Aries Fire (14 page)

“Sit down,” Kiki pushed Seira down onto a stone bench, fingers gripping her cheeks.

Kiki wiped her hands on her waist and greeted the man formally.  The two faced each other, bowed, with hands in prayer position. It was obvious to Seira that this man and Kiki were close friends. It made her think about her own friendless position. Seira frowned.

“I am Yitschaq,” he said. “Hmm,” he nodded.  This peculiar man spoke as if he were already engaged in conversation with another person.

“It’s not so easy on the throat to say, truth be said.  You know, tsaba’ in the throat. Struggle, gagging,” he translated.  “Yitschaq, ach ach ach, “ he said again.

He held his throat with his right hand and stuck his tongue out to enact a choking scene. He winked at Seira.  Seira fought a smile over her frown.

“I am so thoroughly pleased to finally meet you,” he said, holding his arms out to Seira.

“Might I dress first?” she said.

Does he actually believe I will embrace him?  She felt incredulous.

Kiki pushed Seira forward into Yitschaq’s arms. Stiff elbows kept the towel from falling.

“Ah, you smell delicate,” he said.

Seira was unaccustomed to protocol in situations such as this. This man seemed odd, yet harmless enough.  As a pair, the two seemed unusually eccentric.  Seira relaxed, not knowing what else to do.

“Dear Sir, my apologies for screaming.  For a moment I thought you were,” Seira held her breath. The events of the past two weeks left her on edge and defensive. 

“You half expected an assassin to greet your nakedness?” Yitschaq finished her thoughts.

“Why, yes. I,” Seira was taken aback.

Yitschaq had the same intuitive talent as Kiki.  She never knew anyone to be acquainted with her thoughts so quickly. Or at least, she never paid attention to know if anyone knew her at all.

“Please, allow me to put you at ease. I’ll no more intend you harm than I would have you weave your own dress.” He burst out laughing.

Kiki joined in.  Seira didn’t understand their humor.

Yitschaq handed Seira a robe. It looked rough and mannish.  She hadn’t seen him carry or hold anything. 

Does he conjure? She was intrigued. “What’s this?” she asked.

“Your new clothes,” he said.

He turned his back, offering her privacy to dress.  His sturdy hand outstretched behind him as he held out the garment.

Seira reached out tentatively to take the robe. Her hand brushed against his. An impression was made by this simple touch. Seira felt she had suddenly inherited a brother.

The cloth was hand woven and coarse.  It reminded her of household servants.

“Do you have anything finer?” she asked.

Kiki and Yitschaq glanced at each other and said nothing.  Seira hesitated to dress in something so rough.

“There is nothing finer than soft, cleansed skin, free of fish scales,” Yitschaq said.

He turned to look straight into Seira’s eyes.

“But I dare say your modest temperament would not allow naked breasts bouncing through the streets.”

Her lips pursed.  She studied him.  He played with her in a harmless manner, yet anger surged.  Seira ripped open her towel and stood nude in front of Yitschaq.  A wet towel flew into his curly hair. He was unfazed. Seira carefully pulled the robe over her head, shaking out her short, mopped hair with an expression of defiance.

Kiki shook her head in mild disbelief and sighed.

“Ah,” he said, “Our charge has made her first offering,” he paused, blotting his forehead with the towel.

Seira glared.

“Or would the truth be told if I said that you offered your anger as a charge? Yes.”

An invisible string attached to logic jerked Seira’s chin down and back.  Calmness suffused her wrangling posture. Seira looked away to think about his question. The way in which he used his words drew her into theory and supposition.  A feeling that plagued her since meeting Kiki suddenly made itself known.

“You both speak like my mother,” she uttered aloud.

An empty room flickered with disturbed candle flames.

“By the stars!” she exclaimed. “Where have you two gone?”

Seira ran outside.  A loose, heavy robe dragged under bare feet.  Evening light contoured the alley and buildings.  Nothing appeared familiar in this dusk shade.  The stone street seemed even more ominous to Seira’s unsure footing.  A quick right turn led her to a crumbled stoned wall.  Young boys teased a squawking chicken.  Seira thought them cruel and turned to run in the opposite direction.  The bathhouse alley was lost. Panicked breath burst through open, dry lips.  Passersby stared at her strangely. Foreign whispers echoed in her ears.

I must calm myself, she thought. I cannot seem suspicious.

