A Journey to the End of the Millennium (21 page)

How could he surrender a woman whose high cheekbones gave her the look of a fair and noble beast, and for whom his love became richer day by day? A woman who had fainted a little earlier with such
delicious
sweetness? Yet how could he now reject a dear and loyal uncle, who had risked hardships and dangers on the sea to be reunited with him, and who was now protected by a verdict secured in his favor by the sharp-witted rabbi from Andalus? Therefore, Abulafia mused in his patient and somewhat superficial fashion, it would be best to doze awhile and mingle the contradictory currents of his life in dreams, as was his wont, until Master Levitas, his wise brother-in-law, should return and find a solution. But Master Levitas would not be back soon. He was still slumped between two large barrels in the winery at Villa Le Juif, and he too was dreaming, while beside him the old woman,
who had thrown some more fox furs over him, continued to grumble. In his dream Master Levitas, naked as on the day of his birth, was walking on the seashore to a business meeting with Ben Attar, who now possessed the Radhanite’s two Indian pearls. Since Master Levitas had never set eyes on the sea, he imagined it like the Red Sea in the prayerbook for Passover—as hillocks of reddish water, while on the dry land that was exposed between them good men walked naked toward one another.

Ben Attar, however, was not free to enter either Master Levitas’s dream or Abulafia’s, or even that of Esther-Minna, who lay huddled alone on her bed trying to conjure up the moments of her fainting, for Ben Attar was busy speaking with Abu Lutfi, who kept one eye on the black slave as he led the male camel ashore on a rope halter to crop the lush grass of the northern bank. No matter how hard Ben Attar tried to explain to his Arab partner about the victory he had won, Abu Lutfi, who had never understood the need for a battle, failed to grasp the point. But the Ishmaelite was glad of one thing, that at dawn they would be able to unload the cargo, for ever since Ben Attar and his party had gone ashore the sailors had begun to help themselves to the goods. Was it the lack of the owner’s quiet authority that had removed all restraint from Abd el-Shafi and his crew, or the absence of the two wives’ gentle gaze? Or was it perhaps neither of these but the want of the rabbi’s quill pen?

One way or another, the time had come to rescue the cargo from the ravages of the crew, unload the large sacks and sealed chests, separate the pale honeycombs, and refold the rugs and mats. And, most important of all, to extract the gem-encrusted daggers from their hiding places and restore their former brilliance, which would excite the urge to purchase even in those who had no need for them. So the two partners prepared for the week of trading that lay ahead. On the first two days they would transfer the merchandise to the repentant third partner’s home, so that he could inspect it carefully, and on the following two days they would make good use of their presence in the marketplace to examine covertly (so as not to offend Abulafia) the state of the market and the prevailing prices, thus gaining a clearer idea of how much of the proceeds Abulafia received he brought to Barcelona to be shared out among the partners and how much was to be
attributed
to traveling expenses. On the remaining two days they would start to search for goods with which to fill the hungry belly of the ship for the return journey—either timber, which Abu Lutfi usually loaded onto the boats returning from Barcelona, or jars of local wine, which the Jewish partner suddenly thought of taking. While they were
discussing
these plans, the camel and the black slave disappeared, and they were obliged to break off and expend some effort combing the thicket on the northern bank before arriving at a damp, sandy area where the river had surprisingly carved a new, bare islet and
discovering
the mournful camel sating himself on fresh lettuces and sugarbeets from the Parisians’ allotments close to the convent of Sainte
Geneviève,
while the young pagan excitedly prostrated himself at the sight of a new star he had discovered in the sky above the Île de France.

In this small hour of the night Ben Attar could not imagine that the victory of the old partnership, which was already secured in the folds of his robe, was about to elude him yet again, and that their departure for the double home on the golden shore of Tangier was still very far away. For how could he imagine the depth of Abulafia’s sorrow when, on waking from his snatched, huddled sleep on that hard chair, he
remembered
his rebellious wife? Since he believed that she was hiding from him, he did not notice her curled up in one corner of their bed, and he set off to look for her in one of the many other rooms of the house. It was only on his grim-faced return that he discovered how hasty he had been in despairing of her. And his hands cautiously
explored
his wife’s beloved body, to see whether the new rebellion
pervaded
even her dreams. But Mistress Esther-Minna was sleeping peacefully and very deeply, as though ever since she had announced her separation and her impending return to her own land, the storm aroused in her soul by Uncle Ben Attar’s sudden appearance had
subsided.

