Rashi's Daughters, Book II: Miriam (61 page)

“This has nothing to do with overturning the table. Which I do not particularly desire, not with you or with Aaron.”

Judah had no idea what he ultimately wanted to do with Aaron. His fantasies hadn’t progressed beyond the two of them finally being alone together, embracing without fear or shame. But his fantasies must remain that, nothing more.

“I don’t understand.” Miriam blinked back her tears. Here she was, barely able to keep down any food, terrified that her children would die of the pox like Shemayah’s younger daughter or Moses haCohen’s son, and now her husband was confessing his desire for his study partner
. What have I done to deserve this?

Judah couldn’t bear watching Miriam cry. His overwhelming need to confess compelled him to tell her all about Aaron, and about Elisha as well. He even shared his conversation with Guy de Dampierre. “You’ve got to help me. I don’t want to sin with Aaron, I just want to study with him.”

Miriam lay back in bed, stunned by his revelations. But this was no time for recriminations. After all, Judah hadn’t sinned and betrayed her—yet. And would he have confessed like this if he hadn’t been desperate? But what could she do?

The answer was obvious. “I will do my best to keep a close eye on you and Aaron, unless my sickness gets worse . . .”

When he heard Miriam’s sorrow give way to determination, Judah nearly cried with relief. “You are truly a woman of valor,” he quoted Proverbs. “I don’t deserve you.”

Miriam patted his hand. “You must be strong. Didn’t Guy say these infatuations usually last about a year?”

“
Oui
. It was just over a year with Elisha.”

“You were so miserable when he left at the end of the Hot Fair, but you were better at the Cold Fair.”

Judah blushed with shame as his wife reminded him of another painful secret. But that was part of his penance. “If only it were Yom Kippur already.”

Miriam sat up straight, a look of triumph on her face. “I have an idea. Do you think it was your separation from Elisha that helped you get over him?”

“Perhaps.” Judah’s throat tightened with anxiety.

“If our sons stay in Troyes, they’re sure to get the pox. But if they were far away, the pox might not be so strong there. And if you went with them, your feelings for Aaron could cool while you’re apart.”

“I suppose we could visit my mother for Passover.” Judah spoke without enthusiasm. “And come back for the Hot Fair.”

“Excellent.” Then she locked eyes with him. “Although it might be best if you also spent the summer in Paris.”

He knew Miriam was right. For instead of thinking of the danger to his sons, how happy Alvina would be to see him and her grandchildren, or how he’d worry about Miriam’s fragile health while he was gone, his heart had nearly broken knowing that he wouldn’t see Aaron again for six months. And if he didn’t return until the fall, Aaron might desert him for one of the Ganymede merchants at the Hot Fair, as Elisha had.

“I’ll leave the day after Purim,” he said, trying to hide his despair. “It’s a Thursday.”

The pain in Judah’s eyes tore at Miriam’s heart. All the more reason why, until the day after Purim, she would have to watch him and Aaron like a hawk.

“I think it’s best not to announce your plans for Paris until just before Purim,” she said. “We don’t want to alert the
mazikim
or to overexcite the children.”

 

Judah agonized over when to tell Aaron, who would rightly feel abandoned, and delayed until the day before Purim. That was the day the community observed Taanit Esther, the fast commemorating how the Jews of Persia abstained from food in solidarity with Queen Esther as she prepared to entreat the king to save her people. Aaron argued that Taanit Esther was not mournful, unlike other fasts in the Jewish calendar. But Judah agreed with Salomon that praying Selichot was necessary, just as Esther needed mercy from Heaven before risking her life by approaching the king without permission. At the same time, Judah felt as if he too were waiting to speak about a matter of life and death.

Waiting until they were walking home from morning services, Judah told Aaron that he would be taking the children to Paris for Passover and staying with his mother until the pox was gone from Troyes. Judah had prepared himself for shock, for anger, for tears even, but Aaron only smiled and continued their discussion by asking whether Taanit Esther was a rabbinic obligation or merely a custom.

