The Ironsmith (34 page)

“I understand.”

Noah could only laugh.

“No, by the mercy of God, you do not. But let it rest. And say nothing of this to Sarah.”

Eventually they went home, the men silent, laden with bags of food, the women cheerfully conspiring about how it should be cooked.

Would that it could be just so,
Noah thought,
just as it is now, every day for the rest of our lives.
Which of course was not possible. Life was not a trip to the marketplace.

Once they were inside the door, the women disappeared into the kitchen and, to while away the time until dinner, Noah and Abijah walked back to Abijah's house, which was larger than Noah's, and the first floor of which he used as a shop and warehouse.

When they arrived, Abijah led Noah up to the living quarters and begin soliciting his opinion about the household arrangements.

“It's a musty old place,” he said, looking around him as if seeing it for the first time. “I haven't kept it up, I'm afraid—I'm hardly here except to sleep. The kitchen is a shambles.”

“It doesn't look so terrible,” Noah lied, noting the cobwebs. “I gather you've been taking most of your meals out.”

“A man living alone falls into bad habits.”

“I remember,” Noah replied, thinking of the time before his marriage, when he had first moved back into his father's house and was just setting up in business. His bride, when she arrived, had been appalled by the condition of the place.

Then it occurred to him that this was the first time he had thought about his dead wife in days. It seemed to him wrong that she should have been so easily forgotten, as if he had somehow betrayed her.

He found that he envied his new brother-in-law, who would soon be a husband for the first time. No baggage, no divided heart, no sense of one loyalty sacrificed to another.

“I wonder if there is time to have it rebuilt.”

The sound of Abijah's voice came as a surprise. As Noah readjusted himself to the present moment, he smiled.

The kitchen. Yes.

“I'll tell you what I think you should do,” Noah said. “After you are married, ask Sarah her opinion—one thing you will discover is that women love to be asked their opinion—and tell her she shall have a free hand in making whatever alterations she thinks best. Sarah is careful about money, so you will end by paying less than if you had done it yourself. And Sarah will have everything as she wishes it.”

“That is excellent advice.”

“Yes, it is.”

When they returned, dinner was almost ready, so there was only time to mix the wine—six parts to five, in honor of the occasion—and then to be herded into the little room next to the kitchen where they always ate.

It was, indeed, a feast. The lamb was braised and served on a bed of Egyptian rice, and there were dates, sliced cucumbers, grapes, and bread still hot from the oven.

The conversation consisted mainly of Abijah's lavish praise of the cooking, all directed at Sarah, who blushed and smiled and said nothing as she squirmed with pleasure. Noah and Deborah were left in peace to look at each other, exchanging a word or a smile now and then.

When the meal was over, the two men were shooed out like geese, so they went up to the roof to finish the wine. Abijah, with every cup, expressed greater enthusiasm for Sarah's many perfections. Finally he wanted to know how soon he could expect to be blessed with her as a wife.

“The sooner the better,” Noah replied, thinking of the Lord Eleazar and his servant Caleb, from whom he wanted his sister safely distant. “Tomorrow afternoon you will return with us to Nazareth, to receive our grandfather's consent, and then, as soon as the festivities can be arranged…”

Finally, after it had grown dark, Abijah returned home.

“I am finished with this day,” Sarah announced, almost as soon as Abijah was out the door. “I am going to bed.”

As she said it, Noah observed that she and Deborah exchanged a glance. Then Sarah kissed her brother and was gone.

“You have arranged this between you,” Noah said, taking Deborah's hand in his own. He never ceased to marvel at the delicacy of her fingers. “You have plotted with my sister to give us this time alone.”

“Yes.”

“Whose idea was it?”

“Hers. I think it was a way of making amends.”

“Why ‘amends'?”

“Your sister is not very sure of herself,” she answered, smiling at him in an unusual way, with none of her customary shyness. “I think she was uneasy about Abijah. But she needn't have worried, as she saw for herself. He hardly even looked at me.”

“You mean she…?”

This made her laugh. “Yes—of course. Women are human.”

She glanced about, as if embarrassed. But she was not embarrassed, as Noah could see clearly when her gaze returned to his face.

“The kitchen is hot,” she said, letting her free hand run down his arm. “Let's go up on the roof, where it will be cooler.”

The roof was dark and solitary. Here and there one could see lights from the nearby houses. In another hour, however, these would all be gone, snuffed out as people prepared to go to bed. It was no longer the season during which one slept outside in hopes of catching some cool breeze, but there was still a sleeping mat rolled up and leaning against the parapet. Deborah had merely to touch it and it uncoiled itself and flattened out on the roof. They sat down on it.

“This is really the first time we have been alone together,” she said.

“There was the bench in your garden,” he offered, knowing perfectly well what she meant.

“Yes, but there Hannah was always somewhere about. Then there were the neighbors.”

“There are neighbors here.”

“But they can't hear what we say, and they can't see us.” She crawled up on the sleeping mat and stretched out. “Come lie down beside me. There is no one in the world but you and me.”

He lay down so that they were on their sides, facing each other. He found that he desperately wanted to kiss her, and had nearly made up his mind to do it, when she kissed him first. It was a long, slow kiss, as if she wanted him to learn everything there was to know about her mouth. Her tongue came out and delicately touched his upper lip.

Suddenly she pulled a little away.

“I never loved my husband,” she said. It sounded like the confession of some dreadful sin. “I shouldn't tell you, but it's true. He wasn't a bad man, but I never felt anything for him. He owned me, and did what he wished with me, but I never gave myself to him—not freely, not with joy, as I will give myself to you.”

“I loved my wife,” he said, without knowing quite why. Somehow, not to say it would have been to violate this woman's trust.

