Enchantress: A Novel of Rav Hisda's Daughter (24 page)

“First, Abaye is a greater scholar and kinder man than his uncle, so he might live well past forty. Second, if he does die before Homa, he has no living brothers or uncles who will take her children, and because everyone knows of Eli’s curse, they won’t blame her.”

I nodded in appreciation, but he continued. “Once married to a man of Abaye’s stature, no one will harass her or look down on her. Most important, however, is that another woman will marry him if she doesn’t, for nobody is concerned that a man’s third wife will die.”

“Why is a woman widowed twice considered an unmarriageable
katlanit
, but nobody holds Abaye responsible for the deaths of his two wives?” I asked.

“I don’t know, yet that is the law,” he replied. “But I do know I would rather speak of pleasant things before we part.”

“Then I will tell you how delighted I was to open that basket and see Salaman’s trays.”

“And I was just as delighted to see your joy and surprise.” Despite the dim light, I could see a smile on Rava’s face. “Just before you and I left Sepphoris, he offered them to me to use in betrothing you. I didn’t want Choran to see them, so I kept them with me.”

“You were rather devious,” I teased him, “saving and hiding the trays all that time.”

“Even during all those months when looking at them filled me with despair.” He shook his head in amazement. “But they have finally fulfilled their purpose.”

 • • • 

Rava had been gone less than a week when a message came announcing that Abaye and Homa would be married on the twenty-fourth of Cheshvan, exactly thirty days after Rava returned. Abaye asked us to send Bibi to attend, and that Chama should come with him. Father promptly declared that he and Mother would accompany us to the celebration, even if we were in the midst of beer brewing.

My joy was dampened, however, when an agent arrived from the court at Nehar Panya with a summons for Abba bar Joseph. Abba, meaning “father” in Aramaic, was Rava’s real name. During the time I was in Sepphoris, after it became evident that his wife was barren, he began going by Rava so he wouldn’t be constantly reminded of his failure to produce progeny.

“I’m sorry, but he left for Pumbedita over a week ago,” Father told the court’s agent. “If you give me the message, I can deliver it when I see him there next month.”

The messenger shook his head. “This is the second time I’ve failed to deliver it,” he explained. “I already tried in Machoza, where his brother took the summons and then forgot to bring it here for him. This time the court said I must deliver it into the hand of Abba bar Joseph and his hand alone.”

Father and I exchanged apprehensive glances, for Nehar Panya was where Choran’s father lived.

FOURTEEN

W
e arrived in Pumbedita the day before Abaye and Homa’s wedding, which was also the seventh day since I’d become
niddah
. Thus I enjoyed the happy coincidence of visiting the
mikvah
together with the bride at sunset. Like many structures in the city, the
mikvah
looked ancient. The pools were lined with well-worn stones, and the reed partitions between them were cracked and wobbly. Fed by the Euphrates, the water fluctuated in temperature with the season. Thankfully it was too early for snowmelt, so the water was cool but not frigid.

Homa and I took turns immersing in the same pool. Bursting with curiosity, I took advantage of our privacy to ask what had made her change her mind about marrying Abaye. Perhaps Rava didn’t have anything to do with it.

“I was prepared to defend myself against Rava’s arguments, for I expected they would be the same ones you used before Pesach,” she said. “But when he asked me to imagine how I’d feel seeing Abaye married to someone else while I remained unmarried, I . . .” She trailed off as tears filled her eyes.

“Don’t cry, Homa.” I put my arms around her. “Tomorrow at this time you and Abaye will be husband and wife.”

She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “It wasn’t just thinking of Abaye married to another. Rava had such pain in his voice that I knew I’d never want to experience it.”

“Those who sow in tears shall reap in joy,” I quoted Psalms, whose words could apply to both Homa and Rava.

“Rava’s argument wasn’t all that convinced me.” She lowered her voice even though there was no one nearby to overhear. “I know he’s studying the secret Torah, like Rechava did, so I made him promise to find a way to lift Eli’s curse.”

“How can he do that? It’s difficult enough to remove a rabbi’s or
charasheta
’s curse, but Elohim Himself cursed Eli back in the days of the prophet Samuel. None of Eli’s male descendants have lived a normal life span since.”

“Rava didn’t promise to lift the curse, only to search for a way to do it. He sounded quite enthused at the prospect.”

Though I expected this quest would be as fruitless as trying to vanquish his
yetzer hara,
I smiled and nodded.

 • • • 

Since even a widowed bride needed protection from demons just before her wedding, Leuton and I slept in Homa’s room along with her maidservant. When musicians arrived in the morning, Homa climbed into a litter, while Aspenaz and I took our places behind her, accompanied by our maidservants, Isaac, and the children. No sooner did we exit the courtyard than neighbors hurried to follow. One street away from Abaye’s, I sensed someone coming up after me. Sure it was Rava, I turned around and smiled.

My smile disappeared as I stared down into Rav Zeira’s ugly visage. Dark and hunchbacked, Zeira was infamous for boasting of his great piety. Among his numerous fasts, he’d endured a hundred to make him resistant to Gehenna’s fires, which he tested by sitting inside an oven every week. Not surprisingly, some rabbi gave him the Evil Eye, causing the oven’s fire to blacken his skin and bend his back. Then, before emigrating to the West, Zeira undertook another hundred fasts to forget the Torah he’d learned in Bavel. He claimed this was so his old studies wouldn’t interfere with the new, but the result was that rabbis here felt both insulted and denigrated.

It took me a moment to regain my composure. “Zeira, what brings you to Pumbedita? I thought you were living in Tiberias.”

“Life in the West has gotten more difficult than when you were there,” he complained. “Prices are rising so quickly that people are hoarding food and emigration has increased.”

