The Journey Begun (28 page)

Thirty

warm and hazy late afternoon lulled Megiddo’s marketplace into a hum of subdued conversation. Vendors, who only an hour before hawked their wares with enthusiasm, now found themselves rubbing weary eyes and stifling yawns. Purveyors of fresh produce working the thinning crowd paused to cast a critical eye over the condition of their fruit and vegetables. Silently, they calculated the right time to begin dropping prices to rid themselves of excess stock that would not survive another night in storage. Deliberate latecomers to the market strolled the paths between booths, surreptitiously eyeing the sellers whose products would present themselves soonest as targets for a shrewd bargain. The vendors pretended not to notice the flitting eyes and narrowed brows of the vultures circling their booths. The shoppers feigned equal disinterest in the too-casual manner of their prey tidying up their displays.

This was only the prelude to the real drama, though, a ritual as necessary to this Megiddo market day as the rising of the sun and the clink of silver upon silver. Indeed, there were those who believed the sun itself would wait to set until the ultimate scene played out. That scene belonged to Abigail, the wife of Hosea, keeper of the city’s largest inn. Abigail’s haggling skills were unrivaled in her day or indeed in any age within memory of those fortunate enough to witness her forays into the marketplace. This formidable matron was known to confound even the most calculating merchant with a raise of an eyebrow or a click of her tongue. Her reputation for driving a bargain traveled farther and covered more territory than she herself could ever hope to see in two lifetimes. This was Abigail of Megiddo. A legend.

But then there was Levi.

Levi ben Nathan was a fresh fruit and nectar vendor. It was said he could sell honey to a beekeeper at twice its worth and leave the apiarist smiling. Amiable and quiet, he betrayed none of the guile and cunning of which he was so capable. Disarmed by the vendor’s contrived absent-mindedness, the unwitting buyer made him to be an easy mark. It wasn’t until the smirking victim walked away from Levi’s booth and assessed his purchase against his remaining silver that one would see his expression drop.

But Levi had one weakness. And Abigail knew it well.

They rarely collided, these two, but when they did it was a sight to behold. Business in the immediate area came to a halt to witness the clash of the experts. As the afternoon ebbed, an aura of expectancy rose among those still in the marketplace. It was imperceptible at first, but as the sun continued its descent, the atmosphere became palpable. Voices lowered, quick glances were stolen. It was getting late. Surely the ritual wouldn’t be broken. It just wouldn’t be right.

Then she appeared. The legend turned the corner at the end of the row hosting Levi’s booth, trailed by a hired boy already laden with spoils. An imposing figure, her matronly manner and ample girth served her well. Her weapons included an unwavering eye, a perpetual tight-lipped frown, and a voice so well trained that, when raised to a practiced shrill, would make a donkey grimace. This arsenal could push even the most stalwart trader against the wall. She was not to be trifled with—and she knew it. Eyes averted as she strode toward Levi’s kiosk. The show was about to begin.

Abigail huffed past a partial basket of pomegranates tilted against Levi’s booth. She didn’t pause as her keen eye took barely a second to appraise the top layer of fruit whose peels were beginning to show the yellow tinge that betrayed the touch of too many afternoon suns. Oh yes, she saw it all right.

“Shalom
, Levi ben Nathan!”

Levi glanced up as though startled.
“Shalom
, Abigail. A fine day, no?” His face softened to a gentle smile. “You’re looking lovely, as usual.”

She cocked her head coyly and beamed at him. “Why thank you, Levi. Indeed it is a fine day.” She clasped her hands loosely behind her back and leaned forward as her eyes swept the array of early fruit clustered around his booth in baskets and piled in the back of his donkey cart. “My, you have a wonderful booth today. Everything looks so fresh.”

He nodded modestly. “I bring only the best for the fine people of Megiddo—and especially for the discerning buyer who knows quality when she sees it.” A playful wink punctuated his words.

“You do have that reputation you know, don’t you, Levi?” She returned his smile, then straightened her back and put a finger to her chin. “Let me see. My menu for tonight calls for something special.”

“You stopped at the right booth, then.” The vendor chuckled.

She echoed his chuckle. “Of course I did, dear. I always do.”

His voice assumed a practiced cadence. “What shall it be then? I have a fine pick of plums and some choice baby figs. A splendid garnish for the best tables of the city—which, of course, are found only in Hosea’s fine inn.”

“They are quite handsome, quite so indeed. I’ve not seen finer.” She selected a fig and held it up to the light. “Very nice, very nice.”

Levi reached for his scale weights. “I can give you the best deal—”

“But, no.” Abigail dropped the fruit back onto the pile with a subtle flick of the wrist. “No, not for tonight. Tonight is special, and it will take a special taste to accent my new recipe of roast lamb.”

Levi’s jaw twitched
[B43]
 
. He shifted the fig back to the top of the carefully stacked pile of fruit and patted it into place. The smile quickly reappeared as he looked again at Abigail, who pretended not to notice and was again scanning the baskets. “Roast lamb, you say? A new recipe? Some fortunate guests at Hosea’s are in for the treat of their lives this fine evening, I’m sure.”

