The Book of Longings: A Novel (32 page)

We didn’t linger with goodbyes. I kissed Jesus’s mouth. “May this severing not cut us apart, but bind us together,” I said. And holding my bowl and my scrolls to my chest, I set my face toward Egypt.

i.

We sailed into the great harbor of Alexandria after eight days of turbulent seas. Though our ship—a vessel that bore Egyptian corn to Caesarea and returned to Alexandria with olives—had hugged the coastline, the waves had left me unable to keep down food or drink. Throughout the journey, I had lain curled on my mat belowdecks and thought of Jesus. At times, my distress at traveling farther and farther away from him was so great, I wondered if my sickness wasn’t from the pitch of the sea at all, but from the pain and tumult of leaving him.

Still weak and nauseated, I forced myself to leave the ship’s hull for my first glimpse of the city I’d dreamed about since Yaltha first began telling me stories of her greatness. Standing beside my aunt, I inhaled the foggy air and drew my coat to my neck, the clamor of the mainsail snapping ferociously over our heads. The harbor swarmed with ships—large merchant ships like ours, and smaller, fleet galleys.

“There!” said my aunt, pointing into the gloom. “There’s Pharos, the great lighthouse.”

When I turned, I was met by a spectacle I couldn’t have imagined. On a small island facing the harbor, a massive tower of white marble rose in three grand tiers toward the clouds, and at the top, a magnificent blaze of light. Even the Temple in Jerusalem couldn’t compare to it.
“How do they make such a light?” I murmured, too awed to realize I’d spoken the thought aloud.

“The fire is reflected by massive bronze mirrors,” Yaltha replied, and I saw in her face the pride she felt for her city.

A statue crowned the pinnacle of the lighthouse dome, a man pointing skyward. “Who’s that?” I asked.

“Helios, the Greeks’ sun god. See? He’s pointing to the sun.”

The city brimmed along the waterfront, shining white buildings that stretched into the distance. My nausea forgotten, I stared transfixed at one of them that jutted out into the harbor, a dazzling edifice that seemed to float on the water’s surface. “Behold,” Yaltha said, watching my face. “The palace of the royals. I once told you about the queen who lived there—Cleopatra the Seventh.”

“The one who went to Rome with Caesar.”

Yaltha laughed. “Yes, that, among other things. She died the year I was born. I grew up hearing stories of her. My father—your grandfather—said she would write on nothing but papyrus made in our family’s workshops. She proclaimed it the finest papyrus in Egypt.”

Before I could take in the news that Cleopatra had made reference to my family, an imposing columned structure loomed up. “That’s one of the temples to Isis,” Yaltha said. “There’s a grander one near the library known as Isis Medica that houses a medical school.”

My mind had become dizzy with wonder. How alien this place was, how gloriously alien.

We grew silent, letting the city slide past like the contours of a dream, and I thought of my beloved, of how far I was from him. By now he would’ve attended Salome’s wedding in Cana and departed for Capernaum to assemble his followers and start his ministry. The memory of him standing at the gate when I departed brought a twist of pain. I longed to be with him. But not in Galilee. No, not there . . .
here
.

When I looked again at Yaltha, her eyes were misted, whether from wind, happiness, or her own twist of pain for Chaya, I couldn’t say.

When we disembarked, Apion hired a flat-roofed litter for the four of us with curtained windows and cushioned seats, pulled by two donkeys. We bobbed along the Canopic Way, the main corridor of the city, a cobblestone street so wide it could’ve fit fifty litters side by side. The street was lined on either side with red-roofed buildings and people milling about—women with uncovered heads, and girls, not just boys, trotting behind their tutors with wooden tablets hitched to their waists on cords. Catching sight of a brilliantly hued Egyptian woman, winged and kneeling, painted inside a portico, I made an exclamation of surprise, and Yaltha leaned to me and said, “Winged Isis. You’ll see her everywhere.” We came upon a line of horse-drawn chariots driven by men in helmets, who, Apion informed us, were on their way to the hippodrome.

A resplendent-looking pediment suddenly protruded in the distance. My heart gave a lurch. I couldn’t see the building’s facade, but the roof seemed to preside over the city. “Is that the great library?” I asked Yaltha.

“It is,” she said. “We will go there, you and I.”

