Enchantress: A Novel of Rav Hisda's Daughter (7 page)

I
spent part of Fourth Day watching Em prepare potions and the rest writing so many amulets that my meager supply of leather cases was nearly exhausted. There was no time to search the city for leatherworkers, nor did I want to take any of Em’s slaves away from their duties. But that night I had an idea.

At synagogue the next morning, I took the seat next to Homa and introduced myself.

She looked at me in surprise and introduced herself in return. “I hear you’re visiting Em,” she added.

I saw no reason to be reticent. “Em is my teacher. I’ll be studying with her for a few years.”

“Where are you from?”

“Sura,” I replied. “Which is why I need your help.”

She looked at me skeptically. “But I don’t know anything about healing.”

“I need to find my way around Pumbedita without getting lost,” I said. “Em told me you grew up here.”

Homa remained silent, so I continued: “Come dine with us after services. Then if you have time, we can go out walking while Em takes her afternoon nap.”

“I don’t know. . . .” She hesitated and anxiety briefly filled her eyes. “Will your husband and Em’s nephew be there?”

Ah, she was wary of dining with strange men. “The man you’re thinking of is Abaye’s study partner, not my husband, and both of them will be in court all day.” I let her hear the pain in my voice when I added, “I don’t have a husband. I’m a widow.”

Homa waited until services finished to accept my invitation. She said little during the meal, and it was only out on the street, with Leuton following at a discreet distance, that she was no longer silent.

“You are Rav Hisda’s daughter. Surely there were other, more prominent local women who could have taken you around the city?” Her voice was full of suspicion.

“Other women always want to talk about their husbands and children.” I had not intended to cry, but suddenly I had to blink back tears. “A painful subject I prefer to avoid.”

She nodded slowly and gestured for us to turn left. “This is the way to my brother’s. I must stop and tell him I won’t be home until sunset. You should know where Butchers Street is, and those of the other food vendors as well.”

The butchers knew her well enough to call out to her as we passed by, a couple of them a bit too salaciously I thought. Homa grimaced and ignored them, and I began to see how oppressive her life must be.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, as catcalls greeted her on Fishmongers Street. “I didn’t know the men here would be so annoying.”

“It’s not your fault. Men have been acting like this since I grew breasts. Just concentrate on where we’re going.” She paused when we reached the corner, and pointed. “See, up on that wall, the little fish painted there? That’s how you recognize Fishmongers Street.”

“What sign do the butchers have?” If all streets were labeled, getting around Pumbedita might be easier than I thought.

“They don’t have one.” She shrugged at my disappointment. “But other streets do.”

At my urging, we spent the entire afternoon in and around the souk’s winding streets and alleys. I told her how frightened I’d been as a child lost in Kafri’s much smaller souk and how determined I was not to suffer that terrifying experience again.

 • • • 

When we finished the midday meal on Sixth Day, Rava and Abaye remained in the
traklin
to review the week’s learning until Shabbat began. Em was supervising the final preparations, so I decided to take a short walk.

Except that it wasn’t.

The roadways meandered and seemed to turn back on themselves until I finally saw a familiar sign. I was barely able to make my way back to Em’s before sunset.

“Rava,” Em began during the evening meal, “in all the years you’ve lived with me, I don’t think I’ve ever asked for your help on Shabbat.”

“That is true.” He squirmed under her scrutiny before adding, “But you need only ask and I will assist you.”

“Good, because tomorrow afternoon, when Abaye enjoys some time with his wife and daughter, I would like you to accompany Hisdadukh to Leatherworkers Street and show her where the students buy their tefillin.”

Careful not to let his eyes meet mine, Rava nodded. “I said I would assist you, so I will.”

I immediately thanked him for giving up his Shabbat rest for my benefit. “I need to know how to find Leatherworkers Street so I can replenish my supply of amulet covers.”

“It’s down by the river,” he said. “I suggest we walk there and back as many times as it takes until you are confident you can do it by yourself.”

