The Debt of Tamar (11 page)

The sound of snapping twigs interrupted his daydream. He spotted Tamar through a thicket of jade and lime-colored leaves. She approached the hollow space hidden by a cascade of branches. Her turquoise caftan wrapped her in a silk cocoon as she ducked under the leaves and made her way through.

They sat enveloped in the tree. Wild flowers rose like a fortress shielding them from view. After several moments of silence, the air took on the pulsating texture of a question-in-waiting. He lifted her veil and looked into her emerald eyes.

“I have something for you.” He passed her a small ring, a ruby cast in yellow gold mined from the rich soils of India. Inset, the inscription read, “To my queen, my sultan, I’ll sing your praises always.”

She examined the stone. Red gleaming facets set in a nugget of gold. “I love you,” she whispered. Her eyes met his and they smiled one smile.

Murat slid the ring over her finger. “In a year, it is my father’s will that we be married.” He kissed her for a long moment. Then he peered through the cascade of branches that enveloped them both into the dimming world beyond. The slender treetops of the forest swept wantonly against the silver sky. A donkey’s trot sounded in the distance before the call to prayer announced the hour.

“Go,” he pulled away reluctantly. “Your parents are waiting.”

She ran her fingers through his hair.

Their eyes glistened and they kissed their last kiss before she said goodbye and slipped away.

Jaffar’s dark brows were steeped heavily and his face appeared twisted in the agony of regret. “Not a word of this to anyone or I’ll have that tongue plucked out.”

Tamar smiled obliviously as he escorted her towards her father’s house. Every few minutes, she held up her hand to admire the ruby on her finger. “My prince,” she said aloud and to no one at all. “I’ll sing your praises always.”

They walked for some time stopping only when Tamar insisted, to gather yellow and purple wildflowers that flourished along the path leading up towards the villa. It would be bad form to arrive at her father’s house empty-handed, she reasoned.

That evening, José entered the dining room elegant as always, in new clogs and a spotless white turban. He was finally beginning to show signs of aging, his trim beard boasting a few silver strands, his shoulders and torso thickened with wine and cheese and the complacency that often accompanies too much success.

“Good to have you home,” he said when he sat down beside his daughter. “How long it has been. Are you well? What news do you bring from the harem?”

“You know well,
Baba
. Little changes in the harem. I’m afraid I don’t have some exciting news to share.”

“Ah, come! You must have some stories for your
Baba
. How is Nur-Banu? I hear she has lost the favor of the Sultan to a younger, prettier thing from the East.”

“José!” Reyna flashed her husband a disapproving glare.

“Angling for a bit of gossip,
Baba
?” Tamar chimed in.

“Gossip? Certainly not!” José threw his hands up and offered his most innocent smile. “You know how I hate the word. Let us call them stories about life…”

“How eloquent you are,
Baba
.”

“What? In my own home I shouldn’t be permitted to speak? Isn’t that what you ladies spend your days doing anyhow? Chatting amongst yourselves?”

“Now you know all our secrets,” Tamar answered playfully.

“Nur-Banu hasn’t much to worry about anyhow,” José continued between bites of mutton. “She’s positioned herself well, hasn’t she? That son of hers is the smartest of the bunch.” He held his fork in the air to punctuate the point. “The boy was already reciting poetry when the rest of the lot were still in diapers. He’s got a head on his shoulders, that Murat. Mark my words, he’ll make a fine sultan.”

Tamar’s cheeks flushed conspicuously.

“Enough about that.” José turned toward his daughter. “Are you happy to be home to keep your old Papa company?”

“
Baba
,” she said warmly. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

José nodded approvingly then took a hearty bite of meat. “Now, for some news of myself!” He threw down his fork and took a swig of wine before bringing the glass down hard. He reached out with both arms and took both his daughter’s and his wife’s hands in his own. “It seems I’ve been honored by the Sultan.” He glanced about for a moment and waited for the enormity of the news to sink in before continuing. “I’ve been granted my own province to govern. A piece of land straddling the Sea of Galilee in the Holy Land. They call it Tiberius,” he explained proudly.

