Damascus Page 7

  The shaving and the scraping of the hides, the work that exhausted me and granted me sleep, this work saved me. And the stories I heard at the Jewish meeting house, they also saved me. Though Theodorus had initially been suspicious of my attendance there, Philos’s birth confirmed the benevolence of their deity. Without these visits I would not have endured, I would have thrown myself into the sea. There I learned about the only god who was enraged by the abduction and sacrifice of my firstborn. It was this knowledge that saved me.

  Not long after Leon was born, there came a time of plenty. The city prospered, our work increased and we too grew wealthier. My husband purchased another slave, Rectitude, for our household, and two more men for the tannery. Demand was so great that he hired more labourers. I saw them as I worked at shaving the skins. In the distance I could see our new labourers and slaves at their toil. I saw them yet I did not pay them any attention.

  My teacher, my guide to the Lord and to His son, my Paul: you were there and I did not know.

  ‘Two of the men I hired are Jews, Lydia. They were vouched for by Daniel. Are you pleased?’

  I was crouched in front of my husband, washing his feet. He had grown stout. He now indulged himself completely.

  I said nothing. I washed his feet, his calves, his thighs.

  ‘You must have noticed the old ugly one.’

  I had noticed him. A beaten and bent-over body. The gods hadn’t been kind to him from birth, but time and the world had been crueller.

  ‘Is he blind?’

  My husband shook his head. ‘He has only one good eye. But he’s a hard worker. Daniel was right about that. But by the gods he is ugly.’

  His fingers stroked my braided hair.

  ‘But the boy with him,’ my husband sighed, ‘he is as beautiful as Apollo.’

  With those words his grip on my hair tightened and one hand reached for my breasts.

  ‘Husband,’ I said warily, ‘I have my monthly blood.’

  He jolted back then as if I had struck him, then kicked me hard. I sprawled across the floor.

  His voice was a snarl. ‘How dare you touch me then.’

  I smiled as he sullenly ordered me to my bedchamber. I could hear him calling out for Rectitude. Let her have him, let her give him bastard sons.

  I was standing on the edge of the world, looking out to the churning sea. The water was grey and black. Winter had come.

  ‘The sea is calming, isn’t it, my lady? Even in its most savage aspect it cannot help but soothe.’

  Behind me Salonikos released an incensed gasp at his temerity in addressing me.

  Our labourer, the half-blind easterner, was also looking out to sea.

  Insulted, I did not deign to speak.

  ‘Our Lord’s Creation,’ he continued. ‘All one has to do is look into it and thereby come to know His truth and His power and His grace.’

  I knew that he had turned to face me. A further outrage.

  ‘You know this. You have found peace that way.’

  My slave stirred, as if preparing to strike him on my behalf.

  I lifted my hand and Salonikos drew back.

  My eyes were locked on the sea, my palm out to indicate my disdain for the man’s impudence. ‘I will have my husband whip you for your insolence. If I could I would lash you myself.’

  He inclined his head slightly. ‘Forgive me, my lady. I saw you at our meeting house and thought you were a believer in the Lord, in the one God. I apologise a thousand times for my disrespect.’

  I had noticed him there as well, and realised he was the old man my husband had hired on Daniel’s advice. I had also observed that he and his younger companion often argued with their fellow Jews. The nature of their disagreements remained unknown to me as they occurred behind the screen. Only the previous Sabbath, this one-eyed fool had interrupted a young boy reciting his people’s odes and started haranguing us with absurd stories. Something loathsome about a slave or a criminal nailed to a cross. The man’s voice was high-pitched and grating—I had hardly listened. And not long after, a group of men had pushed back the goat hides and demanded that he stop his raving. Daniel had been amongst them. He might have vouched for the quality of the man’s work, but Daniel’s anger that day revealed his hatred and suspicion of the man’s stupid stories.

  I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the sea. If he had any sense of decency he would take his leave.

  He didn’t, he stayed there right beside me.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I thought you were a friend.’

