By Fire, By Water (14 page)

R
ETURNING FROM THE MARKETPLACE
on a bright, cool afternoon, Judith found her home deserted. She began preparing supper.

An hour later, the meal was almost ready. Baba Shlomo and Levi still had not appeared. She searched through the streets of the quarter until she discovered the old man sitting on a stone bench near the synagogue.

“Where’s Levi?”

Baba Shlomo shook his head. “This is what happens when women run a business. You ignore the children, soon they don’t need you.”

For religious purposes, having passed the age of bar mitzvah, Levi was a man. For practical purposes, he was still a boy. When his studies prevented him from working in the shop or accompanying Judith to the marketplace, Judith expected him home for dinner.

She wandered out of the Jewish quarter to the vast Arab marketplace, where children sometimes made mischief running between the stalls or stealing fruit. She remembered her brother Yossi and the mysterious gash on his thigh, incurred here all those years ago. Panicking, she visited all the vendors.

She paused at a fountain, telling herself there was no cause for alarm. “The wind that blew on the Red Sea will never blow on the Middle Sea.” History never repeated itself. Whatever had happened to her brother would surely not happen to Levi. She sat down.

A young Muslim woman sat down beside her, placing her sack of vegetables on the ground. A scarf covered her hair, but her exposed face, with its refined features and pale skin, brightened in a warm smile. “It is a lovely day, isn’t it?”

The sky was azure, the air crisp and clear. The sun, nearing the horizon, cast long shadows as shopkeepers packed up. “I suppose it is.”

“What are you searching for?” asked the Arab woman.

“What makes you think I’m searching for something?”

The Arab woman laughed. “Why else would a Jewish woman be running from stall to stall in the Arab marketplace, as if possessed by a djinn?”

“My nephew,” said Judith.

“Don’t worry: If you lost him here in the marketplace, no harm will come to him.”

Judith turned to her and smiled, appreciating her intent. No Muslim, she knew, could understand the feelings of gratitude and fear that mingled in the soul of a subjugated people.

“Go home,” the woman told her. “A child’s journey, you’ll never fathom.”

Earlier in the day, Sara Benatar had found Levi in the silver workshop. “My father is coming home,” she told him. “He’ll have a gift. Want to come?”

“Come where?”

“He always takes the same path through the Arab city. Come!”

Levi put down his tools.

She led him down the hill into an opulent neighborhood of sprawling villas and gardens. They passed women wearing silk veils and men in fine wool robes. Three boys bounced a small ball to one another off the wall of a residence. A courtyard gate yawned open. Sounds of drums and conversation wafted out. Sara peeked inside.

A woman in a dark silk robe with gold embroidery was dancing—swaying and dipping, her arms bobbing, her finger cymbals accenting the beats. Sara watched, fascinated. “Isn’t that beautiful?”

Levi swallowed, uneasy. In the crowd of men, he noticed a pair of dark eyes. They wandered toward Sara and halted. Levi recognized the man.

“Let’s go. We have no place here.” Levi took Sara’s arm and pulled her away.

The man left the group and met them outside. He looked down into Sara’s eyes and smiled warmly. “I have seen you before, have I not?”

Sara lowered her face, remembering the day of the parade and the vizier who had peeled the monkey off her chest.

“How old are you now?”

“Fourteen, Your Excellency.”

The vizier nodded.

When Judith finally returned home, the sun was setting. Her nephew was sitting in the courtyard playing Quirkat, a board game, with Sara.

“Levi!” Judith exclaimed. “You gave me such a fright. Don’t ever do that again!”

“I’m no longer a child,” he told her.

“I know, I know. Where were you? I looked everywhere.”

“Sara’s father had something for you.”

“What did Yonatan have for me?”

“Look in your bedroom.”

Judith gazed at him, bewildered, and turned to go into the house.

On her brass table sat a box of intricately carved olivewood, with inlaid ivory, gold, and silver.

“Open it,” Levi urged her, standing in the doorway. Sara stood beside him, watching curiously with her striking green eyes.

As carefully as if she were opening a precious book, Judith lifted the cover. Inside, several small jars with corks in their mouths gaped at the sky like mackerels in a fisherman’s crate. She took one and removed the cork. A fragrance of orange blossoms crept out. She touched the cork with her finger and rubbed it on her palm. A body oil. The most delicate, beguiling essence she had ever breathed. She recorked the vial and opened a second. Roses. And a third. Jasmine.

“Read the note,” said Sara impatiently.

Beneath the main body of the perfume box, she pulled out a small drawer. In it, she found a missive addressed to her in a delicate Hebrew cursive. Never had anyone sent her such a note.