“Are you returning to Bavel, then?” Heaven forbid he still wanted to marry me. Not that I had given him any encouragement during my time in the West, but that hadn’t prevented him from trying.

“I haven’t decided. I have not found a suitable wife in Tiberias, so I hope to do better here.” The admiration in his eyes had changed into a definite leer.

We were at our destination, so I was able to escape with a noncommittal, “I hope you find the wife you deserve. Now you must excuse me so I can attend to the bride.”

My relief was short lived, for Zeira was soon bearing down on me, a cup in each hand. “I’ve brought you some wine.” He spoke as if he had done me a great service.

I had no choice but to take the cup and thank him. Where was Rava? Abaye had escorted Homa into the
traklin
, and guests were slowly following.

“I am very pleased to find you here, in Pumbedita, so soon after my arrival,” Zeira said. “It saves me the trouble of traveling to Sura.”

“I am only in Pumbedita for Abaye’s wedding. I’ll be returning to Sura as soon as the celebration is over.”

He took a step toward me, so the space between us became uncomfortably small. “I was surprised when I saw your brother last spring and he said you weren’t betrothed.”

Before I could reply, a masculine arm appeared around my waist, pulling me away from Zeira and nearly into an embrace. “She is now,” Rava declared.

Normally, I would never have accepted such a public display of affection, and I knew that Rava was even less inclined to initiate one. Still, I let my head rest briefly on his shoulder. Stronger than words, Rava’s actions had repudiated Zeira.

“We will be married in Sura at the beginning of Tevet. Will you be able to attend our wedding?” I was confident Zeira would not, so I might as well be polite.

Rava and I were wearing our betrothal outfits, and it should have been evident that our clothes matched. Indeed, Zeira looked back and forth between us before asking, “Why are you waiting until then? Surely you’ve been betrothed for more than a month.”

Rava gave Zeira a look that said this was none of his business, but I replied, “The Chaldeans advised us to marry in Tevet.”

Thankfully, this awkward conversation was interrupted by someone calling to Rava that Abaye wanted him to recite the Seven Wedding Blessings. Since the banquet would not be served until this happened, Rava grabbed my hand and we hurried inside.

 • • • 

I didn’t expect to be seated with Rava, whose position as groomsman kept him at Abaye’s side. I was content that my table was placed near enough to Homa, Em, and Mother that I could talk to them without shouting. But once the meal was over, I was eager to dance, as were nearly all the guests. Mother was the first woman up, and despite being over sixty, she danced as gracefully as ever. Em joined in sufficiently to do her duty as hostess, but it was Homa who amazed us all. With her copper-colored silks swirling as she sensuously kept time to the music, she was as beautiful and compelling as a flickering flame. Not even the women could take their eyes off her, and the men . . . Let me just say that the men were captivated.

Abaye danced with skill and enthusiasm, while Rava displayed less skill than enthusiasm. After the wine had flowed for some hours, even Father found it impossible to resist the lively music and proceeded to impress the crowd with his agility. Unsurprisingly, Zeira stayed in his seat the whole afternoon. When everyone except Abaye, Homa, and Mother had dropped with exhaustion, the musicians finally took their rest, and the evening meal was served.

Before I knew it, the sun was setting and the time had arrived to prepare Homa for bed. Unlike a virgin bride, Homa was so eager for her husband’s company that she complained impatiently about how long it was taking to undo her hair and remove her wedding clothes. Her slaves merely giggled and continued at their careful pace.

Eventually they sent me out to inform Abaye that his bride awaited him. I was halfway to the
traklin
, where raucous men’s voices confirmed Abaye’s presence, when Father stopped me.

“Could you bring Rava out with you?” he whispered. “The court agent from Nehar Panya is here.”

My apprehension increasing, I hurried on, only to stop abruptly outside the doorway. For some reason I’d thought that Abaye marrying his third wife would minimize the lewd taunting a new bridegroom traditionally received on his way to the bridal chamber. But I hadn’t considered Homa’s reputation as possessing such erotic power that two men had died from bedding her.

A litany of bawdy jokes were directed at Abaye concerning Homa’s likely hidden defects and whether the delights of uncovering them would be worth the cost. He seemed to take them in stride, much as a teacher might endure the antics of small children. Rava, however, was seething and would probably have left the room if not for his duty to Abaye.

The miasma of masculine ribaldry was so thick it took all my will to enter. Thankfully, when the men saw me they abruptly became silent, and the hush spread through the room so I could make my announcement without shouting. The crowd hooted and applauded as Abaye nearly flew to the stairs and then bounded up them.

In the quiet that followed, a drunken Zeira yelled out, “What about your hidden defects, Rava?” He emphasized Rava’s name in such a way that he made it sound obscene. “What will your bride think when she uncovers them?”

I couldn’t imagine what Zeira was referring to, but the other rabbis exchanged knowing looks and many broke into salacious laughter. Rava, his face as dark as wine, took a threatening step in Zeira’s direction. But I intercepted him.

“Come. A court messenger is here for you.”

Rava, who had clearly had his share of strong drink, blinked a few times in confusion. “For me? Why?”

“I don’t know.” I took his arm and urged him forward. “Father is waiting with him in the courtyard.”

I had chosen not to warn him that the man was from Nehar Panya; Rava was already upset enough. As for his “hidden defects,” which were evidently no secret in the rabbinic community, I would ask about those at a more opportune time.

Father was pacing back and forth at the courtyard gate, while one of Em’s slaves washed the agent’s feet. When Rava admitted to being Abba bar Joseph of Machoza, the man exhaled audibly and held the letter out to him.

Father, Rava, and I huddled in a torchlit corner as he examined the outer seal. “Oh no,” Rava groaned. “It’s from the
beit din
in Nehar Panya.” He took a deep breath and opened the letter.