  ‘Shame on you, shame on you,’ Psyche hissed.

  The spray off the water was cooling. Was that why my fury abated so suddenly? Was that why I turned to him?

  ‘I am not a Jew.’

  ‘Do you believe in the one Lord, the Creator of all?’

  He had a squeak of a voice, a careful command of Greek, but an accent that marked him as foreign.

  The waves rose then withdrew.

  ‘I do believe.’

  ‘There is a world coming, Lydia, a kingdom of the Lord where there will be no cruelty, no injustice. That world is coming soon.’

  And in that instant his voice no longer seemed thin and effete but strong and stirring. I understood that an offering had been made, one so strange and unexpected, one so astonishing and world-shattering, that I was afraid to move, to breathe, to utter a word. No man had ever before spoken to me so directly: not my father, my brothers or my husband. It was if the veil separating men and women had been torn away; as if we were man and man and not man and woman. His familiarity, his use of my name, his disregard for the boundaries of caste and honour, all of that should have made me turn away from him, should have brought a thousand curses to my lips. But I was transfixed. When I had first come to this seawall, when I had first stood there and looked out to the water, I had known that I could have leaped from a world I despised into an oblivion I wanted but did not have the courage to submit to. That moment of life or death had returned. Such was the momentous offering being made to me.

  ‘How do I enter that kingdom, sir?’ I asked, shaking.

  He took a step and was beside me. ‘Courage, sister; you will need courage.’

  I was looking straight into his one good eye. He dared to look at me and I dared to look at him. And in that eye, I saw light, kindness, understanding.

  ‘Sir,’ I answered, ‘I am ready.’

  He had been watching me. He had seen that my shoulders were bowed, that I was without joy. He’d seen my suffering and distress.

  He spoke gently. ‘You know that the Lord is just, Lydia. Let me show you that He is also loving. Will you allow me to bring you to His love?’

  Behind us, outraged gasps from the slaves.

  ‘Shut your mouth,’ I snapped at Psyche.

  And then another obscenity, a further shattering of the world and its laws. He turned to her, a slave, as though she was his equal. ‘The Lord created you as well, sister, and He loves you too.’

  Psyche made no answer. She had turned away to face the sea. But I sensed her distress. Her hands, folded together and clasped against her belly, were trembling. From the shame and the rage. Was he touched, was he mad? Since friendship between a slave and a freeman was impossible, she thought he was mocking her.

  He turned back to me, suddenly seeming weary. ‘You must tell your husband about our conversation. He has to know we’ve spoken. If he wants to punish me, then so be it. But you must speak to him and ask his permission. If he grants it, we can meet on the next Sabbath, and I will lead you to the Lord of justice and love.’

  For a staggering moment I thought he was going to touch me. ‘Can you do that?’

  I was stone. With great effort, I forced a word from my mouth. ‘Yes.’

  I watched him walk back along the bulwark, back to the world. And still I could not move.

  ‘Are you alright, my lady?’

  I did not answer my slave, I did not hear her as she spat curses and insults about the Jew
. I was struck senseless by an astonishment as great as any I had experienced in my life. When I thought he was leaning in to me, when I believed our very skin would touch, when I was sure that he was to enact the greatest of dishonours, I was not afraid.

  My husband had grown soft and fat. He indulged my wishes.

  The Sabbath arrived. I decided I would take only Psyche with me; Salonikos was headstrong and unable to hide his contempt for the Jews.

  The old man and his young friend were waiting on the stone wall.

  That morning, I was so keen to get to the meeting house, I hardly glanced at the sea.

  ‘Shall we go?’

  He turned, bowed, and said in that weak stuttering voice, ‘I am Paul and this is my brother, my friend in the Saviour, my most beloved Timothy.’

  ‘Are you only known by your Greek name?’

  He smiled at this. ‘In my tongue I am called Saul.’

  Sa-aul. Something ancient and indeed god-fearing trembled through such a name. I tried it on my lips, silently recited it. Sa-aul.

