The Fortune Teller(26)
Her hair was a dazzling golden-white and the long tresses had been teased into a cascade of curls and braids and laced with flowers and jewels. I had never seen such an intricate hairstyle. She circled around me like a dancing muse.
“A girl! You brought a girl!” Aella squealed and hugged us both. I wasn’t sure how to respond, suddenly feeling like a new pet.
I assumed Aella must have married Illias very young, for she looked at least twenty years his junior. But soon I found out that was not the case. Aella had an obsession with beauty regimens and retained her glowing youthfulness by applying unusual concoctions and elixirs, which had their origins in distant places: some came from Egypt, others from Rome and China. She had a special cosmetae, a servant whose only job was to attend to her hair, makeup, and perfumes, and she devoted her entire morning to bathing and dressing. She loved to soak in milk with rose petals because she had heard Cleopatra did the same. When I told her I knew the queen, she adopted me as a fourth daughter then and there.
“You poor little dove. To survive the perils of the fire and the journey at sea alone.” She forced me to recline on a chaise and hastened a servant to bring me a hot cup of kaynar, a sweet cinnamon drink sprinkled with crushed walnuts. I sipped the delicious brew and felt its warmth spread throughout my body. Sitting there, I couldn’t help thinking that my mother had guided my dream last night to help me find them.
*
By the week’s end, Aella had pulled girlish secrets from my heart as only a woman could. I confessed that Ariston had proposed, but I had rejected him because of my family. She hung on to every word as she clutched a facial cloth in her hand.
“We will find this Ariston Betesh. Do not worry, my dove.”
In the days that followed, Aella and her cosmetae subjected me to countless ministrations, while assuring me that a servant was searching for Ariston.
Lemon and vinegar treatments soon brightened my hair to copper gold. For my facial treatments, the cosmetae frequently referred to an enormous scroll, a manual written by an influential woman in Antioch detailing the most powerful mixtures to halt wrinkles, sunspots, and other unfortunate blemishes. The facial masks she applied smelled like rotting onions and often consisted of things like ground horns, marrow, eggs, and animal urine. Poor Illias would walk around the house muttering, “The smell, the smell!” I vowed that when I left Aella’s care I would never put another foul-smelling paste on my body again.
After finishing my beauty treatments, I usually pleaded exhaustion and escaped to my room. I would take out Ariston’s translation of the scroll and cast the Oracle’s symbols. What I kept seeing in their patterns made my heart grow lighter. I would find Ariston before the next moon.
*
The house servant returned two days later with news that Ariston had been found. Aella jumped from her chaise with a singsong squeal, and the cosmetae went scurrying off to prepare one of her robes. They chose a Grecian-style gown for me with ornamental clasps made from mother-of-pearl, and the gold border along the fabric’s edges glittered when I moved. Aella informed Illias that he would have to forfeit his trip to the library that day because I needed his carriage. He mumbled under his breath but did not refuse us. Aella and her cosmetae stood by the gate to see me off.
“Do not worry, my dove. He’ll say yes!” Aella exclaimed as she waved her facial cloth in the air.
She was not speaking of a marriage proposal but of the dinner invitation I was to extend. To dine at the house of an Antioch librarian was a great honor, and Aella instructed me to have Ariston and his family come at the week’s end.
The carriage traveled north through the market, past the palace where Seleucid kings once ruled, before Antioch was annexed by Rome. I marveled at its seven high doors of iron-plated gold and the enormous columns of mottled red-and-white marble. The basilicas and Hall of Records towered with equal grandeur nearby. I thought Antioch might just be the most beautiful city in the world.
Ariston lived near the oldest quarter of Antioch, and his family’s home also served as a clinic and medical school. A stone wall sequestered the enormous grounds and decorative gates opened to the courtyard. The property must have been in the family for generations.
When I entered the courtyard, a young student hurried to greet me. He acted as if I were a dignitary. He assumed I was there to see Ariston’s father, no doubt because of Aella’s dress and the eccentric carriage. I blushed and tried to keep hold of my courage.
“No, his son, Ariston. Could you please tell him he has a visitor?”
The young man assessed me with keen eyes. I turned away to admire the fountain, beginning to feel like I looked as foolish as the donkey.
The boy left but soon returned with disappointing news. “I’m afraid Ariston isn’t here. Do you wish to leave a message?”
My face fell. What could I say? I was there to accept a marriage proposal he was sure to have forgotten? Tears filled my eyes and I shook my head.
I berated myself as I rode away. Why hadn’t I left my name along with Aella’s invitation to dine? Now Ariston would never know I was in Antioch unless I borrowed Illias’ carriage and called again.
I was debating whether to turn around and go back when I saw a band of young men walking toward us. They were laughing and in the midst of a debate.
My breath caught when I spotted Ariston. How much he had changed in the year we had been apart. He still had that same mane of hair, but he seemed stronger, more virile, as if he had fully become a man.