Song of the Magdalene (7 page)

“It's everyone's concern when you don't live like the rest of us.”

“Jacob, we don't all live alike. Open your eyes. We share this world with many, many who are
less fortunate than you or I.” Father gripped the edge of the door with one hand. “But you need not share any of your shop with Abraham and Miriam. Go now. They will never cross your threshold again.” Father closed the door in Jacob's face.

I ran to Father and threw my arms around his chest.

But he peeled me away from him. “Listen well.” He spoke slowly and decisively, as though his words were the Creator's law. Yet the tremble was still there. “I disapprove of your actions. Time should be spent in service, not in searchings or pleasures or whatever else it is that draws you. I should have stopped you, Miriam, two years back, when you started these wanderings into town. When you were still a child, under my guidance.” Father laced his fingers together tightly. “Miriam and Abraham, if you are to govern your own actions, if you are to make your own path through this life, then you must be responsible for each step you take. Jacob's lone voice spoke today. But when one voice speaks, scores of others are in silent agreement. They don't understand you. I don't understand you.”
He sighed. “I made a promise to Jacob tonight. See that my promise is kept, for your sake. Let caution guide your feet.”

He looked down in silence for a moment. When he looked up again, he turned to the shelf, reaching for his tallith. But there was no need — for I held it ready in my hands. He dipped his fingers in the always ready bowl and sprinkled water on both forearms. I bowed and the fringes that ran the length of the shawl kissed my cheeks as Father threw it over his head and shoulders, those fringes without which the tallith would be unfit for its purpose.

We never did go to Jacob's shop again. We never even walked down the street his shop was on. As Father had said to Abraham, it was wiser to keep clear of fires.

It wasn't until several months after my thirteenth birthday that another fit came, a fit I believe I brought on myself.

Hannah had woven me a long dress with many colored stripes the year before, the kind of dress I would have delighted in wearing when I was younger, the kind of dress that made a young woman feel beautiful. It had pleats, a style that had only recently come to Magdala. I admired the dress, but I had no desire to wear it. I wasn't going to marry, so beauty didn't matter.

I had come to the decision not to marry purely by logic. First, it was likely that a fit would come while I was in public, for I spent much of my day in public. And if a fit came, no man would marry me. Even if I had the good fortune to convince others that fits were not the sign of demons, they
would only be convinced with their heads, not with their hearts. Jacob the carpenter had taught me this. In his head he knew Abraham was intelligent; how could he not, after Abraham had corrected him? Yet he was resolute in casting Abraham as an idiot. There was no reason to expect any different reaction toward me once people discovered my fits. So no one would marry me. How could a sane man risk taking a woman who might be the vessel of evil into his home to bear his children?

And if by chance my fits did not make themselves known to others, I still would not marry. For I was unwilling to keep a secret from my husband. Love between man and woman should be complete, with neither holding back from the other. If there was anything I owed to the memory of Mother, it was the belief in love that she had murmured to me as she plaited my hair or soothed me to sleep. Belief in a perfect love. Now an impossible love.

So I saw no reason to wear the dress Hannah had made for me, though I assured her it was lovely, as lovely as any girl could have wanted. The dress sat in a basket, unused for over a year.
Hannah seemed to accept my decision. I believe she had come to the conclusion that I was hard-headed and that there was no fighting it. She backed off quickly whenever we disagreed on even the smallest matters.

She backed off like that until the one warm evening when I came home with Abraham, only to see Judith leaving our home in a hurry. I was blissful that night. After the encounter with Jacob, I thought I might never be blissful again. But time passed and, with its uneventfulness, the memory dulled and my resilient spirit once more reached for the pleasures of this world.

Yes, that evening I was heady with the aroma of the roses a merchant had been selling in the market. Roses from Jericho. I'd never seen a rose before. A petal had landed heavily on my foot and I stooped to touch it. The thick sponginess so surprised me that I quickly rubbed the petal on Abraham's ankle, dangling from the cart. So he, too, knew the rose's flesh. Then I let it fall again.

