A Journey to the End of the Millennium (14 page)

Then the women came up on deck. First the first wife, in whom, although she had put on weight and her face had grown rounder in the
years since he had last seen her, he recognized an affection that
radiated
toward the whole world. Even though as a child he had sometimes been hugged to her bosom, he was careful not to approach her now, but bowed before her time and again, his hand describing a threefold movement of respect from his forehead to his mouth to his heart, and he greeted her repeatedly, asking after her children in a confused mumble, because his other aunt was now approaching, shyly, fearfully, smiling with her brilliant, perfect teeth. Reddening, he hastily lowered his eyes, for her youth clutched at his heart, not only because he thought about himself but also because of the anticipated pain and anger of his wife, who would not agree to submit to Ben Attar. Yes, he knew this for certain now. His wife would on no account agree to abrogate her repudiation, even if the Andalusian rabbi floored them all with his texts.

But he knew he could not retract his offer of hospitality, even if it had been exacted somewhat deviously. Even if the thought of his uncle staying in his home with his two wives made him shudder, he knew that he would never forgive himself if he allowed his own flesh and blood, whom the good Lord himself had wafted hither from his native land, to lodge in some strange hostelry. That was ruled out from the start for the five Jews by reason of its questionable food, and even for Abu Lutfi, who dogged his heels, eager as ever to show his northern partner the wonderful goods he had collected in the folds of the Atlas Mountains.

For a while things went back to being as they had been in the past, except that the half-darkness of the ship’s hold had been exchanged for that of Benveniste’s stable, and the low groans of a lonely camel
replaced
the neighing and braying of the horses and donkeys. Once again the pungent smells of the spices burst from the opened sacks, and the golden honeycombs displayed their delicate tracery, while graceful
little
daggers inlaid with tiny jewels were extracted from their hiding places, and Abulafia was carried away by the sight of the new
merchandise
exposed to his gaze and hastened to appraise its quality and
calculate
how much it would fetch. All the time he spoke to the Arab, the floorboards undulated beneath his feet and the wooden walls swayed gently around him, for the order had covertly been given to Abd
el-Shafi
to weigh anchor and carry the travelers forward to the house where the new wife awaited them.

Even though the wife in question was incapable of imagining the two women sailing toward the hospitality of her roof, already an arrow of anxiety had lodged in her heart on account of the North African who had crossed her threshold, and finding no rest for her soul she went into the yard to detain her brother, who was saddling his horse so as to ride south, a distance of three hours’ journey, to the place named Villa Le Juif, where a couple of days previously a merchant from the Land of Israel had arrived with a precious pearl. This young man, who always knew how to keep precise track of what occurred in his sister’s soul, was amazed to find her pleading with him not to leave before Abulafia returned with Ben Attar and the rabbi. Who was she afraid of, asked the brother, Ben Attar or the rabbi? But she made no reply and said nothing, for even though she was not able to visualize on this bright morning the menace that was sailing lazily into the heart of the Île de France, she could sense it, which is why she mumbled confusedly,
The
rabbi
…, and wondered at her own reply. The brother’s explosion of laughter startled even the horse. What could an Andalusian rabbi say that could frighten her, the daughter and widow of famous
scholars?
Surely no exegetical sophistry, no well-known biblical tale, no ancient parchment could deflect a clear, new, right decree that was demanded by the circumstances and endorsed by great luminaries. In any case—and here the brother lightly touched his sister’s slight
shoulder
—no debate should be entertained with anyone before he had set up a special court, which might convert their vague repudiation into a definite ban.

With these clear words he mounted his horse and set off, but the sister he left behind was not calmed, for she was too clever to believe that the twice-wed partner who had traveled all the way from North Africa would release them from the affront he had suffered merely with a court hearing. She had already understood last night, from his slow, determined movements and his gentle gaze, which had not left her, that this man, whose resemblance to her husband could not be denied, and who had demanded divine justice, was only too well
acquainted
with human justice, which was why he had penetrated her
home—to reveal to her some secret about human nature, although she refused to guess at what it was, unless the child awoke and revealed it to her. But the wine that had been poured like water into the boy’s cup had turned to lead in his veins during the night, and when she
attempted
to rouse and question him, he only sank deeper into slumber. Even the mute girl, who all morning had followed her like a shadow, now broke into the persistent loud howl of lamentation that she had first uttered two years before, when her Ishmaelite nurse was sent away.

