Enchantress: A Novel of Rav Hisda's Daughter (15 page)

She took down two mortar and pestle sets and placed one before each of us. “The process is best performed while the moon is waning, so with your being
dashtana
this week, the timing is excellent.”

We spent most of the day grinding the roots into a powder that, in both color and consistency, looked exactly like dirt. “Once you are more experienced, you won’t need to try so many,” she said. “But now it is important that you know what the proper potency tastes like.

She wet a finger and barely touched it to the root powder, so that what clung to her skin was only the size of a mustard seed. Then she put her finger to the tip of her tongue, but her expression gave no indication of what she’d tasted.

With some apprehension, I did the same—and nearly gagged. The powder tasted horrible.

“Now,” Em urged me. “While it’s still in your mouth, concentrate on the flavor. Then you can spit it out.”

We rinsed our mouths with water before trying the next sample. “It’s just as bitter as the first,” I complained.

“Try to ignore the bitterness and discern the flavor. Is it more or less intense than before?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, ashamed of my failure.

She tasted several others before picking one out for me. “This should make the comparison easier.”

She was right. I definitely tasted something besides the bitterness. By sunset, when we’d arranged the jars according to strength, I was feeling a small measure of confidence.

“That’s enough for today,” Em said. “Be sure to eat a good deal of bread tonight, no matter how odd it seems to taste. We’ll see how you do tomorrow.”

The next morning, it seemed as though I’d learned nothing the day before. I could distinguish between weak and strong batches, but subtle differences were impossible to detect. By afternoon I was so frustrated that everything began to taste the same.

Em didn’t give up. “I have an idea. I assume you are an expert on beer.”

“Maybe not as expert as Father and some of my brothers, but yes.” After all, Father and my oldest brothers were brewing beer from dates before I was born.

“Let’s try dissolving a little in some beer and see if that helps.”

Amazingly, it did. The sweet beer counteracted the bitterness sufficiently that I was eventually able to rate each batch to Em’s satisfaction.

“It may seem useless to taste so many different samples when we’re only going to mix them all together,” she said. “But you need to know the powder’s exact potency so you can mix it with the other ingredients properly.”

“You mean I have to do this with other ingredients too?”

She smiled and shook her head. “The others are not so critical.”

 • • • 

By the end of the week, we’d ground all the roots and mixed their powders together. Em had me weigh out one
zuz
’s weight of Alexandrian gum, plus the same weight of alum and turmeric. “It should be same weight,” she said, “not the same volume.”

“Now what?” I hoped this wasn’t going to be as complicated as some of Em’s other potions.

“Now we await the clients, who know to come as the moon wanes after Purim,” she replied. “Each potion is prepared individually, depending on the woman’s size.”

“A larger dose for a heavy woman and a smaller dose for a petite one?” I asked.

“Indeed.” She nodded with approval. “For those who merely want to delay the next child, we mix everything into a cup of beer. For those who are content with the number of children they have, or for whom more pregnancies would be dangerous, we give it in a cup of date-pit water.”

“How do they take it?”

“A mouthful before they lie with their husbands and another mouthful the next morning. Of course, I advise them to use a
mokh
as well, but some husbands don’t like that.”

“So they take the potion in secret?” I carefully kept any judgment out of my voice. Women were not commanded to procreate, nor did they require any man’s permission to avoid it. Still, it was shocking to imagine a wife deceiving her husband this way if he wanted more children and she didn’t.

“We are healers,” Em replied firmly. “It is not our place to decide if our patients’ motives are sufficiently worthy.”

 • • • 

Em had assured me that my reputation would spread as a consequence of casting Dakya and Chatoi’s love spell, but I was unprepared for how soon that happened. The day after I immersed, I was so inundated with clients that every propitious hour until Pesach was soon scheduled for inscribing amulets or installing incantation bowls. It wasn’t that I needed the money. My normal
charasheta
income more than paid for my room and board at Em’s, and as an apprentice I neither paid for my training nor was paid for assisting her. These fees would go to the community charity fund.

On the twenty-fifth of Adar, when the entire day was auspicious, I stayed up late and wrote amulets by lamplight. I was still working when Em interrupted me, and from her distressed expression, I could see she had bad news to impart.

“I didn’t want to disturb you, but a messenger arrived—”

I jumped up and faced her. “From Sura? Has something happened to my son, my parents?”

“Nothing has happened to your family, at least nothing I know of.” She spoke quickly, either to get the bad news over with or to prevent me from interrupting again. “The messenger was from Machoza, from Rava’s brother Seoram. Their father is very ill. Rava and Abaye left almost immediately.”

I was stunned. “Abaye went too?” was all I could say.

“He said Rava was such a great support when Babata died that he must return the service.”

 • • • 

On Shabbat afternoon, Homa intrigued me with an invitation to walk with her, wearing not my Shabbat finery, but an outfit I wouldn’t mind getting dirty.

“I’m going to take you somewhere in Pumbedita you’ve never been before,” she said, tantalizing me further.

We walked toward the southwest, the ramparts looming before us, until we were winding our way through a jumble of large stones and other debris from ruined fortifications. I was watching my steps so carefully that I was surprised when we abruptly reached the city wall.

Homa smiled and beckoned me forward, disappearing into a dark opening that looked like a gap in a row of cracked teeth. “Wait a little and your eyes will adjust,” she called out as I followed her inside.

Dim illumination came from a series of slits in the outer wall, likely designed for archers. I climbed up a staircase, wide enough in places for two to walk abreast and nearly blocked elsewhere, until I glimpsed a shaft of sunlight ahead. I exited onto the heights, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the brightness. Homa was standing on her toes at the wall’s edge, gazing into the distance.

