Enchantress: A Novel of Rav Hisda's Daughter (11 page)

Rava answered anyway. “We may violate any Torah law when someone’s life is threatened, as long as there is no permitted remedy.”

“Em said dogs become afflicted because
ruchim
enter them, and then when they bite someone the
ruchim
enter him,” I said.

“Can you tell me the cure?”

“Em learned it from a
charasheta
in Nehardea, who heard it from another named Marta, so it is no secret,” I said.

Rava leaned closer, and I whispered the spell that was to be written on the skin of a male polecat.

“So it’s an amulet,” he declared, “which must be inscribed by an expert.”

“Wearing the amulet is only the beginning,” I said. “For the next twelve months, whenever he drinks water, he should drink only through a metal straw. If he drinks directly from a cup, he might see a reflection of the demon that jumped from the dog and be endangered.”

“I’ve never seen anyone bitten by a mad dog. How do you know this works?”

“Em told me that Marta healed her own son with this incantation, and by making him use a gold straw.”

Rava wrinkled his brow in thought. “I don’t want to disparage what Em told you, but I have learned that dogs go mad because sorceresses practice spells on them.”

I stared at him in astonishment. “I have never heard of such a thing. All the spells I know have already been proven.”

“Somebody must invent new spells, or otherwise where would they come from?”

 • • • 

I grew so consumed by the subject of new spells that I decided to visit Rishindukh and Shadukh.

“Yes,” Shadukh admitted, when I arrived in the courtyard where they were inscribing bowls, “we do modify incantations occasionally.”

“You mean improve,” Rishindukh interjected.

Shadukh ignored her cousin’s interruption. “But we’ve never created a completely new one.”

“And we don’t know any other
charasheta
who do,” Rishindukh insisted.

“Then, who created all the spells to begin with?” I asked.

Rishindukh addressed me as if I were a child. “The angels, of course. That’s how we know to call on them.”

When I looked at her in amazement, Shadukh continued: “You know that passage near the beginning of Bereshit, where the divine beings see that the daughters of men are beautiful and take wives from them?”

“Yes,” I replied slowly. “Their sons were the heroes of old.” I had no idea how this related to sorcery.

“When they came down from heaven, they taught their wives incantations to invoke the angels for healing and protection,” she explained. “When they had daughters, their mothers taught them the spells. And they taught their daughters, who taught theirs, and so forth down to today.”

 • • • 

I headed back to Em’s, heady with the incredible knowledge that angels had originally brought these incantations down to women.

So I entered Em’s courtyard in a jubilant mood—a mood that was abruptly shattered by a woman’s scream of pain. Terrified, I rushed toward the house, only to be intercepted by a slave.

“Don’t be alarmed—it’s only the young mistress.” Her face shone with excitement. “Her water broke just after you left.”

My heart began to pound when the slave continued: “Em said you were to go up as soon as you returned.”

“I need to use the privy first.” More carefully than usual, I said the incantation against Shaydim shel Beitkisay as I washed my hands three times. Heaven forbid any demons should remain and accompany me into the birthing chamber.

 • • • 

Babata was lying naked on the bed, her body damp with sweat despite the room’s coolness. She seemed to be sleeping, when suddenly she grimaced and grasped the hands of the slaves standing on either side of the bed. I could see that she was trying to restrain herself, but eventually an agonized scream tore from her throat. Em, who sat nearby on a low stool, whispered soothingly in Babata’s ear and once the contraction subsided, wiped her face with a soft cloth.

“Good, you’re here,” Em said with some relief. “Would you please start reciting psalms?”

I fought to keep my voice from trembling. “Which ones?”

“Shir shel Negaim, of course, and any others you want.”

I immediately began with the Ninety-First Psalm: “Oh you who dwell in the shelter of the Most High and abide in the protection of Shaddai . . . fear not the terror by night or the arrow that flies by day, the plague that stalks in the dark or the scourge that ravages at noon . . .”

I tried to concentrate particularly when I got to the words “No harm will befall you, no disease touch your tent. For He will order His angels to guard you wherever you go; they will carry you in their hands.”

As much as I wanted to force the liliths to leave, or at least stay away, between Babata’s cries and my dread of the next one, I couldn’t concentrate sufficiently. I had, unlike when I installed
kasa d’charasha
, no sense of demons fleeing before my adjurations. It may have been one hour later, or many, when a slave announced that the midwife had arrived. A stern, efficient woman with thin pursed lips, she exchanged no small talk with Em. She waited until the next contraction, and then pushed her hand up into Babata’s womb.

“This baby is not coming anytime soon,” the midwife pronounced. “I’ll check back in the morning.”

As she prepared to leave, Em turned to me. “Elisheva should stay with Homa tonight.”

I jumped at the chance to leave this torture chamber. “I’ll go and tell her.”

“No, I need you here.” Em’s voice was insistent. “Your slave can do it.” Then, to my dismay, she walked out with the midwife, leaving me alone with the laboring woman and her slaves.

I did the best I could in her absence, alternating between praying psalms and reassuring Babata that first babies usually take a long time. I wished Babata wouldn’t wail so loudly, for when she did, I was transported back to my own childbearing, when the agony was so great I begged for Samael to end it.

My reverie was interrupted by a noise at the door, and upon opening it, I found myself standing nose-to-nose with Rava.

I took a step back, widening the space between us to a more modest distance. It was Sixth Day already, and tomorrow was the Shabbat when he normally visited his wife. “Shouldn’t you be on a boat for Machoza?” I asked.

His eyes were wide with fright. “Em asked me to stay and help Abaye pray for a safe delivery.”