 • • • 

Other than providing minimal instructions at each intersection, Rava made no attempt at conversation. Under the pretext of needing to hear him better, I tried to walk close to him, which caused him to promptly step away.

But I knew how to engage him. “What was your most interesting case this week?”

He looked at me in surprise and after some hesitation, replied, “We had several cases dealing with the loss of tools and animals that were borrowed for work, one of which concerned a dead cat.”

“A dead cat? Why would anyone borrow a dead cat?”

“Good question, but let’s review the other cases before you tell me what the correct judgment in the cat lawsuit should be.”

I nodded eagerly.

“A man borrowed an ax from his friend and it broke,” he began. “The men came before me, and I told the borrower that if he brought witnesses to declare that he used the ax only in the usual fashion, he would not be liable.”

“But what if there were no witnesses?”

“We learn from a case where a man broke a borrowed ax while using it negligently,” Rava explained. “Rav ruled that that the borrower should return the broken pieces and pay the difference between their worth and a new ax.”

“So Rav set the precedent that only a negligent borrower is liable for damage,” I said, growing frustrated. “How does this relate to the borrowed cat?”

Rava held up his hand to gesture that I should be patient. “We had another case in which a man lent his friend an ox, and it was returned so weakened that the lender demanded damages. But I told him that even if the ox died on account of its work, the borrower was not liable because he did not borrow the animal to keep it resting in a pen all day.”

I considered this as we approached Leatherworkers Street, which I knew was near because no river breeze could eliminate the stench of the tanning process.

After Rava pointed out the shop that sold tefillin, I returned to our discussion. “The lender knew his friend intended to work the ox, so he should have provided an animal strong enough for the task. And the borrower is certainly not liable if the ox dies of unrelated causes.”

“Good thinking,” he said, and for a moment I wondered if he was going to smile. But he continued with a straight face, “This brings us to the case where a man borrowed a cat. Apparently there were so many mice that they united against the cat and killed it. Is this a case of an animal that died from its work or not?”

I looked at him skeptically. “I find it difficult to believe that any number of mice could overcome a cat.”

Rava shrugged. “Actually, some said the cat killed and ate so many mice that it became overheated and died.”

That also sounded improbable, yet it seemed the cat either died from its normal work or from something unrelated. “I suppose that the borrower is not liable,” I said.

“You are correct. We likened it to a case where a man died in a brothel from overindulging in women. There is no liability and no redress.”

Rava’s unexpected reference to men in brothels made my face flame; however, he seemed completely unaffected. With some effort, I managed to regain my composure. “Both cases appear highly unusual,” I said. “No wonder you found them interesting.”

We walked in silence, along dirt roads trod on so heavily they were as hard as stone. We passed walls and buildings repaired so many times that they revealed the styles and materials of generations of craftsmen.

I was wondering how to start Rava talking again, when he surprised me by saying, “In truth, the best case was the one in which I initially thought I had made an error but I turned out to be correct after all.”

“What happened?” I encouraged him.

“The law on lending is that there is also no liability when the owner accompanies the borrowed animal, even if the borrower is negligent.” Rava looked away in embarrassment before continuing. “A certain man lent his mule to some others and went out with them to load it. The borrowers acted negligently, and the mule died, so I ruled them liable.”

“Then you made a mistake.” I stated this as a fact, not as a criticism of Rava’s error. The law was clear.

“That’s what Rav Yosef said, and for a short while I was overcome with shame.” Rava sighed with relief. “But it came to light that the owner left before the negligence occurred, and thus I had ruled correctly after all.”

Rava was so pleased with his escape from humiliation that he continued explaining court cases long after I knew how to make my way to Leatherworkers Street and back without help. So I asked if he could show me where to find the various metalsmiths, in case a client should desire a more decorative holder. As the sun dipped lower, I pretended more confusion than I felt, with the satisfactory result that Rava offered to walk with me on Shabbat until he was confident I knew the location of every tinsmith, silversmith, and goldsmith in Pumbedita.

 • • • 

When it came time to walk with Homa after services the next week, she apologized and said she was too tired.