  ‘And I, my Lady, I am born Greek. I have no other name but Timothy.’

  As he spoke I felt a stirring of something long gone, from when my mother would tend to Penelope and ignore me. I recognised it as jealousy. I wanted to be instructed by Paul alone. This youth was comely, polite and respectful, but why did he have to be here?

  I ignored him, turned to the old man. ‘Shall we go?’

  We walked alongside the seawall, passing the fishermen and the cats waiting for the catch, turned towards the port, and began our walk up the hill. To my surprise we didn’t turn into the narrow street that led to the Judeans’ meeting house but instead continued up the rise. The higher we climbed the less huts we saw. We passed a tiny field, overgrown with weeds, bordered by rough ditches overflowing with animal and human shit and rotting food. The stink was such that I covered my face with my shawl.

  The old man turned. ‘I apologise, Lydia, it’s not far now.’

  Again, I felt divided within myself. Curious to continue. Mortified by his familiar use of my name.

  We came to three makeshift cottages. The walls had only recently been rendered and their roofs consisted of bound sheaves of the lowest-grade rye grass. The occupants were so poor there were no gates or fences. Their animals—a few sickly-looking dogs and skeletal sheep and goats—roamed freely across the hillside.

  We stopped in front of one of the cottages, and the old man bowed and gestured for me to enter.

  Even though she remained behind me I could sense Psyche’s disdain. So these were the followers of the Judean god? She would be scornful at the paucity and weakness of such a deity.

  I pushed aside the hide over the door and entered.

  There were five of them, three of them women, and of them one a slave with shaven head. There was also a slave youth and an older man, dark-skinned but with a thick tawny beard. I was shocked anew to see that the freeman had his hand on the boy’s shoulder, a gesture that I immediately perceived as being gentle and paternal, as though they were father and son, not man and slave.

  The eldest of the women bowed. ‘Welcome, sister,’ she said. ‘Welcome to our home.’

  I could not contain my anger. ‘I am not your sister!’

  The woman recoiled. I was glad she could see my fury.

  Paul was beside me. ‘We are all believers here, Lydia. We are all brethren together.’

  I sniffed, looked over my shoulder. Psyche had not dared enter unbidden.

  And then the man spoke. ‘Child,’ he called out, ‘you may enter.’

  Psyche drew the curtain. Shyly she came inside, keeping her back to the wall. She gazed around in mistrust.

  The first woman smiled at me. ‘He is returning.’ Her gaze was direct, as though she expected me to reply.

  Paul stepped forward. ‘Lydia is vouched to the Lord,’ he said, ‘but she doesn’t yet know the Saviour.’

  The other man lifted his hand from the slave’s shoulder and turned to me. ‘The Anointed One is returning.’

  Were they talking about a high priest? Or a king?

  Paul shook his head, as if warning the other man. ‘The Saviour,’ Paul almost growled. ‘The Saviour is returning.’ He turned to me.

  I realised that if Paul looked directly at you as he spoke, the blank orb of his damaged eye, the ridiculous pitch of his voice, his stutter, all were forgotten. Returning his unwavering gaze, I understood his power. Looking into that eye was like staring into the sea.

  I glanced around the pitiful dwelling. There was a table, a blackened hearth; a narrow alcove that served as a bedchamber. Two openings in the roof, one above the hearth and one opposite, were the only source of illumination. It struck me that there were no deities to be seen. No altars. No clay Mother. No wooden phallus. Nothing of the gods. I thought how this absence must be filling Psyche with terror. But for the first time since entering this pauper’s hut, I felt calm.

  ‘Are you all Jews?’ My voice was hoarse.

  The young slave girl spoke for the first time. ‘My lady,’ she said timidly, ‘we are like you. We fear and worship the god of Israel but we are …’ She hesitated over a word and then blurted, ‘But we are Strangers.’

  My excursions to the Jewish meeting house had taught me what she meant. That Israel was the kingdom that the Judean god had bequeathed to His people. That everyone else who was not of that kingdom were Strangers.

