Daughter of Jerusalem (21 page)

I missed him. I missed him so much.

I hadn’t yet met my nearest neighbors. A high mud brick wall separated our houses so we couldn’t see each other, but I often heard the sound of children’s voices. Since they were Ruth’s friends, she volunteered to introduce us, and the day after the Sabbath we went together to knock on the door.

The rambling house, made of the same mud brick as the wall, belonged to a man named Simon Peter bar Ezekiel. Ruth told me he was a fisherman in partnership with his brother and that they had
their own boat. Owning your own boat was significant on the lake. It meant you made all the profit off your catch. The men who had to hire someone else’s boat made much less.

A serving girl answered our knock and bade us come in. The front room was just large enough to accommodate a clean but scuffed wooden table with benches on either side.

Footsteps sounded, and then Rebecca, Simon Peter’s wife, came in. She gave me a warm smile when Ruth introduced me. “I’m sorry I haven’t called on you, but the children have been sick one after the other. I couldn’t go to synagogue yesterday, so I missed seeing you there as well.”

When a woman could not go to synagogue it was usually because she was having her period and was considered unclean. She had to remain at home until it was finished.

The day was warm, and Rebecca invited us into her courtyard, which had the usual fig tree and outdoor oven. We sat on a circular stone bench and chatted while the serving girl went to fetch some juice.

Rebecca was older than Ruth and I, but her hair was still a dark brown. For some reason, she reminded me of Julia. I couldn’t imagine why, since they didn’t look at all alike, but there was something similar about them.

We sat in the sun and talked. I sipped my juice and thought how pleasant it was to be here, with these attractive, modestly dressed women who talked about their husbands and their children and their household problems. Rebecca had a wry sense of humor that set us laughing more than once.

Rebecca’s youngest daughter toddled out into the courtyard, seeking her mother. She was a beautiful child, about three years of age, and she told me her name was Leah.

“Leah,” I said softly. “I had an Aunt Leah once. It’s a lovely name.”

“She missed you very much, Mary,” Ruth said, patting my hand.

“And I her.” I turned to Rebecca. “She was my mother’s sister and so kind to me. I was very sorry I didn’t get to see her before she died.”

Rebecca’s daughter had climbed into her mother’s lap and was looking at me out of big, solemn eyes. “Pretty lady,” she said.

I replied just as solemnly, “Thank you. You’re pretty too, Leah.”

She nodded, accepting the tribute as her due.

Rebecca said ruefully, “Peter is always telling her how pretty she is. He spoils her dreadfully.”

Leah rested her head against her mother’s shoulder and put her thumb in her mouth. Rebecca removed it and said to Ruth, “Did you know that Seth bar Nathan broke his leg and can’t work? Hannah is beside herself. The baby is due in a month. We’ll have to do something to help them.”

I listened as the two women spoke about the unfortunate family, and an idea that had been germinating in my brain for some time suddenly blossomed. “Are there many people in Capernaum who need money to take good care of their families?” I asked.

“Enough,” Rebecca said. “The fishermen who hire themselves out to work on other men’s boats have the most problems. If they get hurt and can’t work—as Seth has done—then the family is in trouble. My husband and his brother own their own boat and work as partners, so our situation isn’t quite so dire. There’s always someone to back the other one up. And if need be, we can hire help. But the poorer men don’t have that luxury.”

“And these men for hire . . . they can’t afford their own boats?”

“Not on the wages they earn. They barely manage to keep their families fed, and it doesn’t help having to pay such outrageous taxes to Rome.” Ruth nodded in agreement.

I asked, “Can’t they get a loan?”

Rebecca and Ruth looked at me, eyebrows raised. Ruth said, as if she was speaking to a child, “Only the rich can afford to give loans, Mary, and they would never take a chance on a man like Seth. His ability to pay back the money is virtually nonexistent.”

“Hmmm,” I said, thinking hard.

Leah sneaked her thumb back into her mouth, and once more Rebecca removed it.

I said, “You may already know this, but my husband died with no male heirs, so I’ve inherited all his money. It’s far more than I will ever need for myself, and I want to use it to help people in need. Like Seth.”

Ruth said gently, “Mary, that’s kind of you, but Ruth is right. Seth will never be able to pay back that kind of loan. If he used it to buy his own boat, he would be in a much better position to provide for his family, but how he would be able to save enough—”

I interrupted, “You don’t understand. I don’t care if the loan never gets paid back. I would like to give the money free and clear, but”—here I raised my eyebrows—“I know how proud Jewish men can be.”

Rebecca laughed. “You’re right about that. My husband would beggar us all before he’d take charity, but if we were in serious trouble, he would probably accept a loan.”