“My nephew Issi has been having such terrifying dreams that he keeps us all up at night.” She covered her mouth to yawn. “I promised Isaac, my brother, that I would watch the children while he and his wife, Aspenaz, try to nap.”

“Let me help. I know an incantation that will banish the demons giving your nephew evil dreams.”

“You’re a
charasheta
?” Homa sounded surprised, incredulous, and impressed all at the same time.

“That is why I’m studying with Em, to learn her healing spells and practices.”

“Can you do it today?” she asked eagerly. “Before those demons start giving my daughter evil dreams too.”

I shook my head. “First I inscribe the incantation on some pottery bowls. Then I bury the bowls under your house and adjure the demons to leave.” When Homa looked awestruck, I added, “It’s a complicated process.”

“Come with me now and see what Isaac says.”

“All right,” I said. “But allow me to find my way by myself. Don’t correct me unless I start going the wrong direction.”

“Very well, but tell me more about these incantation bowls of yours. I’ve never heard of them. Are they like amulets?”

“They are more powerful. Amulet spells are short, and the wording is the same except for the client’s name. Incantations on
kasa d’charasha
are unique for each client, focused on a particular demon.”

When I took a wrong turn, Homa ended her barrage of questions. We soon reached the home of Isaac, who was indeed interested in my bowls, and upon meeting Issi, a skinny boy with dark circles under his eyes, who seemed to jump at any little noise, I knew I wanted to help him.

“I must consult with Em about the customary price here,” I said. If I undercut what others charged, I would make them angry, and I certainly didn’t want to overcharge.

Aspenaz gazed at her husband with a pleading look, and he replied, “We will pay whatever is customary.”

“I will inform you when to expect me.” I didn’t want to get their hopes up, but even after I managed to find the local
charasheta
, I would need time to prepare the bowls.

 • • • 

I walked back to Em’s by myself, eager to meet and gain the approval of any local colleagues. I found Em outside, weeding her garden.

She scratched her head while considering my request. “Though there is no shortage of amulet scribes, I know of only two women who deal in such bowls.”

“Only two? But Pumbedita is more than twice the size of Sura, and we have at least six.”

“It is a new practice here,” she replied. “Nobody made them until these two came from Machoza.”

As did my sister-in-law Rahel, who had taught me. “Can we see them today? I really want to help Homa’s family in return for all she’s done for me, and I expect to be
dashtana
next week.”

Em surveyed the raised herb bed, reasonably devoid of weeds, and brushed the dirt from her hands. “Proper respect for status must be shown. I will invite them to visit us.”

She was clearly at the top of Pumbedita’s
charasheta
hierarchy, because the two women arrived shortly after our midday meal, their silk tunics and four slave attendants proclaiming their prosperity. At first I thought Rishindukh and Shadukh were sisters, so similar did the sharp-nosed pair appear. But they were cousins whose mothers were sisters.

To my relief, they were delighted to meet me. Seated on soft cushions in Em’s
traklin
, the women began spinning flax on their spindles and distaffs. Em produced hers, and I brought out the small loom on which I wove red silk ribbons. No matter how wealthy or highborn, all women occupied themselves with spinning or weaving when they visited one another.

“I wish there were more of us in Pumbedita,” Rishindukh said. “It pains me that we can only help a small number of the many people who need us.”

Shadukh tsked sadly. “Especially when a pregnant woman comes to me, and the only time I have available for her is too late.”

“I don’t want to compete with you,” I said carefully. “So if you tell me your prices, I will charge the same.”

Shadukh named an amount twice what Rahel and I charged in Sura, but I managed to hide my surprise. “I merely intend to inscribe a bowl for a child having bad dreams,” I told them.

“We haven’t done one of those in years,” Shadukh said derisively. “Pregnant women are our priority.”

“And protecting households from the Evil Eye,” her cousin added after plumping up her cushion.

Em took another handful of flax from her basket and placed it on her distaff. “Now that I have met you both, I wonder if you could satisfy my curiosity about a few things.”