Читать книгу Danya - Anne McGivern - Страница 12

Letters, Betrayals, Enslavement

After Father’s funeral, Chuza locked me in a storeroom off the kitchen. He claimed the reason for my confinement was to hide me from Roman soldiers who, believing I was also a member of Judah ben Hezekiah’s band, might kill me as they had Father. But I believed Chuza was punishing me.

Wine amphoras with seals from Rhodes, Chios, Cos, Lesbos, and other places I had never heard of filled most of the space. The servants pushed them aside to make room for a sleeping mat, a small table, and a bench for me. Each day Chuza brought me food and allowed me out to empty my chamber pot, but the only thing he would say to me was that I would be released “as soon as it was safe.”

Naomi stationed herself outside the storeroom door the first day of my imprisonment. She slid her fingers under the door, and I held onto them. Together we quietly mourned for all we had lost. I longed for her to chatter as she always had, but all Naomi could muster was sighing, muffled weeping, and a whispered dream. “When you get out of this room, Danya, we will find a way to sneak back to Nazareth.”

But my grief so exhausted me that I couldn’t imagine formulating such a plan. “We’re stuck here for a long time, Naomi. We must learn how survive in Jerusalem.”

The afternoon of the second day, Joanna pounded on the door. “Danya, are you all right in there? Answer me! Danya, wake up!”

“I’m awake. Now.”

“You mustn’t sleep so much. Here is something to keep you occupied.” Joanna slid a tablet and stylus under the door.

“Wait. Stay and talk to me. Why am I here? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. This is all a mystery to me, too. Chuza has forbidden me to visit with you. I am sorry, dear one. I must leave now.”

“Then send Naomi.”

“I can’t even do that for you. Chuza has moved her to the servant’s quarters. She’ll be very busy and probably unable to visit you.”

As Joanna predicted, Naomi didn’t come. Not that day or the next. Near the end of the third day I turned to the writing materials Joanna had smuggled into my cage. At least the storeroom had a window, so I had some light. I touched my forefinger to the wedged point of the stylus and smoothed the palm of my hand across the wax. I used to love practicing my letters and words. Last year my writing had become so proficient that I had done some of Lev’s schoolwork for him. I wondered now if Father had known.

I punctured the soft wax in firm, deliberate strokes and soon a letter took shape.

Danya to my dearest Father, greetings

I know you will never read this, but it will comfort me to talk to you on these tablets. When you allowed me to learn to write, did you ever think I would use my skill in this way? I miss you so much, Papa. And Lev and Nazareth and the happy life we shared there. Papa, one good thing about being locked up by myself is that I have figured something out. Your death was not my fault. At first I thought Chuza might be right, that my interest in Judah ben Hezekiah and his movement somehow caused the soldier to kill you. I hated myself. And I hated Judah, worse than I hate scorpions. But I no longer blame myself or Judah. I blame the soldier. And The Holy One. You always told me He has a plan for us, so this must have been His will for you. He sent the soldier to you. How else could he have been on that plaza just at the time you were crossing it? This makes me very angry. I don’t understand The Holy One. Now when I think about His plans, dust swirls around inside my mind. I can’t see anything because the dust obscures all. It fills my lungs as well, so it becomes hard for me to breathe. Breathing is making me tired now. I have to stop and lie down.

Farewell.

I awoke to find Chuza standing under the oil lamp in its niche in the storeroom wall. He frowned as he read my letter to Father. The embers of my anger flared into rage.

“Give me those,” I screamed as I snatched the tablets.

He folded one on top of the other and held them behind his back. “Who taught you to write?” he asked.

“Father. And Lev,” I answered, standing and putting my hands on my hips. I was not going to let him criticize me for my literacy. Chuza might be one of those people who insisted that the Torah did not permit women to read and write, but Father told me those people were wrong. And Father, I now knew from Tobiah, was a true doctor of the law. He handed the tablets back to me. “Don’t tell anyone that we have a brother named Lev.”

“Why not?”

“Just don’t anyone in Jerusalem that you have another brother.”

“I’ll decide what I say to people in Jerusalem!” I was tired of Chuza’s orders. Tired of being pushed around by someone who was, after all, just my half-brother, not the ruler of all Judea. I pulled at the door latch. “And I won’t be penned up like a goat anymore.”

“I came to release you. I’m hungry. Get me some food, and I’ll talk to you.”

It was late, and the servants had retired. Joanna joined us, and we sat in the kitchen by the cook stove. I heated loaves of bread over still-warm embers. Joanna poured wine for Chuza and cut up chunks of cheese to melt on the bread.

“So why are you releasing me, O merciful one?” I said, not caring about the consequences of my fresh remark.

Joanna dropped the cheese knife and covered her mouth, but Chuza ignored my insult and swilled his wine. He belched and settled himself more comfortably on the bench. He seemed very pleased with himself. “This week I demanded a hearing before the Great Sanhedrin to address the accusation that Father was a revolutionary,” he said.

“Everyone knows your father being a rebel is nonsense,” said Joanna, soothingly.

