chair when I mentioned your daughters.” The son laid down his knife, grinning widely. “He wanted to know how many unmarried ones you had, how old they were, what they looked like. I told him about your girls and asked why he was so interested. Did he perhaps have an unmarried son himself?”
Joheved felt herself getting warm and moved her chair away from the fire. Catharina and Miriam were looking at her strangely and Salomon gave her a quick glance before encouraging the speaker to continue.