Return to Me (16 page)

“Yael?” Mattaniah gazed into the distance toward Jerusalem for a long moment, then sighed. “No . . . No, I can’t let the two of you walk home alone. . . . I’ll go with you.” He slowly rose to his feet as if hoping Zechariah would change his mind. He wouldn’t. If anything, he was even more anxious to leave as the dancing and pounding drums continued. “Give me a minute to thank our host,” Mattaniah said.

Zaki followed him as he wove through the crowd and crouched to speak in Zabad’s ear. A moment later Zabad’s voice boomed above the noise. “No, my friend! Must you leave so soon? The night is just beginning.”

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t realize the celebration would last this late. . . . Have you seen my daughter?”

Zabad gestured to the village entrance. “She and Leyla are out there with the women.”

Mattaniah thanked Zabad again, clapping him on the shoulder. His steps were unsteady as he turned to go, and Zechariah took his arm as they made their way from the square. Outside, Yael and the other women were still stargazing. Maybe Mattaniah would see what she was doing and take away her scrolls. Maybe he would forbid her to ever return to this village. But Yael’s father took no notice at all of the pagan charts she still held in her hands. “Time to go home, Yael,” he said.

“Can’t I stay? I could spend the night with Leyla.”

He looked as though he might concede until Zaki pulled on his sleeve and whispered, “She needs to leave here. Now.” He gestured to the revelry and Mattaniah finally seemed to understand.

“Not tonight, Yael. You need to come with us.” She pouted
all the way home, but at least they had rescued her from that terrible place.

Zechariah knew he should warn Yael’s father not to let her go back there, ever. But how could he do that without explaining the reason why and breaking his promises? Zechariah also knew he should tell his grandfather about the festival so they could warn the other men about being lured into temptation—but then he would have to tell Saba what he’d seen, and he was ashamed to do that.

The music faded in the distance as Zechariah walked up the hill, the path becoming harder and harder to see as he made his way into the dark night.

T
wo days after the festival, the lingering images still hadn’t faded from Zechariah’s mind. Since none of the other Jewish men reported what they’d seen and done, he decided not to say anything to his grandfather about that night. Yet his guilt and his fear for Yael wouldn’t go away.

He had just drifted to sleep for a Sabbath afternoon nap like everyone else when someone shook him awake. “Zaki! Wake up!” He opened his eyes to see Yael crouching beside his mat. “Come on, let’s go,” she whispered.

“Huh? . . . Go where?” She tiptoed from the room without answering, as quietly and gracefully as a cat. Zechariah rubbed the sleep from his eyes and followed her out to the courtyard. “Go where?” he asked again, still groggy with sleep.

“Exploring! You promised, remember?”

He glanced around, worried that someone had overheard, but his grandparents and Yael’s father were all napping. Even so, Zaki kept his voice low. “We can’t go anywhere. It’s Shabbat.”

“So? We used to go exploring on Shabbat when we lived in Babylon, remember?”

“That was different.”

“How? How was it different?” She stood with one hand on
her hip the way she always did when she argued with him. She was so sassy for a girl, but he liked her that way, even if her daredevil spirit scared him. “You promised,” she said. “Are you going to break your promise again?”

The worst image from the festival that he hadn’t been able to erase was of Yael telling fortunes beneath the stars. The memory made his stomach knot up. If he went with her now maybe he could convince her to stop practicing sorcery. “Well . . . I guess we could go somewhere,” he said. “As long as we don’t go more than a Sabbath day’s walk.”

“Whatever you say,” she replied with a shrug. “Come on, I want to show you something.” She took off at a brisk pace, and Zechariah had to hurry to keep up. They went through the destroyed Water Gate and down the ramp, then turned up the path that led across the valley, heading in the direction of Leyla’s village.

“Wait. Isn’t this the way we went the other night? I don’t think we should go back there—”

“We’re not going to the village. Quit worrying.”

They kept walking—much farther than a Sabbath day’s walk—but he was afraid that if he turned back now she would continue on without him. The valley was unnaturally quiet; the metallic ring of chisel against stone that could be heard up in the city on most days had been silenced for the Sabbath. Even the birds weren’t stirring on this warm fall afternoon. They passed a mere stone’s throw from the village, and Zechariah was relieved when they didn’t enter it. He should talk to her now, but he didn’t know how to begin. “Um . . . what were you and the village women doing outside at the festival the other night?”

“Just admiring the stars.”

“But you had your scrolls . . . your astrology charts . . . didn’t you?”

“What if I did?”

“Yael, you have to get rid of them. You can’t worship idols—”

She halted in front of him, blocking his path. “Do you still want to be my friend or don’t you? I didn’t invite you to come with me so you could argue with me.”

“Of course I want to be friends, but—”

“Then just be quiet and have fun for once in your life.”

They walked on, and a few minutes later he saw a stone cliff ahead of him with carved entrances that looked like doorways leading into the rock wall. He realized where Yael was taking him and stopped.