“That doesn’t keep people from saying so, wife,” he snapped. “And in Jerusalem, it can be convenient to accept rumors as truth. This had to be dealt with. Swiftly.”

Joanna folded her hands in her lap. “Then you were wise to do so, husband.”

“Do you want your father-in-law to be remembered as a revolutionary conspirator? My enemies would leap at the opportunity to brand me along with him! Is that what you want?”

Joanna’s color deepened. “No, husband.”

Dodi backed into a corner, out of the range of Chuza’s foot.

“What is this Great Sanhedrin?” I asked, trying to divert Chuza’s attention away from Joanna. Managing his temper, and mine when I was with him, was a skill that I, too, would have to practice.

“Our highest court, which is seventy members when all are assembled. But this matter required only twenty-three. Pour me more wine, wife.”

Chuza recounted his frantic efforts to obtain a hearing before the Sanhedrin on short notice. “I had to promise, pressure, bribe, call in favors. You can’t imagine the work it took.” Then he explained how he had evaluated the possible accusations against Father, gathered witnesses, and formulated shrewd arguments.

As he washed down several rounds of bread and cheese with more wine, he rendered an account of the enquiry itself. Only one credible piece of evidence had surfaced. Some pilgrims from Cana testified that they had witnessed Father speaking to Judah ben Hezekiah near the Sea of Galilee. But, when pressed for details at the hearing, they admitted Father did so only to prevent Judah from harming them and me.

An enemy of Chuza’s had brought to light the fact that Father and Judah’s father had been students together at the Temple’s beth ha-midrash. But Chuza’s enemy was ridiculed by the court when three witnesses, high priests themselves, swore that Hezekiah and Father had always been enemies, each holding sharply contrasting views on how to re-establish The Holy One’s kingdom in Israel. Father was a Pharisee; Hezekiah a revolutionary. Chuza laughed until he coughed while rendering his account of this part of the hearing.

“In the end, the court found Father blameless, completely innocent,” he concluded. “When Herod Archelaus received the ruling from the Sanhedrin, he ordered that the soldier responsible for Father’s death should suffer further punishment and declared Father’s honor fully restored.

“So that’s the report,” said Chuza, draining his fifth cup of wine. “It’s safe for you to stay in this city, thanks to me. Our family has no ties to any rebels. But to associate with one could mean death to all of us. You understand that now, Danya?”

I nodded. Chuza’s chin dropped to his chest, and he fell asleep. Dodi darted for the crumbs that dropped from his lap.

“Please understand that your brother does care for you,” said Joanna. “Your father’s responsibilities have suddenly fallen to him, and he’s inexperienced in caring for other people.” She paused and pried the empty cup from Chuza’s hand. “He’s doing what he thinks is best, though we may not agree with all of his decisions.”

Having slept so much over the course of the last three days, I couldn’t fall asleep that night. So much had happened over the course of the last month. So many complicated, confusing, terrible things had happened. So much I couldn’t understand. Once again, I wandered sleeplessly through the house until I stood before Chuza’s writing cabinet. Perhaps someday if I had a record of the events of the last month, I would be able to sort it out and make sense of it. I took a pen, ink, and some sheets of papyrus from the cabinet, brought them to my room, dipped the pen into the inkwell, and began my account with the night of the raid.

My first sensation upon awakening that night was an unusual silence, the absence of my brother Lev’s restless sleep-breathing. His empty mat signaled that the moment had finally arrived: the raid on Sepphoris, the Roman capital city of Galilee, would take place tonight. But Lev had snuck off to join the rebels without me! I tightened the combs in my braided hair and donned the clothing I’d hidden under my mat. Disguised in the head covering and tunic of a young man, I crept by my father, sleeping in the other room, and slipped out the door. I was a swift runner; I would catch up to Lev and participate in this holy adventure with him.

I wrote all night, words tumbling out faster than I could form their shapes. Once the sheets had dried, I hid them under my sleeping platform. Feeling like I had broken a fever, I slept soundly.

* * *

I awoke late the next morning, roused finally by my anxiety about Lev. He should know that Father had died. And, if he was in Jerusalem, he needed to leave because he was putting all of us in danger. Herod Archalaus had spies everywhere, Chuza said.

Judah ben Hezekiah had said that Lev had gone to the Essenes. Perhaps Joanna knew something about them or even knew some of them. Maybe she would help me search for Lev.

I found her in the dining room, counting the soup bowls in a storage cabinet. I told her only that Lev, as far as we knew, had recently joined an Essene sect somewhere. And that I longed to see him.

“I know it would be a great consolation for you to see him, Danya. And Lev should know his father has died, but Chuza has decided not to seek him out right now.”

“Why not?”

“He thinks it would bring Lev to Jerusalem, and that Chuza’s enemies would try to link Lev to Judah ben Hezekiah, as they did with your father. Chuza would have to fight all over again, this time to prove his brother’s innocence. What if he failed?”

He probably would fail, I thought. “But if Lev is with the Essenes in Jerusalem, he would flee the city once he knew this. Then all of us would be safer,” I reasoned. “Let me look for him, please! Tell me how to find the Essenes.”