Had only three days passed? Abulafia wondered in the darkness, straightening out his wife’s clenched hand on the coverlet to help her sleep better. Seeing that she did not react and that her limbs were heavy in his hands, he was assailed by a fear that she was not asleep but had fainted again, as in that moment when Ben Attar had lifted her from the ground and carried her to the fireside. And desire, which had seemed to be released and evaporated in the bath, seized him again, as
though its source were not within himself but somewhere in this house that Ben Attar’s wives filled with their peaceful breathing. No, he swore to himself, he would never divorce her, although he was well acquainted with his wife’s stubbornness. Even though he had no idea how things would turn out, of one thing he was certain. He could not lose again in the Black Forest the love that he had already lost once in the waves of the sea. Unable to restrain himself, he began to caress and kiss his wife, so that she would wake and see that it was his intention to fight her rebellion with all his strength.

Very slowly he cradled his desire, while guiding and directing and compelling his response to it. For a moment it seemed as though
Mistress
Esther-Minna were deliberately refusing to wake, so as to leave this coupling in the twilight zone between waking and being awake. In this way it could not be claimed afterward that her revolt had been snuffed out in its infancy, and without tormenting her conscience she could ignore the wailing of the wretched daughter, who as usual was trying to wreck her father’s lovemaking from behind the curtain. And so she was taken, and for a long while Abulafia’s member refused to leave her, as though by remaining erect inside her it could prevent a new repudiation and withdrawal toward the region of Lotharingia in her native Ashkenaz. The carnal thrill that filled her took such hold of her that she could not restrain herself, but joined her own moaning to the raucous wailing in the adjoining chamber.

When she awoke from sleep with a heavy head, with the sun
already
riding high in the sky, she was startled to discover that while she had slept her house had been seized by a rebellion. Ben Attar’s two wives were standing beside the fireplace and the oven in the kitchen as though they were in their own home, slicing vegetables and roasting meat, baking bread and stirring a reddish pottage, and all with such easy authority that not only Levitas’s wife and the old maidservant but even Elbaz and his boy were forced to contribute, as the latter were called in to taste every dish and relish and say whether they were true to the flavors of Andalus. Only Abulafia was absent, for he had been summoned to the ship to exercise his revived status of partner and to oversee the seamen as they unloaded the cargo and transported it to the courtyard of his house.

Still there was no sign of Master Levitas, who, after sending a
special messenger at dawn to Chartres to pay the three scribes for their trouble, had located the Radhanite merchant, who was on the point of departing for Orléans, and reopened the bargaining with him for the two pearls. Even though Master Levitas was not certain that the unusual pear shape of the large pearls conferred added value on them, as the merchant claimed, or whether it indicated a hidden flaw, he was now willing to offer a higher price. When the price had been agreed and the bargain was struck, Master Levitas could not resist inquiring, in a delicate and roundabout way, whether the merchant himself had two wives or only one. But the bearded man did not seem disposed to reveal his secrets, and he went on his way without giving a clear
answer.
As Master Levitas wrapped the two large pearls in a soft cloth and secreted them in his jerkin, he wondered whether he should offer them both for sale in the Capetian court in Paris, or whether he should sell one to one of the loveliest duchesses and keep the other hidden until the beauty of the owner of its visible twin increased its value.

That afternoon, alone, hungry, and thirsty, he made his way back to Paris. Every now and then he halted his horse, took out the pearls, and held them up to the sunlight, not only to compare them with each other but also to learn which hour of the day best flattered their
pear-like
character, which hour should also serve as the hour appointed for their sale. Preoccupied with thoughts of commerce, he entered his home, and was startled to see the quantity of merchandise being piled up in his courtyard by barefoot, half-naked Arab seamen carrying jars on their heads.
Your
uncle
has
put
the
verdict
into
effect
very
quickly,
he said quietly to Abulafia, who was standing in the doorway of the house, pale and silent, casting a gentle, distressed look at his brother-in-law as though his whole fate depended on him alone. Abulafia hesitated to expose to Master Levitas the development that was tearing his soul apart and to seek his advice, as he was waiting to see whether the fast that he had imposed upon himself since that morning would annul his wife’s harsh decree. But she was already hastening to inform her brother as he entered the house about the status of “rebellious wife” that she had assumed to escape the affront and menace that were looming over her marriage, and she was now prepared to admit that her brother’s reservations about that marriage had not been unreasonable.