She slowed her footsteps and that gave way to a clearer mind.  Seira inhaled slowly.  Fragrant spices permeated the air.  Someone cooked a meal in a nearby house.   Her stomach growled.  She patted her belly and hoped to eat at some point in the evening.   Her hand fell off of the robe and brushed by bulky fabric across her thigh.  Seira looked down and a pocket looked back.

“Oh,” she said aloud.

Her slim fingers slid neatly into the scratchy opening and rested upon a scroll. Eyes darted to and fro.  No one was watching.  Seira pulled the scroll from her pocket.  It was in miniature form, no longer than the size of her palm.

A child’s plaything perhaps?  Seira shoved the scroll back into the deep pocket. Her sense of intrigue overwhelmed her.

Two old men with identical robes walked toward Seira. Hands held in prayer position, they nodded in passing.  One spoke to Seira.

“Erev tov ben elohim,” the elder said.

Seira froze in ignorance. They’re speaking Hebrew.

Although Seira did not frequent Alexandria’s Jewish quarter, Hebrew was a vaguely familiar tongue.   Seira searched her memory for the names of the two Hebrew servants who attended Hypatia.  What she remembered instead was how Hypatia treated her servants as equals. Her mother spent time with their servants to educate, handing out scrolls for study.  Even though Seira’s mother insisted all common languages be spoken in the house, the young girls spoke Greek or Egyptian when addressing employers and upper classes.

Seira tried hard to remember basic words in Hebrew. The two old men would have passed unconcerned, but for Seira’s lack of expected response and her pasty complexion.

The two men assessed the young stranger and looked at each other.  Their white beards dangled in a soft, warm breeze.   The elder approached Seira slowly.  Her head throbbed with a dull ache.

“Shalom. Shmee Manahem. Eich kor’eam lecha?”

“Lo kol kach tov,” the younger of the two canted and shook his head as he looked at Seira.

“SHALOM!” she exploded, suddenly remembering.

The older man’s face puckered.  They both stepped backwards, unsure.  Seira remembered something the young servant girls said to each other just several weeks prior.  Although she had no idea of its meaning, Seira hoped it would suffice.

“‘Lo kol kach tov,” she imitated the younger of the two men. “Shakabah shikkowr,” she said, proudly recollecting the housemaid’s words.   With a smile added, “Bira, bevakasha.”

The two old men gasped.  They glared at her as if she suddenly appeared crippled.  Seira felt distressed.

What did I say? she thought. Why won’t they leave me alone?

They spoke simultaneously to each other.  She bowed and walked away quickly, hoping they would disappear.

“Sliha!” They called in unison. “Sliha!”

Seira ran.  A sweaty palm gripped tightly to the scroll in her pocket. 

“I don’t know anything!” she screamed, then covered her mouth.

Her lanky legs tripped over a basket of fruit.  Bare, bruised feet flew into the air.  Seira lay, sprawled out on the ground.  Moans crept out of her mouth and lemons rolled past her feet.

Seira heard someone sigh loudly. It was Kiki.

“Hmm, you don’t know anything?” Yitschaq asked.  “Admitting that is the beginning of wisdom, truth be said?” Yitschaq smiled down on Seira.

Kiki stood beside Yitschaq and sucked her tongue away from the roof of her mouth disapprovingly. Her thin arms folded in a secure knot.  Kiki said something to Yitschaq in a language Seira could not decipher then she pushed air out of her lips repeatedly as if playing a horn.  Kiki looked at Yitschaq again and whispered something else to him and walked away.

“Come,” he said, lifting her up.

Yitschaq held an arm around Seira’s waist as they walked slowly.  She didn’t care to understand anything but listened to him anyway as he started to talk. 

“I had a horse, once,” he finally said.  “A beautiful gift from God. A wild creature who appeared, as if from nowhere onto my mountain. Yes!” he said as if Seira commented, “A wild black horse on a mountain. Can you see this thing in your mind?” He guided her steps toward a stone house.

“I, being a proper and respectable man, introduced myself.  I said to the horse, ‘Shalom!’ and of course you know that means, hello. And I said, ‘Erev tov ben elohim, Shmee Yitschaq.’ But of course you know that means ‘Good evening son of God, my name is Yitschaq.’   So I said, ‘Eich kor’eam lecha? How are you?’ And this horse from God, can you imagine what this wild creature did?”

Seira looked at him and appreciated his kindness.

“That’s correct! How did you know?  She spoke to me. Yes!” He exaggerated the word, yes, and it made Seira grin.

