Enchantress: A Novel of Rav Hisda's Daughter, page 13
“And I would like you to become more knowledgeable about the lands I manage and the produce they generate,” Mari added.
“I have been so inept at managing my own property that it is just as well that I don’t manage hers,” Rava said.
“Of course her dowry will include the customary four female slaves,” Mari said. “But in addition there will be a capable, experienced, and trustworthy steward.”
Rava turned to me. “No matter how trustworthy this steward starts out, it would be placing a stumbling block before the blind if he knows that no one is checking his accounting.”
I nodded. “I will make certain that by the time we are married, I understand where all my income comes from and how it is spent.” Somehow in the next few months I would have to become adept in mathematics.
But I needed to talk to Chama sooner.
• • •
At the evening meal, Mother chortled with satisfaction when I asked my sister-in-law Mariamme to teach me how she kept the family accounts. Mother then questioned me about my studies.
“Em is an excellent teacher,” I began. I briefly described the various potions she had taught me how to make, and by the time I got to kos ikarin I was surrounded by enthralled faces.
Mother nodded in approval. “I understand that kos ikarin is particularly difficult to prepare.”
I explained how my expertise in beer had served me well.
“Em says you have been very useful at expelling demons from birthing chambers,” she said. “Even the most difficult cases don’t faze you.”
I wasn’t about to admit how much they did disturb me. “Helping a woman in childbirth is a most rewarding experience,” I lied.
Mother’s eyes narrowed but she said nothing.
“What incantation bowls have you installed there?” Rahel asked.
That got everyone’s attention. So I told them about ending Issi’s bad dreams, healing children who became ill after not washing their hands, and protecting pregnant women. Of course, they were most interested in the love spell I’d cast and made me relate the story in great detail.
By the time I finished, Mother was beaming.
Once on the subject of love, my sisters-in-law couldn’t resist teasing me about the sudden resolution of my romance with Rava. Soon they were good-naturedly debating the wisdom of marrying such a poor man, even if he was the most brilliant rabbi of his generation.
To my embarrassment, Pazi asked if he kissed well.
“I don’t know,” I lied again. This time Mother looked at me askance.
“You should find out before you’re actually betrothed,” Pazi insisted. This got the women arguing once more.
“But he’s leaving for Machoza at the end of Shabbat,” I said.
Pazi turned to her twin, Tazi. “Rava should come with us on Father’s boat.”
“Good idea,” Tazi replied.
“What boat? What are you two talking about?” I asked.
“Samuel wrote that he and Tachlifa will be back early,” Tazi explained. “Our father is sending one of his ships for us, so we can travel directly to Machoza.”
I nodded in agreement. Not only would Rava get home quickly, but it wouldn’t cost him anything.
• • •
When we met with Father and Nachman, we agreed that before the betrothal ceremony I would provide a list of my properties and the income they produced, with each identified as to whether Rava was entitled to its produce. He would do the same, despite all the mortgages. There would be no hidden properties.
“When shall we have the betrothal banquet?” Father asked. There was no doubt that he would host it, not Rava.
“I need to stay in Machoza through Rosh Hashana, and if the divorce takes longer, I will send word,” Rava replied. “But I would like to be betrothed before Sukkot.”
“Then we can celebrate all week.” Nachman smiled and punched Mari’s shoulder. Sukkot was the seven-day biblical festival when Israelites were commanded to dwell in a sukkah, a temporary structure that commemorated their forty years in the wilderness before entering the Promised Land.
“We must serve wine as well as beer,” I said firmly.
Mari gave me a knowing look. “As it happens, I have business in Machoza. I will accompany Rava, and he can help me choose some wine for the feast.”
“You can travel together on Gidel’s—that is, Pazi’s father’s ship,” I said, describing her offer. Now Mari would be present to ensure that Rava’s divorce proceeded as planned.
“If we hold the betrothal the day before Sukkot, the wedding can take place thirty days later, in mid-Cheshvan.”