“I'm glad. You are a man who would make any woman happy, so I'm glad she made you happy. I mean it. I do.”

“I love you.”

He reached up and touched her face, and she took his hand and brought it to her breast. He could feel her breath on his face. She kissed him again, only this time as if she meant to devour him. When she was finished, she laughed.

“I don't think this was quite what Sarah had in mind, but your sister is a virgin and there are some things she doesn't understand yet.”

Suddenly Noah became aware that his member was stiff enough to have been cast in his own workshop. Deborah reached down to touch it beneath his tunic.

“If you want me…,” she began.

“There is no doubt that I want you.”

There was an awkward moment as she struggled out of her clothes. It seemed to take forever. When she was naked, he wished that he could see her, but it was too dark. As he slid his hands over her body she drew closer to him.

“Is this against God's law, Noah? I feel I am your wife, from this moment and for as long as either of us lives. Is it wrong if we do not wait?”

“In another week we will be married. I hope—I believe—God will allow us this.”

 

28

The next morning, when Noah awakened alone in his own bed, his first sensation was disappointment. He had been dreaming of Deborah, of the feel of her body against him and the little sounds she made as she reached her passion, and now she was somewhere else, asleep in Sarah's room, and he was full of longing.

Or perhaps she was awake and tormented by regret. Last night, in the dark, it was one thing. This morning, in the pitiless light of dawn, it might appear as something very different.

He sat down on the stool beside his window and began reciting his prayers. The words, which he had spoken every morning for as long as he could remember, almost said themselves, but their automatic quality freed his mind and allowed him to turn to God.
Was it a sin?
he asked.
Have I forfeited Your grace? I love her. That is my only excuse. And I promise I will love her until I die.

He felt comforted, as if God understood. What did God not understand? God was tolerant of weakness, but not of selfishness or cruelty or of turning away from Him. He, Noah, son of Barachel, ironsmith in the city of Sepphoris, had merely loved a woman, and God winked.

He went downstairs for his breakfast and found Sarah in the kitchen. She kissed him, as was her custom in the morning, and turned back to her cooking pot.

“Where is Deborah?” he asked.

“Still asleep.”

A few minutes later Deborah came down. “Good morning,” she said, almost singing the words as she threw her arms around Noah's neck and then kissed him on the mouth. When he seemed startled, she laughed.

Sarah, apparently, had noticed nothing.

As they ate, the women talked. Noah was silent, for he had remembered, for the first time since last night, that he was to see the Lord Eleazar this morning.

“
The first hour after prayers.
”

“I must go,” he said.

He rose from the table and was already in the shop before he realized that Deborah was behind him. He turned around and she held out her hand to him.

“Are you angry?” she asked.

Noah took her hand. “No.”

“Then … disappointed?”

“No.” He shook his head and smiled. “If I had nothing to think about except you and last night, I would be perfectly happy. I can't imagine being disappointed in you.”

“Then what troubles you?” she asked, not even allowing herself to be flattered.

“My appointment this morning is with the priest.”

Deborah nodded. She did not need to have explained to her which priest. For them, there was only one priest.

“What does he want?”

“I don't know.”

Suddenly she was in his arms.

“When will they ever leave us alone, these people?”

“I don't know.”

For a long moment they stood there, silently holding each other.

“This is our marriage ceremony,” Noah said finally, as their embrace began to subside. “This, even more than last night, has made us one. We know what we are to one another, and God blesses us.”

“Last night I loved you
so
much. This morning I love you still more.”

That was the sight of her that Noah carried away with him as he headed up the steep streets that would take him to the great houses clustered around the palace. All his life he would remember her face as it appeared in that moment. And he thought of Joshua's dead wife, Rachel, and understood, for the first time, the depth of his cousin's grief, which went beyond the longings of the body, beyond even love. It seemed to him really possible that a woman might weave herself so into the fabric of one's soul that to lose her went beyond pain, into something like disbelief.

“
And yet she has never left me,
” Joshua had said, that night only a few days before, when they had sat together on the beach at Capernaum, sharing a jar of wine while he tried to explain why he couldn't bring himself to come to Deborah's betrothal dinner. “
I feel her presence. There are moments when she seems so near that I imagine I have but to glance around to see her smiling at me.
”

Now, at last, Noah understood. As he waited in front of the door of the house of Kenan bar Dathan, on the Street of the Doves, he understood perfectly what Joshua had meant.

The same boy answered the door and ran away to fetch the same distinguished chamberlain, who conducted him to the same room, where Noah found the Lord Eleazar reclining on the same couch, in front of the same silver tray holding two stone cups and a jug, doubtless filled with cold water.

“Welcome back,” the First Minister said, smiling and raising an arm in salutation. “Please be seated. I am very glad you were able to return.”

Return to what? Noah could only wonder. This room? His own house? The life he had lived before he had ever met a man named Caleb? Nevertheless, the priest seemed actually glad to see him.

He filled the two cups from the pitcher and offered one to Noah. And, yes, it held water. And, yes, the water was cold.

“Did you encounter any dangers on your journey?” he asked. It seemed a bland enough question, but of course it was a trap.

“You would know, my lord. You had me followed.”

“For your own protection, yes.” The Lord Eleazar seemed faintly amused, as if at a jest he did not choose to share. “But my man did not pick up your trail until Sidon. And by Damascus you had noticed him. I suspect you have a talent for this sort of thing.”

“Am I to go on yet another journey, Lord?”

It was a question which, apparently, the First Minister did not yet choose to answer, so he merely glanced away, the way a man will when he is considering a choice of possibilities, and then his eyes returned to Noah's face and he smiled again, but this time without warmth.

“I hear you are to be married,” he said. “God enjoins us to take a wife, but you are a widower, are you not?”