I was just tall enough to see over the top. “Ha-Elohim,” I whispered in awe.

From our perch, I could see Heaven only knows how many parasangs. To the south, the Euphrates River wiggled its way through the land like a long blue snake. Off in the distance to the west, a vast desert lay beyond the cultivated fields. People and animals were barely perceptible.

“If you look carefully”—Homa pointed to the east—“you can make out the Tigris River. Look for the boats moving on it.”

“Homa, this is incredible.”

“My brothers discovered it after an earthquake. It took us over a year to clear our way up the stairs. You can’t even tell there’s an opening unless you look carefully—stop!” she commanded as I moved to get a better view. “Stay on this side of the tower, where the guards can’t see us.”

Heart pounding, I raced back to the stairway. “What if they come this way?”

“They almost never do. Threats come from the north or west, so they spend their time on those ramparts,” she explained.

Careful to stay out of sight, I made my way back to the edge.

“Hisdadukh.” Her voice was serious. “I brought you up here because I wanted to talk to you in private and get your advice.”

“What about?” This place was certainly private.

“Abaye has asked to marry me. After three festivals have passed since Babata’s death, of course.” She turned away from the view to face me, and I saw fear in her eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You should marry him. Abaye is not only a great scholar but a kind and humble man.”

“I know he is, and how pleasant it would be to marry him, but Abaye carries Eli’s curse.” Her expression was anguished. “I do not want to be widowed again.”

“I understand your apprehension, but who knows how long any of us will live?”

“That is true,” she said slowly.

“Abaye’s uncle delayed the curse’s effect with Torah study, so Abaye could do the same. If not, at least you will share some happy years with him and may be blessed with more children.”

Homa was lost in thought for a while, and then whispered, “There is something else, but I can’t tell you the details.”

“Tell me what you can.” I tried not to sound too eager.

“I am not really a
katlanit
.” Her voice was firm. “My first husband’s death was his own fault.”

“Are you sure?” People disagreed about whether the husbands of a
katlanit
died because her womb poisoned them or because she brought them bad luck, but all agreed it was her fault.

“Rechava made me swear, on our children’s lives, that I would never tell any man.” Her eyes filled with tears.

“But I’m a woman. You can tell me and not break your oath.”

Homa remained silent.

“I promise I won’t tell anyone, man or woman, without your permission.”

“Very well,” she said. “Rechava was studying Maaseh Merkava, the secret Torah, like your Rava is.”

“My Rava?” I asked in alarm.

Homa gave me a wistful smile. “Do you think I can sit at the same table with you two for all these months and not see how you hunger for each other?”

I was speechless, but my blazing face spoke for me.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I won’t mention it again, although I can’t imagine what you see in him compared to Abaye.” She took a breath and continued: “Rechava was not one to suffer insults, not even from his teacher, Rav Yosef.”

“What did he do?”

“I had no idea my husband had such power, or that he could be so reckless, but he summoned a demon to afflict Rav Yosef.”

“Oh no.” I grabbed her hand and squeezed it.

“It was a disaster. The demon attacked Rav Yosef as ordered—that’s why he went blind—and then made Rechava pay for it with his life.”

“Rechava warned me never to enter his workroom, but when I heard him cry out that night I couldn’t stop myself. The demon was a foul-looking thing, all scaly, with wings, who vanished in a puff of smoke when he saw me.” Homa, unable to control her pent-up feelings, burst into tears. “Rechava was lying on the floor, blood coming out of his ears. He begged me to get him to his bed, to let people think he died in his sleep. He was terrified that Rav Yosef would curse our children in revenge.”

I held the sobbing woman in my arms and murmured my sympathies. Poor Homa. Watching Rami die was horrific, but her experience was worse. In making this vow to protect her children and her husband’s reputation, she ensured that she’d be labeled a
katlanit
if her second husband died.

When Homa calmed, I asked her, “What did you tell Abaye?”

“I said I didn’t know, that I needed to think about it.” She looked at me sadly. “But I do know, no matter how difficult it will be for Elisheva to be separated from Dorti, we will not be able live at Abaye’s house after he returns.”

 • • • 

The following week Em received a letter from Abaye. They had arrived before Rava’s father died and would likely be observing Shiva until Pesach interrupted the family’s mourning. He intended to remain in Machoza for Pesach and perhaps for the entire thirty days of
sheloshim
.

Em had no sooner finished reading us the letter than Elisheva cried out, “How can we celebrate Pesach without Father? Who will lead our seder?”

My response was immediate. “We can all go to Sura. My family is so big nobody will notice a few extra.” And I could see my son again.

Em smiled at my enthusiasm. “It would be nice to visit your mother.”

Elisheva looked more anxious than before. “But what if Bibi gets here and we’re gone?”

Em put her arm around the girl and hugged her. “We shall write your brother and tell him to await us in Sura.” When Elisheva smiled up at her, Em beckoned to a slave. “Girl, bring my writing supplies.”

Before the day was over, Chatoi was at the door. “Please,” she begged, “can’t you prepare a pregnancy amulet for me before you go?”

“It has only been a month since your wedding; surely you can wait until I return.” Or if Em was right, maybe she couldn’t.

Chatoi lowered her eyes, and her rosy cheeks blushed a deeper red. “I need it now,” she whispered.

“If you come just after sunset on Fourth Day, you can have it then,” I said.

“Oh, thank you, thank you.” She kissed my hands. “I knew you wouldn’t leave my baby unprotected.”

“Be sure no one in your household drops their fingernail trimmings on the ground,” I cautioned her. “Stepping over them will cause a woman to miscarry.”

NINE