“No,” Rava and I exclaimed together.
“I will be niddah in mid-Cheshvan,” I explained.
“We will wed in Tevet, at the end of Hanukah,” Rava declared. “The nights are longest then.”
Mari and Nachman burst out laughing, and even Father chuckled. Rava instantly realized what his words had implied and his face flamed.
“That’s not what he means,” I scolded them. “Em took me to a Chaldean who told me that the years of my husband’s life would be proportional to the length of our wedding night.” I paused to fight back tears. “That’s why Rami died young, because we married in Sivan.”
Father put his arm around me. “I’m sorry. Of course you should marry in Tevet.”
“It will give Dada more time to learn to manage a family’s finances,” Mari said, probably hoping to lighten the mood.
Rava said what I wanted to hear. “I think we’ve settled nearly everything, so if you don’t mind, I’d like some time alone with my bride.”
• • •
We climbed to the roof and stood behind the dovecote, far from where the students and slaves would be sleeping on this sweltering night. Rosh Hodesh was only a few days away, and the slim crescent moon had set long ago. The sky was brilliant with stars, and every so often a shooting star blazed briefly. To think that only this morning I was standing up here anxiously waiting to see if Rava would arrive or not.
I took his hand and savored how warm and strong it felt. “There’s a question I’ve wanted to ask you all day.”
“And I have one as well, but you go first.”
“What are you going to tell Abaye?”
Rava stroked his beard in thought. “I will apologize for failing him. Not only was I unable to convince you to marry him, but you persuaded me to marry you instead.”
“You should write to him before you leave, so he and Em can come to our betrothal banquet.” I doubted Abaye would see Rava as having failed, however.
“I will send it tomorrow . . . even if it frees him to start wooing Homa again.”
“So what is your question?”
He looked into my eyes. “If you knew you wanted to marry me while we were in Pumbedita, why didn’t you tell me?”
“But I did . . . twice,” I replied. “The first time was when you accused me of having cast a love spell on you, and I argued back that you had used the one from Sepher ha-Razim on me.”
He was silent only a few moments before saying, “Which implied that your heart was bound to mine. Evidently I was too upset at the time to think properly.”
“The second time you were too drunk.” I explained about his coming to my room on Purim, concluding, “Although it could have been a dream.”
“If it was, then I had a similar dream that night,” he admitted. “But I was certain I had dreamt it.”
So he did remember it. He really had been in my room. I looked up at him and prepared to teach him some proper kissing. But we were no longer alone. I could hear bedding being laid down and murmurs of drowsy people. Soon the roof would be a maze of sleeping forms that we would have to navigate. I didn’t want to leave, but my eyes were having difficulty staying open.
“Aren’t you sleepy?” I asked. Surely he had traveled all night to get here this morning.
“I see that you are.” He began leading me toward the stairs. “As tired as I am, I’m more afraid I’ll wake up in the morning in Pumbedita, or worse, on the boat to Machoza.”
“I assure you. This is no dream,” I whispered, pulling him close.
We held each other for some time, until he slowly backed away. “Then I had better start working on what I’m going to teach your father’s students in the morning.”
• • •
It was full sunlight when I woke, so I dressed hurriedly and then bolted downstairs. There he was, deep in discussion with Father and Nachman. I slowed to a more sedate pace, hesitating only when I saw his wet hair.
I was determined not to embarrass him by alluding in any way to his morning immersion, so I merely smiled. “I am very glad to see you here this morning.”
He actually smiled back. “And I am very glad to be here.”
I went to take my place with the women, and no sooner did I sit down than Pazi giggled and whispered, “Rava must have dreamed that you were married already.”
My other sisters-in-law were still chortling at this when Rahel leaned closer to add, “Mari said that Rava told them he wanted to marry in Tevet, when the nights are longest.”
This sent them into gales of laughter, and, blushing, I explained about my horoscope.