Master Levitas’s practical nature did not permit him to rake over
the sins of the past so long as the urgency of the present threatened him and his home with heaped-up sacks of condiments and woven cloth, large earthen jars and brassware, which were arriving relentlessly from the Arab ship, filling his courtyard and cellar, and even beginning to intrude on the upper story. Nor was his house invaded from the outside alone, for Ben Attar’s wives were loading the large dining table with wonderfully colorful and exotically perfumed dishes, as though their love of cooking, held in check during the ocean voyage, had now burst forth in all its exuberance.

However, when Master Levitas turned to Abulafia to beg him to stop the invasion that was cascading from the ship to his house under the pressure of his partners’ commercial enthusiasm, Abulafia looked at him with a pale, staring face and extended his arms in the graceful, helpless gesture seen in images of the crucified god of the Christians, as though he too since that morning had been transformed into a tortured saint swaying between life and death. The soul of this man, who had spent so many years in solitary travel, had remained
fundamentally
emotional and shallow, and it was now torn between love and fear, duty and compassion. And this blend of emotions, in which there hovered also the sweet memory of the twin emissions of the night, made the man who had been deliberately starving himself since
morning
so dizzy that he was in danger of suddenly collapsing.

Before that could happen, Master Levitas hurriedly sent him to his partners’ ship to stop the flow of merchandise, the quantity and variety of which was alarming Ben Attar too. Despite the many days and nights he had spent on board the ship, he had not imagined how full his Ishmaelite partner had managed to fill it. Abu Lutfi, who had not only managed to pack whole worlds of merchandise on board but also remembered them, now scrutinized them minutely as they burst forth out of the darkness and were borne ashore accompanied by the singing of burly seamen, so as to fix them in his memory, ready for the meeting next summer, when he would demand payment for them from the third partner, who had returned repentantly thanks to the trial in Villa Le Juif. Although if he was really repentant, why was he calling to them now from the riverbank to halt the flow of goods that was
inundating
his house and his yard?

Ben Attar told Abd el-Shafi to halt the unloading and hurriedly
joined his nephew, who was standing surrounded by throngs of
Parisians
crowded among the little old wooden houses on a bridge called the New Bridge. Abulafia tugged desperately at his stubborn uncle’s garments to pull him away from the curious crowd, and while the sunlight traced trailing purple marks upon the lovely peaceful river as it circled gently southward, Abulafia led Ben Attar deeper into the island, among the narrow streets packed at this hour with people returning home, some leading a lamb or a piglet on a cord for their dinner. From the dull look in his nephew’s large dark eyes, Ben Attar knew that some new torment was afflicting him.

Abulafia told him immediately about the rebellion that had broken out in his home, and how his wife had sworn in her distress to go far away to her native town on the Rhine, there to convene a new court of justice to compel Abulafia to divorce her. Although the Moroccan
merchant
appeared surprised at the news, he seemed to find in it a
blessing
that might deepen the partnership that had been so laboriously revived. Perhaps the time had really come, Ben Attar tried to inform his nephew obliquely, with roundabout hints, his arm around the shoulder of his beloved nephew, whose pallor lent an additional beauty to his black locks. Perhaps, the uncle speculated wildly, it was really the hand of the Almighty that had urged him to take an old guardship and sail it to this remote little island, which still seemed to him to be rocking in the midst of the river, to rescue a lost lamb. Surely Abulafia could spare the enthusiastic rebel the hardships of a journey to the land of Ashkenaz by simply asking Rabbi Elbaz to put into effect the wisdom of the Babylonian sages and impose the divorce that Mistress Esther-Minna so longed for. In this way Abulafia would be free to travel back not only to the Bay of Barcelona but to the golden shores of the rock from which he was hewn. Surely now that he had proved to everyone and especially to himself that the curse of loneliness within him was broken, he would be able to find a wife to his taste in Tangier, and even a second wife, if he felt inclined to love her too.