“Wait. These are the tombs that we can see from up in Jerusalem, aren’t they?”

“Yes. I’ve been dying to see them up close, but Abba is always too busy to bring me here.”

Zechariah could tell that this graveyard had once been very beautiful. But like everything else in Jerusalem, the cemetery was overgrown with weeds and brambles and scrub trees. The Torah said he shouldn’t go near a cemetery. It would make him unclean.

“Well? What do you think?” Yael stood looking at him as if eager to see his reaction. Maybe she was waiting for him to take the lead in exploring the tombs the way he had led in all their other explorations in Babylon. Zaki wanted so badly to impress her. To show her that he was fearless and brave and adventurous.

But he hesitated just a moment too long, and before he could stop her, Yael turned and pushed her way through the weeds and graves, stopping in front of the entrance to a tomb that had been carved into the face of the cliff. “Hey, come look! This one has been pried open. If we squeeze through this crack we can look inside.”

“I can’t go in, Yael. Saba says priests can’t touch unclean things.”

“You aren’t a priest yet, are you?”

“Well, no . . .”

“Then what difference does it make? Come on. I’m going in.” She shoved several rocks aside to make the opening larger, grunting with the effort, then dropped to her hands and knees to squeeze through the narrow opening. One minute she was moving broken stones out of the way and the next minute she had vanished.

“Yael?” he called. No answer. Other girls would never dream of doing the crazy things she did. They would be too scared of spiders and snakes and ghosts to crawl inside a burial cave. “Yael?” he called again. He felt the foolish urge to impress her and followed her into the cemetery. He crouched down to peer into the hole, but it was too dark inside to see anything. Zechariah hesitated, then got on his hands and knees and followed Yael through the opening. He bumped into her a few feet inside. The cave was damp and stale-smelling—and darker than nighttime.

“I can’t see anything,” Yael said as they both stood up. “It’s too dark.” Judging by the flat sound of her voice and the lack of an echo, the space was small, the ceiling low.

“Me either. Let’s get out of here.” He started to turn around, but Yael grabbed his arm.

“No, wait. Our eyes will get used to it in a minute.” She clung to his arm while they waited, not because she seemed scared, but probably because she didn’t want him to change his mind and leave. As Zaki’s eyes adjusted, he saw that the room was rough-hewn, like a cave. Massive stone tombs the size of wagons were arranged in a semicircle around the walls. Sealed inside those boxes were the bones of several generations of families.

“See? There’s nothing in here but tombs,” he said. “Let’s go.”

She released his arm and moved forward a few more feet. “I want to look for treasures, first.”

“There won’t be any treasures. Someone already broke into this place before we came. If there were any treasures, I’m sure
they must be long gone. That’s what grave robbers do, you know.”

But Yael groped her way around the tiny space for a few more minutes—just to be contrary, he was sure—brushing cobwebs out of her hair as she went. She even tried to lift the stone lid from one of the burial boxes without success. At last she sighed and said, “All right, we can go.” She led the way as they ducked outside into the sunlight again.

Zechariah shaded his eyes against the brightness and bumped into Yael a second time as he stood up. She had halted directly in front of him. “Why are you stopping—?”

And then he saw why. They faced a ring of boys his age, maybe a little older. Eight of them. And they weren’t wearing kippahs on their heads. Their garments had no tassels.

Samaritans.

He and Yael were in trouble.

Yael recovered from her surprise first and marched forward. “Get out of our way,” she demanded.

“Who’s going to make us?” One of the boys stepped in front of her, planting his hand in the middle of her chest, shoving her backward. “What are you doing down here, anyway? You’re Jews, aren’t you?”

“Sure they’re Jews,” a second boy said. “Can’t you tell? Just look at his stupid little hat and the fancy fringe on his robe.” He walked up to Zechariah and shoved him backward until he was up against the rock wall. The boy was taller than he was, stronger. No one would hear him if he yelled for help. And he couldn’t expect the Holy One to answer his prayers after he’d broken the Sabbath laws by walking here and entering a tomb.

“You don’t belong here!” the biggest boy said. “This is our valley.” The circle of boys moved closer, trapping them.

“My father has land near here,” Yael said. “Let us through so we can go home.” She sounded defiant, not frightened.
Zechariah wondered if she was really that brave or if she was as terrified as he was.

“Home? You must mean back home to Babylon. That’s where you belong.”

Zechariah tried to step sideways and slip past the boy who blocked his way, but he wouldn’t let him. “You’re part of that locust swarm that invaded our land. And you know what we do to insects that invade our land? We crush them!” He pushed Zaki backwards again, slamming him against the rocks.

“I think we need to give them a message to take home to their friends,” the leader said. “Then they’ll know better than to come down here again.”