“What’s this about you consulting a Chaldean?” Mother demanded, suddenly coming in from the kitchen.
The effect of Mother’s appearance was immediate, as the giddy women grew serious and turned to me with rapt attention. This time I wasn’t surprised by Mother’s abrupt appearance.
“He warned me not to share my horoscope widely, to avoid provoking the Evil Eye,” I answered. This only made everyone more curious.
Mother surveyed their eager expressions and made her decision. “I doubt anyone here would give you the Evil Eye but, nevertheless, share only a few of the good predictions and be sure to include some bad ones. You and I will have a fuller discussion later . . . in private.”
Though disappointed, my sisters-in-law accepted Mother’s verdict without protest. So I talked about enjoying successful pregnancies and easy labors, explained that I would have at least five sons but only two husbands, the latter of whom would survive me. Unfortunately some of my children would die before me. These last two prophecies should help avert the Evil Eye.
Indeed, I was surrounded by such cries of dismay that the men turned to us in alarm. “Don’t worry,” I assured the women. “The Chaldean foretold a long life for me, and I don’t mind dying first. Then I will not have to suffer widowhood again.”
“You’ve already lost a child,” Mother said. “Perhaps that is the only one you were fated to outlive.”
This pronouncement was followed by a chorus of “Amen.”
ELEVEN
Rava strode to the front, and the classroom, which had been buzzing with speculation, abruptly quieted. I took my place in an unobtrusive spot where I could observe Chama as well. Using his deepest, most stentorian tones, Rava began, “We had some cases in Pumbedita that involved losses after an owner asked someone to safeguard his possessions. The question arose, who is responsible if a custodian transfers the article he was supposed to guard to someone else? Rabbi Yohanan says the first custodian is obligated even for an unavoidable loss, since the owner did not agree to another man guarding it. Rav, however, disagrees and says he is not liable.”
Rava’s eyes found mine as he continued, “Rami bar Chama challenged Rabbi Yohanan’s view, citing a Mishna: if someone leaves coins with a neighbor for safekeeping, and the neighbor gives them to his young son or daughter, or improperly locks the door, then he is liable for loss because he did not guard them responsibly.”
Chama, who had started out looking sad and uneasy, perked up when he heard his father’s name. He elbowed another boy, to share his pleasure, while Rava paused to make sure that everyone recognized the Mishna from Tractate Bava Metzia.
“This Mishna implies that the custodian would have been exempt had he given the coins to adults instead of to children,” he continued. “Rami is correct that whoever deposits items with a guardian does so with the understanding that the man may entrust them to his wife and adult children too. However, this does not refute Rabbi Yohanan.”
My heart swelled with gratitude. He had quoted Rami without insulting or denigrating him, and my son no longer appeared sad but was paying attention.
Again Rava glanced at me, and there was a glint in his eye. “When I pointed this out to Rami, he then agreed that the Mishna actually supports Rabbi Yohanan because it implies that while the guardian may transfer his responsibility to his own adult children, he is liable if he transfers it to other adults.”
Rava waited for questions, but none came. The students were either nodding in comprehension, lost in thought, or staring away, too intimidated to speak.
“Abaye had a different reason for supporting Rabbi Yohanan,” he continued. “Abaye says a custodian who transfers responsibility to another should be liable for loss because the owner could say he only trusted the first custodian and did not want anyone else to guard his possessions.”
Everyone, even the boys, nodded at this. But Rava wasn’t finished. “Rami then objected with another Mishna. If a man had a shepherd take his sheep to a high mountain pasture and a lamb fell off the trail, it is an avoidable loss and the shepherd is liable. This implies that if the animal died naturally on the mountain, an unavoidable loss, the shepherd would be exempt.”
Chama, who had clearly recognized this Mishna, as well as the previous one, was whispering to Bibi, who apparently had not. I beamed with pride that my son had not teased or otherwise belittled those who knew less than him.
