The Book of Longings(89)

Since Lavi’s news seven days ago, I’d been unable to speak of John’s gruesome death or of my terror that his fate would become my husband’s. I couldn’t eat. I’d slept little, and when I did, I dreamed of dead messiahs and broken threads. Jesus on the hillside, sowing his revolution—that was a good thing, and I couldn’t help but feel pride in him. The purpose that had burned in him for so long was finally being realized, yet I was filled with a deep and immutable dread.

At first, Yaltha left me to my silence, believing I needed time alone, but now here she was, her head on my pillow.

“To avoid a fear emboldens it,” she said.

I said nothing.

“All shall be well, child.”

I reared up then. “Will it? You cannot know that! How can you know that?”

“Oh, Ana, Ana. When I tell you all shall be well, I don’t mean that life won’t bring you tragedy. Life will be life. I only mean you will be well in spite of it. All shall be well, no matter what.”

“If Antipas kills my husband as he did John, I cannot imagine I will be well.”

“If Antipas kills him, you’ll be devastated and grief-stricken, but there’s a place in you that is inviolate—it’s the surest part of you, a piece of Sophia herself. You’ll find your way there, when you need to. And you’ll know then what I speak of.”

I laid my head against her arm, sinewy and tough like herself. I couldn’t grasp what she was saying. I fell into a dreamless sleep, a black chute that had no bottom, and when I woke, my aunt was still there.



* * *



? ? ?

    AS WE TOOK OUR BREAKFAST the following morning, Yaltha said, “We must talk about this plan of yours to return to Galilee.” She dipped her bread into the honey and pushed it into her mouth, dribbling the nectar onto her chin, and I felt my appetite return. I tore a chunk from the wheat loaf.

She said, “You fear for Jesus’s safety—I fear for yours.”

A slate of brightness had formed beside us on the floor. I gazed at it, wishing some magic scribble of light would appear telling me what to do. Returning was dangerous, perhaps as much now as when I’d first fled, but my need to see Jesus had become urgent and insurmountable.

“If there’s a chance Jesus is in danger,” I said, “I want to see him before it’s too late.”

She leaned forward, her eyes softening. “If you return to him now, I’m afraid it would make Antipas more inclined to snatch Jesus as well.”

I hadn’t considered this. “You think my presence might endanger him further?”

She didn’t answer, but looked at me and lifted her brows. “Don’t you?”





viii.


I’d not shown up in the scriptorium all week, but I appeared that morning resolved to carry on for now in Alexandria. I slid onto the stool at my desk, which, I noticed, had been cleaned, the yellow wood gleaming, smelling of citrus oil.

“You’ve been missed,” Thaddeus commented from across the room.

I smiled at him and set to work copying a petition from a woman who asked for the tax on her grain stocks to be reduced, something about her crops failing to receive irrigation from the year’s flood—a most lackluster entreaty. I was glad, though, to give my mind something to contemplate besides my own worries, and as the morning passed, I became lost in the mindless, rhythmic movement of my hand as it formed letters and words.

Thaddeus stayed awake, perhaps a little animated by my return. Near noon, catching me glance at him over my shoulder, he said, “May I inquire, Ana—what was it that you and your aunt were searching for in the scrolls?”

I stared at him dumbly. Heat shot through me. “You knew?”

“I enjoyed my sleep, and I thank you for it, but I did wake now and then, if only barely.”

How much had he actually seen? It crossed my mind to tell him that Yaltha had been in need of tasks to fill her time and was assisting me with my work, nothing more, but the words reached the precipice of my tongue and stalled. I didn’t want to lie to him anymore.

I said, “I took the key that unlocks the cabinet. We read the scrolls inside it hoping to find some record of Yaltha’s daughter.”

He stroked his chin, and for an awful moment, I thought he might go straight to Haran. I jumped up, forcing myself to speak calmly. “I’m sorry for our deceit. I didn’t wish to involve you in what we were doing in case we were discovered. Please, if you could forgive me . . .”

“It’s all right, Ana. I have no grudge against you or your aunt.”

I felt myself unclench a little. “You won’t report this to Haran?”

“Goodness, no. He’s been no friend to me. He pays me little, then complains of my work, which I find so tedious I take naps to escape it. Your presence, though, has brought a certain . . . liveliness.” He smiled. “Now, what record were you seeking?”

“We sought anything that might tell us where her daughter could be. Haran gave her out for adoption.”

Neither Thaddeus nor any of the servants had been in Haran’s employ back then—Yaltha had been careful to inquire about this when we’d first arrived. I asked if he’d heard the rumors about my aunt.

He nodded. “It was said she poisoned her husband and Haran sent her to the Therapeutae in order to save her from arrest.”