“I see what you mean. And a son should know that his father has died. There is an Essene quarter not far from here.” Joanna put the bowls back and closed the cabinet door. She explained that I couldn’t roam the streets and alleys of Jerusalem unaccompanied. That might be dangerous, and, anyway, Chuza wouldn’t permit it. But I felt that she was wavering and that I might yet persuade her when we heard heavy footsteps in the hallway outside the dining room.

“Here he is now,” said Joanna, and she began straightening the sleeves of my tunic as Chuza entered the room. “Your sister needs some clothing that fits her better and is appropriate to her station in life here,” she said. “You don’t want her looking like the poor relative from Galilee in front of our friends, do you?”

I was the poor relative from Galilee, and, though Joanna was joking, it stung a little to hear this said aloud. Chuza frowned, but Joanna persisted. “My things are too small for her, and hers are wearing out.”

“All right,” Chuza sighed. “Off to your father’s shop, but I don’t have time to accompany you. Take one of the male servants with you.”

“The servants are already overburdened with preparations for tonight’s dinner. Better not to tie one up waiting around for us. Father’s shop is close, and we’ll be safe with him.”

While Chuza considered this, Joanna shifted from one foot to the other. “Just see that the old crook doesn’t overcharge me like he usually does,” said Chuza finally.

She gave him a quick kiss. “Of course, husband. Thank you.”

After he left, I said, “Should you be doing this for me? What if Chuza finds out?

“Even if he does, which is unlikely, he’ll eventually see the propriety of it. A son should know when his father has died. Chuza believes this, but he’s not himself right now. He’s anxious because so much has changed in Jerusalem of late. Staying in favor becomes harder every day.”

Before we set out, Joanna gave detailed instructions to her servants about the dinner preparations. I admired her air of confidence as she did this. When she wasn’t with Chuza, she seemed so competent. Though she was small-boned and delicate in her mannerisms, she carried herself with authority.

Joanna knew her way around Jerusalem. Because Efron had no sons, he had schooled Joanna in his business. Before she was married, she often accompanied him on his business affairs around the city. The Essene quarter was close to her father’s shop though Joanna had rarely gone there because Essenes do not wear silk. But she assured me that they were pious, righteous people, so we would be safe among them.

A stairway at the southern edge of the Upper City brought us down to some twisting alleys and into the Essene quarter. The houses here, with their tiled roofs and plastered stone walls, were smaller but still elegant by my standards. We knocked on doors, intending to ask if anyone knew of a Lev ben Micah from Nazareth. But, in house after house, no one answered our knocking. The aroma of baking bread and grilled vegetables drew us to a long building, which turned out to be a dining hall where most of the quarter’s residents were enjoying a meal together. Men, women, and children, all dressed in white linen, stood and sang a hymn of thanks. “Thou hast redeemed my soul from the Pit, and Thou hast raised me up to everlasting height. I walk on limitless level ground . . .”

When the singing ended, the servers brought food to their tables, and all eyes turned to us. Joanna stated our business to one of their leaders. He went from table to table asking if anyone had heard of a new member named Lev, from Nazareth. But, even in this large group, no one had heard of him. They suggested we try the monastery in Qumran, whose ranks grew daily with young men from all over the country. But Qumran was more than a half day’s walk from Jerusalem, and it would be impossible for us to go there. Another of their leaders suggested we write a letter to Lev and entrust it to him in case he ever came across my brother. But I dared not accept his kindness. He, too, would be tainted if such a letter were to go astray. We thanked them for their time, and, discouraged, hurried back to the Upper City. We still had to go to Efron’s shop and order some clothes for me, so Chuza wouldn’t become suspicious of our whereabouts.

In Efron’s shop, sheets of silk lined the walls, hanging from pegs fastened near the ceiling. Long lengths of saffron, pink, red, and blue-hued silks spilled down to the floor and rustled with each breath of wind flowing through the door. Entering his shop was like walking into a fluttering rainbow.

“Joanna, my love.” said Efron as he popped out from a curtained back room. “And Danya. Is today the day you join the ranks of the most beautiful women of Jerusalem?”

I managed a polite smile. “Today is the day I stop borrowing Joanna’s clothing, at least.”

Efron told me to pick any color, and I chose the saffron. He wafted the length of silk over my palm; it was so soft I felt my touch might melt it. The women tailors clucked and measured and fussed over me. Joanna advised about trimming the cut. But I had no heart for this business. My heart had been fixed on finding Lev. When Efron asked me to pick a color for my second tunic, I listlessly pointed to the white. “How about something more striking? This crimson perhaps? Look how gorgeous it is against your skin.”

Crimson reminded me of Naomi. A light crimson tinted her cheeks when she laughed. “No thank you. The white will be more useful,” I said. “But could we also order something for my friend Naomi? Her clothes are as worn as mine, and she would be so happy to have one of your beautiful tunics, Efron.”

“Surely, my dear,” said Efron.

Joanna took my hand. “Danya, Naomi won’t need . . . I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but Naomi is no longer staying with us. Chuza has found her. . . a position.”

“What do you mean ‘a position’? What has he done now?”