Seeker of Stars: A Novel (7 page)

~ 13 ~

O
asis

One afternoon, we found a small but welcome oasis and were resting in the heat of the day when another caravan appeared on the horizon. Idly, I watched it come slowly closer and thought of my brother. I had wanted to believe that Salvi no longer held a grudge against me, that we could be brothers again, but something Daria said as I left our village had settled in my heart like a stone. When she told me she would not mention my visit to Salvi, I knew how little the rupture of the past was healed. My unease at moving forward into new land was rooted in how much I had left undone and unsaid in my own land, my own home.

As the caravan drew closer, Shaz stood at the edge of the shade, leaning against one of the trees. “Israelites?” he wondered aloud. Balzar shook his head, but he knew by this point in the journey that Shaz needed to make discoveries for himself. “No,” Shaz said not long after. “They’re not. They’re from our country.”

I watched the caravan so like Salvi and Taz’s. As it approached the oasis, I realized it was indeed my own family, and I rushed to greet them. Taz quickly dismounted and gave me a hearty embrace. Salvi called down a greeting but stayed seated, his hands tightly clutching his camel’s rope, eyes surveying our group.

I felt the familiar sense of shame I always had when Salvi entered the world of the astronomers. I had spent so many years, particularly when I lived with the chief astronomer, feeling poor and provincial, only to feel decadent and privileged beyond reason whenever Salvi arrived. Things and money mattered to Salvi much more than they did to me, though I had to admit I enjoyed the luxuries of wealth.

“You know these … people?” Shaz asked, a barely perceptible pause between his last words, demonstrating again his subtle arrogance.

Despite his tone and Salvi’s reticence, I was happy. Taz was Taz, and while he did not dote on me as Balzar did on his son, in some ways I belonged to him, and he offered me a familiar feeling in this empty place. And Salvi—there was so much I wanted to say to Salvi. Words had begun to form in my mind and I longed for time and occasion to speak them.

“My uncle, Taz, and my brother, Salvi.” Taz was uncle to everyone, and he reached out to clasp Shaz’s hands and kiss his cheek. Salvi made an elaborate bow to Shaz and bent his head toward Shaz throughout their conversation. Even Shaz did not perceive the irony in Salvi’s tone. Shaz was impressed at my brother’s studied deference and invited him and Taz to join us for the evening. I was appreciative, and so was weary Balzar.

When it came time to eat, some awkwardness ensued. Generally the magi ate alone, while the guards and servants sat together to eat. Taz took Shaz’s invitation to mean he could eat with us, while Salvi held back. Shaz looked disturbed, though he said nothing. I decided to break rank. I took my uncle by the elbow to the second group and introduced the men to Taz and Salvi. When I had finished introductions, I sat down and indicated seats for my brother and uncle.

Taz was confused. “But what about—?”

“Uncle Taz,” I said cheerfully, “wait until you hear the stories of these men. Miraz here has traveled with the king through mountains and green lands.” Miraz smiled. Salvi relaxed a bit and nodded at me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Shaz did not like this arrangement any better than the first, but then I saw Caspar whisper to Shaz. The furrow in Shaz’s brow eased, and he began to eat. I did not know Caspar possessed such wisdom. I had always seen Caspar as Shaz’s shadow, the prince-in-waiting. Now, I suddenly saw things differently: Caspar was older than Shaz and was married to Stela’s older sister. By rights he should have been the brother treated with honor, but between Shaz’s personal wealth and connections, Caspar got the residue of Shaz’s glory.

I wondered if my own brother was essentially in the same position. Though my elder, he was still supposed to eat with the servants, while I had risen above him when I joined the magi. When I said class did not matter to me, I believe I spoke truly, but it was an easier position to ignore than the one my brother was in. I felt sympathy for Salvi and tried to be friendly and to lighten our conversation over supper. Salvi seemed curious though suspicious.

“Can I sleep on the moving bed with you?” I asked.

“Why?”

For once, I was prepared with words. “Salvi, I am far from home, and my family is doubly dear to me. It is like a gift to see you.”

My explanation did not lighten the tension, but Salvi agreed I could sleep with them. “Though I’m sure you would sleep better on the king’s silk sheets,” he grumbled under his breath.