SIX

I
t was nighttime on Erev Shabbat when Em woke me, but even in the dark, I could see that her face was grim. “I need you to help attend Babata while I get some rest.”

“Do you have any idea when the baby will come?”

Em shook her head. “The midwife says, and I am forced to concur, that the baby is not coming—it is too big.”

“Not coming?” I sputtered. “But . . .” I trailed off as I comprehended the horrific consequences. “But Rava and Abaye are both praying. Perhaps they will succeed.”

“Perhaps, but it would truly be a miracle.”

Thus the sun rose on one of the most horrific Shabbats of my life. Babata’s cheeks, which earlier had colored bright red with each exertion, grew pale and gray as the afternoon wore on. Moans replaced screams, and the room filled with an ominous stillness. I tried to stay awake and pray, but it was too easy to doze off in that eerie quiet.

I don’t know how long I slept, only that I was trapped in a terrifying dream in which Nasus, the Corpse Demoness, was pursuing me, flying closer and closer, while my legs were continually tripping over unseen obstacles. Just as she reached for me with her clawed fingers, I was jolted awake into a darkness relieved by a single lamp. I could no longer see Nasus, but I could feel her malevolent presence. She was hovering nearby, waiting for the Angel of Death’s imminent arrival, after which she would pollute Babata’s body with the impurity of corpses.

I wanted to shout and chase her away, but I was paralyzed. Homa and Em sat on either side of Babata’s bed, gently stroking her limp hands, seemingly oblivious to Nasus’s nearness. How could they sit so calmly when the Angel of Death would be here at any moment? I closed my eyes, but that was a mistake, because now I could see clearly what had been hidden from my open eyes.

Nasus, in her guise as a giant fly, hovered over Babata’s prostrate form. She flitted almost leisurely from one side of the bed to the other until abruptly bolting to the foot. At the same time, the temperature in the room dropped and a figure that was more shadow than form settled above Babata’s head. I squeezed my eyes shut as tight as I could, but I still witnessed a flash of light glint off his sword.

Then just as suddenly they were gone, along with their suffocating foulness. I let out my breath, and took a deep one, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the herbs Em had scattered on the floor. The air around me was warm again, and when I opened my eyes, several lamps were burning.

Em wiped the tears from her face, then stood up and stretched. “I must console Abaye, but you two should get what rest you can before the funeral.”

Moments later I was lost in memories of the one other death I’d witnessed, that of my dearest husband, Rami, and how Samael had assumed his likeness to come for me.

 • • • 

“Mistress.” Leuton’s frightened voice brought me back to the present. “Something is wrong with Rava. Go in haste.”

Leuton had always been dutiful and taciturn, good qualities in a slave. Roused by her unusual anxiety, I hurried down to the
traklin
, where Rava sat, staring straight ahead. His face was ashen and he was shaking violently.

“The master is chilled,” I shouted to the nearest slave, as I raced to the doorway where the cloaks were hung. “Hurry now! Bring him something warm to drink.”

I grabbed the heaviest cloak, a thick woolen one, and threw it over Rava. When he made no effort to pull it around him, I did so myself, and then held it closed by putting my arm around him. A steaming cup appeared under his nose, but he ignored it.

“Drink this.” I held the cup to his lips and tipped it slightly so he could taste its contents.

He allowed me to feed him, though he continued to shiver so hard it was impossible to keep from spilling the liquid I now realized was wine.

“Bring a bowl of soup as well,” I called out, sure that he had not eaten for many hours.

The soup soon arrived, along with another cup of wine, and eventually Rava’s trembling subsided. Still, I kept my arm around him to prevent the cloak from slipping off.

After the soup was gone, and midway through the second cup of wine, he gave a shuddering sigh and whimpered, “My mother . . . So much screaming . . . so much pain. . . . It was like that when she died.” He began to weep, a few tears at first, and then great gulping sobs.

I couldn’t stop myself. I put both arms around him and hugged him tight. The softness of his beard pressed against my neck, and I inhaled the musky scent of his hair oil as his tears wet my cheek and then my tunic. I continued holding him until he cried himself out. At that point he looked up, realized our proximity, and pulled away so abruptly one would have thought my embrace was burning him.

 • • • 

Though I ate and slept at Em’s, for the next two weeks I might as well have been a stranger. Babata and Abaye were not my kin, so I was not a mourner. Rava’s friendship provided comfort to Abaye, but Em did not encourage, or seem to need, my sympathy. To my dismay, Em had me assist with several more difficult births because I had acquitted myself so competently with Babata.

Terrified both of encountering Samael again and having to watch helplessly as the laboring women suffered, I accompanied her reluctantly and was quite unable to find the
kavanah
necessary to dispel the liliths and evil spirits awaiting us. I knew I should tell Em about my fears, but I was ashamed of my cowardice—and of my incompetence.

The first Shabbat after Babata’s death marked the end of the Shiva week. Now the household continued in
sheloshim
, the thirty days of less intense mourning. On the second Shabbat, however, Abaye’s grief lifted somewhat. Instead of sitting silently with Rava, Abaye announced that he would spend the afternoon like a father with a child who studied Torah should, reviewing Elisheva’s progress and encouraging her learning. He insisted that Rava and I should continue our Shabbat afternoon walks as before.

I pulled my cloak tightly around me to keep out the chill, thankful this was from normal winter weather and not the terrible coldness that accompanied the Angel of Death.

I leaned close to Rava and whispered, “Just before Babata died, I saw Nasus hovering over her.” I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice from trembling. “And then Samael came . . . with his sword.”

“I saw him too.”

“You did?” Somehow this was both astonishing and reassuring. “You weren’t frightened?”