The Tale-Teller (15 page)

***

DEPRIVED OF THE SOLACE of literature, conversation, and affection, all of which she had grown accustomed to at Madame Duplessis's house, Esther sank into melancholy. There was little of interest or variety in convent life. The nuns rose early to pray, ate simply, and then went about their business of civilizing the Natives and proselytizing to the old and sick, leaving her alone to study in her cell when not called to Mass. Despite spending many hours in collective worship, she felt more isolated in a houseful of girls her own age — most of whom were afraid of her, scornful of her, or both — than she had been on the
Saint Michel
with a crew of rough, adventurous men.

For these reasons, she looked forward to her weekly study sessions with Mother Claude; at least when she was with the mother superior she could participate in an actual dialogue. It was a great relief to be talked to as an intelligent person and not simply condemned as a sinner; to be allowed to ask questions rather than being told to repent. The tough old nun was quite different from anyone else Esther had met in Quebec. She was not threatened by anything Esther represented because she herself had rejected the customary female roles of subordination and maternity. In her own way, she had achieved as much responsibility as Hocquart and as much influence as Beauharnois, without having to suffer the humiliations of the one or the physical dangers of the other. And not even Varin was so foolish as to try to seduce her or put her in her place.

Varin was wiser in that regard than Esther, who challenged the nun's religious convictions with stories of distant lands and alternative deities. However, for someone so steeped in myth and symbol, Mother Claude was strangely impervious to the charms of narrative. And despite her intellectual keenness, she was not very curious about the world beyond New France. She claimed to have more than enough to keep her occupied at home, and felt that daydreaming about life elsewhere was a waste of time; almost a sin.

Mother Claude challenged equally Esther's recalcitrance. She had her memorize the Apostle's Creed, the Lord's Prayer, and the Hail Mary, so that Esther could meditate upon the Joyful Mysteries, the Sorrowful Mysteries, and the Glorious Mysteries while telling her rosary. Already familiar with these prayers from her residence with Madame Duplessis, Esther recited them by rote with no expression in her voice, as though reciting a list of items to pick up at the market rather than the central tenets of a religion.

I believe in God, the Father Almighty,
the Creator of heaven and earth,
and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord:
Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit,
born of the Virgin Mary,
suffered under Pontius Pilate,
was crucified, died, and was buried.
He descended into hell
The third day He arose again from the dead.
He ascended into heaven
and sits at the right hand of God the Father Almighty,
whence He shall come to judge the living and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy Catholic Church,
the communion of saints,
the forgiveness of sins,
the resurrection of the body,
and life everlasting.
Amen.

Her tone irritated the nun, who was unwavering in her insistence that conversion was Esther's best — indeed her only — option.

“You obviously have no commitment to your own faith, since you ran away from it,” she snapped in frustration one day, “so why are you so resistant to the One True Church?”

“I didn't run away from my faith, Mother Claude,” Esther objected. “I ran away from the limitations that faith subjected me to.”

“Can you explain the distinction?”

“If you let me tell you a story.”

“As I have told you before, I am not interested in hearing any of your stories unless they are true.”

“This one is.”

“Very well, then.”

So Esther began. For once she did not close her eyes, but met the nun's candid gaze steadily.

***

I GREW UP IN Saint Esprit, a suburb of Bayonne, amidst the community of Portuguese Jews. You may not know that area, Mother Claude; it's in the Bordeaux region where the best wine comes from. We were tolerated because of our usefulness to His Majesty; given our origins as refugees from the Inquisition, we were able to facilitate maritime trade down the coast because we spoke the Iberian languages. My father was the manager of a warehouse holding the wealth of the Atlantic trade, a busy and a prosperous man and therefore able to pay the heavy taxes the King was pleased to inflict upon him, as upon all Jews.

As is typical of that community, I received a good education, learning to read and write at a young age despite the prospect of doing nothing more with my knowledge than raising a family. Indeed, there is a proverb among our people: “La ija del Djudio, no keda sin kazar,” which means, “No daughter of a Jew remains unmarried.” We have no tradition of nuns as you do, Mother Claude, being bound instead by the commandment to go forth and multiply.

In accordance with this commandment, my father and mother decided to send me to Amsterdam, where my mother's sister had arranged a marriage for me with a much older man, a widower, most of whose children were older than me. I went weeping and wailing, but went nonetheless, being a girl and therefore having no control whatsoever over my own life.

