The Divining (22 page)

     "What happened?" Rachel asked, taking a seat on a large cushion and drawing her feet under her skirt. "Why were you out there alone?"

     Ulrika told them about her search for her mother in Jerusalem, her intention to go to Jericho and from there to Babylon, and then about her abandonment that morning. "My donkey is out there with all my things."

     "We shall find it in the morning," Rachel said. "When you have eaten your fill, I will treat your ankle. It is quite swollen."

     "Thank you," Ulrika murmured and then addressed her food with singular attention. But after a moment she felt her hostess's eyes upon her, saw a question in them.

     "The place where you fell," Rachel said after a moment. "Were you in that spot for a reason?"

     "What do you mean?"

     Rachel smiled and shook her head. "It is nothing. Here, let me bind your ankle. Almah has something for the pain."

     Ulrika accepted the wooden cup containing a dark brew. She recognized the aroma. Her own mother, back in Rome, had made such a bracing tonic by setting twice-baked barley bread into water, leaving it to ferment in a large clay vat, and then, straining the liquid through a cloth, producing a strong, medicinal beer.

     As Ulrika brought the cup to her lips, she thought again about her vision in the desert. It had been much more intense than any she had experienced. And this time, two people had spoken directly to her. Had it perhaps only been a trick of her mind? But what troubled her most was the peaceful, loving feeling that had engulfed her, a sweet state that, for one brief moment, she had not wished to leave.

     And had she remembered to practice her new conscious breathing, to control the vision and make it last longer, would she have indeed stayed in there forever?

A
S
U
LRIKA SURVEYED HER
new surroundings in the morning sunshine, she wondered about this curious group of tents in the middle of nowhere, inhabited by two women on their own, with no family or friends, not even the humblest servant, just the company of chickens and a pair of goats.

     Rachel had told her that an oasis lay three miles away, northward along the foothills, where a natural spring came from the dun earth and gave life to date palms, fish, and birds. Several families lived there year-round, and travelers stopped there to rest. Rachel and Almah visited the oasis to fetch fresh water and other supplies, but they did not live there, preferring to return to this lonely spot in the embrace of a barren canyon.

     Why?

     Hearing footfall, she turned to see Rachel leading Ulrika's donkey up the ravine, her travel packs and medicine box still attached. "He didn't wander far," Rachel said with a smile. "How is your ankle?"

     It was feeling better, although Ulrika couldn't put any weight on it.
Nonetheless, she was anxious to resume her journey to Babylon, and was determined to find a way, a passing caravan, a traveling family who would take her.

     As Rachel tethered the beast and untied Ulrika's packs to take them into the tent, Ulrika wanted to ask her why she and Almah didn't live at the oasis. Why did they stay in this barren place where not even a thorn grew?

     Rachel emerged from the tent and as she bent over the cooking pot that was suspended over a fire, to stir a simmering lentil soup, she glanced at Ulrika. "Please," she said, pointing to the stool beside the tent door. "Take the weight off your ankle."

     Ulrika gratefully took a seat and turned her face to the refreshing morning breeze. From the vantage point of this small encampment, she could see all the way to the crusty white shore of the salty sea, could see the desolate wasteland that stretched from the acrid water to the base of these cliffs. And then she realized in shock that she could see the very spot where she had fallen and had experienced a vision that even now, in the comforting light of a bright sun, continued to trouble her.

     Ulrika scanned the small camp, the tiny tents, deserted, the larger tent that was Almah's, and the largest, Rachel's, which looked upon a little compound of campfire, stools, a pen for chickens, two goats. Wet clothing, washed at the oasis and brought back by an uncomplaining Almah, was spread out on boulders to dry.

     When Rachel saw how Ulrika looked around in curiosity, she said, "I am a widow, and my beloved husband died before he could bless me with children. So I am alone. Others lived here with me for a while, but they left, one by one, until there is only Almah."

     Ulrika thought of the Vestal Virgins—a sect of nuns in Rome who took vows of chastity and who lived a cloistered life devoted to prayer. But Rachel was Jewish—Ulrika had recognized the menorah inside the tent—and she had never heard of Jewish nuns.

     "What is in Babylon?" Rachel asked with a smile. "You are in such a hurry to go there."

     "There is a caravan about to depart for lands in the Far East. A ... friend is the caravaneer, a Spaniard named Sebastianus Gallus. We parted in Antioch
when I had to come to Jerusalem where I thought I would find my mother. But I promised to join him in Babylon if I could."

     "There is something special in Babylon?"

     Ulrika paused to give Rachel a thoughtful look. The handsome Jewish woman possessed a unique voice. Deep for a woman, but smooth and soothing. It made Ulrika think of warm honey. A voice that one could not ignore. Ulrika wondered how much to tell Rachel, wondered if her hostess would think her mad—visions that were a gift from the gods, and a necessary quest to find a place called Shalamandar, the place of her conception. "I am searching for something," she said. "I was told it is in the back of the east wind, in mountains that have no name. Sebastianus is helping me to search for it."

     Rachel stirred the soup, adding a pinch of salt. "Sebastianus is a good friend?"

     "I have known him but a year, yet it seems I have known him forever." The words tumbled from her lips—meeting Sebastianus at the caravan staging area, the journey to Germania in Sebastianus's company, Sebastianus rescuing her from attackers in the forest, a night spent in hiding with Sebastianus, the journey back, getting to know more about him, an ocean voyage, a rainy night at an inn in Antioch. Ulrika blushed, suddenly realizing how she must sound. Every sentence began, "Sebastianus ..."

