Enchantress: A Novel of Rav Hisda's Daughter (39 page)

The two cousins exchanged glances before Rishindukh finally replied, “No one else was competent enough to control Zafnat.”

A slave appeared with another jug of wine, and I realized I still needed to explain my true goal.

“I don’t know if we can help you . . . ,” Rishindukh began.

“You’re talking about cursing Em’s daughter-in-law,” Shadukh said with a shudder. “You would need permission from Yalta to use dark magic against another
charasheta
’s family, even if it is for a good purpose.”

I sighed with disappointment. I had been so sure they could help.

“Don’t worry, dear. Perhaps another approach would work.” Shadukh turned to her cousin. “Remember that bowl incantation, the one for newly married couples, which asks that they have sons?”

“Yes, she could request daughters instead,” Rishindukh said triumphantly. Then her face clouded. “But wait, doesn’t the most effective version include the Priestly Blessing?”

“True, she’d have to omit that part—”

“Why should I omit it?” I interrupted. “I am a
koheness
.”

“So you’ve heard your father or brothers say it,” Shadukh said. When I nodded, she looked at me keenly. “Did they actually pronounce the Holy Name according to its letters or did they say ‘Adonai’?”

“In synagogue, with the public present, they said ‘Adonai,’ but at home, when they blessed the family, they said the actual Name,” I replied. “So
kohanim
would not forget the correct pronunciation.”

The two women gazed at me in awe. I knew they wanted me to say it for them, but I would never speak the Holy Name in a regular conversation.

After some silence, Rishindukh asked for Homa’s mother’s name, and I provided it. Then she recited the spell: “Salvation from Heaven for Homa bat Silta and her husband, for their house and their children, that they may have daughters and not sons, that they may live and be established and no harm in the world may touch them from this day and forever. In the Name of Adonai the Holy, the great God of Israel Who spoke and it was. May Adonai bless you and guard you, may Adonai make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you. May Adonai lift His face upon you and grant peace to you. Amen, amen. Selah.”

She looked to Shadukh for confirmation, who nodded in approval, and the two sent me on my way. I said the spell under my breath several times while going back, using the name Adonai as Rishindukh had. I didn’t know if I would pronounce the Holy Name when I spoke the incantation or not.

TWENTY-FOUR

T
hat evening Rava disrupted our bedtime rituals with an apologetic plea. “Dodi, I need your advice.”

I was intrigued. “About what?”

“A man was brought into court,” Rava began, “for having violated a maiden, and we had to determine what restitution he owed.”

“But that’s simple.” A Mishna in Tractate Ketubot clearly stated that in addition to the fifty-shekel fine, he paid for her humiliation, her loss in value, and her pain.

“It is not simple.” He looked exasperated. “Rav Zeira quoted a Baraita teaching that a rapist does not pay for a maiden’s pain because she would have suffered the same pain under her husband.”

“That’s absurd. You cannot compare sexual relations in the bridal chamber to those on a dung heap.”

“Some rabbis say that a willing maiden suffers no pain.”

I scoffed in incredulity. “We know that most do.”

“That’s why I need your help . . . to judge how much pain a maiden does feel on her wedding night.” To my surprise, Rava was blushing. “Abaye asked Em, and she told him it was like hot water on a bald man’s head. The daughter of Abba Surah told her husband it was like hard bread rubbing against one’s palate.”

“I suppose Rav Zeira suggested you ask me.”

“Nobody suggested I ask you. I expect they considered that indecent.”

“But you want me to tell you.” How could Rava bear hearing me describe my first wedding night? And how could I do so without shaming Rami?

“I want to base our decision on three opinions, and we only have two.”

Rava responded to my silence by saying, “You don’t have to tell me if it offends you.”

“I am not offended. I am trying to recall exactly how it felt.” It was not easy finding an appropriate analogy to explain it. “You can tell the court it was like the prick of a bloodletter’s lance.”

“Good. Everyone knows what that feels like,” Rava said with relief. “Evidently a willing maiden suffers only a small, transient amount of pain.”

“Now I need your help.” I explained about the spell I’d learned from Rishindukh. “I want you to get Abaye’s approval before I install the
kasa d’charasha
.”

He looked at me questioningly. “But it is not necessary to inform Abaye. The decision is Homa’s alone.”

“I know.” Ever since Rabbi Chiya’s wife came to him in disguise, asked if women were obligated to procreate, and learned from his own lips that they were not, the rabbinic community recognized that no man could make a woman bear children against her will.

“Ah.” Rava stroked his beard in thought. “I see. If Abaye were so informed, he could continue to procreate without fear of subjecting more sons to Eli’s curse.”

“Homa wants you to tell him.”

And so it was that during the propitious fifth hour of Sixth Day, under the auspices of the Zadkiel, Angel of Mercy, who had rescued Isaac from his father Abraham’s knife, I buried the bowls, inscribed as Rishindukh had dictated, under Em’s threshold and under Homa’s bedroom. With the moon in Gemini to strengthen its power to remove curses, I chanted the incantation with fervent supplication, pleading that the pious and learned Abaye should not suffer for the sins his wicked ancestors committed so long ago. After some consideration, I bravely pronounced the Holy Name according to its letters. Abaye looked aghast, but Rava nodded appreciatively. Most important, I could feel the angels smiling down on me in approval, like sunshine on a warm spring morning.

 • • • 

Too soon it was our last Shabbat in Pumbedita. Rava had come to me in great excitement, declaring that we would dine with Rav Oshaiya instead of at Abaye’s.

“I hope you don’t mind spending Erev Shabbat without Chama, but Rav Oshaiya wants to show me how he creates that third-size calf he eats every week,” Rava said. “He says it’s the only thing I haven’t learned from him.”