Into this howl, which had continued since morning and now pierced the noonday silence, entered the two wives, carrying their
bundles
and following close behind Abulafia, who had decided to
accompany
them into his home himself, with a presentiment of imminent disaster but also with the confident belief that the right thing was being done here, even if it was temporary. Ben Attar had remained on board to help Abu Lutfi and Abd el-Shafi allay the suspicions of the royal guardsmen who had boarded the ship, which was anchored by the little bridge. Now, left alone, Abulafia’s manner to his wife became all the more bold, and she was not only angry with him but also excited and fascinated by his new commanding tone, as he ordered her to make ready three rooms, two for the two women and a third for the rabbi, who entered with a light, shy step and greeted in poetic and musical language the graceful housewife, whose blue eyes already made him miss the river he had just left.

And Abulafia repeated to his wife,
My
aunts,
not only to stress the family bond by which he was bound but also to moderate somewhat the reduplicated sexuality, which between the gray walls and the dark furniture received such a powerful, colorful, and scented
intensification
that the mistress of the house felt the ground opening up under her feet and reached out to the nearest chair for support. But it was neither the new firm look in her young husband’s eyes nor the timorous smile flitting over the rabbi’s pale face but rather the mute presence, so submissive yet so serious, of two veiled women standing before her that suddenly softened her heart and caused her resistance to evaporate and curl slowly heavenward like the smoke from her kitchen chimney.

As though to demonstrate to her husband that she was not to be
outdone by him in fulfilling the sacred duty of hospitality, she
unhesitatingly
gave orders in the local language to the maids to take her bedding out of her own bedchamber and prepare the room to receive the first wife, and to remove the girl with her belongings and her rag toys from her small room so the second wife might also have a private apartment. She herself led the gaping rabbi, with his meager bundle of clothes, to his son’s bed, where by dint of his parental authority he might shatter the boy’s epic slumber. If it appeared to Abulafia now that his dear wife had accepted defeat in the second round, so that he could leave her calmly and return to the ship to continue rummaging among the merchandise, this was only because of her resolute inner confidence in divine justice, which would soon stand up against the human spirit that had so rudely invaded her house.

Perhaps it was precisely because of her confidence in the
temporary
character of her defeat that Mistress Esther-Minna was willing to be so cooperative, that it seemed as though she were seeking to retreat further in order to double the sweetness of her victory when the time came. Instead of standing on her honor in the presence of the two wives, she joined her maidservants in changing the bedspread on her own marriage bed. From the moment this duplication of wives, which had aroused her repudiation from afar, had become a reality in her own home, she sought not to flee from it but, on the contrary, to attack it. And so she told the maids to fetch a large tub and fill it with warm water, and she half seduced and half ordered her guests to undress themselves and wash their bodies, so as to separate the fragrant
duskiness
produced by the African sun from the filth added to it by their long journey.

Thus it was not through the eyes of their joint husband but in the gentle but bright noonday sunlight, in such a distant and strange house, that the first wife and the second wife were asked for the first time in their lives to reveal to each other the hidden secrets of their nakedness, and in the presence of a third woman, a stranger, blue of eye and short of stature, who was not content with looking from afar, from a corner of the room, but approached and took the jug from her maidservant’s hand to rinse the tangled braids and to scrape with niter and soap the curved backs and soft bellies, the breasts, heavy hind parts, shapely long thighs. She dried everything that had been exposed
with soft towels, so as to be satisfied that the accumulated dirt of the journey had not distinguished one wife from the other but had merely dulled the deep, true difference between them, which, now that they were gleaming with cleanliness, was revealed in full force, although still without elucidating the secret that joined them in the perfection of a single love.

But Mistress Esther-Minna could not wait for the master of this secret to return, for he was busy now, on the orders of the city guards, cleaning the caliph’s ancient guardship of any old military insignia or accessory, real or imaginary, so that it would have the appearance of a civilian ship alone, qualified by its nonmilitary character to anchor in the port of Paris. Dinnertime came, but despite her sternness, Mistress Esther-Minna did not disturb the rabbi from Seville, who instead of waking his son had joined him in slumber. So only the two freshly bathed wives were summoned to table. And since Ben Attar had never seen fit to endow his wives with any words of the holy tongue, there was no question of any table talk, which grieved the hostess greatly, for both her dear departed father and her husband of blessed memory had always admonished her that a meal without words of Torah was likened by the sages to eating the sacrifices of the dead.