As the stars came out, we climbed aboard the caravan. I was sad to see how feebly Taz moved. I watched how Salvi helped our uncle and was glad to see the kindness he showed him. Soon Taz was snoring.

“Will your great chief mind you sleeping out here with us?” Salvi scorned as we lay back under the canopy of sky.

“Probably.”

There was a long pause, but I knew Salvi was still awake.

“This is how it could have been,” I said, treading carefully on fine, invisible threads, trying to regain a way in.

“What?”

“Like Taz and our father. Only we would have met in the village, at the workshop.”

Salvi had a smile in his voice, in the darkness. “Daria and I have those conversations.”

“And Leyla?”

“Sometimes.” Salvi’s voice was clipped, and I knew to retreat from such territory.

“I was there, you know. In the village. A week ago.”

Salvi rolled toward me, his voice eager. “How were they? How was Damus?”

“He was so big I could hardly recognize him. They all were.”

“But his foot—how was his foot?”

“He was running about with the others.”

Salvi relaxed again.

“You have good sons, Salvi. I can only hope our son will turn out so well.”

“Has the baby been born? Why didn’t—”

“Not yet,” I interrupted. “At least I don’t think so. He wasn’t born when I left on this journey, though maybe by now …” I wanted my brother to speak, to ask more questions, to teach me, but he was silent. I had to ask.

“Do you think I did wrong to come on this trip when the baby was expected?”

Salvi laughed bitterly. “You want me to talk to you about right and wrong?”

Suddenly I was angry. I had wanted to clear up the past with my brother. I had hoped we might forgive and move on and that I might continue my journey unfettered, but now anger bubbled out of a deep well I did not know was in me.

“What do you mean?”

Salvi shrugged as if to say that the conversation was pointless, but I grabbed his arm. “No. Tell me what you mean.”

“I mean Leyla,” he said abruptly.

“And who do you think was wrong there?” I asked sharply. Taz rumbled in his sleep and turned over, reminding us that our discussion needed to be conducted in whispers and hisses. Salvi didn’t speak, so I did. “You think I was, don’t you?”

“And you think I was!” he shot back.

“Yes. I do!”

“And you’re so innocent and important.”

“I never said that.”

“Well, do you blame yourself?”

With this opening to speak my heart truly, my anger settled. “Salvi, my brother. Please believe me when I say that so much of this is in the past for me—”

“It isn’t for me!” he hissed.

“Salvi, if I am truthful, I recognize that I was foolish and—yes—even wrong when I played with Leyla’s heart years ago. I should never have done it.”

“Finally! You admit it! You broke her heart and acted the fool.”

My anger flared again. “And you! You trusted me so little that you convinced Leyla against me and betrothed yourself to her—all without a word to me!”

Salvi sighed heavily. “I know,” he said. “That is what bothers me. Is my Leyla stolen goods? Did I betray my brother?” His eyes glistened with tears in the starlight.

“But you are so happy—with Leyla and your boys.”

“I’ve always wondered—should they be your sons? Should Leyla be living in the city instead of sweating over the looms?”

“Oh, my brother, I have never thought of such a thing. In this sense it is in the past for me: I see Leyla as my sister. I have done so for many years now. She is a good wife for you, Salvi—an excellent wife—but I do not regret the change in my destiny that shifted her from my beloved to my sister.”

“Did you love her then?”

“I think so. I certainly believed I did.”

“And that blue-eyed girl?”

“She was merely using me. To make that ‘great chief’ over there jealous. And her plan worked—she is now married to the mighty Alshazak.”

“I am sorry.” Salvi’s voice was quiet, contrite. “I wronged you.”

“And I wronged Leyla. In all this, only Leyla is without blame.” Salvi nodded as I continued, “But she is your wife, Salvi, and we all rejoice in that. You should rejoice in her too.”

Salvi chuckled. “You sound like a happy man.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, Salvi. I have been looking at my life with a number of regrets on this journey.”

“You regret marrying Reta?”

“Do you think I should?”

“That is not for me to say. Is it what you are saying?”