During our voyage my aunt had described how the library’s half million scrolls were meticulously cataloged and arranged, all the texts in existence in the entire world. She’d told me of the scholars who lived there, how they’d determined the earth was round and measured not only its circumference, but its distance to the sun.

And we would go there.

I
T WAS NOT UNTIL
our litter arrived at Haran’s house that my excitement turned to apprehension. I had lied to Apion, insisting Haran had sent a letter giving his permission for Yaltha to come. How could my
deceit possibly remain undiscovered? What if Haran refused to take us in? I couldn’t be elsewhere—Judas would send his letters to Haran’s house.

Before we’d boarded the ship in Caesarea, I’d made certain that Apion conveyed to my brother exactly how the dispatches should be addressed. “Haran ben Philip Levias, Jewish Quarter, Alexandria,” he’d said.

“Is that all that’s needed?” I asked.

“Your uncle is the wealthiest Jew in Alexandria,” he said. “Everyone knows where he lives.”

At this, Yaltha dispensed a grunt of derision, causing Apion to cut his eyes toward her.

She will have to hide her bitterness better than this
, I thought, as we stepped into Haran’s palatial house. How would she find Chaya without Haran’s help?

My uncle looked like my father: lumpy bald head, large ears, thick chest, and beardless. Only his eyes were different—less curious and with a hawkish, preying quality. He met us in the atrium, where an oculus streamed light from the ceiling. He was standing directly beneath it in an unrelenting white shine. I could find no shadow in the room. This struck me as an ominous sign.

Yaltha approached him slowly with her face downcast. I was shocked to see her enact an elaborate bow. “Esteemed brother,” she said. “I’ve come home humbled. I beg you to receive me.” I shouldn’t have worried; she knew very well how to play this game.

He glared at her, arms folded. “You’ve come unbidden, Yaltha. When I sent you to our brother in Galilee, it was with the understanding you would not return.”

Haran turned to Apion then. “I gave you no authority to bring them here.”

The revelation of my deception had come sooner than I’d anticipated.

“Sir, forgive me,” Apion said, his mouth sputtering words. “The younger woman said . . .” He glanced at me, sweat forming on his temples, and I saw his dilemma. He feared that if he accused me, I would expose the bribes he’d taken.

Reading the situation, Haran said, “Is it possible, Apion, that you were bribed? If so, hand the money over to me now and I’ll consider keeping you as my treasurer.”

It came to me that I should save him. It appeared we would be cast out either way, and I decided to risk everything to win Apion’s friendship.

I stepped forward. “I am Ana, the daughter of Matthias. Don’t blame your employee for bringing us here. We gave him no bribe. Rather I led him to believe you’d sent a letter with consent for us to come and stay with you. His only fault was having faith in my word.”

Yaltha glanced at me, uncertain. Lavi shifted on his feet. I didn’t look at Apion, but I heard the out-breath that escaped his lips.

Haran said, “You stand here and confess you are in my house out of
trickery
?” He broke into laughter, and there was not a hint of derision in it. “Why have you come here?”

“As you know, Uncle, my father is dead. My aunt and I had nowhere else to go.”

“Have you no husband?” he asked.

I should’ve anticipated such an obvious question, but it caught me by surprise. I hesitated too long.

“Her husband sent her away,” Yaltha said, rescuing me. “She’s ashamed to speak of it.”

“Yes,” I muttered. “He turned me out.” Then, lest Haran inquire what terrible thing I’d done to deserve my expulsion, I quickly continued, “We traveled here with our guardian because you are my father’s eldest brother and our patriarch. My trickery came from my desire to come here and serve you. I ask your forgiveness.”

He turned to Yaltha. “She’s shrewd, this one—I cannot help but like
her. Now. Tell me, long-lost sister, why have you returned after all this time? Don’t tell me that you, too, have come hoping to serve me—I know better.”

“I have no wish to serve you, it’s true. I wished to come home, that’s all. I’ve been in exile for twelve years. Is that not long enough?”

His lips curled. “So, you’ve not returned in hopes of finding your daughter? Any mother would wish to be reunited with a lost daughter before she dies.”

He was not just ruthless, but perceptive. I told myself I should never underestimate him.

“My daughter was adopted long ago,” Yaltha said. “I forfeited her. I have no false hope of seeing her again. If you wish to tell me her whereabouts, I would welcome it, but I’ve made my peace with our separation.”

