Chosen Page 4
I plunged the knife into the cat, sinking it up to its small hilt. The cat screamed and turned toward me, the knife still embedded in her side. She panted heavily as she edged closer. I could see Cyrus was bleeding from a gash in his chest, but he moved to his feet and grabbed a rock, swinging it at her from behind, bringing it down on her head. The great cat lost her footing and was disoriented, but only for a moment. Her head swung slowly back to Cyrus, and the curtain of her lips revealed their terrible drama, the fangs now whetted for the kill.
There was no more time. I shoved my outstretched arms into her side. She stumbled toward the ledge but regained her footing, and with a low hissing growl continued to creep toward Cyrus for her kill. I took a desperate breath, and this time, shoved with all my might. Her back leg went off the ledge and she hissed at me, too, but it was too late. Cyrus slammed his rock against her leg closest to him, and she jerked it away, snarling. Her footing gone now, she slipped over the edge and fell, hitting larger rocks and turning, end over end, until she at last righted herself and glared back up the mountain toward us. Her eyes were alive with an evil fire, but she moved now into the shadows and disappeared.
I ran to Cyrus and helped him to his feet.
“You saved my life,” he said.
I think he looked at me with suspicion. But why would it be strange that a girl can thrust a knife, or find the strength to face an enemy? Even my dear Cyrus has these strange ideas of what a woman is capable of. Or perhaps I am the strange one, not to limit myself there.
But we came slowly down the mountain. Cyrus’s wound was not as bad as I might have feared, but this was not what was draining the blood from his heart, or mine. He was not strong enough to walk home alone, nor could I leave him at the foot of the mountain. We would have to go together for help, and what story could we give to cover our deception?
Instinctively, our feet shuffled in unison toward the home of the village healer. She was a kind but withered old woman, long since entrusted with the most precious secrets of our people, and many years skilled in the art of healing. Even the Egyptians came to her when their magicians failed them. It did not surprise us that she opened her door before we were close enough to knock.
I eased Cyrus into the chair, and the woman kept her back to us as she poured honey into a bowl and beat against it a thick switch of rosemary and another herb I did not recognize. She spoke as she worked, her home lit by a single fat wax candle perched on her small table.
“The night wind told me the great cat was near. How is it your young ears did not hear it too?” she asked.
We could not answer her.
“Why were you out of your beds at this hour?” she asked softly.
Cyrus spoke first. “Esther met me tonight on the mountain to plan our betrothal. My father will choose another bride unless I can act first. Esther was there against her good judgment, at my pleading.”
The old woman looked at me, then at Cyrus, studying his wounds, and my condition. “It looks as if Esther’s judgment is good indeed. How did you outsmart the beast, Esther?” She dipped a cloth in a basin of water and wiped gently at Cyrus’s wounds, cleansing them from the pebbles and grass sticking to the clotting blood. Cyrus tried not to wince, then kept his eyes closed.
I told the healer what had happened and she nodded. “The cat is pregnant, and is becoming unsteady on her feet. Your instincts guided you well,” she said.
The honey was applied next and then a clean cloth wrapped several times around his chest to hold the cure against him tightly. She walked to her window and held her head up to the stars. She seemed to be tasting the night air.
She turned to us. “I have heard the talk in the village. Cyrus’s father has indeed chosen another bride, and he has not made his plans known. But your dilemma is now doubled, for Cyrus must rest here tonight until his bleeding has stopped. I will return with his father in a little while, and how will you two explain this misadventure tonight, without lying? Think carefully of what you will say. As for you”—and here she faced me—“Mordecai is meeting with the elders once more, and their candles burn low. You will be able to keep your deception from him at least for tonight.”
Cyrus seemed so weak and tired. I could not leave him as the healer went to find his father. There was so much to explain that we had little to say to each other. Cyrus’s father soon entered the small doorway and stood staring at us. He didn’t seem concerned for Cyrus, but perhaps the old woman had given him many details already.
“What has happened?” he demanded.
Cyrus began to explain about the cat, but his father interrupted. “Your wounds tell the story plainly enough. I want to know about this girl.”
Cyrus began. I was never so scared, and so proud, as hearing Cyrus explain his feelings for me, and his plan for us to be married after Mordecai raised a significant dowry.
“Is that what this is about?” his father asked. His tone changed from angry to calm, but somehow I was still frightened. “You think I need this dowry for you to be together? Nonsense. We have plenty of money without begging for it from your wife. But I must tell you, I am surprised at this revelation. I had intended to arrange a marriage to a girl from another village, the daughter of an Egyptian financier in the market. She’s quite stunning.”
Cyrus and I exchanged looks, and Cyrus shook his head at his father.
“Well, then, the matter is settled.” Cyrus’s father smiled at us both. “Let us go about our business now as usual, children. Your secret will be safe with me. I only ask for time, and your trust. I will work out the details with Mordecai, but in my own way. We must not make him feel ashamed at so little a dowry. If you give me time, I will give him his dignity, and you, your marriage.”