Ruth agreed.

Rebecca shifted Leah, who had gone to sleep, to her other shoulder. “Times are hard,” she said. “Taxation is draining money from us all. We pay taxes to the Romans, and then we have to pay more taxes
for the upkeep of the Temple and the priests.” Her eyes flashed with indignation. “Almost half of what Peter makes goes to taxes!”

I had heard Aaron complain enough about the double taxation of Jews to know how unfair my people thought it. There was nothing I could do about the taxes, but I hoped I could help in other ways.

“Do either of you have an idea about how I should make these loans? I would rather people not know I was giving them.”

“If I were you, I’d speak to the rabbi,” Ruth said.

I nodded slowly. It was a good idea. If the rabbi would agree to authorize and distribute the loans, then I could keep my name out of it.

“I’ll do that,” I said.

“The Lord will bless you for your kindness, Mary,” Rebecca said.

I shook my head. “All this money is a burden to me. I will be delighted to find a way to get rid of some of it.”

Leah woke up with a start, hitting Rebecca in the chin with her head. The little girl began to cry. Ruth and I stood up, ending the visit so Rebecca could see to her daughter. As we walked up the street toward my house, Ruth told me she would have Nathaniel make another appointment with the rabbi so I could discuss my idea of loans.

I was happy as we parted and I went indoors. Thanks to Ruth I thought I could make friends in the community, and I felt very good about giving Aaron’s money away to deserving Jewish families. I was humming as I went in to see Elisabeth in the kitchen to ask what she was planning for supper.

Over the next few months I met and became one of a circle of very nice Jewish women. Even though Ruth never said so, I was certain she had regaled them with the “tragedy” of my separation from Daniel and forced marriage to Aaron. I didn’t like my private life being spread around town, but I recognized the advantage my story gave me.

Because they felt sorry for me, my new friends were able to overlook my years of living in Sepphoris. Deep in their hearts, most women adore a love story. Especially a sad one. All my Roman friends had grieved their hearts out for poor Dido when Aeneas deserted her.

I had loved two men and lost them both, and I didn’t want to read about or live through a love story ever again.

I had my enemies in the town, however. Some women wouldn’t speak to me and told their children loudly to “keep away from that shameless woman.” I tried not to show my hurt, but I felt it nonetheless. The fact that these women were right about me made their sneers even worse. I often thought that if my new friends knew the whole truth, they would snub me too.

Ezra bar Matthias remained my worst enemy. He was a Pharisee, part of a group that devoted itself to the strictest interpretation of the Mosaic Law. Over the centuries men like Ezra had broken down the Ten Commandments into hundreds of minute rules that covered even the smallest aspect of Jewish life. They not only endeavored to live perfect lives themselves, but they thought everyone else should be just as strict.

Ezra bar Matthias considered himself purer than pure, and whenever I happened to pass him, he would draw his robe away as if he was afraid I might contaminate him. He told everyone I was a filthy whore, a woman who had practiced every one of the deadly sins, and that just speaking to me would make the speaker unclean.

Then, one day at the market, as Ruth and I were standing in front of the cheese maker’s stall, I learned the Pharisee was not so pure after all. I felt someone’s eyes on me and turned my head to look. It was Ezra bar Matthias.

If he had been glaring at with me hatred, I would have turned back to the stall. But I saw the look in his eyes clearly, and it was a look I had seen before in the eyes of other men. I knew it well. Not hatred—lust.

I stared straight back at him, and he flushed and turned quickly away. But he knew that I had caught him, and after that he kept away from me.

Soon the chilly winter rains set in, and I was forced to spend most of my time indoors. Sepphoris, an inland city, had mild winters, but here the wind was bitterly cold as it swept off the stormy, wave-tossed lake. Everyone moved inside.

I had more time to think than I wanted. I read a new book that Julia had sent me, but just thinking about Julia made me miss her more. She was a faithful correspondent, and I enjoyed her lists of the new clothes she had bought at the colonnade shops, what horses had won at the races, and what new plays were being performed at the theatre.

Part of me missed the sophisticated Roman life I had known in Sepphoris, but when I sat in my house, with the cold rain pounding against its tightly closed roof, I knew I could never live among Romans again.

Time away from Sepphoris had helped me see clearly. The whole of Roman life was corrupt because it had no moral center. If Marcus had been raised a Jew, if he had been taught the commandments of the Lord, he would have known it was wrong to have Aaron killed. But he had flicked Aaron’s life away as if he was an annoying insect.

That winter, for the first time in years, I started to pray. I asked the Lord to help me learn to be a good woman. I asked Him to help me know Him better. I took my first step on the path that I hoped would eventually bring me to some kind of peace.