as if she might topple over.
Besides hoods, turbans, and mantles, men wore hats of every description: hats with wide, stiff brims or flaps; hats pointed at the top like cypress trees; hats embroidered with the shapes of animals and heavenly bodies; hats tall and rounded like the necks of wine decanters.
Eight slaves in matching red pantaloons suddenly commandeered the whole walkway, shouting, “Make way, make way.” On their shoulders they balanced a man reclining on a chair and wearing a white toga bordered in purple. He was holding a rolled document, sealed with a gaudy blotch of red wax. Father scowled. “Probably a Roman procurator.”
Another litter, behind that one, bore a woman. An enormous turquoise brooch fastened her mantle, and I gaped in wonder. Surely she must be the richest woman in Jerusalem! But her skin was whiter than any I had ever seen. She looked as if she had never been warmed by the sun, and I felt a little sorry for her.
Clamorous Jerusalem: tools pounding, digging, sawing, splitting; animals barking, bleating, bellowing; people chattering, chanting, shouting and singing in Greek, Latin, Aramaic, Hebrew, and a hundred alien tongues. Our donkeys added their brays to the din.
Open stalls reeked with the odor of spoiling fish and meat. The sewers swirled with the blood of slaughtered animals. Naomi, feeling sick, asked to rest. As we turned away from the crowded market area, I almost collided with a camel. It hissed at me, and I backed away from its enormous teeth. We climbed a staircase and sat there while Naomi’s stomach settled. By this time, I, too, welcomed the chance to get away from the rowdy crowds. The donkeys pawed at the ground, hoping to uncover a sprig of green to eat, but nothing grew up through the stones.
“Are you sure you know the way to Chuza’s?” a very pale Naomi asked my father.
“Of course. It was once my house, and my father’s and grandfather’s before that.” From a pack on the younger donkey’s back, Father extracted the Sabbath lamp, carefully wrapped in sheepskin, and cradled it against his breast.
We climbed a second staircase then followed along a street to a third staircase and another street. Father never hesitated. He made no wrong turns. Up here we could barely detect the commotion below. In this section of the city, the houses were all large and walled. Father led us down a few more streets, through a gate, and into the courtyard of a private home. He eased himself onto a stone bench just as the sun’s reflected glow expired. I sat next to him. Tears spilled onto his cheeks as he placed the Sabbath lamp in my lap. “You are home, my little light,” he said.
An open window overlooked the courtyard. From within the house, we heard something crash onto a stone floor, then sharp whispers. A stout man with a closely trimmed, oiled beard strode from the house. He wore a linen tunic and smelled of soap. “Father,” Chuza said, “Shalom.”
My Brother’s Mansion in the Upper City
Chuza bowed to Father but did not embrace him. “I received your letter, though we hadn’t expected you so soon. I’m saddened that Nazareth is threatened, but my wife and I are pleased that you’ve chosen to take refuge with us.”
A dainty woman about twenty years old stepped into the courtyard and smiled warmly at my father. “We are honored that you have come, Father. Since your son and I were wed, I’ve prayed for this day.”
Chuza turned to me and said stiffly, “Shalom, sister. You are welcome here.”
Joanna embraced me tightly. “Chuza told me you were a strong, beautiful little girl, and I see you’re now a strong, beautiful woman. I’m so happy to finally meet you, my dear Danya.”
Joanna was the beautiful one. She had flawless light skin, perfectly arranged, honey-colored hair, and graceful eyebrows. “Delicate” seemed the best word for her features. I towered over her and felt awkward. When she reached out to Naomi, it was almost a relief to see that Joanna had an imperfection: ragged fingernails. “We’re delighted you’ve brought your pretty young friend with you. Shalom, Naomi,” said Joanna.
Chuza nodded at Naomi, then asked Father, “Where’s Lev?”
“With the Essenes,” said Father.
“Has he joined the monastery at Qumran?”
“We expect to hear from him soon.”
Apparently, Father didn’t want Chuza to know about Lev’s involvement with Judah and the raid. Naomi and I would have to guard our tongues.
Servants appeared to tend to the donkeys and our possessions. Father gave them strict instructions about handling the stone jars containing his scrolls. Then, because he had been exposed to corpses on our journey, he asked Chuza to accompany him to the house’s miqveh to purify himself. Watching the men leave, I was surprised at Chuza’s size. He was wider and shorter than Father. Lev and I had always thought of our older brother as tall and lean, like us, though probably taller because he was older.
Joanna led us into the house, and we met her little dog, Dodi. Naomi fussed over the animal, burying her fingers in her white, silky coat and accepting her watery kisses. I found Dodi unappealing. When I tried to pat her, she cringed pathetically and flapped her tail in an overanxious desire to please. She neither herded sheep, nor chased rodents from the grain bins, so what purpose did she serve? I thought of her as merely an ornament.
In the reception hall, a room three times the size of our house in Nazareth, I was afraid to sit on a chair or to lean on a delicately carved wooden table for fear of breaking them. The floor, though, entranced me with its black and bronze mosaic tiles arranged in a pattern of interlocking shapes. Naomi and I each picked out a single line and walked along it, our footsteps twisting and turning until we made ourselves dizzy. Joanna joined in our little dance on the tiles and laughed along with us.
Despite its high ceiling, the reception hall burst with fragrance. “I keep it full of jasmine,” Joanna told us, and only when I brushed against them did I notice the delicate, yellow-flowered branches planted in tall earthenware vases. I traced my finger along the pattern etched in muted red and brown lines on the vase’s surface. Joanna lightly touched my arm and said, “Careful, sister. That one is a favorite of your brother’s.”
The frescoes adorning the walls of the hall reminded me of the hillsides of Galilee. The grapevines in these paintings were almost as beautiful as the real vineyards they represented. I couldn’t imagine my father ever having lived in such splendor, and I wondered why he left this beautiful house for a two-room, dirt-floored village hut. He told Naomi he “could no longer live in Jerusalem as a good Jew.” But there must be many good Jews in Jerusalem.
Joanna gestured around her as she pivoted in a circle. “This hall is no longer large enough for our needs, so we intend to build a second one. We also need to add more ovens to the kitchen because we entertain a great deal. Did you know that Chuza has been appointed Chief Steward to the new ethnarch, Herod Archelaus?” She lowered her voice and chuckled. “Chuza acts more like a Roman every day. He would prefer a colonnaded courtyard in the center of the house, a real Roman peristyle, but we can’t do that without taking the whole house down and starting over.”
Such extravagance left us speechless. Joanna didn’t seem to be boasting but only explaining the way they lived, which made it all the more astonishing.
“Come along and let me show you the bath.” As we passed the stairway to the rooftop, Joanna hesitated and then said, “We’ll add a second story when we need the space for children.”
“How long have you been married?”