I thought of the market after nightfall, the beggars roaming through on the lookout for wayward vegetables. I imagined a beggar woman
coming across this petal, rubbing it between thumb and forefinger, for an instant enveloped in the luxury of the rose, for an instant blissful like me.

The sight of Judith ruptured that image. Judith acted as though she hadn't seen me, but I had the sensation that she was avoiding me. Vague apprehension replaced the finely outlined vision of the rose.

I carried Abraham through the door, draped over one shoulder. He had grown, of course, lengthened out like a palm frond. But I also had grown. I was perhaps the tallest female in all Magdala, though Father said the old woman Martha had stood taller than me in her youth. Now Martha was so bent it was hard to think of her as tall. I had grown strong, as well. Pushing the handcart, even with Abraham's lightness, had built up the muscles of my arms and calves. I couldn't imagine feeling healthier — and I recognized the irony of that thought. I never forgot my fits.

No sooner had I closed the door behind me than Hannah began. “Miriam, we need to talk.”

I placed Abraham in the middle of the pillows Hannah and I had made him years ago and sat on the floor beside him. I looked at Hannah expectantly.

She hesitated. She ran her tongue across her top teeth. Then she got up and fetched the basket with the dress. “I'd like you to wear this.”

“Is there a special event coming up?” Passover was behind us, but perhaps a wedding was coming. I had not gone to a wedding since the onset of my fits. I wanted to go when Deborah got married. And it grieved me to stay at home when Sarah celebrated her union. But though I was no longer trying to conceal my fits by then, I couldn't bear the thought of possibly convulsing in the middle of a wedding feast, of soiling the celebration of what I ached for — the love between man and woman.

I thought now of the young girls of the town. Who could it be that Hannah spoke of? Who was of age? I had gone my way with Abraham for so long now, it was as though no one else existed. Did I miss the company of those girls? Maybe it was time for me to risk a wedding. I could stay
on the outskirts of the crowds, in the shadows. I could watch the dancing. “Is someone getting married?”

“You should get married, Miriam.”

My heart clutched. Was this why Judith had come visiting? “Has a marriage been arranged? That's not right.” I stood up. “Hannah, I'm too old for an arranged marriage. And Father promised Mother I would never have to marry someone I didn't love.”

“No one has arranged a marriage, Miriam. But you are thirteen now. Almost fourteen. You are fully grown. It's time for you to dress like a woman of your class. It's time for you to appear as the sort of young woman a man would want as the mother for his children.”

“Thank the Lord!” I said without thinking. “No match has been made.” I sank back to the floor.

“Miriam!” Hannah's face was aghast. “What has possessed you? Don't you want to marry?”

“No.”

“Miriam!” Hannah put down the basket and sat beside me. She took my right hand, the one
with the scars from the fire years before. “Miriam, you must take a husband.”

I looked at her and spoke words that Hannah least of all could deny. “Not all women get married, Hannah.”

“Not all, no.” Hannah didn't flinch. I was glad; I hadn't meant to hurt her. I'd meant only to stop her. She didn't stop, though. She said firmly, “But almost all.” I pulled my hand back, but she held on and squeezed. “Miriam, the Creator put man on this earth to be fruitful and multiply. Every man should have at least two children, one to replace himself and one to multiply. This is a commandment. It is law. You do not have to follow that commandment. This law is made for man, not woman. But, think, Miriam. How can men do that if women stay celibate?”

“There is no shortage of women in our town.”

Hannah nodded. “No. And no shortage of men, either. All our women are needed.”

“I have no suitors, Hannah.”

“But you would, Miriam. You would if you'd act as though you'd receive one.”

I looked away from her.

“What is it? Miriam, tell me.”

I stared at the wall. “The dress you made will be too small by now. I've grown, Hannah. I keep growing. Maybe I'll never stop.”

“Is that all it is? I made the dress with a deep hem. I can have it the right size by the time you wake tomorrow. And there are tall men, Miriam. If you want help finding a tall husband, we can ask for help.”

