Enchantress: A Novel of Rav Hisda's Daughter (52 page)

“What about you? You haven’t forgotten either.”

“Father doesn’t seem to have the same problem with my brothers, but I know he isn’t going to change things with me after all these years.”

“Will you please come home for Yom Kippur this year and try again? For my sake.”

He finally turned to meet my gaze. “I will come, but only because you asked me.”

My heart heavy as lead, I looked up at the heavens. Why did you have to give me such a stubborn husband and son?

 • • • 

One would have thought I was deeply mourning Rav Nachman, but my tears during his Shiva week were for Rava and Joseph—Rava who believed that criticizing our son showed how much he cared about him, and Joseph who imagined his father hated him. At least I could be grateful that no one contested who would lead the rabbis in Machoza after Nachman’s demise.

We were still in
sheloshim
when Rava woke me in the dark of night by exclaiming, “Ha-Elohim!”

“What is it?” I mumbled, still half-asleep.

“Rav Nachman came to me in a dream, just like I asked him to before he died,” he replied excitedly.

Now I was awake. “What are you talking about?”

“Before Rav Nachman slipped away, he entreated me to ask Samael not to hurt him,” Rava said.

“Did you see Samael and ask him?”

“I did, but I also asked Rav Nachman to appear to me from the next world.” Rava shook his head in disbelief. “And tonight he did.”

“What did he tell you?” This was incredible.

“I asked if dying was painful, and he replied that it was as easy as pulling a strand of hair from milk,” he answered. “But then he said that if the Holy One offered him a chance to return to this world, to live longer, he would not want to come because fear of the Angel of Death is so terrible.”

I snuggled up to him. “Are you less afraid of dying now?”

“No. Just because my master passed easily doesn’t mean I will.” He pulled me close and whispered, “What about you?”

“I don’t fear death because I know I will die before you. No matter how painful dying is, it will be less than the pain of having to go on living without you.”

Rava kissed my cheek. “I pray Samael comes quickly for me after he takes you.”

We fell asleep still tightly wrapped in each other’s arms.

 • • • 

That summer I succumbed to the temptation to see Ashmedai. I told myself I had important questions about the nature of demons and whether Rava was in greater danger now that he headed Machoza’s rabbis. But I was also lonely. Leuton, who’d served me loyally since Rami’s death, had died after a distracted carter crushed her against a wall, and I couldn’t replace her.

I felt vaguely guilty waiting until Rava was asleep to summon Ashmedai. My heart fluttered to see the demon in Rami’s guise, and I realized I would have been disappointed if he’d come in his true form.

“I was beginning to think you’d tired of me.” He sounded like a petulant lover.

I deflected his complaint. “Tell me about demons. How do they compare to people?”

“Like people, and animals, we have sexual relations and procreate. We also eat and drink, piss and defecate, and die.

“Do you die of old age or must you be killed?”

“Mostly the latter,” he replied. “Demons resemble people and angels in that we walk upright and have intelligence.”

“How can angels and demons have anything in common?”

“Like angels, demons have wings and can fly from one end of the world to the other.” Ashmedai smiled seductively. “And like angels, we know what is destined to happen.”

“You can see the future?” I asked excitedly.

“Only the same immediate future that spirits hear from behind the partition.” Before I could ask anything more, he said, “And that I am rarely permitted to divulge.”

I should have known he wouldn’t reveal the future to me. But I thought of another important question. “You are the king of demons and the rest of them are your subjects, true?”

“That is true,” he said warily.

“So you can command them to do things and they must obey?”

“Just as a human king can command his subjects and they may rebel or avoid obeying, demons are not always my willing and eager subjects. But for the most part, they do obey me.”

“Is that how Yalta controls Zafnat, because you and your demons help her?”

“No. Yalta cursed her to prevent her from entering the occupied areas of Bavel.” He anticipated my question and replied, “It is not a curse you can reproduce, since it requires use of her feces.”

I recalled the one curse spell I’d seen in practice and nodded. Stifling a yawn because of the late hour, I decided to save Zafnat for another night. But I had one last question.

“Considering how much demons hate Torah scholars, is there anything more I can do to protect my husband from them?” I didn’t understand why Rava, despite all his esoteric Torah studies, could not adjure demons or safeguard himself from them, but I accepted that it was one of his limitations.

“Only because you wield King Solomon’s ring do I reveal this,” he replied with a scowl. “Rattling nuts when he uses the privy is no longer adequate. You need to be physically present.”

Neither Rava nor I would like that, plus it would mean building a new privy to accommodate two. Maybe Ashmedai had deliberately given me the most repulsive procedure. “Do I have to be in there with him?”

“No.” The demon king’s frown deepened to an expression I had never seen on Rami’s face, and I knew I’d caught him. “If you wear the ring, your hand touching him will suffice.”

“So it has been a good thing that Rava has not worn the ring,” I suggested, keen to see his reaction. “Because you would have attacked him after he removed it.”

“More likely he would have realized this and never removed it, which would have prevented you from using it again.”

I released Ashmedai and, grateful for what I’d discovered, resolved that the next day I would have a hole cut through one of the privy’s walls so I could place my hand on Rava’s head or shoulder while he sat inside. Pleased with myself as I headed to bed, it seemed to me that with Ashmedai and his minions forced to obey me, controlling Zafnat should not be too difficult.

As a precaution I recruited some ravens to follow Tachlifa’s caravan and report his progress as he returned to the West after the autumn festivals. They were clever birds and quite willing to spy for me as long as I fed them regularly.