The boat I sailed on was Dutch, captained by a man named Geoffrey. Almost as soon as we sailed out of port a storm blew up, and we ran aground on the sandbanks of Bayonne. I don't know what happened to the others on board that ship, but I was saved from drowning and brought to shore by one of the seamen, who lodged me with a widow named Catherine Churriau in Biarritz. I stayed with her for fifteen days, recovering from my injuries. When I confided to this kind woman that I dared not return home because I was to be married against my will, she lent me some of her son's clothes. In this capacity and under the name of Pierre Mausiette — “Pierre” because it was a rock-solid Christian name, if you will forgive the pun, and “Mausiette” because I was taken out of the water like a female Moses — I went to Bordeaux, where I engaged as a cabin boy on a ship destined for Nantes.

For a long time I travelled up and down the west coast of France, sometimes finding employment as a sailor, sometimes as a tailor or a baker. Although most of my jobs were tedious and my life was lonely, I was free. I no longer had to stay hidden indoors as other girls did, away from hostile eyes, subservient to men. Nor was I restricted to certain trades and certain places merely by virtue of being a Jew. You cannot imagine how big the world suddenly seemed to me, how unlimited the possibilities! All my life I'd longed to live free from the prejudice of others and to travel. Now, because of a lucky accident or the hand of God — you may decide which as you like, Mother Claude — both of my heart's desires had been fulfilled at once.

And then I was arrested, being mistaken for another lad with the same name. Although I was released as soon as my accuser saw my face and realized that I was the wrong person, my masquerade had come very close to being exposed. For this reason I changed my name again, this time to Jacques Lafargue — “Jacques” because it was a joke, and “La Fargue”bbecause I was a female smith, reforging my identity — and determined to travel to New France, where I thought there would be less chance of discovery and more scope for meaningful employment.

***

ESTHER LOOKED UP AT Mother Claude expectantly. “So here I am.”

“Far from supporting your claim that you were not running away from your faith, Esther, this tale makes it clear that you have never been a very good Jew.”

“You are right,” Esther replied sadly. “I have never been very good.”

“Oh my dear child, it sounds like you are finally ready for the sacrament of confession. You will find it a great relief to unburden your soul.” Mother Claude's homely face was vivid with joy.

“I am sorry, Mother Claude. I didn't intend to mislead you,” said Esther.

“What do you mean?”

“I was only conceding that I have done some bad things. For example, eating pork. When I was sick, Madame Churriau gave me bacon without my knowing it; I thought it was delicious until I knew what it was. I tried to spit it up, but it was too late.”

“Why do I keep wasting my time with you, Esther?” Mother Claude asked, slamming her prayer book shut in a rare display of vexation. “You would be wise to consider the situation realistically.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You keep saying you do not want to go home. Well, why would you, if your only prospect is rejoining a nation that bears the curse of having murdered Our Lord?”

Esther protested, “But Mother Claude, the Bible says it was the Romans who killed Jesus, the same way they killed the other martyrs, like Saint Lawrence, later.”

The nun was dumbfounded. In all her years of saving souls no one had ever argued scripture against her, not even the most cunning of the Indians entrusted to her care. Clearly something more drastic was needed to bring out this girl's fears and vulnerabilities — something that would reduce her to such helplessness that she would gladly take refuge in the Church.

“You say you wish for meaningful employment, Esther? Very well. From now on, you will assist in the lunatic ward of the hospital. I imagine you will feel quite at home there.”

Esther stared at the floor. She had drawn out the verbal battle with Mother Claude as long as she could, but had clearly overestimated the woman's patience. But she couldn't help it; she was able neither to avow a faith she didn't hold nor reject her own tradition on the basis of ignorant lies. Too many of her people had been murdered, or subjected to unspeakable torture, by Mother Claude's beloved Church. The year before Esther set sail for New France, twelve Marranos had been burned at the stake in Lisbon, the city the Brandãos had originally come from. The city where some of their relatives probably still lived in hiding, fearful every day of fueling a similar
auto de fé
themselves. If she were to convert to Christianity it would make a mockery of the sufferings of all those other Jews.