She stopped her perusal of Levi’s produce and appraised the vendor’s face with a pleased expression. “Why, Levi, how kind of you to say such a thing.”

He responded to her sweet smile with a dip of his head. “I would think, then, that fresh spring plums would be the perfect complement to a dish of tender lamb and a cup of fine wine.” He offered her a small plum of perfect color and firmness.

She rolled the fruit between her fingers and studied it as carefully as though it were a rare gemstone. “Excellent specimen. Nearly perfect, I’d say.”

Levi smiled triumphantly and reached again for his weights. “You’ll not find a better—”

“But, no.” She tossed the fruit toward its basket, and Levi nearly toppled in his haste to rescue the precious fruit before it bruised itself against the stack of plums. He snatched it from midair a scant hand’s width away from the top of the bin. Abigail ignored the frown clouding Levi’s face as she continued poring over the remainder of his stock. “Something else. Hmmm. I need—”

Levi began to interject, but she cut him short. “Pomegranates! Of course! That’s it. I shall adorn my lamb with pomegranate seeds.” She made a show of searching for the basket she knew was right in front of her, the one that had given her pause by Levi’s booth in the first place. “Here they are. Wonderful!”

The fruit vendor hurriedly recomposed himself and the smile was back. “Ah, yes. Of course, pomegranates. I should have thought the same. These are from the oldest and finest grove in the valley. You’ll find none better.”

“Yes, such lovely—” A slight crease appeared between Abigail’s eyebrows. “Oh, dear.” She squinted and dropped her head lower toward the basket.

“Is something wrong?” Levi raised an eyebrow.

“No, I don’t think…” Abigail bent lower over the basket and cocked her head. “Oh dear, what a pity.”

“Pity?”

“Pity.”

Exasperation tinged Levi’s voice. “What’s a pity?”

“The rinds. They’re turning. Oh, dear. Too much sun, I suppose.” The matron straightened and put her hands on her hips as she reviewed the basket. Her tongue clicked as she pretended to contemplate what to do next.

Levi leaned over the front of his booth and stared down into the basket. “What do you mean ‘turning’?”

“Well, look at them, dear, their red is lovely, but the tops are going yellow.” Abigail shook her head with disappointment.

The vendor looked up from his bent position. “They’re pomegranates. They’re supposed to have some yellow on them.”

“Oh certainly, but everyone knows the better the pomegranate, the less yellow it is.”

He squinted back down into the basket. “They do?”

“Oh my, yes, dear.” She picked up a piece of fruit from the top of the pile. “See here? Nearly the whole top is yellowing. They’re past ripe, pure and simple. They’re past ripe.” She exaggerated a sigh and pouted. “And I did so want to use pomegranates for my lamb. It’s just a pity, it is.”

Levi straightened and frowned at the fruit in her hand. “These were picked fresh from Abner ben Gideon’s grove just the other day. He grows the best pomegranates in the entire Jezreel Valley. They were perfectly ripe just yesterday.”
[B44]
 

She shrugged. “Yes, but that was yesterday. Today they’re overripe.”

“In
one day?”
 
The exasperation from his voice spilled over his face.

“Well, of course. How long do you think it takes?”

“I…it’s—” Levi’s shoulders slumped, and he squinted over the edge of his booth into the basket.

Abigail knit her brow, as if deep in thought. “Listen, dear. This is what I’m willing to do.” She lowered her voice and glanced at the booths adjoining Levi’s. “I’ll take six of these pomegranates that you’re not going to be able to sell anyway and, for a quarter bushel of plums and an equal amount of baby figs, I’ll take them and see if there’s anything that can be done with them. I’ll pay the full price for the plums, but the figs must come as my portion for accepting the pomegranates.”

“What?”
[B45]
 

“Shhh!” She glanced at the vendor stand to her left again. “You have me at a disadvantage here, which never happens. I have a reputation to maintain in this marketplace, and if word gets out that Abigail, wife of Hosea, accepted overripe pomegranates I’ll never be able to strike a deal in this city again. You must agree not to breathe a word of this to anyone, Levi, or I’m ruined.”

Levi stood with his mouth agape.

It was time for the kill. Abigail drew close and caressed Levi’s face with misty eyes, her voice faltering. “You have my future in your hands. I’m…I’m asking you, Levi.” She looked down in mock defeat and her tone fell to barely above a whisper. A slight catch in her throat lent a sultry rasp to her voice. “I have to trust you. Will…will you—protect me, my reputation?” Softly, she laid the pomegranate on the booth, her hand grazing his as he leaned forward on the shelf. Her touch lingered for just a moment.

Levi stared at the pomegranate and her hand. His eyes flicked to the pile of figs and then to the bin of plums. Finally he swallowed. “I don’t know—” His words were cut short by a slight heave of Abigail’s shoulders and a muffled intake of breath, as though stifling a sniffle. Levi’s eyes widened
.
[B46]