The Last Song (12 page)

Long after the sun had set and the clouds had hidden the moon, there was loud banging on the front gate. Our prayers had been answered. Santos brought Papa back to us – beaten and bloody, but alive.

We rushed to my father and kissed his bruised cheeks. Santos came into the house with him. He stood beside my father silently, passing a knife from one hand to the other hand over and over again.

The servants were jubilant. Sofia fell to her knees, loudly thanking the Lord for Papa’s safe return. Yussuf
hovered beside Papa, offering him his arm to lean on.

“We must put you to bed, Enrique,” Mama said.

“First, I need to do something,” Papa replied. “Yussuf, fetch my purse from my chamber.”

The Moor returned with the purse and presented it to my father. I saw the glimmer of gold ducats in Papa’s palm. He whispered something into Santos’s ear and the two men went outside. When he limped back into the house, Papa was alone and his hand was empty. Mama helped him to a chair and sent the servants back to their duties.

“They said that I was a heretic,” Papa said. “They accused me of practicing the old religion in secret. I was warned that the two of you are suspect, too. I told the Inquisitors that nothing could be farther from the truth, that there isn’t a more devout Christian family than ours. It was difficult to lie …” He wiped his brow gently. “God forgive me, I even said that I abhorred the Jews.”

Mama handed him a cup of ale. He drank deeply before speaking again.

“It was strange. They seemed to know the customs of our household. It made me wonder if one of the servants might have discovered our secret and betrayed us. We must be more careful even within the walls of our home. I demanded that I be allowed to confront
my false accuser, but they refused to tell me who it was.

“Anybody could be an informer, but I can’t believe that any of the servants would be so disloyal,” Mama said.

“What about Luis?” I asked. “He comes here often. He knows how we live.”

“Isabel might be right,” Mama said after a moment.

“Nonsense,” Papa said. “Have you lost your senses? Why would Luis inform on me? He will be marrying you, Isabel. He has nothing to gain by my arrest.”

Mama nodded her head. “You are probably right, Enrique.”

“But Papa …”

“Don’t upset your father.” She clasped his hand, kissed it, and held it to her heart. “They must have beaten you.”

Papa nodded. “They did. The good Lord gave me the strength to remain silent. I would not confess. Finally, they let me go.”

“They might return!”

He sighed. “They often do. Santos promised to warn me before they come for me again. That’ll give me time to hide.”

“Do you trust him?” Mama asked.

Papa shrugged. “As long as I can pay him. The man likes his gold.”

I was too frightened to say anything more. All I could do was hug Papa close.

It must have been past midnight when we crept into the garden. Papa was carrying a small iron chest. It contained the letter Grand Inquisitor Torquemada’s grandmother had written to my great-grandmother. Mama led the way, holding a candle. With her hand she tried to shield the flame from prying eyes in the house. I had a shovel under my arm. Papa had told me to take it from the gardener’s shed.

Papa stopped beside the orange tree. “This is a good spot to hide the letter,” he whispered. “I wanted both of you to see where it is in case I’m not here and you need to dig it up.”

“It’s too close to the gate,” said Mama.

“That’s why nobody would suspect that anything was buried here,” he replied, taking the shovel from me.

He began to dig. After he had dug a big enough hole, he put the box inside and shoveled earth on top of it. He tamped down the earth with his shovel until it was impossible to see that anything was buried there. He left Mama and me standing there to put the shovel back into the shed.

“Let them come and search us now,” he said quietly
when he came back. “They won’t find anything.”

We went back to the house. I retrieved the kiddush cup and wrapped it in an old petticoat. I lay on my bed, waiting for my parents to fall asleep. When I could bear to wait no longer I tiptoed to Mama’s door. It was silent inside. When I passed Papa’s chamber, all I heard was his snoring. I left the house as quietly as I could and found the shovel again. I had walked this path at night so many times I didn’t need a candle. I began to dig five paces from the hole that my father had made. It took me a long time to dig the hole, for the earth was hard and dry. I became hot and sweaty, but finally my task was done. I was careful to smooth down the earth over the cup, the way I had seen Papa do it. When I was finished, I paused to listen, to feel the sweet spring air. Except for the songs of the crickets, no creature stirred. I made my way back to the house well satisfied with myself.