That evening, after the Megillah was read, Aaron was more affectionate than ever and Judah allowed himself to reciprocate.
Who cares if anyone sees us? It’s Purim and I’m leaving in two days.
They spent most of the night dancing in the moonlight with the men, where the more Aaron drank the more provocatively he danced. Judah was careful never to be alone with him, except for a few moments at the top of the landing, when they shared a lengthy hug before heading to their separate rooms.

The next afternoon Judah drank just enough wine that he was too drunk to feel nervous about his upcoming performance, but not drunk enough to forget his lines. Miriam gave him a kiss for luck and then there was a drum roll, followed by the jongleur’s announcement that two of the yeshiva’s finest scholars would now debate an important matter.

Miriam sat down and took another sip of her ginger tisane. It was her third cup today, but she was determined to keep an eye on her husband, no matter how queasy the many different food odors made her feel. She joined the cheers and catcalls that greeted Aaron and Judah as they climbed unsteadily atop one of the tables. Despite the terrible epidemics that threatened Troyes, or perhaps because of them, the crowd seemed even more raucous than usual for Purim.

The two were wearing identical black leather
braises
and low-cut silk chemises, the latter nearly transparent and belted provocatively short. Those clothes had to belong to Aaron, who was smaller, because no tailor in Troyes would deliberately create clothes so tight. Miriam shook her head. Judah must be infatuated with Aaron, as well as inebriated, to agree to wear such a flamboyant outfit, although he certainly looked handsome in it.

Judah began by proclaiming that he intended to prove that the gambler trespasses every one of the Ten Commandments, after which his adversary would attempt to refute him. He waited until he had the attention of even the men playing dice in the back.

“Friends, the first two commandments warn against idolatry, yet when the gambler loses, he blames everything on his unlucky stars. As regards the third, ‘not taking the name of the Holy One in vain,’ it is evident that, at every discrepancy between players, gamblers will swear innumerable oaths.”

He’s actually good at this, Miriam thought in surprise, as the crowd burst out laughing.

“And how easily is the commandment to observe the Sabbath broken,” Judah continued, catching one man’s eye and then another. “Playing at dusk on Sabbath eve, the loser, hoping to win back what he has lost, and the winner, whose greed is not satisfied, suddenly find that the Sabbath has overtaken them.”

People pointed fingers at each other and roared with mirth.

“Honoring of father and mother is equally jeopardized. When parents chastise their son who is steeped in gambling, he gives them no ear and answers them harshly. Furthermore, when a man loses his money, hatred burns within him against the winner. He calls him a scoundrel, the other retorts, and each draws his sword, so that one of them is killed. Thus the sixth commandment is transgressed.”

Miriam smiled with pride as Judah wagged his finger at the men in the back. “The gambler mixes with immoral women, and it is clear that the prohibition against adultery will easily be broken. And when his vice leaves him destitute, he will brood on how he may steal secretly, to make up his losses.”

Judah shook his head in disapproval. “It may happen that he and his friend agree to share their gambling profits; a dispute arises and an arbitrator is called in. Then what becomes of the commandment against bearing false witness?”

The entire courtyard seemed entranced as Judah paused before his last statement. “It stands to reason that if a man is not particular regarding the law of stealing, he will certainly ignore the prohibition, ‘You shall not covet.’ ” Judah raised his fist. “Consider the evil of this wicked pastime—surely one who indulges in it cannot go unpunished!”

He bowed to the cheering audience and grinning broadly, embraced Aaron before sitting down next to Miriam. Immediately Aaron downed his wine, wiped his mouth, and saluted the crowd with the empty cup. A jug was passed up to him and he took a swig from it. Holding the vessel aloft, he began his rebuttal.

“Gentlefolk, I will be brief.” This drew several guffaws. He turned to Judah. “You, my pious friend, have employed many words to condemn this sport, but all you have said might concern every human pursuit. I know a man who deals in grain who, upon hearing news that wheat had depreciated in value, swore the most fearsome blasphemies.” Aaron put his hands over his ears and pretended to swoon in horror.

Though unsteady on his feet, he strutted back and forth on the bench, pointing to different men as he caught their eyes. “And where will you find the occasion for more profanity than among merchants, which they employ during the course of buying and selling?” Aaron emphasized the word “merchants” as if shocked at their behavior, causing several in the crowd to shout out their agreement.