THIRTY-TWO

THIRTEENTH YEAR OF KING SHAPUR II’S REIGN
• 322 CE •

W
hen Rosh Hashanah arrived with no sign of Joseph, I told myself not to fret; he would be here before Yom Kippur. Two days before the fast, my anxiety intensified to where I couldn’t get Rava’s late student Rechumi out of my mind. Rechumi had been so diligent that despite Rava’s urgings he only returned to his hometown once a year, for Yom Kippur and Sukkot.

Sadly, last year he became so engrossed in his studies that he was still in his attic room when the sun set on Erev Yom Kippur. His wife, back at home and eagerly awaiting him, then realized he was not coming and began to cry. Apparently at that moment, the floor beneath Rechumi collapsed and he died in the rubble.

This year Rava insisted every student leave well before Yom Kippur, especially those who, like Rechumi, lived some distance away. All day on Erev Yom Kippur, I couldn’t relax. Consumed with worry about Joseph, I kept finding excuses to see how the evening meal was progressing. Since we would not be eating again for over twenty-four hours, and in my strict husband’s case forty-eight, the feast needed to be lavish. And as long as I was checking the kitchen, I went to the courtyard gate and looked down the street.

Finally Elisheva told me gently that I was upsetting the slaves and preventing them from concentrating on their work. So I went into the garden with Grandfather’s copy of Mishna and studied Tractate Yoma. I had nearly reached the end and was reading, “For sins between man and his fellow Yom Kippur brings atonement only if he has appeased his fellow,” when I heard loud, angry male voices.

I raced inside and stopped in horror to find Rava and Joseph shouting at each other. Nose-to-nose, the two men were red-faced with fury. Joseph’s hands were balled into fists and Rava held his walking staff as though it were a weapon.

“So you finally remembered you have a wife.” Rava’s tone oozed sarcasm.

“If I didn’t have to see you, I would visit her more often,” Joseph retorted.

“How dare you raise your voice to me!”

“You insult me and I should ignore it?”

I ran between them. “Stop it,” I cried. “Stop it. Have you forgotten what day this is?” I turned to Joseph and admonished him, “Have some respect for your father.” Then I faced Rava. “Can’t you talk to your son without losing your temper?”

It was as if a hot sandstorm blast had been directed at me.

“Stay out of it, woman,” Rava yelled. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“I can fight my own battles, Mother,” Joseph fumed.

With that, Rava grabbed Joseph’s arm, then propelled the two of them into his study and slammed the door so hard the house shook. Now, though I could hear them screaming, I couldn’t tell what they were saying. Something inside me shattered, and with tears running down my cheeks, I started for the garden. I halted when I saw the rest of the family staring at me in dismay.

Chama held out his arms to me, and I ran to cry on his shoulder while Elisheva patted my back.

“Maybe they’ll listen to me,” suggested eighteen-year-old Sama, now taller than both Rava and Joseph.

“No, they won’t,” replied fifteen-year-old Chanina.

“Do we have to wait for them before we eat?” Acha asked. “I’m hungry already.” The boy, growing so fast his trousers seemed shorter each time I looked, was always hungry.

“We will eat at our usual time,” I replied. “Whether your father and brother join us or not.”

“They’ll join us,” Sama said confidently. “They have to forgive each other—it’s Yom Kippur.”

Chanina was more skeptical. “If they don’t eat now, they’re going to be very hungry when the fast ends. Especially Father.”

I looked toward the closed study door, from which raised voices continued to emanate. Soon we had no choice but to start what was supposed to be a festive meal without them. I forced myself to eat heartily, though my throat was so tight I could barely swallow. Then the rest of us attended synagogue without them.

Throughout the most fraught Sukkot I’d ever experienced, we all went to services together, but it was difficult to tell if my husband and son had appeased each other or if they were merely tired of fighting.

 • • • 

Finally, on the day after Sukkot ended, I sought out my son, to hear his explanation. He and Tamar were in their room, and with so many partly filled baskets and chests scattered about, it was evident that their entire family was moving out. My eyes filled with tears, and Tamar hurriedly exited.

“I’m sorry, Mother, but we cannot live here any longer.” His voice was sad and resigned. “No matter how hard I try to control my anger, Father manages to rekindle it. I will never fulfill his expectations of a respectful son, and he will never stop criticizing me about it.”

I blinked back my tears. It didn’t help that Joseph interpreted everything his father said as criticism. “Your father is a man who comes only once a generation—”

“And he certainly knows it,” Joseph interrupted.

I managed to restrain my frustration. “Let me speak.” When Joseph lowered his head in shame, I continued: “I know it is difficult being the firstborn of a great man. My father and my oldest brother were at such odds that Yenuka refused to study Torah. Then when the rest of the family moved to Sura, he insisted on remaining in Kafri to brew beer.”

My son was silent for a while. “Did they ever reconcile?”

I nodded. “You are an excellent Torah scholar, Joseph. I am proud of you and I know that your father is too . . . even if he doesn’t say it.”

“Mother, you cannot make things right between us. What we said cut too deeply to heal.”

“You couldn’t forgive each other, even on Yom Kippur?” I was so miserable I could barely speak.

“We did forgive each other, eventually,” he said glumly. “But we agreed it would be best if we lived apart, so I could see my wife and sons without having to see him too. You and my brothers can come visit. It’s not far.”

Two days later, Joseph and Tamar, their two boys in tow, boarded a boat for Pumbedita.

When I asked Rava what had transpired between them, his face stiffened, stonelike. “I admit I was wrong to say this was none of your concern, but I don’t want to fight with you about it. Right now the only way I can control my anger is to refuse to think about it.”

 • • • 

The next time Joseph came to Machoza was over two years later, for Hannah and Sama’s marriage, and he stayed only for the wedding week. Tamar was again too indisposed by pregnancy to travel, so the children didn’t either, making me thankful I’d joined Elisheva and hers on their trips to Pumbedita. Thus both Abaye and I saw our children and grandchildren regularly.