     Bringing two bowls of soup, Rachel sat next to Ulrika, giving her one, and said, "When I first fell in love with my Jacob, I could speak of nothing but him. Sometimes, I just spoke his name because it felt good in my mouth and I loved to hear it spoken. You speak the name of Sebastianus the same way."

     A small table stood between the two stools, and upon it lay a plate of flat, round bread, a small bowl of salt, two cups of water. They ate in silence, scooping the thick lentils onto the bread, two women deep in thought, each curious about the other, both pondering the uniqueness of this moment as women from very different worlds shared a humble meal.

     When they were done, Ulrika started to rise, but Rachel bent her head and said,
"Hav lan u-nevarekh
..."

     Ulrika listened politely as Rachel recited a prayer. When she was finished, Rachel said, "We always give blessing to God after we eat."

     Ulrika recalled that, the night before, when Rachel extinguished the last lamp before they went to sleep, she had recited a prayer in Hebrew. She had recited another that morning, upon rising.

     Rachel said, "Prayer is ever-present in our lives. Prayer is witness to our covenant with God. It confirms and renews our faith on a daily basis."

     As she took the empty dishes, Rachel said, "I will take you to the oasis so you can bathe. I go there myself once a month for the
mikvah
—a ritual cleansing bath following the menstrual cycle—in a secluded pool set aside for women. It is very private."

     A day passed, and another, and Ulrika fell in with the rhythm of Rachel's and Almah's strange life. As her ankle healed, she went with them to the oasis to trade chicken eggs and goat's cheese for water and dates and fish. One day they brought back live locusts, which Rachel placed in a basket to be set it out in the sun until they died, and then she sat and painstakingly plucked off the locusts' wings, legs, and heads, placing them in her clay oven to dry-roast them for a special treat. Rachel cooked chicken eggs served with a sauce made of pine nuts and vinegar. Almonds and pistachios baked in honey were dessert. The three women drank watered date wine in the evenings, in moderation, as the sun went down and the valley of salt grew still and quiet.

     Ulrika became interested in her hostess. There were no idols of gods in Rachel's tent, no relics of ancestors, no altars for sacrifice. She was not familiar with the religion of the Jews, except to understand that their god was invisible, and therefore they did not carve his likeness. Every dawn and every evening, Rachel went outside and prayed to her god, whom she called "Father." And Rachel's faith seemed to have many food rules, called
kosher
, so that Ulrika marveled that Rachel could remember them all.

     They spent evenings talking over the campfire beneath the spring stars, and while Ulrika repaired her sandals and Almah worked at the loom, Rachel chopped vegetables and told stories about the heroes of the past.

     "Jewish history is filled with many stories of brave heroes," Rachel said in her thick, honey-warm voice. "There was David who slew a giant, a peasant named Saul who became a king, Gideon who conquered the Midianites with a handful of men, Moses who brought the Israelites out of Egypt, and
Joseph who saved an entire nation from famine. We look upon these forefathers as heroes, but they were in fact weak men. David, when he slew Goliath, had been a mere boy. Saul came from the smallest and least important clan. Gideon was from the weakest clan, and he himself was the weakest in that clan. Moses was slow of speech and tongue and begged God to send someone else to bring the Israelites out of Egypt. And Joseph was a slave. None of these heroes came from impressive backgrounds, or were men of any particular distinction. The rabbis tell us that God purposely chose these men because He showed Himself strong through their weakness."

     Rachel's compelling voice, her piercing eyes, the graceful gestures of her hands often captivated her audience, making them see and feel and hear the very story she was relating. She had a unique way of bringing the past to life, so that listeners held their breath, waiting for more. Ulrika told Rachel that she had a rare and special gift, and asked her if she ever told her fabulous tales to the people of the oasis.

     "I had never thought to," Rachel replied, but Ulrika could see that Rachel liked the notion of sharing her sacred stories with others. "Perhaps," she said. "At the least, my stories entertain and keep away the fears of the night."

     But Rachel did engage in one practice that Ulrika could not fathom, and which she was too polite to inquire about. Periodically, Rachel would leave the camp and take herself away from everything, to a secluded spot, and there she would sit, cover her face with her hands, and sway rhythmically while whispering softly.

     At first, Ulrika had thought she was weeping—a widow who occasionally remembered her loss and went into seclusion to deal with her grief. But then she had noticed that Rachel always returned with a smile, her eyes dry and with no sign of having wept. Finally Ulrika asked, and Rachel replied, "It is my meditation. It is more powerful than prayer for it is focused. With such concentration, one can connect with God, the Divine."

     The Divine ...

     Ulrika found herself desiring this woman's opinion and advice, and suspected she could confide in Rachel, so she set aside her broken sandal, the awl and leather laces, and said, "I have been told I have a spiritual gift called the Divining. Do you know of it?"

     Rachel shook her head. "But in the history of my people there are many with spiritual gifts—prophets and visionaries."

     After Ulrika explained about her personal quest, Rachel said, "Let me share with you my private meditation."

     Ulrika listened with interest while Rachel described a technique of visualization, and also of repetition of a word or phrase. "It takes much practice, for the mind has a will of its own and is not easily commanded. This is why meditation is best conducted in a secluded setting. The rabbis tell us that when a person prays outdoors, the birds join in with the prayer and increase its effectiveness. So it must be also with meditation."

     "Perhaps," she added after a moment of thought, "this meditation will help you understand your own connection to the Divine."

     As Rachel seemed to have opened a personal door, Ulrika decided to ask another question that had stood at her lips ever since she first came here. "Rachel, what holds you to this place? Wouldn't you rather live in a town or a city? Come to Babylon with me."

     "I still serve my husband."

     "Even though he is dead?"

     Rachel added with a smile, "He will come back someday."