The Book of Longings(113)

I admired the scheme that had just come into being and feared in equal measure that it would fail.

Diodora said, “What will we do with poor Theano during all of this?”

“That will be easy. We’ll keep him concealed in his house until Ana is gone,” Skepsis said. “Then we three, along with Gaius, our carpenter, will give him a proper burial without Lucian’s knowledge.”

It sounded anything but easy.

“And Gaius is trustworthy?” Yaltha asked.

“Gaius? Most certainly. When I leave here, I’ll ask him to begin work this very night on a second coffin and to create two small holes in one of them for breathing.”

That detail sent a shudder through me. I imagined the tight, airless space and wondered for the first time if I could go through with this.

“The community has been notified to gather at the first hour tomorrow to say the prayers for the dead for Theano,” Skepsis said. “You should be among us, Ana.”

“When will she be placed in the coffin?” Diodora asked. Her eyes were wide and worried, and I thought she was feeling the tight, airless space, too.

“After the prayers, Ana, you slip away to the woodworking shop, where Gaius will lightly nail you inside the coffin. Four short nails, no more. I’ll instruct him to place an awl in the wagon for Pamphile, but also one inside the coffin so you may pry the lid yourself. Then he and his helper will load you onto the wagon. Meanwhile, I will keep Lucian occupied.”

Yaltha held out her knotty hands to me and I took them. “I’ll go with Ana to the woodworking shop to make certain everything is done as prescribed,” she said.

“I’ll go, too,” Diodora said. “We want no danger to come to you, sister.”

A noise came from within the house. Then footsteps. Pamphile called, “Yaltha? Ana?”

“I tell you,” I said, “the greatest danger to me is Pamphile refusing to open the lid!”

Yaltha laughed. She was the only one to understand my uneasy jest.





xxviii.


At first, Pamphile seemed agreeable to our well-laid plan, but when I told her Lavi must travel with me to Judea, she rolled out her lower lip and folded her arms over her chest. “Then I will not do it.”

Behind me, I heard Yaltha, Skepsis, and Diodora sigh with one accord. For the past half hour, the three of them had been like a small Greek chorus, offering refrains and harmonious sighs while I tried my best to convince Pamphile to join our subterfuge. We were crowded into the holy room, which had grown thick with the smell of palm oil from the lamps. Yaltha had left the door open to the courtyard, but the little room was stifling. A trickle of sweat darted between my breasts.

“Please, Pamphile,” I pleaded. “My husband’s life may depend upon your answer. I must get to Jerusalem and stop my brother.”

“Yes, so you said.”

She enjoys this, I thought, this power she holds. “It’s too dangerous for me to travel alone,” I said, feeling the words like stones in my mouth. “Without Lavi I won’t be able to go!”

“Then you must find someone else,” she said.

“There is no one else.”

“This needs to be settled quickly,” Skepsis interjected. “If you are leaving here by coffin, I must alert Gaius right away. And Pamphile must come with me and stay at my house for the night. Otherwise, some will wonder why a servant from Theano’s family would lodge with you.”

Yes, please, take her.

I tried again. “If you’re worried Lavi may not return to Alexandria, I assure you I have enough money to purchase his passage back. I’ll show you, if you like.”

“I don’t care to see your money. I trust that you would send him back.”

“Then what is it?” Diodora asked.

Pamphile’s eyes shrank. “I have already lived apart from my husband for five months because of you. I don’t intend to do so any longer.”

I did not know how to get through to her. She was lonely for her husband. How could I blame her? I glanced helplessly at Yaltha, who stepped past me, closer to Pamphile, in order to make some last effort. I remember thinking: We’ve come to the split in the river. I felt, whether or not it was true, that my life would be decided now. It would rush one way or go the other.

Yaltha spoke with uncommon gentleness. “Did you know that Ana has been apart from her own husband for two years?”

I saw it then—a softening in Pamphile’s face.

“I’m sorry for the months you were separated from Lavi,” I told her. “I know the pain of it. I know what it’s like to lie in bed and ache for your husband, to wake up and feel his absence.” Even as I said these things, I felt Jesus moving around the edges of my vision like a lost dream.

She said, “If Lavi left, how long would he be gone?”

A smidgen of hope. “Three weeks, perhaps. No more.”

“And what will become of his position at the library? Will they receive him back?”

“I correspond with a scholar there,” said Skepsis. She was thumping her finger impatiently on the table. “I’ll make certain your husband is given leave.”

Pamphile dropped her arms to her sides. “Let it be as you wish,” she said.



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