Two boys suddenly moved in from both sides and grabbed Zechariah, pinning his arms. He struggled as hard as he could, kicking and flailing, but they were too strong for him. A third boy reached for his kippah and yanked it off his head. “Yael, run!” Zaki shouted. She was small and nimble and as fast as a deer. She could easily get away. “Run!” he shouted again. But the three boys had crowded in so close that he couldn’t see around them to see if she had escaped.

Someone grabbed Zaki’s fringes, tearing them off, ripping his robe. “What do we have here?” the boy mocked. “Aren’t they pretty?”

“Stop it! Leave me alone—” His words were cut off by a punch to his mouth that split his lip and smacked his head against the stone. Before he could recover, someone punched him in the gut, knocking the breath from him. He tried to double over, but they jerked him upright. A second punch to his stomach left him reeling with pain.

“Rafi, tell them to stop!” Yael yelled. Zechariah couldn’t see if the others were hurting her or not as the three boys pummeled him with blows. He was desperate to free himself, to help Yael, but he couldn’t draw a breath.

“Rafi, it’s me,” Yael said. “Tell them I’m Leyla’s friend!”

“What about you?” one of the boys holding Zechariah asked. “Are you Leyla’s friend, too?” They struck him again and again, punching, kicking, and laughing at his futile attempts to free himself.

“Rafi, make them stop!” Yael yelled.

“Hey! She’s the seer, isn’t she,” one of the boys said. “The girl who reads the stars.”

“Yes, I am! And you’d better let us go before I put a curse on you!”

Zaki’s attacker punched him again before saying, “Come on, let’s go.” The boys released him and he fell to the ground, too injured to stand, humiliated that Yael had rescued him instead of the other way around. He should have protected her. One of the boys kicked him in the back, another in his side, the third one kicked his head. The pain was excruciating, his punishment for disobedience.

“We delivered our message. Let’s go.”

“Don’t come back here again, or you’ll really be sorry!”

His tormenters shuffled away, and Yael ran to him, kneeling beside him. When he saw that she was uninjured, he closed his eyes in relief. “Zaki! . . . Zaki, say something! Are you all right?”

He nodded, but it wasn’t true. He lay stunned and bruised, every inch of his body in agony. “I’ll go get help,” she said, but he reached for her arm, stopping her.

“No, don’t. I’ll be okay in a minute.”

“You’re bleeding!” She touched his bloodied lip, then wiped blood from his eye. It came from a gash on his forehead. “Does that hurt?”

He didn’t reply. He didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t want to admit the truth, either. Yael stood and offered her hand to help him up, but he shook his head. “I can stand by myself. I just need a minute to catch my breath.”

“You better hurry in case they come back.”

He crawled to his feet, leaning against the rock wall to support himself. The ground swayed beneath him. He looked down at his robes, bloody and torn, and waited for the world to stop spinning. “How am I going to explain my clothes?” he asked. He looked around for his kippah but didn’t see it anywhere. “They took my head covering.”

Yael bent to pick up the fringes that the boys had ripped off his garment and handed them to him. They were supposed to remind Zechariah of God’s laws—and he surely must have broken several of them to deserve this. “That’s why David cut the fringes off King Saul’s garment,” he said. “To remind Saul that he was sinning.”

“What are you talking about? Are you sure you’re okay, Zaki?”

He was too old to cry so he let his emotions spill over in anger. “I shouldn’t have listened to you! This is all your fault!”

She took her usual, brassy stance. “That’s a fine way to thank me for saving you!” She turned around and strode away.

“Yael, wait!” He took a few feeble steps, limping in pain. The bruises to his stomach and ribs made him double over. He would never make it home without her help. “Yael, I’m sorry. . . . Thank you for saving me. I’m sorry!”

She stopped and waited for him, and he saw her pity. “You can barely walk. Come on, lean on me and I’ll help you.” They wrapped one arm around each other and headed toward home. It seemed a hundred miles away.

“I thought they were going to kill you,” Yael said, and for the first time, her voice trembled with tears.

“Well, Saba is going to kill me when he finds out what happened.”

“I can help you make up a story.”

“No, don’t. Lying will make everything worse.” He remembered how one of the boys had called her the seer, and he felt
sick inside. What if his fellow Jews found out? He was scared for her and for himself because he loved her—and he knew that he shouldn’t love a sorceress. He should have nothing to do with her.

“Are you sure you’re fine?” she asked. “They punched you so hard.”

Zechariah suddenly felt nauseated. The pain was so excruciating that he had to bend over and vomit. It was one more humiliation in front of Yael. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, leaving a streak of blood from his cut lip.

“Come on, we’d better walk faster,” Yael said, “in case the boys decide to come back without Rafi.” He draped his arm around her shoulder again and limped home as quickly as he could manage. “Maybe everyone will still be napping,” she said as they neared the spring, “and I can help you clean the blood and dirt off your clothes before they wake up. I can sew your fringes back on, too.” But Zechariah knew it was hopeless. Safta was certain to notice his cut lip and the gash above his eye. He couldn’t even stand up straight.