Enchantress: A Novel of Rav Hisda's Daughter (22 page)

“It is more complicated than that,” Tachlifa added. “Dada has invested some of the income from that inheritance in my business, and its value has increased over the years.”

“Before we continue, how much income are we talking about?” Rava asked. “How many
zuzim
a month?”

Mari and Tachlifa grinned, and then Mari replied, “I will let Dada answer that, although I can tell you we’re talking about
mina
here, not
zuz
.”

Everyone turned to me, and I thanked my lucky stars I had spent enough time with Mariamme and Tachlifa so I wouldn’t appear as woefully ignorant as last month. Though substantial, only Rava appeared impressed by what my own work and
ketuba
property earned. But when I described the produce I contributed from Grandfather’s lands, Father and Nachman stifled gasps while Rava whispered, “Ha-Elohim.”

“Our estate supplies more than enough for our family’s needs,” Father admonished me. “You don’t need to supplement it.”

“Grandfather’s inheritance should help to support his descendants,” I replied. “Besides, I receive more than enough from my share of Tachlifa’s profits to give half to charity and still save for the future.”

When I announced my yearly income, everyone stared at me with astonishment, except Tachlifa. He calmly inquired if this could benefit Rava since my original investment derived from sales of produce from Grandfather’s lands.

“What about the mortgages I’ve funded from this? Can my husband benefit from their produce?” I asked, trying to sound disinterested.

Father and Nachman paused to consider this, but Rava replied immediately: “I said I would make no claims on my wife’s property. However, if she wishes to buy a palace, I will live in it with her, and if she wishes to serve fat meat and old wine at our table, I will eat it with her.” Rava exchanged looks with a smiling Tachlifa. “And if she wishes to buy me silk clothes so my appearance does not shame her, I will wear them.”

I smiled back at my brother. So that’s where Rava’s fine new outfit came from.

Tachlifa’s grin grew wider. “Wait until you see the clothing you bought him for the betrothal,” he addressed me. “It is almost as fine as the outfit my wife chose for you.”

Of course Pazi would have found something stunning for me. Her family were silk merchants.

Father waved his hand for silence. “I have decided. Rava may not benefit in any way from the produce of her grandfather’s lands themselves, but my daughter may share the income from Tachlifa’s profits with him,” he pronounced. “As for the mortgages, twice removed from the prohibited property, if she chooses to benefit him with those, she may do so.”

“I do choose to.” I picked up the stack of deeds, which were sitting innocuously among other documents on Father’s table, handed them to Rava, and sat back to watch.

I cannot describe the pleasure and gratification I felt as he glanced at one, then stopped to read it more carefully. He perused the next two just as slowly, then gazed up at me questioningly. I smiled and nodded, after which he hurriedly looked through the rest of them.

When he had gone over them all twice more, he raised his eyes to mine and blinked back tears. “You . . . You mortgaged my lands . . . all of them . . . starting over a year ago. . . . How . . . ?” he trailed off in disbelief.

I needed to wipe my eyes as well, so Mari replied, “Tachlifa and I both have in-laws in Machoza, so we had no difficulty recruiting men to act as agents for our sister.”

“You will be pleased to know that the wine at your betrothal banquet comes from your own vineyards,” Tachlifa said.

Rava’s expression radiated such joy that I blushed to witness it. “You have been the devious one,” he complimented me. “And I cannot thank you enough.”

“I did not want your family property to fall to strangers,” I explained. But he knew that was a small part of my intent.

Before Rava could find the words to thank my brothers, Mother called, “Can you finish your business later? It is almost mealtime, and some guests are here for the betrothal.”

“What guests?” Father shot a questioning look at Rava, who shrugged his shoulders in ignorance.

“Rava’s brother’s family, as well as Yalta and Rav Nachman from Machoza,” she answered. “Em and Abaye just arrived from Pumbedita, along with an elderly rabbi and some students.”

Father stood up, immediately followed by the rest of us. “Excellent, now we can have Abaye and Rav Nachman witness the documents this afternoon.”

That was a relief. No one was allowed to witness documents pertaining to members of their own family, so I’d assumed that we’d have to wait until First Day for Rav Hamnuna and Rabbah bar Huna. Now there was one less task to delay the betrothal banquet, and we could enjoy Em’s and Abaye’s company for Shabbat.

We hurried outside to greet them, and I recognized Yalta even at a distance by the purple clothes she always wore. I was struck, as they chatted, by the difference between her and Mother. Judging by how humbly and carefully the slaves served them food and drink, eyes cast downward yet quick to anticipate their mistresses’ needs, both women wielded great authority and knew it. But Yalta’s slaves cringed before her, and when one brought her a less than full cup of wine, Yalta’s harsh countenance made the poor girl quake with fear.

I was taking this in when Rava grabbed my arm and stopped so abruptly it was as if an invisible door had slammed in his face. His expression, which moments before had been suffused with happiness, was now one of dismay. I looked around to see what had upset him, but all I saw was an elderly man, supported by a walking stick, hobbling toward us.

“Heaven save me,” Rava pleaded under his breath. “It’s Rav Oshaiya.”

THIRTEEN

F
or an instant Rava tensed as if he were preparing to bolt, but then he straightened up, squared his shoulders, and went to greet his teacher. My heart filled with angst, yet I refused to abandon him and followed a few footsteps in his wake.

We needn’t have worried. Once Rav Oshaiya saw Rava approaching, he broke into a broad smile and held his arms out wide. “My boy, my dear boy,” he murmured as they embraced. “I was so worried when you didn’t return from Sura, but then Abaye informed me of your upcoming betrothal, and I had to come celebrate with you.”

“Forgive me, Master, I should have written—” Rava began.