  Paul beckoned to the slave girl. ‘Daphne, daughter, will you take Psyche with you to collect some water?’ He pointed to some cheap stone jars against the hearth. ‘I fear we are nearly empty.’

  My slave was reluctant to leave me but I commanded her to.

  Once they were gone Paul brought me a stool and sat himself, facing me again.

  ‘Lydia,’ he said firmly, ‘all that are in this room with you are of Israel. They have become so through their faith in the Son of the Lord. His name is Jesus the Saviour. Have you heard of him?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Do you believe as we do that there is only one God, the Lord of Israel? Do you believe that He created all that is visible and all that is invisible? Do you renounce your belief in all other gods?’

  I knew now why he had banished Psyche. This was a wickedness beyond all wickedness: to insult the gods by denying them. But even though I was shocked by such sacrilege, I was aware of a delicious warmth filling me. I didn’t know what Paul meant by that word, belief. The gods were as real as demons and nymphs, as attested to as ghosts and shades. But I had no trust in them. They had stolen my daughter.

  ‘I don’t believe in any god but the god of the Jews,’ I answered.

  He was beaming with the satisfaction of a father witnessing a child rising and taking his first steps.

  ‘There was a veil across the world, Lydia,’ he went on, ‘a veil that kept us from the light of the Lord. All of us fell into evil and a great darkness. My people, the most beloved of the Lord, they too have fallen into the shadows. They sin and they are greedy and cruel. I have travelled from the east to the west, from Syria to Greece, and all I have witnessed is that darkness. Rome too, great Rome, is the most wicked and the most blind to the light.’

  At this, I could not help but gasp. My hand leaped to my chest and I beat it repeatedly to ward off the evil his words had conjured. If Psyche had heard him, if she had seen that I did not protest, did not rise and flee on hearing those traitorous words, I would be dead. One word to my husband and I would be dead.

  Paul grabbed my arm. ‘There is no need for that. Those silly rituals won’t save you.’

  His eye was as mesmerising as that of a serpent. I was numb; unable to protest the obscenity of his touching me.

  ‘A momentous event took place, Lydia, when you were a child and I was still a young man. An event of such magnitude that it tore apart the earth.’

  He was trembling; he let go of my arm. ‘How did we not feel it? How did we not realise that the very ground beneath our feet w
as splitting open?’

  His voice firmed, and he continued, ‘The Lord had fulfilled an ancient promise. A man came out of Judea, the man we call Jesus. He was not of high caste, nor was he wealthy. But he was the one sent by the Lord to be the light for the whole world. To be the Messiah, in my tongue, and in yours, Saviour.’

  He scratched his beard. ‘A saviour,’ he repeated, as if nourished by the word. ‘The Saviour.’

  I felt light-headed. All these words were meaningless. Was this Saviour a god?

  ‘She doesn’t understand,’ the red-bearded man barked.

  Paul held up his hand. ‘She will.’

  I found my voice. ‘What is it that I have to understand?’

  ‘That the Lord is done with His Creation. The coming of the Saviour brings a new kingdom where sin is defeated. And where death, that comes from sin, is also defeated.’

  The eldest of the women stepped forward. I was still looking at Paul and at first I didn’t fully take in her words. She realised this and repeated them. ‘Sister,’ she said, ‘that coming kingdom—we will all live to see it, and there we will be reunited with our departed sons and our daughters.’

  She uttered the only thing that I had desired since my daughter was taken from me, the only thing that had meaning for me: to hold her in my arms and undo my betrayal of her.

  ‘Where is this kingdom?’ I demanded. ‘Is it Hades?’

  Paul laughed. ‘No, Lydia, it is not our world of shadows. It is a new Creation that is as real as the world we live in now. But it will last forever and means that we will finally be able to walk again with the Lord in His garden.’

  I forced my gaze from his to address the woman. ‘Are all our children there? Is everyone who has died to be found there?’