“Regarding the violation of the Sabbath, this may apply to the tailor, silversmith, and every businessman who desires to increase his profits.” This time Aaron indicated some of the wealthier men in the crowd, while the rest chortled with glee.

“And there are many diversions that lead to dishonoring parents or to the commission of murder and adultery. It is the same with stealing, which any fellow in tight circumstances may justify.” Aaron turned out his empty purse, inspected his bare sleeves, and shook his head sadly.

“False swearing may occur in any form of partnership, and covetousness is known to reside naturally in the heart of man.” He jumped off the bench and with a greedy look, pulled Bonfils’ ermine-lined cloak off him and tried it on. When Bonfils snatched it back, the crowd erupted with laughter.

Aaron drained his cup and saluted the courtyard. “To sum up the matter: a righteous person will be as upright in commercial pursuits as in sport or anything else, while a sinful one will act just as wickedly in one matter as in the other.”

The audience burst out in applause, yelling and stamping their feet. Aaron helped Judah back onto the table and the two were showered with praise. While both men were clearly showing the wine’s effect, Miriam wasn’t sure if their exaggerated efforts to keep from falling off the table were real or playacting. One woman after another sought her out to say how clever, and how good-looking, Judah was and how nice it was to see him so outgoing for a change.

Miriam tired as afternoon turned into evening. Judah and Aaron had remained in plain view, and she wanted to put her boys to bed herself on their second to last night home. She accompanied them upstairs with the firm determination to come down immediately after the children fell asleep. But it was too tempting to lie down on the bed with them while she retold the Purim story, and she soon nodded off.

When the church bells finished chiming Compline and Miriam hadn’t reappeared, Aaron took Judah’s hand and pulled him away from the party. Together they stumbled until they were behind the house, out of view of the revelers in the courtyard. Judah’s
yetzer tov
was afraid, and his
yetzer hara
hopeful, that Aaron intended to kiss him, but instead Aaron threw his arms around Judah and said, “You are brilliant. I had nearly despaired of ever sharing our passion for each other, and now you’ve arranged for us to be together in Paris. The city is so huge that almost no one will know you, and nobody knows me there at all, so we’ll be free to do whatever we want even if we don’t wear black cloaks.”

Judah tried to focus on Aaron’s face, less than a handbreadth away from his own. Lust glittered in Aaron’s eyes and Judah felt his body responding. Aaron put his hands on Judah’s derriere and pulled him closer. Through the tight leather, they strained against each other.

Finally Judah’s
yetzer hara
vanquished his
yetzer tov
. “How will you find me in Paris? You must be discreet.”

“There’s an inn outside the Jewish Quarter called Jacques’ Watering Hole.” Aaron’s breathing was heavy. “Leave word for me there.”

Judah began to laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“All those taverns and inns for men who play the game; I just realized why they’re all called so-and-so’s cavern or cave or hole.” Judah continued to chuckle. “That’s how the Ganymedes find each other.”

“So you know about Ganymede and playing the game. And I thought you were so pious and innocent.”

“I am pious and innocent.” But Judah’s chuckles belied his words.

“Not for long.”

Judah’s heart was pounding and his body ached with desire. “How soon will you get to Paris?”

“I’ll pretend I’m going home for Passover. Then it depends on the merchants I travel with.” He looked longingly at Judah. “If some are going to Sepharad, I’ll have to go with them. It will look suspicious if I don’t.” He caressed Judah’s buttocks and sighed. “Probably we’ll have to wait until after the festival.”

“I’ve waited this long; I can wait a little longer.” Judah lingered in Aaron’s arms until they heard someone staggering in their direction. They quickly separated, Aaron heading for the privy and Judah returning to the dancers.

 

When Miriam woke up the next morning in her sons’ bed, she nearly knocked over the baby’s cradle in her hurry to see where Aaron had spent the night. She nearly cried with relief to see Judah alone in their marital bed, and then her nausea hit her with such force that she barely made it to the chamber pot in time. Judah slept on, oblivious, and Miriam quietly went downstairs. Aaron lay snoring on the salon floor, along with the other students who had drunk too much to navigate the ladder to the attic.