“Nonsense. You had more important things to do.” Rav Oshaiya turned and surveyed me from head to toe. “Is this your intended bride?”

Rava nodded. “Rav Oshaiya, this is Hisdadukh.”

“The daughter of our host, Rav Hisda.” Rav Oshaiya inclined his bald head toward me. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“It is an honor to meet you,” I replied.

I would have thought Rava could wait until his teacher was settled, but he couldn’t restrain himself. “Master, though it is past Yom Kippur, I beg your forgiveness for being such a poor student.” The only time I’d heard Rava sound so humble was in Sepphoris when he acknowledged that his envy might have provoked the Evil Eye against Rami. “Despite all your training, my efforts to conquer my
yetzer hara
have been an abysmal failure.”

Rav Oshaiya didn’t seem to mind Rava’s impetuousness, and indeed couldn’t have looked more pleased. “Then, my training has been a success.”

“I don’t understand, Master.”

“Imagine a magnificent stallion, wild and headstrong.” Rav Oshaiya sounded like he was addressing a schoolboy. “Do you give him to a farmer, to beat into submission and yoke to a plow? Or do you give him to a king, to be trained as a great warhorse?”

“To the king.”

“And when the king takes this mighty steed into battle or on a hunt, does anyone think even for an instant that the stallion controls what direction or how hard he rides?” Rav Oshaiya chuckled before answering his own question. “Of course not. The valiant king is absolute master of the creature between his legs.”

Rava nodded but gave no indication that he appreciated his teacher’s double meaning.

So Rav Oshaiya continued. “When we recite ‘you shall love Adonai your God with all your heart’ in the Shema, why is the word
levavcha
, ‘with all your heart,’ written with a second
vet
though the correct spelling should be with one?”

Rava needed a few moments to find the answer Rav Oshaiya wanted. “Because God wants us to love Him with both our
yetzer tov
and our
yetzer hara
.”

I wanted to show that I had understood. “My father said he was greater than his colleagues because he married at sixteen,” I said. “Had he married at fourteen, he could have taunted Satan and still not be overcome by his
yetzer hara
.”

“How many children has your father sired?”

“Nine,” I said proudly. “Seven boys and five of them rabbis.”

“Nine children and all this wealth as well.” Rav Oshaiya gestured to the villa and its surrounding property. “The pious Rav Hisda has apparently not only mastered his
yetzer hara
but serves his Creator with it as well.”

Out of habit, I lowered my voice. “It is because of his great piety and Torah learning that all nine of us have lived to become parents ourselves.”

“It is more than that,” Rav Oshaiya said knowingly. “Strong enchantments protect this household.”

Of course Rav Oshaiya would be able to detect the presence of sorcery. “My father is learned in priestly magic,” I explained.

“Very impressive. Rome destroyed the Holy Temple and Jerusalem priesthood over two hundred years ago, yet Rav Hisda has managed to preserve such secret knowledge here in Bavel.”

“But it is limited to men only,” I said, more bitterly than I’d intended.

“Em tells me you are progressing well in your training with her.” Rav Oshaiya looked back and forth between Rava and me before patting Rava on the back and pronouncing, “The two of you will make a formidable couple.”

I blushed to recall that Rava had used those very words to express his disappointment when I’d refused to marry him after Rami died. But when I turned to him, I was delighted to see him smiling back at me.

“Indeed, Master, I told her the same thing myself some years ago.” Rava’s voice was full of pride, not regret.

 • • • 

Father and Rav Nachman couldn’t get enough of Rav Oshaiya’s company, while Mother, Yalta, and Em, clearly old friends, spent most of Shabbat with their heads together. Someone must have told the students to allow Rava time alone with me on this Day of Rest, for the only person to join our meals was Abaye, who had his own tale to share.

“You won’t be surprised that the first thing I did after receiving your letter—after telling Em, that is—was propose marriage to Homa.” Abaye shook his head sadly. “But you may be surprised to hear that she refused me.”

“I warned you about marrying a
katlanit
,” Rava said. “Now you can marry someone else.”

I glared at Rava, who knew Homa was not a
katlanit
. Before I could object, Abaye slammed his hand against the floor. “I want to marry Homa, not someone else.” His voice was hard as iron.

Seeing the normally congenial Abaye lose control like this gave me the impetus to help him. “Did you ask her to marry you or did you ask if she wanted to marry you?”

“What difference does that . . .” Rava’s voice trailed off until he brightened. “Ah, I see.”

“What do you see?” Abaye asked eagerly.

“If she won’t marry you although she wants to, then you may yet persuade her,” Rava explained. “But if she truly doesn’t want you, that you may be unable to overcome.”

“I admit I only asked her to marry me,” Abaye replied. “In truth, I begged her to marry me.”

I turned to Abaye, whose passion for Homa had to be obvious even to Rava. “I have spoken with Homa on the subject and I believe she does want you, but she is also afraid.”

After some silence Rava spoke again, this time with his usual confidence and authority. “Then I will have to convince her, on your behalf.”

Abaye looked at him with a mixture of astonishment and gratitude. “In all the years we’ve studied together, you’ve almost never lost an argument. If anyone can persuade her, you are the one to do it.”

“In return I need your help studying Mishna,” Rava said. “With important rabbis like Rav Nachman here, my teaching tomorrow must be especially eloquent.”

Abaye beamed. “It will be my pleasure.”

“Let me help too,” I pleaded with him. “I might know some useful Baraitot.”

He smiled in acquiescence. “I would like that.”

 • • • 

I thought Rava would want to teach something about marriage, from either Ketubot or Kiddushin, but instead he chose the beginning of Tractate Sukkah.

“The Mishna states that a sukkah taller than twenty
amot
is invalid, but Rabbi Yehuda rules it valid,” he quoted the text.