“That's why Judith came, isn't it?”

Hannah patted my hand, as though I were a child. “She has been patient these many years. It's time for her to come into your father's bed as his wife.”

“Father could marry her any time he liked. So he must not want to. It has nothing to do with whether I stay here or not.”

“It has everything to do with you, Miriam. Your father adores you. He knows you dislike Judith. Every time he's mentioned her to you, you've shown your feelings.”

“That's nonsense. If he wanted to marry her, he would.”

“Your father told Judith he will marry her as soon as you are married.”

I shook my head in disbelief. Father couldn't love Judith. And he would never marry without love. Nor would I. “I won't take a husband.”

“Miriam, be sensible.” Again Hannah squeezed my hand gently. “You have so much love to give. You will be a wonderful wife, a wonderful mother. Wear the dress. Act like other girls your age and a match will come.”

Hannah's words sliced cleanly through my heart. What wouldn't I give to be truly like other girls my age? I wanted a husband to sing to me, to sing,

Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples; for I am sick from love.

The second canticle rang in my ears. I wanted a husband delirious with love for me. I wanted to be equally delirious. But my wants counted for nothing. Tears welled and spilled down my cheeks.

I looked at Hannah's hopeful face. I had to help her feel that my not marrying was best. “Hannah, if Judith marries Father, you will be her servant.” I stopped and brushed the tears from my
cheeks with my free hand. It was difficult to talk but there was no need to say more, anyway. Judith was bossy by nature. She had no servants now — and I was sure she'd revel in her power over having one.

“Judith is a good woman.” Hannah's lips came together primly. She would not dare speak ill of her future mistress.

I swallowed and found my voice again. “Would she let Abraham stay here with you?” I watched Hannah's face close, masking all expression. I pressed on. “Have you asked her?”

“I haven't asked.” Hannah let go of my hand and folded her own hands in her lap. “Miriam, if you would take us, Abraham and I would come with you to your new home. You would not have to mill or bake or wash.”

I looked at Abraham. He had thrown himself backward in the pillows. I couldn't see his face. I knew he didn't want me to see his face. “Other men are not like Father, Hannah. We know that. A husband might refuse. His parents might refuse. And I would have no power to insist.”

Hannah shook her head. “Don't do this,
Miriam. Don't make me fear your getting married. It is best for you that you marry. I must encourage you to marry.” She shoved the basket in front of me. “I'll lengthen the dress tonight. Wear it, Miriam. Please.”

“Where? It would get ruined, the way Abraham and I go about all day.”

“Don't go all over town. It's not right, Miriam. Go to the house of prayer tomorrow.”

“The house of prayer?” In all my years, I had not entered the house of prayer. Hannah knew that. “But why?”

“The Levites will be there. Abraham has told me you love the canticles and the psalms. They'll be singing the psalms. They may even sing from the
Song of Songs.
Go, and let the men of Magdala see your devotion.”

The canticles. For so long I had hungered to hear them sung the right way. And just a moment ago I had considered even going to a wedding in order to hear them. But the house of prayer was sitting there, waiting, the whole time. The house of prayer was much less of a threat than a wedding. If I had a fit, who would I
disgrace? The Creator had already seen my fits.

The Levites might sing things that meant nothing to me. They might sing only the psalms about war and righteousness, about confusion and judgments. But, oh, they might sing about love. And, yes, oh, yes, I'd go to the house of prayer in the fancy dress. “I'll take Abraham and we can —”

“Go without Abraham.”

“No.” The idea was unthinkable. Why, Abraham would delight in the songs as much as I would.

Hannah looked at Abraham. “Tell her, Abraham. Tell her to leave you behind.”

Abraham worked to roll to one side so he could look at us. “Miriam is finding her own sense in life, Mother. I can no more change her future than a leaf can refuse to fall from the tree.”

I stood up and spoke eagerly. “Let's measure the dress, Hannah. I'll wear it when I go to the house of prayer with Abraham tomorrow.”