 “The horse said, ‘Lo kol kach tov, Not so good, she said. I have copulated with a drunken man.  Bira, bevakasha, A beer, please.”

Seira burst into laughter.

“Is that what I said to the old men?”

“I have heard more scandalous things said to old rabbis, truth be said.”

“Rabbis?”  Seira exclaimed.

Yitschaq and Seira walked to a wooden door, he pushed it open. They entered the small, neatly furnished three-room house.  Kiki stoked a fire under a large, black hanging pot.  An indiscernible, yet delicious, smell rose within the steam.

Seira suddenly turned to Yitschaq.

“They said, ‘ben ahem,’ to me.  What did you say that meant?”

“Mm, ben elohim,” he subtly corrected.  “It means, son of God.”

“They mistook me for a boy?”

“Yes.  Your clothes, you see.  Your hair,” he swirled his hand around his head.

“And I told them I copulated with a drunken man?” Seira raised her eyebrows with mischievousness.

“The robe you wear as well, they mistook you for a Jewish boy, truth be said.  You see? You do understand something.  A brilliant beginning for Seira.”

“Please, sit and be comfortable while we prepare the meal.  I hear your stomach protesting louder than your mouth does, truth be said.”

Seira stood in the small house and realized that Yitschaq did not speak in this manner to insult her.

Anger makes me stubborn and if I am stubborn, I prefer to be angry, she thought. If I am calm, I can know things, remember things that I know.

Understanding was born from patience and willingness to learn. 

Seira looked at the center of her palm. She sat on a modest wooden bench and pressed her palms flat on the wooden table.  So many things seemed preposterous, yet they were real.

The worn, splintered table was real as was the smell of vegetable stew.   Immense pleasure turned her awareness into a telling grin.  Yitschaq turned his head and their eyes engaged. 

“Yes?” he paused.   “Oh. Yes,” he said, nodding.   “Yes.”

Seira suddenly recalled the miniature scroll that lay curled in her pocket.  She pulled it out and unfolded it.

Kiki carefully lifted a wooden spoon to her lips and tasted with an expression of approval.

“I found this in my pocket,” Seira said.

Yitschaq nodded as he ripped quietly through unleavened bread.

“Is it of grave importance?” Seira spoke in a low, serious voice.

Yitschaq shoved bread into his mouth after mumbling a prayer and tapping his crown with humility and gratitude.

“Shee for yourshelf,” he said, moving mashed bread to one side of his mouth without spilling any.

Seira carefully opened the tiny scroll.

“I don’t understand,” she said, reading it.

“They are directions from the bathhouse to this house,” he said and stopped chewing. Kiki burst into laughter; her tiny body bent forward in hysterics. Yitschaq’s shoulders bounced up and down as tears rolled from his eyes.

“A map,” he said, wiping his eyes and laughing loudly.

He slapped the table as he wheezed with hilarity.

“… to the house.”

Seira glared at them. A crumpled scroll crushed in her fist.

Pale light mottled through the fabric weave of the taupe linen curtain.  Warm, woolen blankets lay heavy on her stiff, naked body.  Her sleep was a deep one, undisturbed by dreams or street sounds.  She rolled onto her back and kicked the blankets, the weight confined to annoyance.   The need to be on guard exhausted her and her eyes thick with sleep struggled to open.  

Murmured, rhythmic chanting filled her ears.   An impulsive need to bolt upright overcame her.  She relaxed as the chanting continued.

Peering through the curtains Seira saw Yitschaq in the tiny courtyard of the house face the sunrise.   He nodded his head rapidly while he chanted.  Every few minutes he bowed from the waist.  Seira closed the curtain and quickly got up from the scratchy hay-stuffed mattress. 

Kiki appeared in her room.

“Halay.  The morning has come.  You eat now.  Your new clothes,” she waved a tunic at Seira and dropped it onto the mattress.

Seira stood and stretched her body.  A long, drawn out vocal yawn cleared her dry, irritated throat.

Short, bursting, HA and SHWEE sounds replaced Yitschaq’s murmured chants.  Seira headed toward the door to inspect his activities when Kiki handed Seira a cup of syrupy brown liquid.  She crinkled her nose, undecided.

“Drink,” Kiki said, urging her with both palms waving upward.  “You will like.”

Seira tentatively brought the cup, made from a hollowed gourd, to her lips and wet them.  She licked her lips and tasted nothing foul or offensive so she filled her mouth with Kiki’s warm brew.