“I will have other Shabbats with Chama,” I said. “When else will I get to eat such a delicacy?”

Rava left for Oshaiya’s early that morning, and I arrived shortly before sunset. I praised the roasted calf as tender and succulent, but in truth it wasn’t that much better than meat I’d had at Father’s. Perhaps my appreciation was hindered by the knowledge that in a few days we’d be sharing the first of many meals with Yalta and Rav Nachman.

The day before we left, Abaye arranged with Rav Yosef for the class to finish a Mishna tractate so he could give a
siyum
, a celebratory meal, to coincide with Rava’s departure. This was my chance to talk with Chama in private. I could see now that Rava would never be the surrogate father to Chama that Abaye was to Homa’s sons. Rava carefully gave Chama’s questions the same attention he gave other students’, sometimes more, but there was no warmth or enthusiasm in his replies. It made me sad to witness it, but I didn’t see how my interference would help. I just hoped nobody else noticed the wariness in my husband’s demeanor when it came to Chama.

Without revealing our destination, I had my son walk with me through the city until we left the houses behind and began making our way past the rubble near the ramparts.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

I smiled. “Someplace amazing. You’ll see.”

Chama said nothing until we reached the ancient walls. Then he gazed up and exhaled in awe. “They don’t look so tall from a distance.”

“They look even taller from the top.” I beckoned him to follow me between the stones. “Mind your head . . . and your toes,” I added as I stumbled on the dark steps.

When I saw the sunlit opening ahead, I cautioned him, “When you come out on top, be careful to stay on this side of the tower so the guards don’t see you.”

I stepped outside and waited for my eyes to adjust to the brightness. Moments later Chama stood beside me, and we walked to the wall’s edge together. I waited patiently, appreciating the awesome view, to give my son time to take it all in before I spoke. I chose my words judiciously.

“What have you been told about your father’s death?” I had to know if he blamed Rava or not.

I waited anxiously when he hesitated before replying, “He died when I was little. A snake bit him in our courtyard.”

“He died to save you from that snake, which would have bitten you if he hadn’t raced to carry you out of harm’s way.” I wanted Chama to see Rami as a hero, not a victim.

My son hesitated again, this time longer. “I heard it was a Rabbi’s snake sent to bite him,” he whispered. “But you say it was trying to bite me.”

I groaned inwardly. This was what I had feared. “I was there, Chama. I witnessed the entire incident. When the snake came out from the woodpile, you were curious and approached it. You were too little to understand the danger.”

“So it wasn’t Rava’s fault?” Chama’s voice was heavy with skepticism. “He didn’t send the snake so he could marry you after Father died?”

My anger flared against whoever had told him this calumny, but Chama must know the truth. “If it was anyone’s fault, it was your nursemaid’s, for not guarding you better. But let me explain everything, from the beginning.”

“I’ve heard the story several times, but nobody explains why you said you wanted to marry two men.” At least he was curious, not hostile.

“That is because nobody knows why,” I said. “Truthfully, I don’t know myself what made me say that. What I have come to believe is that somehow I was gifted with prophecy.”

I shared what Pabak the Chaldean had told me concerning my husbands, based on my horoscope. I concluded with how Rava had said he wanted to be the last one because that way I could marry both of them without either having to die first.

“If Rava isn’t responsible, why does he act so strange around me?” Chama asked plaintively. “As if he’s ashamed or feels guilty?”

“Very perceptive of you. He does feel guilty.” I explained Rava’s fear that his jealousy could have provoked the Evil Eye. “Rava suffered a great deal, both during the years I was married to your father and while he was married to his first wife.” I paused and gave Chama a hug. “True, Rami had a short life. But during that time he had all a man could want—a sharp mind, handsome face, good health, a loving wife whose father was his teacher, a son born less than a year after his wedding, and sufficient wealth to devote his days to Torah study.”

“No wonder Rava envied him.”

I was relieved to hear the sympathy in Chama’s voice. I pointed out the sights and we marveled at the view for a while until he cleared his throat nervously.

“Before we go, I have a favor to ask you.”

I turned to face him and wondered why he was blushing. “What is it?”

“Can Elisheva and I be wed sooner than a year from now?”

I smiled at his request. The first day, when Homa had prompted Elisheva to wash Chama’s feet, I could see the physical attraction between them. I had been overcome with nostalgia for the days after I became betrothed, when I had washed Rami’s feet in innocent ignorance of how it aroused him. Chama’s similar predicament prompted both sympathy and amusement in me, though I suspected Elisheva was not as naive as I had been.

“I understand your eagerness, but I will be mourning my mother for eleven months, as will Father and your Aunt Achti.” I tried not to sound critical. “I know you are no longer a mourner, but surely it would be best to have your wedding when your entire family could celebrate properly.”

“That’s what I told Elisheva, but I said I’d ask you anyway.” He sighed with disappointment. Then his clear brown eyes began to sparkle. “Do I have to wait so long to see her again?” he asked.

I thought of how Chama and Elisheva gazed at each other during meals and knew it would be difficult for them to be parted. “Why don’t you ask Abaye if you can spend Pesach with them?”

He hugged me so tightly I could scarcely breathe. “Maybe I could stay with them for Rosh Hashana and Sukkot too.”

I tried to hide my disappointment. Already he was leaving his mother and cleaving to his wife. “Maybe we could celebrate your wedding at Hanukah.” I reached up and tousled his hair. “That’s when the nights are longest.”

At first he blushed and his eyes widened in surprise, but then he began to grin. “Oh, Mother, thank you.”

As always, his father’s smile was my reward. “If I tell you a secret, will you not tell anyone until it’s official?” I asked. “I don’t want to provoke the Evil Eye.”

He nodded eagerly. “What is it?”