He said, “I know nothing of her whereabouts, as you fully know. Her family insisted on a legal agreement that prevents us from having any contact with them.”

“As I said, she’s gone,” Yaltha reiterated. “I didn’t come for her, only for myself. Let me come home, Haran.” How contrite she looked, how convincing.

Haran stepped away from the harsh shaft of light and paced, hands clasped behind him. He gave Apion a wave of dismissal and his treasurer nearly broke into a run as he left the room.

My uncle stopped in front of me. “You will pay me five hundred bronze drachmae for each month you stay under my roof.”

Five hundred!
I was in possession of fifteen hundred Herodian silver drachmae with no idea how that translated into Egyptian bronze. We needed the money to last up to a year, not just for rent, but for passage home.

“One hundred,” I said.

“Four hundred,” he countered.

“One hundred fifty and I will serve you as a scribe.”

“A scribe?” He snorted. “I have a scribe.”

“Does your scribe write Aramaic, Greek, Hebrew, and Latin . . . all four?” I asked.

“Does he create lettering and scripts so beautiful people attribute even greater import to the words?” said Yaltha.

“You do these things?” Haran said to me.

“I do.”

“All right. One hundred fifty bronze drachmae and your services as a scribe. I require nothing further except that neither of you leave this house.”

“You can’t mean to confine us here,” I said. This was a blow worse than the cost of his rent.

“If you require goods from the market, your guardian, as you call him, can do your bidding.”

He faced Yaltha. “As you know, charges of murder do not expire. If I learn that either of you have left the house or made inquiries about your daughter, I’ll make sure you’re arrested.” His face hardened. “Chaya’s family doesn’t want your meddling, and I won’t risk them suing me because of it.”

He clanged a tiny gong and a young woman, not Jewish, but a long-necked Egyptian with heavily lined eyes, appeared. “Show them to the women’s quarters and put their guardian with the servants,” Haran told her, then abruptly left us.

We followed behind her, listening to the shuffle of her sandals on the tile, watching her black hair swish back and forth. We were, it seemed, to be captives here.

“Does Haran not have a wife we could appeal to?” I whispered to Yaltha.

“She died before I left Alexandria. I don’t know if he took another,” she whispered back.

The servant girl stopped before a doorway. “You will reside here,” she
said to us in broken Greek, then added, “He has no wife. No one lives beneath this roof but Haran and his servants.”

“What good ears you have,” I said.

“All servants have good ears,” she replied, and I saw Lavi grin.

“Where are Haran’s sons?” Yaltha asked.

“They manage his lands in the Nile Delta.” She motioned to Lavi and sauntered off, swaying hair, swaying hips. He gazed at her with parted lips, before fumbling after her.

M
Y SLEEPING CHAMBER
was separated from Yaltha’s by a sitting room that opened onto a courtyard garden—a tiny forest of date palms. We stood in the doorway looking out at it.

“Haran doesn’t trust you,” I said. “He knows exactly why you’re here.”

“Yes. He knows.”

“But it’s strange, isn’t it, that he goes to such lengths to keep you from Chaya. Even confining us to the house. What harm would it be for you to see her? Perhaps there is some legal agreement with her family, but I wonder if he conceals Chaya from you only to punish you. Could his need for vengeance be as strong as that?”

“The rumors surrounding my husband’s death were a disgrace for him—his own sister believed to be a murderer. He lost business over it. He lost favor in the city. He was shamed. He never got over it, and he has never stopped blaming me. His need for revenge is bottomless.”

We stood there silent a few moments, and I thought I saw something come into her face, some awareness. She said, “What if Haran conceals Chaya not only out of vengeance, but to hide some wrongdoing of his own?”

My skin prickled. “What do you mean, Aunt?”

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Time will tell us.”

Out in the center of the garden, a little pond overflowed with blue lotus.
At least we have lodging here
, I thought.

While Yaltha settled herself, I stepped outside and went to kneel beside the pond. As I examined the odd way the lotus grew from the mud at the bottom, I heard footsteps. Turning, I found Apion standing behind me. “I’m grateful,” he said. “You rescued me at your own expense.”

“I could do no less.”

He smiled. “So, niece of Haran, what is it you want from me?”

“Time will grant us an answer,” I said.

I spent my mornings in Haran’s small scriptorium making copies of his business records. “A fool possesses one copy,” he’d said. “A wise man, two.”