“But we cannot use this Mishna as proof, because it deals with negligence, not permission. Abaye is correct. The law is that a custodian who transfers to another without the owner’s consent is liable even for unavoidable loss. But the original custodian is liable only if he is negligent.”
At first there were only a few questions about whether transferring to a paid guardian made the first one exempt—Rava said no and explained why. More questions came, about liability when the shepherd is negligent but the animal dies of natural causes. Rava answered them considerately, with no condescension or derision. He admitted that he and Abaye differed: Abaye held the shepherd liable and Rava found him exempt.
After that, the noise and excitement level rose as students surrounded Rava and inundated him with questions: What if the animal is stolen and dies? What if it is stolen, returned to the shepherd, and then dies? What if the animal wanders into a marsh and dies—is it a natural death or is the shepherd liable? What if the animal overpowered the shepherd and ran off—is this negligence or an unavoidable loss?
I couldn’t make out Rava’s exact words, but I could clearly hear his resonant voice replying to each inquiry without anger, sarcasm, or impatience. Some students nodded in agreement while others shook their heads. In back, boys were jumping up and standing on their toes to see. Even Bibi, who had known Rava all his life, didn’t dare breach the circle of older students jostling each other for his attention. Chama, taken aback when Rava first quoted his father, now followed the discussion intently.
• • •
I was quietly bursting with pride when Mother took my arm. “It looks to be quite a while before they’re done here. This would be a good time to discuss what the Chaldean told you.”
At first I was apprehensive, but Mother already knew about Pabak’s predictions and Bar Hedaya’s bizarre dream interpretations from Em. “Em is right that Rava should find Bar Hedaya and correct this, even if you are not concerned about dying before him,” she said coolly.
Relieved that Mother wasn’t as concerned as Em, I brought up what really troubled me. “I am more worried about making female enemies. What if it puts my children’s lives in danger?”
“As you work toward becoming the powerful charasheta the Chaldean predicted you will be, some will see you as a threat,” she cautioned me. “But once you achieve that power, I am confident you will know how to protect your family from those who would injure them.”
Though her first sentence had been a warning, she concluded with such conviction that I was stirred by her faith in me.
“You are lucky.” Her voice was self-assured. “Rava’s studies with Rav Oshaiya should add to your safety, especially as he was powerful enough to give that kashafa in Sepphoris the Evil Eye, not to mention repelling the Angel of Death when he came for you.”
I gulped in alarm. Evidently Em had shared with Mother what I thought was our private conversation. Which meant Mother probably knew that Rava and I had almost used the bed on our return to Pumbedita.
I tried to hide my embarrassment but knew I was blushing. “Em doesn’t have any enemies. Why can’t I be like her?”
Mother squinted as she scrutinized me. “Em has chosen to concentrate her powers on healing. She does not conjure angels, demons, or any ruchim who frighten people. To avoid danger, she does not attempt the most difficult and powerful spells—those you excel at.”
I hadn’t dared share my fears with Em, but Mother seemed surprisingly approachable. “Merely assisting with women suffering in labor distressed me so much that I lost my kavanah,” I confessed. “And when Nasus and Samael appeared, I was helpless with terror.”
Mother’s eyes widened in awe. “You saw them?”
I looked away in shame. “That’s partly why I returned to Sura so early this summer. I couldn’t bear facing them again,” I said. “How can my horoscope say I’ll be a great charasheta if I can’t help these women?”
Mother took my hand. “You are one of those fastidious individuals, like your father, so these things bother you more,” she reassured me. “Living here, in his villa, you haven’t been exposed to all the death and illness someone like Em sees.”
I was afraid she’d tell me to conquer my fears, but instead she said, “Em told me that you sensed a woman casting a spell, further evidence of your strong connection to the unseen world. I think your talents are better used to protect your clients with amulets and kasa d’charasha than in bedside healing.” She patted my hand. “Eventually you will learn to detect sorcery for the purpose of counteracting it.”