“
Mashallah!
” Tamar exclaimed.

Reyna smiled modestly though her eyes beamed with pride.

“Of course it’s practically a wasteland right now but it won’t be for long. I’m sending over whole villages to populate the area. They’ll be charged with cultivating the land and growing trade relations.”

“Will we have to relocate?” Reyna seemed concerned.

“G-d no!” José laughed. “You ladies wouldn’t survive a fortnight there…you see it’s a lawless place.” His tone turned serious. “The city walls have been destroyed. It’s quite vulnerable to attack and yet it is our homeland. The land of Israel. A Jewish land governed by Jews. What else could we ask for? Could there be anything more important than our traditions? A place where we can govern ourselves and ensure the survival of our faith?”

The table grew silent.

As Tamar reached for her spoon, José noticed the shimmering ruby on her finger. His eyes moved from the stone to his daughter’s downcast eyes. “I’ve shared my news.” He leaned in closer. “It seems you have some of your own?” His voice took on an oddly inquisitive tone.

Their eyes met as she slid her hand away from view.

“It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing important.”

“Go wait for me in the courtyard.”

Tamar froze, her spoon in midair. “Have I offended you,
Baba
?”

He sighed wearily. “You can no more offend me than the light of the moon.”

She nodded, then stood up and headed out towards the garden.

José turned to Reyna. “Is there something I should know about?”

Reyna sipped of her
sharbet
. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He tossed down his napkin and headed to the garden atrium. Tamar was there, waiting in that cloistered sanctuary, sitting on a stone bench beside a flowing fountain depicting a sculpted rendition of Jonah being spat from an enormous whale. In the courtyard, two squawking geese Tamar had named Leila and Majnun poked about the shrubbery looking for tall slinking worms to feed their hatchlings.

“Tamar,” he began. “What is this?” He reached for her hand and examined the ruby on her finger.

“It’s a ring.”

“Yes, but where did you get such an exquisite gem?”

“It’s just a gift.”

José’s silver brows cast deep furrows along the length of his long countenance. “A gift from whom?” He took her arm firmly. “Who gave you this?”

“Murat.” She pulled her arm free, held up her hand and examined the ruby. “We’ll be married in a year.
Baba
, tell me you are pleased.”

He tilted his head and examined his daughter as though seeing her for the first time.

“You’ve always spoken highly of him.” She tried to sound confident. “You yourself said what a fine sultan he’ll make,” she pressed on, while her father simply stared.

He lifted his daughter’s face until her gaze met his.

“
Baba
?”

He looked on strangely.

“Don’t just stand there looking at me like that. Say something.”

José glanced around, examining his surroundings as though lost in a place that was only vaguely familiar. “What can I say?” He shrugged lamely. “You don’t know who you are.”

The somber hoot of nesting owls echoed off cool stone tiles and marble statues.

“Baba, please. Why
do you speak in such riddles?”

He shook his head and was still for a long moment.

“
Baba
, please,” Tamar pleaded.

But José had no words. He reached to the ground and grabbed a fistful of earth with each hand. He closed his palms and felt the smooth grains seep between his clenched fingers. Tattered memories fluttered through his mind. A hunchback man with a trim grey beard. Books hidden beneath a loose floorboard. A starry night on the beaches of Lisbon with Reyna by his side. He’d tried to explain it to Reyna, that bright night so very long ago. He knew she hadn’t understood.

“
Baba
!” Tamar’s voice echoed against the silent backdrop.

With his eyes closed he hardened himself to the memory of love. A chill spread throughout his body. It rippled through him, limb by limb, until finally, he was frozen.

He held his fists before her. “This earth here,” His voice was barely a whisper. “You have to reach it, to ever know it.” He loosened his grip and let the cool earth slip away from his grasp.

Tamar cast her eyes to the ground. Her satin slippers, once white and pure, were covered in a thin layer of dust.

José turned abruptly and left his daughter alone in the garden with nothing but the shrill squeals of Majnun and Layla’s hatchlings as her only consolation.