I rose and kissed him on the cheek. He grabbed my arm and looked at me closely, his breath hot on my cheek. There was something about his hands on my arm, as if I could feel them moving all over, although in truth they didn’t move their grip. I didn’t like it.
“You are indeed a beautiful girl,” he said. “Any man would be fortunate to call you his own.”
I left and ran through the dark streets to my home, making sure I was in bed and feigning sleep before Mordecai returned.
13
Third Day of the Month of Tevet
Seventh Year of the Reign of Xerxes
Year 3398 after Creation
The hellcat is long gone from our village, seeking new victims to devour. The women are still wearing their amulets and cursing the demons, but they do not know what it was that stalked the village at night. Their superstitious talk kept the market lively for weeks, but it grew quiet until a new, darker shadow showed itself.
Rumors have gone into the village ahead of the king’s men. Xerxes will take a bride from among his people! Girls have begun feverishly preparing for the selection day, as if they can ripen themselves into choice fruit in mere days. But in my quiet household, as Mordecai prepares for a meeting with the Jewish elders, dread coils around my heart. My stomach tightens at every mention of the coming selection. Surely the Jews will be exempt, I silently plead to no one. The elders believe my people will not be highly favored during the choosing, but neither should we interfere with the king’s will. Our exile is dishonorable to the Persians, and that doesn’t commend a girl. The palace will avoid taking a Jew.
But my mind leaps forward to the moment the men will wander through our village. When their eyes rove over every girl, will they stop to rest on me? I know Cyrus will find a way to ransom me from that day. I have resolved to trust G-d in the matters of my heart, and so I pray for Cyrus’s father, for his heart to be turned back toward his people, and opened to his son’s love for this girl. I pray he keeps his promise to me, and soon.
But the selection day is drawing near. Each morning this week has found me still in my bed, my heart filled with a fear
as yellow and curdled as the eggs in the market. Although Mordecai has assured me that I will not be chosen, I have heard the rumors stealing through the village. If a girl is chosen, she will be taken away to the king’s palace, never to return again. The king has issued a decree that the chosen ones will spend a year preparing for one night with him; and after that, they will become his wives, and live in his palace for the remainder of their days … or the remainder of his reign, whichever ends first. The king surely gives deadly wedding gifts; for every girl knows she will die with the king. Many kings, and their nobles, do not die a natural cause.
Lord, you allowed my parents to be taken from me, and I have made my peace with that. Will you allow my new life with Cyrus to be stolen as well? You delivered me from dire and desperate grief and placed me here. I know it was Your hand that brought me here, that has given me shelter and comfort and healing. You would not now open the wound again, and abandon me to heartache once more! The meager hopes I have are enough to sustain me; I would not care for the palace if the palace was forced upon me.
Yet I know I am the only girl in our village who fears the selection so. The other girls see only the relief from toil in the desert sun, to be brought to a palace of luxury and indulgence, to be transformed from their humble lives into the existence of the royal ones. It is a dream too sweet to wake from, they say.
14
Nineteenth Day of the Month of Tevet
Seventh Year of the Reign of Xerxes
Year 3398 after Creation
I saw Cyrus in the market today, and I couldn’t help it. I waved him over to my booth. I knew his mother would not approve of such behavior, but I feel desperate for news, for assurances. Cyrus made the usual motions as if he was surveying my goods, but he whispered to me exactly what I needed to hear. His father has been making many plans, he says, and there is no need to worry.
“He tells me there will be a wonderful future for us both and we must trust him. All will be revealed at the right moment, he says.” Cyrus sounded confident.
I felt at ease once more. “The selection day is drawing so near, Cyrus,” I told him, as I wrapped a small dried steak and handed it to him. “But I will not be afraid if you tell me not to.”
Cyrus took the steak and looked at me with a seriousness that made me love him all over again. “Do not be afraid. I, Cyrus, pledge to you that we will not be separated by this pagan king seeking women for his harem. Nothing can take you from me. We will be together.”
And he left. I did feel better, for hours perhaps, but am afraid again now, as I write this, and can see candles burning late, as mothers prepare their daughters. My faith is such a strange thing—that it can stay strong at such moments, yet must be buoyed up again so frequently.
15
Nineteenth Day of the Month of Tevet
Seventh Year of the Reign of Xerxes
Year 3398 after Creation
I wish now I had recorded so much more of home. Yet I began this diary just before I turned sixteen, and I did not suspect my years there would be brief. I am only seventeen, but already the time of my youth has slipped through my fingers while I grasped this pen to record my petty thoughts. If only I had known what this day would bring.
This morning I heard the horses stomping through the village, their snorts as heavy and urgent as a trumpet call. I peeked out my window just in time to see a father step out of his home, presenting his daughter for inspection. The commissioner, the man appointed from Susa by the king to choose the women, surveyed her slowly. This was the look I knew from the market, when a buyer is not sure of either the goods or the price, and the seller must offer some enticement.
At her father’s command, the girl loosened her robe so the men could more clearly see her form. She never lifted her eyes from the sandy road as they ordered her into the caravan. She did not say good-bye. The commissioner nodded to a palace guard, who placed something in the father’s hand. He walked to his home, looking satisfied, feeling the weight in his palm. I understood now why our village embraced the selection day. They received a bride price without giving a dowry and were freed of one mouth to feed.