C
HAPTER 11
 

I
hadn’t been able to sleep or eat ever since the Inquisition had taken Papa away. I was terrified that Santos and his henchmen would return. And there was nothing I could do to prevent this from happening.

I was also so worried about Yonah. How could I help him? I was helpless. How could I live without seeing him ever again?

One morning, after a particularly sleepless and fretful night, Mama and Papa found me sitting on a bench, weeping in the courtyard.

“Child, what’s wrong? Are you frightened for me?” Papa asked as he sat next to me.

I put my arms around him and laid my head against his chest. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

“I’ll do everything I possibly can to keep the Inquisition away from us.”

Mama became emotional again. She, too, had not been herself of late. “Oh, Enrique, I am so frightened for you as well. For all of us! I pray to the almighty day and night to keep us safe.”

“And for Yonah,” I mumbled, “will you pray to God to keep him safe, too?” I was horrified when I realized what I had said – but it was too late to take back the words.

Papa pulled away from our embrace and grasped my shoulders. “What do you mean? Who is Yonah?”

The urge to unburden my heart was too strong, and when I told him, Papa was furious.

“How could you be so foolish?” he bellowed.

I hung my head.

“Papa is right.” Mama shook her head slowly.

I couldn’t look at either of them. “I am sorry.” The words sounded hollow, even to me.

Mama saw my stricken face and patted my back. “Our daughter has grown up.”

Papa’s face turned so red that I feared that he would suffer an attack of apoplexy. “What nonsense are you speaking, wife? Don’t you understand? This boy is a stranger and he holds our lives in his hands. If he betrays us, we will all burn at the stake.”

“Yonah would never betray us!”

He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Then there’s the matter of Luis. Have you forgotten?”

I was almost relieved that we were back to that old argument. “I told you that I don’t want to marry Luis. The better I know him, the more I loathe him.”

My words agitated Papa even more. “You know our reasons for wanting this marriage!” His voice was becoming louder and louder.

“I hate Luis!”

“We know what’s best for you!” Papa cried.

Mama touched his arm. “Calm down, Enrique. The servants will hear you. Her expression softened. “Don’t be so angry with Isabel. Have you forgotten how we felt when we were young?”

“Foolish woman. Don’t be sentimental, Catarina. Isabel must marry Luis.”

She spoke quickly to tide his protests. “I know that. Yonah would be a most unsuitable match. A silversmith … we want more for you, Isabel.”

“Yonah is a good person, Mama.”

“I don’t doubt that, but you must remember who you are. His being Jewish complicates the situation even more, makes it more difficult.”

“Difficult?
Dangerous
is the word you must use. A Jewish man and a Christian woman? Especially a New
Christian! In this day and age, they would be before the Inquisition in an instant.” He shook his head sadly. “Besides, the Jews will be gone in a few weeks. At least that’ll end this problem.”

I couldn’t help it. I began to sob. “I’ll never see Yonah again! He is a part of my heart, Papa. I trust him completely. I don’t know how I’ll live without him.”

The trembling of my voice revealed my misery. My father sat quietly beside me.

“All right, Isabel,” he said. “I won’t change my mind. You must do your duty and marry Luis, but I’ll see what I can do to help your friend. After all, he is one of us,” he muttered under his breath. He stood up. “I know Natan Abenatar by his work. By repute he is said to be a decent man. We must go and see him.”

Papa wore a simple homespun cloak. Yussuf was invisible to the townspeople because he was a slave. My fine clothes were covered with a woolen cloak I borrowed from Sofia. In this way, we walked through the teaming streets of Toledo to the Juderia.

