Enchantress: A Novel of Rav Hisda's Daughter (19 page)

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

R
ava 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.”

“Like Father does.”

She frowned with suspicion. “Who told you that?”

“Grandfather said Father knew priestly magic and that he once reversed a
charasheta
’s spell that had stopped the boat he was traveling on.” I was unsure what had upset her.

Evidently my answer satisfied her, because she smiled. “Most of your father’s knowledge is reserved for men, but don’t worry, you will find another teacher.” She stood up, and I knew our discussion was over. “Now I need to see that everything is in readiness for Shabbat.”

“Thank you, Mother. Especially for your advice to approach Rava directly.” I was so grateful I stepped right in front of her and hugged her. She smelled of the same floral perfume she’d used when I was a child, and her linen tunic was as soft and fine as only her expert hands could weave. But I could see small wrinkles at the corners or her eyes and lips.

She embraced me briefly and then resumed her practical demeanor. “On that subject, Rava came here with only the outfit he was wearing, clothes inappropriate for Shabbat.” She stated this as fact, with no disapproval. “I had them laundered and repaired for his trip to Machoza, but I also provided him with clothing suitable for the holiday.”

 • • • 

Shabbat was the one day a week when the entire household—parents, children, and students—dined together. Instead of women and men sitting separately while children ate with their nurses and tutors in another room, each family sat together on Shabbat, and the students ate by themselves. Everyone dressed up, even the children.

Pazi and Tazi insisted I wear something Rava had never seen for the evening meal. Both women were shorter and plumper than me, but Tazi thought I could wear one of her older red silk tunics, from when she was thinner. This went over my own linen trousers, which were decorated with borders of red silk ribbons I had woven myself.

Thus when we came downstairs, I had the pleasure of watching Rava’s face suffuse with both admiration and pride. I’m sure my expression mirrored his when he stood up to greet me, resplendent in a green-striped outfit that looked as though it had been tailored to fit him perfectly—which Leuton told me was indeed the case. He was surrounded by admiring students, and the pleasure this gave him was so patent that I offered to dine with Pazi and Tazi so he could continue to bask in their flattering company. We would have many future Shabbats to eat together.

Shabbat was when Father served wine, and I saw that Rava was not the only one who preferred it to date beer. The slaves kept Pazi’s and Tazi’s cups full, and by the meal’s end they showed signs of inebriation.

“I think Rava is jealous of us,” Pazi said with a giggle. “He can’t keep his eyes off you.”

“So has he kissed you yet?” Tazi asked. When I shook my head, she continued, “Don’t tell me he’s one of those Machozeans who think mouth kissing is disgusting.”

I couldn’t allow them to think that. “No, but his wife is.”

Pazi elbowed her twin and whispered, “I hear he’s one of those rabbis who’s lenient with everyone except himself.”

“I believe so,” I replied. What was she implying?

“I hope he isn’t one of those strict men who makes his wife wait an extra seven clean days before immersing,” Tazi said with frank disapproval.

Pazi pretended to shudder. “Two weeks a month without using the bed is even worse than no kissing.”

Naturally my two companions were occupied with lustful thoughts. They were about to see their husbands again after a six-month separation. In addition, the Sages recommended Shabbat as the most appropriate night for using the bed, and judging by the amorous couples leaving the
traklin
a judicious while after their children, my family followed their advice.

Rava was still chatting with the students when I bid the twins good night, and once in bed, my mind also became occupied with lustful thoughts. I had always emitted seed when Rami and I coupled. Surely Rava would be equally competent. But what if he wasn’t? What if he were one of those Machozean men who only used the bed half the month?

 • • • 

Following the Shabbat midday meal, I was prepared to let Rava remain with the students, but, to my surprised delight, he headed toward me. “It is our custom to walk together on Shabbat afternoon,” he told them as he held out his hand to me.

“Surely it is too hot to walk today,” Bibi was bold enough to protest. “Come swimming with us.”

Rava scowled with more annoyance than the situation called for, but I put it down to his eagerness to spend time with me. “I do not enjoy such activities. You should go without me.”

“We can walk in the orchards or date groves, where it is shady,” I said. In the summer, most adults and small children disappeared upstairs after the Shabbat midday meal, to nap, while the others headed to the canals to cool off.