of gypsum, cracking them open for the yellow sulfur inside. The mud is black and stinks beyond words. Once we dared go farther, climbing for hours among the bluffs over the sea, and there entered a cave littered with shells and bones. In this cave we found three small figures made of lime plastered over reeds. They are all female and their femaleness is too evident for comment. Who made these things? No Jew would make such things. How old are they? We have wrapped them in cloth and hidden them with our other things up our private
nahal.
We think perhaps we might go farther still, strike out for Jericho, the Moon City that Moses saw from the top of Mount Nebo before he died, or for Egypt, for if we are boys, surely we can go where we please? When the time comes, Salome has concluded, and I have agreed, we shall gather up Tata and flee. In the meantime, we shall prepare ourselves for a life on the road. First, we will learn the fine art of spying. And second, we will learn
kishuf
from Addai; not spells and magical rites but tricks of the hand and eye. Such skills will keep us from going hungry as we travel.
We take ourselves to our hiding place amidst the date palms and carob trees. Eio and the barking hyraxes on guard, we hide in the dusty heart of the fat brown trunks so that Addai might show us how to divert the eye, how to say one thing and do another, how to delude the mind. In no time, we learn to pluck objects from the air. Make things disappear. Produce scented oil or blood from the palms of our hands. Cause mirrors to cloud and sticks to become snakes. I revel in this. I practice for hours. I even think I might have a gift for
kishuf,
and Addai agrees. Though I suspect Salome’s gift is the greater. I am sure Addai agrees with this as well. In any case, he tells us that the spirit in the mirror is more than the usual magician can do, and more than the usual magic.
We use our word stones. We talk as we have always talked, long and loudly. But we do not laugh as we used to, we are not indulged. We do not know where home is, or what will become of us. Still, I ask myself, is the life of a prophet to be preferred to the life of a wife and mother? Is the life of a poor male to be preferred to the life of a rich female? This is my answer: it is worth it. Though we are afraid and though we plan for the day we will run away, I have never known such freedom.
At supper this evening, one wild man has bitten off the ear of another wild man. Salome has leapt from her seat. Just as have I. Just as has every man here, some fierce in support of one wild man, some in support of the other, some in support of neither. Names are shouted out: “Athronges!” “Simon!” “Judas of Galilee!” “John the Baptizer!” And names are shouted down. There are cries of outrage and threat. The din in the dining hall brings more men running.
Yea Balaam!
I cannot believe I see this! I cannot believe its cause: the man who has lost an ear calls someone named Judah the Priest messiah; the man who has bitten it off calls someone named Zakkai the Hidden messiah. And now others name their messiahs. And all at the top of their voices and all at the ends of their fists.
Salome has darted forward the better to view this growing mayhem. I too would dart forward but am halted in my tracks. Seth has come from somewhere and grips my belt so that I get nowhere. Beside us, Addai, who was also not here a moment ago, pushes by in quick pursuit of Salome. He catches her just as she is climbing up on a bench between a man who calls down curses on one and all and another who shakes his fist. Salome too has her belt gripped and is pulled backward and away from the gathering melee. In moments, we are pushed from this place and out into the clear night air, as more and more men rush into the dining hall.
Though we moan to miss the madness, Addai chases us into our tent. He makes a small fire so that we might be warm and we might see. Seth
nahal.
We think perhaps we might go farther still, strike out for Jericho, the Moon City that Moses saw from the top of Mount Nebo before he died, or for Egypt, for if we are boys, surely we can go where we please? When the time comes, Salome has concluded, and I have agreed, we shall gather up Tata and flee. In the meantime, we shall prepare ourselves for a life on the road. First, we will learn the fine art of spying. And second, we will learn
kishuf
from Addai; not spells and magical rites but tricks of the hand and eye. Such skills will keep us from going hungry as we travel.
We take ourselves to our hiding place amidst the date palms and carob trees. Eio and the barking hyraxes on guard, we hide in the dusty heart of the fat brown trunks so that Addai might show us how to divert the eye, how to say one thing and do another, how to delude the mind. In no time, we learn to pluck objects from the air. Make things disappear. Produce scented oil or blood from the palms of our hands. Cause mirrors to cloud and sticks to become snakes. I revel in this. I practice for hours. I even think I might have a gift for
kishuf,
and Addai agrees. Though I suspect Salome’s gift is the greater. I am sure Addai agrees with this as well. In any case, he tells us that the spirit in the mirror is more than the usual magician can do, and more than the usual magic.
We use our word stones. We talk as we have always talked, long and loudly. But we do not laugh as we used to, we are not indulged. We do not know where home is, or what will become of us. Still, I ask myself, is the life of a prophet to be preferred to the life of a wife and mother? Is the life of a poor male to be preferred to the life of a rich female? This is my answer: it is worth it. Though we are afraid and though we plan for the day we will run away, I have never known such freedom.
At supper this evening, one wild man has bitten off the ear of another wild man. Salome has leapt from her seat. Just as have I. Just as has every man here, some fierce in support of one wild man, some in support of the other, some in support of neither. Names are shouted out: “Athronges!” “Simon!” “Judas of Galilee!” “John the Baptizer!” And names are shouted down. There are cries of outrage and threat. The din in the dining hall brings more men running.
Yea Balaam!
I cannot believe I see this! I cannot believe its cause: the man who has lost an ear calls someone named Judah the Priest messiah; the man who has bitten it off calls someone named Zakkai the Hidden messiah. And now others name their messiahs. And all at the top of their voices and all at the ends of their fists.
Salome has darted forward the better to view this growing mayhem. I too would dart forward but am halted in my tracks. Seth has come from somewhere and grips my belt so that I get nowhere. Beside us, Addai, who was also not here a moment ago, pushes by in quick pursuit of Salome. He catches her just as she is climbing up on a bench between a man who calls down curses on one and all and another who shakes his fist. Salome too has her belt gripped and is pulled backward and away from the gathering melee. In moments, we are pushed from this place and out into the clear night air, as more and more men rush into the dining hall.
Though we moan to miss the madness, Addai chases us into our tent. He makes a small fire so that we might be warm and we might see. Seth
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