Now I heard Mordecai moving about quickly in the front room. He swept the money from the market across the table, giving our meager coins the appearance of many, and fetched his market ledger. He saw my look of fear and motioned for me to hide in the next room. I did. And then I heard the voice.
“Bring out your daughter.” It was a command.
“I have no daughter,” was Mordecai’s indifferent reply. I heard the coins clinking against each other.
What an odd time to count them, I thought.
“She is not his daughter, indeed, but a cousin!” This new voice was insistent and spiteful, and I knew it at once. It was Cyrus’s father.
So this was his plan! The father’s reply to our love was clever, and clear. Remove me from the village so Cyrus will choose the more suitable wife. A wife who will bring more than just her heart to the marriage bed.
The palace guard entreated Mordecai again: “Bring us your cousin, my friend. Have you not heard that the king desires a new queen?”
Mordecai’s voice remained unchanged. “This girl is not to the king’s liking.”
Cyrus’s father spoke in a rush of words. “She is the most beautiful girl in the village! My boy talks of nothing else! Her eyes are the color of the flowers that bloom at night along the city wall! Her hair is spun silk from the East! You must see her.”
“Out!” Mordecai spoke sharply now, ordering Cyrus’s father to leave. Then his voice grew low as he spoke alone to the guard. “Perhaps if I were to go into this next room to console my cousin on the misfortune of being rejected, you could find something here of worth to take to the king on our behalf. Or you could use it to sweeten your own journey.”
I understood now why Mordecai had chosen this moment to count our money from the market.
I heard no reply. The guard stepped into the room I was in and held out his hand. Seeing him in my bedroom, his armor and sword reflecting the breakfast sun, was a nightmare I could not shake myself from. I was led, past Mordecai, to the entrance of our home, where several men stood with scrolls. The commissioner, who was riding a horse, judged me from his perch. A knowing glance passed between him and the guard, then the men began to write.
I had been chosen.
Mordecai looked stricken as the guards pointed me to the caravan. He ran to embrace me, and as he covered my face with his tears, he gave me a warning: “Tell no one you are a Jew. The tides may soon turn for our people here, and I do not want you caught in the current.” Then he pushed two scrolls into my hands, which I hid in my robe.
The guards pried me loose and forced me into the caravan. My last glimpse was of Mordecai, weeping, in front of my home. He did not reach out for the money they offered. “Take it, Mordecai,” I called to him, “for we do not know what lies ahead.”
When Mordecai would not reach out his hand, the guards threw the money at his feet and turned toward another home. His eyes never left mine as I was led away. I was vaguely aware of the sounds of mothers weeping and fathers counting their coins as more and more girls were rounded up. The veil was brought down once more over the caravan, and I lost sight of Mordecai, and my home, forever.
Inside the caravan, a few girls talked merrily, their words as fast and free as the pleasures they described awaiting us. I did not believe much of what they said. Some girls simply stared ahead. Other girls, who had obviously gone unwillingly, were bound and thrown in the back of the group.
A very young girl, perhaps about eleven or twelve years old, was crying, cramped into a little corner of the caravan. I sought her out, putting my arms gently around her. She clung to me, crying out for her mother. I understood too well. Once I, too, had wept like this, separated forever from my own mo
ther when she died. There were no sheltering arms that day for me; it had been weeks before Mordecai heard of the disaster and came to find me.
I held this girl tightly, letting her tears wet my dress. I knew what it was to weep alone for a mother. “What is your name?” I whispered to her.
“Yoshtya,” was her reply, and my expression must have told her I had not heard the name before. She stopped her tears long enough to explain she was named after her people’s god, a great spirit who had saved the world by answering the ninety-nine questions a demon posed. This demon would have destroyed all if it were not for the wisdom of her namesake. I patted her hand and she rested her head against me. I could not help but resent her god. How easy to escape with ninety-nine questions. I saw many more ahead.[1]
[1] Read an excerpt from a speech by President George W. Bush to the United Nations in the appendix.
16
Twenty-second Day of the Month of Tevet
Seventh Year in the Reign of Xerxes
Year 3398 after Creation
We arrived at dusk at the gates of the king’s gardens and were joined by another caravan coming to Susa from Persepolis.[1] Our caravan made a slow curve toward a palace nestled around the towering eden. Smells of jasmine and nectars, unearthly, intoxicating, came through the veils in greeting. We had been transported to a new world, and a new restlessness swept through the girls.
The caravan creaked to a halt, and low voices were heard just outside. The veil covering of the caravan was pulled away.
What we saw left us all breathless.
This palace was more splendid than I had dared to imagine even of heaven. The moon illuminated the soft glow of gold everywhere—the couches lounging underneath lazy trees, the urns and statues of the Persian gods, the columns along the massive entrance. The ambition that burned in the girls’ eyes shone brighter. I could almost see a few of them trying on the queen’s crown in their minds.