Yonah and his father lived in a tidy building across the street from the main square of the Aljama, the Jewish ghetto. The workshop faced the street, and behind it were several simple rooms where Yonah and
his father lived. We found father and son in the courtyard of the house, surrounded by stacked wooden furniture, household goods, and piles and piles of silver dishes. Yonah was leading two farriers around the yard, pointing out certain objects to them. When the men left, he motioned for us to join him.

“Don Enrique, Isabel.” He bowed. “What an honor. Welcome to our home.” He glanced at me, his disquiet written all over his face. “Let me introduce you to my father.”

Master Abenatar was a few steps away, in deep conversation with a man dressed in the uniform of an alguazil. The constable had his back to us.

“Money is of no use to you, Abenatar,” the alguazil said. “I will trade you a donkey in exchange for your house and all of its contents. You will need the donkey to take your belongings out of the country.”

“A donkey! The house alone is worth more than that. And there is all the silver I use for my trade,” protested Master Abenatar.

“You can’t take your silver or gold with you. You know that. The holy Inquisition will have you drawn and quartered if you try to smuggle any of it out. Think it over carefully before you refuse my offer,” said the alguazil. “It might be the best one you’ll receive.” He sounded venomous.

“What a scoundrel,” Papa muttered. “Master Abenatar, I will give you two donkeys and an ass for your property,” he called out loudly. “Even at that price, I will be getting a bargain!”

Master Abenatar and the alguazil turned toward us. And that was when we recognized the constable. It was Miguel Santos, the innkeeper who had come to our house to arrest Papa on behalf of the Inquisition. Papa stepped back, bumping into me. There was no other sign of the dismay he must have felt upon meeting his jailer.

“Don Enrique!” Santos bowed. “I am glad to see you looking so well.”

Papa inclined his head slightly. “Why are you here, Santos? Why are you trying to take advantage of Master Abenatar’s misfortune?”

“Are you joking, Don Enrique?” Santos laughed. “I am offering what I consider to be fair trade for the Jew’s property, but you changed my mind. I withdraw my offer. This Jew is fortunate that you have so much love for his kind. Jews!” He spat on the ground and was gone before Papa could answer him.

“I hope that your kindness won’t cause you problems,” Yonah’s father said.

“Don’t worry about him.” Papa extended his hand. “I am Enrique de Cardosa.”

Master Abenatar’s eyes traveled from my father’s face to his hand and back to his face again in amazement before putting his own hand into Papa’s palm. “I am Natan Abenatar. I have heard of your healing powers, Don Enrique, how even their majesties depend upon your skill.”

“I have been told of the greatness of your artistry, Master Abenatar. We have one of your creations, a little gold songbird in a silver cage. We admire it every day.”

“Thank you, Don Enrique,” the goldsmith said. “Your offer for my property is most generous. Two donkeys are more than adequate. There is no need to add an ass to the price.”

Papa held up his hands. “Indeed there is, Master Abenatar. The price I offered you is fair. I refuse to take advantage of your misfortune. I will have the animals delivered to you.”

“Does your papa know about us?” I whispered to Yonah while our fathers were talking.

He shook his head.

“I told my parents everything.”

“I guess the honest thing to do is to tell my father, too.” He pulled Master Abenatar’s sleeve.

“What is it, my son?”

“Papa,” he said, “there is something I must say to you.”

He recounted the story of our friendship from the time we met on the day of my betrothal to the last time that I had seen him, the day of my birthday.

His father’s reaction was familiar. “Have you lost your senses, boy, to put yourself and all those around you in danger?”

Papa tried to calm him down. “Don’t judge your son harshly, Master Abenatar. Young people don’t think like we do. Our children like each other. It clouded their judgment, made them forget that the Inquisition does not tolerate such a relationship. If any of this would become known, the Inquisition would charge Isabel with heresy immediately. Yonah would be accused of encouraging her to practice the Jewish religion in secret.”