I thought for a moment before answering. My reply would either affirm my marriage vows, or it would not. The thoughts I had been drifting over along the way, my conversations with Balzar and Daria—all took shape in my mind. “I do not regret marrying Reta. I don’t!” I said with a sense of discovery. Somehow I trusted the long-ago revelation and Daria’s image, as well as the glimpses Reta had given me of herself—and I was suddenly filled with longing for my wife far away. “But, Salvi, I need to tell her so much,” I said. “Is there a way you could deliver a message for me?”

“Of course,” Salvi said.

While the thought was still clear in my heart, I slipped down to where the fire was still glowing and found a tablet so I could write to my wife.

Reta,

I write to you by the light of the fire, under the stars from the oasis on the edge between my land and yours. My heart is restless, though I am well and we make good progress. You are never far from my thoughts. Tonight I am anxious to know—are you well? Is our child well?

But this concern for you is not the source of the storm within. It is my need to beg your forgiveness. I am deeply sorry for how we parted, and even more for how we have lived together. Reta, I have shut you out from the center of my life. After all these years, I see how little I have known you, how little I have shared with you. Again and again I have benefited from your strength, your peace, without seeking behind it, without savoring you.

Do you remember the night we were betrothed? In the midst of all the food, the flowers, the grief, the chaos, the mourners—there you were, an oasis, a place of repose, a pool of stillness and depth where I might be received and welcomed. This was what I knew that night and somehow forgot. At this oasis, tonight, I have met with Salvi on his way home, and we have spoken more truly than we have in years. Somehow the peace between us reminds me of the unspoken offer in your eyes that night. Reta, you have given me all I was willing to accept—you have managed our household so that I am the envy of many. On this trip, I have missed the flavor of your cooking—how my mouth waters for your lamb stew. Yet your offer was not to be my housekeeper as you were my father’s—but my wife.

I hope your offer still extends to me. What I want, Reta, is to go to our roof together on a clear night such as this, with the stars as a beautiful canopy over us, and to allow all to be revealed and received. Can you trust me with this? I do not wish to forget you again.

I am hoping to return in time for our son’s birth, but this journey through the barren wastelands has oriented me to the possibilities in our life together. For this reason, I have no regrets for this journey, and I hope that you will be able to forgive me in time.

Salvi tells me he will deliver this letter as soon as he can. We will be in Jerusalem in a few days, and once we have presented our gifts, I will return to you—but changed from who I was.

The stars are very clear tonight and low. Have I ever told you of my dream of grasping a star? If you were with me tonight, I would seek it with you—to see your eyes shine as they used to when you looked at the stars with me.

I hold you in my heart.

I looked at what I had written and felt only vaguely satisfied. I realized how unaccustomed I was to knowing my heart myself, let alone sharing it. My heart was as stiff as Balzar’s joints after a long day of being cramped in place while riding. Writing this letter felt a bit like Balzar staggering after climbing off his mount. I thought of Reta again and smiled. I trusted she would prefer the awkward stretches of my heart than my silence. Still, a one-sided conversation was unsettling—I sent out my words but would receive no reply. I wondered whether, if Reta had been there, I would have had either the clarity of vision or the courage to say anything of this. It would have to be different now, whatever Reta’s response to my letter. I had begun to peel the pomegranate, and I would continue.

I was wide awake, though my own muscles were stiff with cold as I climbed back onto the caravan. I thought my brother would be asleep, but he, too, was awake and pondering in the starlight.

“Thank you, Melchi,” he said, “for giving my wife to me.”

I handed him the letter, which he tucked into his robes with a promise of safe and swift delivery. “I have another gift for you, Salvi,” I said. “Or at least I did, though it seems to have disappeared.”

“What are you talking about?”

“A star, Salvi. I found you a new star. Do you remember when you asked me to name a star after you?”

Salvi shook his head.

“It was years ago, after our mother died.”

Salvi shrugged. “And it’s taken you all this time?”

I rolled my eyes. “Stars don’t just show up, Salvi! This one is special.”

“Why?”

“It announces the birth of a new king.”

“But we already have a king.”

“Not us. The Israelites. That’s why I’m out here. We’re on our way to deliver gifts to the new king of Israel.”