The congregation of the Great Synagogue of Cairo told her of their joy upon receiving the silver ornaments, and their regret upon learning of her brother’s fate. This box and the perfumes in it were a small expression of their appreciation and condolences. Although the synagogue had no further need of silver ornaments, for now, several members of the congregation wanted to commission mezuzot, beakers, bracelets, and necklaces.

The next page listed their orders, line after line of bracelets, menorahs, cups. Judith read all of it, pronouncing each word like a prayer.

“Levi, we have work. A lot of work. You, me, and maybe another silversmith or two, if we’re going to fill these orders promptly.” In her visits to the silver shops of Granada, she had come to know some of the workers. More than a few were barely eking out a living and would welcome the opportunity. “Come here, both of you.”

She took Levi and Sara in her arms. They hugged her back.

The clinking of tweezers, the clatter of chasing hammers, and the rasp of files once again filled Yossi’s atelier. Odors of sweat and sulfur pervaded the cramped, musty workshop. Levi hummed as he worked.

Ten weeks into this labor, Dina Benatar shuffled in, her hair unbrushed, her robe loosely thrown together, her eyes rimmed with red. She leaned down and placed her palms on Judith’s worktable.

“I know you’re busy.”

Judith, who had never seen her friend in such a state, put down her tools. “Come. I have mint and orange-blossom tea.”

They crossed the courtyard.

“They took my Sara.”

“Sara?” asked Judith. “Someone took Sara? Who?”

“The vizier’s guard. They promised her … they promised her jewels, clothes, everything, except freedom.”

Judith ushered Dina inside. “When?”

“Two soldiers of the royal guard.” Dina dropped onto a cushion. “In the middle of the night, they knocked. I served them fig liquor. They spoke about the vizier, his kindness, his generosity, his … his interest in my Sara.” She sniffled, trying to hold back her tears.

“The vizier.” Judith sank onto a cushion beside Dina, forgetting the tea.

The soldiers had assured Sara, Dina continued, that Ibrahim al-Hakim would provide her with comfort the rest of her days. She would enjoy the honor befitting a member of the emir’s court.

What they chose not to say was just as telling. Dina and Judith understood that Sara would dwell in a harem with the vizier’s concubines. Al-Hakim would compel her to accept the truth of Islam. He would forbid her to communicate with her family or her community.

“She chose to go with them. I tried to stop her. She did it to protect me. To protect us. With Yonatan away again …” Dina could no longer hold back her tears.

“What could Yonatan do?” asked Judith. He was a wealthy man, but his wealth would mean little to the vizier. Judith held Dina in her arms until she stopped crying.

“I walked to the Alhambra. At sunrise. The guards turned me away.” Dina swallowed. “So I went to the rabbi’s house. I talked with his wife. Maybe he’ll put in a complaint.”

“He won’t. He can’t. If he offends the vizier, our whole community will pay.”

Dina wiped her eye. “Then my last hopes were false hopes.”

“Hope can’t be true or false.” Judith stroked Dina’s arm. “Hope is hope.”

Judith hired another silversmith, and with Sara in mind, began work on a new project. She created an exquisite teapot with curves suggesting a young maiden, and a matching cup. She labored three weeks designing, crafting, and buffing these two items, pouring more feeling and care into their fabrication than into any previous work. She also composed a note for the vizier.

Your Excellency
,

We, your loyal subjects among the Hebrew residents of the capital, honored that you have chosen one from our midst to love and gratify, humbly offer you this drinking vessel from the workshop of Yossi Migdal, Master Silversmith, in honor of your choice. Long may the emir of Granada, his vizier, and his kingdom thrive!

Her work finished, Judith slipped the note, the teapot, and the cup into a box and set out for Dina’s house.

Dina had lost weight. Her complexion was sallow. She wore a simple white gown, as if in mourning.

“Look.” Judith removed the lid from the box. The teapot and its cup lay glistening on a bed of silk, a mother sleeping beside her child.

Dina gasped. She dared not touch them, for fear of dulling the silver with fingerprints. Judith showed her the note.

“To love and gratify?” asked Dina, outraged. “He seized her. He’s raping her.”

“We need to be cautious.”

“Why only one cup? Do you imagine the vizier, that animal, drinks tea alone?”

“That’s the point,” said Judith. “Now slip on your nicest dress. We’re going for a walk.”

The two women set out through quarters they hardly knew, where roosters, dogs, and children playing with marbles shared the streets with merchants, who stood outside their shops watching them pass.