The soles of his wooden clogs slapped against the stone steps as he marched towards the second story landing and into his suite. He closed the door gently and looked around the room. With the force of a wild boar, he charged the console, toppling the vase of wildflowers he had received just hours earlier.

A pool of water spread across the floor filling the room with the sweet scent of honeysuckle and lavender. José scowled as the aroma grew stronger. Never before had he taken such offense by something so sweet or so beautiful.

He made his way to the window and peered out towards the garden. Tamar was still there in the spot where he had left her.

She held her hands up to the light of the moon, light, that just moments earlier, had seemed to José, innocent and pure and free of all offense.
How cunning is beauty
he thought.

He watched as she spread her fingers wide and examined them in the moonlight. Then, she bent down low and pressed her hands against the soft earth. She dug her hands in deep, trying to feel for something she did not know.

A week had passed when Tamar awoke to find her father standing over her bedside. “
Baba
? What’s wrong?” She glanced beyond the lattices into the thick night. Crickets chimed against a silent backdrop. By the thick curtain of night, she calculated that it was several hours before sunrise.

“Is everything all right?” She sat up in her bed. “Tell me what’s happening?”

“Pack a small bag.”

“Why?”

“Be quiet. Dress quickly.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand. Trust me now. Get your things.” He kissed her forehead. “Meet me at the gates.”

Just a few moments later, Tamar stood by her father in a hooded cape with a satchel in tow. He took her things and led her towards a long winding road. They walked the path silently for what seemed to Tamar to be an hour or so. Finally, a dim shadow emerged before her eyes. A large man with a red beard appeared atop an enormous black horse.

“This man will take you the rest of the way,” Don José said to Tamar.

“What are you talking about?” The panic in her voice was mounting.

“Go with Mustafa,” he said flatly. “He’ll escort you.”

“Please don’t send me away. I’ll be better. I promise.” She threw her arms around his waist. “Don’t send me away.”

“I love you,” José whispered as Mustafa dismounted the black stallion and made his way towards Tamar.

“No!” She cried in his embrace. “Tell me what I’ve done wrong.”

He turned away so she wouldn’t see the tears streaming down his face. “Be good.” He held her for the last time. “Go now.” He could feel her body trembling against his.

“Where is he taking me?”

Don José spoke in a low whisper. “You’re to live in Tiberius.”

“No,
Baba
! I won’t go.”

The man with the red beard stepped forward and pried Tamar from José as she sobbed loudly. He tossed her slender body over his muscular shoulder and lifted her onto the black horse that would take her away from Istanbul forever. Don José watched as the horse carried his daughter into the darkness, until he could no longer hear her sobs.

The scent of charred flesh filled his senses. The screams and sweat and misery of that hot August day nearly two decades earlier would forever be branded in his memory. He imagined the faces of his mother and father, faces he had never seen or touched or known, dying for a belief that his own flesh and blood could so easily relinquish. He saw them there, their anguish pulsating throughout his body, out through his fingertips and back through his head.

When José revealed to Reyna what he had done, they stared at one another for a quiet moment. Her chest began to heave and her eyes seemed to swell red. She crossed her arms against her stomach and folded over as though bowing to some dreadful command. Her lips parted as though she were about to speak, but she could not gather enough air in her lungs to utter a word. She struggled for breath as she leaned against the wall. Several moments passed before she approached José. With her face turned away, she slipped the emerald and gold cuff off her wrist. It fell to the ground and broke apart. She uttered something before losing her breath once more.

He had been unable to make out her words. Imagining was more haunting than knowing ever could be.

Don José the Jew did not arrive at court the next day, or the next. On the third day of his absence, he was summoned to the palace. He entered the quarters of the Sultan’s office with tattered clothing and his head slung low. He’d rehearsed this speech many times. It was a perfect plan. Consumption was sweeping across the region at a rapid pace and the whole city was in mourning. There was barely a family who could claim they had not lost a loved one to the mysterious fever. Certainly, the Sultan would not question it. José didn’t even need to display a body. To prevent the spread of disease, the Sultan had issued a
fatwa
deeming it permissible to cremate the bodies of the dead.