She could have explained this conviction to Mother Claude if she tried, but she doubted it was worth the effort. The woman had not become Mother Superior by conceding the rights of others to practise different faiths. But there was something else Esther Brandeau knew she would never be able to make Mother Claude understand, as much as she admired the woman and wished for her approval: if she converted, it would make her own life meaningless. It would mean that instead of gaining freedom she had lost it. And freedom was the only thing she had; freedom was her true religion, and she was not prepared to give it up. So she remained silent, and resolved to take whatever punishment awaited her.

ELEVEN

“Cuando ganéden está accerado, guehinam está siempre abierto.”
(The Garden of Eden may be closed, but Hell is always open.)

ONCE UPON A TIME, there was a scholarly Jew who was well versed in every art but magic. Hearing that all the greatest magicians in the world lived in Egypt, he decided to travel there to study with them. On the first night of his journey he arrived at a small roadside inn. The innkeeper showed him to a comfortable room with a soft featherbed and asked him how long he would be staying. The traveller said that he would have to leave early in the morning as he was going all the way to Egypt to study magic.

The innkeeper immediately announced that he himself was a famous magician and could teach the scholar everything he wanted to know. But the scholar thought that the innkeeper, who was old and bent and bald as an egg, could not be as powerful as he claimed. The scholar mocked him, suggesting that he use his magic to make the bill disappear.

It is never a good idea to make fun of a magician, as the scholar learned soon after. The innkeeper left him to unpack his few belongings and returned with a large bowl of water, inviting him to clean up before dinner was served. As soon as the scholar bent over the bowl to wash his face, he lost his balance and fell in. The bowl had been transformed into a vast ocean and he found himself swimming frantically for shore, though there was no land anywhere in sight. The next thing he knew a terrible storm blew up, with clamorous thunder, lightning brighter than the sun, and waves hundreds of feet high. As they swept over the scholar he was convinced that he was about to drown, so he recited his final prayers.

How long he floated, salt tears mingling with salt water, he did not know. But eventually he heard something. He flipped over onto his belly and saw faintly, in the distance, a dark shape moving towards him. It was a ship! The sailors on deck heard his cries, threw him a rope, and hauled him aboard. They gave him dry clothes and a big glass of rum to drink, and, after they had talked with him for a time, confessed amazement at his vast knowledge and his fluency in many languages. They invited him to come home with them to their native land, where scholars were revered above all other men.

So he went to their homeland, where he was received with great respect. He became the governor over that distant country and ruled wisely for many years. He married and had six children, three boys and three girls, and forgot all about his intention to go to Egypt to study magic.

One day, the scholar's adopted country was conquered by the army of an evil sultan and he was captured and taken into slavery. This sultan was very cruel; it amused him to watch his foreign prisoners working day after day in the blazing sun, building a huge wall around his kingdom to keep themselves in and everybody else out. When a slave died — as they often did, for the work was hard and they were fed nothing but dry bread and water — his bones were mixed into the clay to make the bricks stronger. An armed guard stood watch over the slaves while they worked during the day and while they slept at night. No one had ever escaped captivity, so the poor scholar despaired of ever seeing his beloved wife and children again.

After years of this misery, and long after he had given up all hope of rescue, fortune suddenly favoured him. He was left unsupervised for a few minutes and ran off into the desert. The soldiers of the king chose not to pursue him, certain that he would soon become lost in that endless wasteland and die of hunger and thirst. And indeed, after wandering for hours with no idea at all of where he was going, the scholar grew weary and took shelter in a cave, where he fell into a deep sleep.

He had no idea how long he had been sleeping when a strange sound awakened him. A marvellous golden bird stood in the entrance of the cave, singing, “Come away, come away.” Convinced that the creature was talking to him, the scholar followed it out of the cave. The bird stayed out of his reach, fluttering from rock to rock, eventually arriving at a lush oasis surrounded by tall date palms heavy with ripe fruit. Kneeling down to drink, the scholar saw, in the unmoving water, the reflection of someone behind him. It was the bald old innkeeper with whom he had spent a night many years ago on his way to Egypt.

“Monsieur,” said the innkeeper, “You've been washing your face in this bowl for a very long time. Your dinner is growing cold. Won't you come downstairs to eat now?”

And so, realizing his error, the scholar decided to stay with the innkeeper and learn the art of magic from him.