The three women ate in deep silence. While the two guests, as they tasted cautiously and with wonder the delicious “sacrifices of the dead,” had the feeling that they were floating into a sweet dream, their hostess, who could not dispense with words of Torah, ascended to the upper story and asked permission from her brothers wife to seek among his parchments the faded copy of the last song of Moses, whose ancient reproofs she read slowly, verse after verse, to the two women, who had meanwhile finished eating. They listened in total silence, feeling the heavy drowsiness that had fallen on the adjoining chamber enfolding them too, for it was only now, in this closed, motionless room crowded with dark furniture made from the wood of the Black Forest, that they made the same discovery as the rabbi and his young son—that all the sleep they had known during their long voyage on the sea had not been real sleep, because the waves had never, ever let them forget, for a fraction of a moment, the existence of the world outside their dreams. And so it was best, before the abundant newly washed tresses sank into the empty dishes, to interrupt the reading of
the ancient song, say a hasty grace, and hurry the two drowsy women into their separate rooms. Mistress Esther-Minna, who now remained alone at table, did not yet burst into tears of despair, but only because her long years of widowhood had taught her, among other things, the godly quality of patience.

Later that afternoon, when a soft knock was heard at the outer door and the gentile maidservant ushered in the uncle, Ben Attar, who had returned by himself and now stood before his nephew’s wife
completely
naturally, like a welcome guest who had become used to his place, she rose hurriedly to her feet beside the cleared table, on which there lay only the yellowing parchment bearing the last song of Moses. She trembled at the sudden intimacy that the twice-wed partner had thus forced upon her, after insinuating himself cunningly into her home through an imperfectly sealed crack of guilt in her husband’s soul. She could see that he was in a contented state, his eyes bright and calm, not only because he had found a suitable berth for his ship and her crew, but also because he had noticed how the new
merchandise
lying in the ship’s hold had attracted Abulafia and rekindled the old spark in his eyes. Now, offering Mistress Esther-Minna a chance to turn the defeat of her repudiation into a new, shared victory of
closeness
and amity, he smiled and bowed before her politely, as if to say,
Even
though
you
have
forced
me
to
make
this
long
journey,
I
forgive
you.
She, however, could stand the man’s proximity no longer. A wave of fear and disgust rose up inside her, her composure deserted her, and impatiently she left the room.

But Ben Attar’s spirits did not flag. Rather the contrary, as though neither the woman’s sudden abject departure nor even the blue of her eyes convinced him now of its authenticity. But he stood perplexed in the empty room, not knowing where in this house full of narrow dark passages she had hidden his wives. Just as he was hungrily eyeing the strip of parchment, which looked like a sheet of baked pastry, he heard behind a curtain the voice of the first wife, who always woke at his approach, as though even in the depths of sleep she was always ready for him. Was she alone there, or was the second wife with her? Very carefully he drew aside the curtain, and found himself in Abulafia’s marital bedchamber, a room with curved walls dotted with narrow little windows that seemed like eyes squinting in sunlight. The
semidarkness
and the strange smells seemed to mask the familiar scent of the first wife, who at her husband’s entrance pushed the light bedspread off her large bare legs, which she crossed in a relaxed but explicit posture. From the sound of his footsteps as he entered, she knew that he was in a contented mood, which meant that not only had the door of this house opened easily and even respectfully before her and the second wife, accompanied by the rabbi who would justify her
existence,
but a fitting resting place had been found for the ship and her crew. In which case, she thought to herself with amazement, it might yet turn out that this crazy journey Ben Attar had forced them to make had not been in vain, and that the business partnership between north and south might yet come back to life. In which case, she continued to herself, I was mistaken to imagine that the gloom and melancholy that have laid him so low these past two years have robbed him of his wits. In the softness of the wide bed and the pleasure of the high ceiling above her, her feeling of regret was combined with a sense of pride in the success of the father of her children, the wise and strong and therefore desired husband, who was now penetrating deeper into the darkness of the curved bedchamber toward the first wife, who was removing her shift so as to offer him her large, washed breasts.