Katya - part 2

To read Part 1 - Katya - Part 1

             The very next day, I left for another walk.  I made it seem like just a wandering walk to my aunt, because I didn’t want to be met with any ‘What did you buy?’ questions.  Even so, just to be on the safe side, I bought a small piece of cloth, at the first market stall I found.

            Then I carefully made my way down to where Jew had been selling his wares.  I approached cautiously; making sure no one was watching me.

            The Jew recognized me and turned pale, perhaps thinking I had come to turn him in.  I smiled reassuringly, “I bought some of your books yesterday,” I said in a voice that was much too loud.

            “Shh,” begged the Jew, the fear making him tremble, “not so loud. Please, come here.”

            I ducked down behind the stall, and crouched beneath it.  The Jew squatted down next to me,

            “What do you want?” He asked.

            “I bought your books yesterday,” I whispered, “But they are in Hebrew.  I cannot read Hebrew.”

            “I only sold those books because they were too dangerous to have in Rome, besides I really needed the extra money.  What would a Roman like you be wanting with Hebrew texts anyway?”

            “My mother was a Jew.  I am now orphaned, living with my uncle.  I wish to find the mother’s God.”

            The Jew was pleased and whispered back, “Very good, I can see that you have a good heart.  But there is nothing I can do.  It is much too dangerous.”

            “Please,” I begged, “I will make it worth your while.  My uncle is rich, and I have access to large amounts of gold.  I will pay you well.”             

            “Well….” I could see that he was relenting, so I jangled my money purse so that he could hear the proof of my words, before handing it over to him, full and heavy.  That decided him.

            “I can translate the books for you,” he said.  Then he paused and looked intensely into my eyes, “But you mustn’t give me away.  This is a secret that could cost me my life, and cost you yours as well.  You mustn’t allow anyone to know.   Don’t give me away, and I give you the scrolls you desire.”       

            “You have my word, sir.”       

            “Meet me here in a few weeks,” he said, "I’ll have them here.”

            “Thank you.”

            I ducked out of the stall, staying low until I was far enough away from the Jew, before straightening and disappearing into the crowd.

            ________________________________________________________

            My life, if slow before, never seemed more empty or drawn out as it did in that week while I waited for the Jew to get back to me  I couldn’t bear just to sit calmly in my room, but going out every day would also excite suspicions.  And I vowed I’d never give case to danger my Jewish friend. 

            And so to pass the time, I thought I’d write out a short history of me, especially what I can remember about my mother, the my Jewish heritage.

            I was born in Jerusalem.  My mother was Jewish and my father was partly Roman.  He was also partly something else, something I never found out, but my mother often referred to it when the disagreed, calling it his stubborn streak.  I lived with my parent happily until I was four.  Then they both fell sick and died one after another, within my passage of a few weeks.  My life then changed instantly. We weren’t rich, compared to my Uncle’s great wealth, nor were we poor.  We lived comfortably, happily on what we had.

            My uncle summoned me to his house when my parents died, duty beckoning him to take me in.  At first, the splendor and grandeur of his abode over awed me but now what I see, is simple normal and I take all the luxuries for granted.  I have never seen a poor house, where the occupants share one room with family, animals and who know what else. 

            I was educated in women’s crafts, but no-one knows my guardian also taught me the arts of writing and reading.  So I have a secret, and intend to keep it that way.  But now I have another secret that can endanger my life and others; namely the Jew.

            _____________________________________________________________

            It was quite a few weeks before I felt it was safe to venture out of the house again.  The Jew hadn’t given me any notice that the texts were ready, but as I thought about it, I realized that I hadn’t given him any form of contact, and besides, it would be far too dangerous.  I smiled at the thought of a Jew turning up at Uncle’s door, handing over forbidden scrolls, calmly stating they were for Katya.  Then my smile froze on my face, as once again, the danger of my plan hit me.

            Carefully, I threaded my way through the throngs of people, not daring to come too close to the Jewish man’s stall, for fear of endangering him an my cause.  As I edged closer, my heart sank to the very tips of my toes.  The dusty stall full of relics from far away was gone.  My Jew was gone.  Instead, a bright stall was set up, selling oranges and figs.  As I gazed in hurt dismay at the stall, the shop keeper lifted his head and looked straight at me.

            With a jolt, I recognized the Jew, selling oranges and figs as calmly as if he had been doing it all his life.  I casually joined the queue of people, waiting to be served.  When it was my turn, and before I could utter anything, the Jew made a quick negative gesture with his hands.

            “Surely you would like to buy this lovely bag of oranges,” he said, in a loud pompous tone which every trader at the market used.  I was about to protest that I didn’t need any fruit, and definitely not such a large bagful, but his eyes begged me to take it.  Puzzled, I agreed and bought it, forgetting to haggle and bargain down the price.

            The Jew rubbed his hands as if in satisfaction, “You won’t be sorry miss,” he said, “You will be pleasantly surprised with the sweetness inside.”

            Almost angry and feeling utterly betrayed, I grabbed the bag of oranges and marched back to where my litter was waiting for me.  I climbed up, curtly instructing my chair bearers to return home.

            As I sat in the lurching chair, a sudden thought hit me.  The Jew had said, “Sweetness inside,” and was it my imagination, or had put emphasis on the word inside?

            Excitement filled me as a realized the oranges could all be a ruse, and the scrolls were hidden in the large bag of fruit.  I longed to draw the curtains of my chair closed, and open the sack, but I resisted the temptation.  It would be far too dangerous.  Instead I urged my chair bearers to hurry up.

            I arrived home much quicker than I was expecting which gave me another reason to be glad that I hadn’t opened up my sack.  I made it up to my bedroom without being seen, and then quickly arrange my hiding spot. I was extra careful to make sure I was hidden from view from those peering in the window, and those at the door.  When at last I was satisfied, I dove in.  My toes had barely made it under the cover, when my bedroom door opened and my fat aunt poked her head in.

            “Katya,” her sharp voice rasped out, “Katya!”  I held my breath, hoping none of my cloak was showing from under the blankets.  But I didn’t dare move.   My aunt stood there for a moment longer, her eyes carefully searching the room.  Then she turned and left, probably to search elsewhere, the terrace, perhaps, or maybe the library. I slowly let my breath that.  That had been a close one.  I made sure she had truly left, and leapt out of my hiding spot, ran to the door, locked it, and was back under my tent in a whirlwind. 

            Hardly pausing to catch my breath, I opened the sack of oranges.  I tipped them out onto the rugged floor.  They hardly made a sound, but to me, who was intensely alert, they might have been explosions of fireworks.  I was surprised no one came running. 

            Sure enough, there were parchments wrapped up in a skin cloth.  I grabbed at one and opened it swiftly.  Two scrolls were revealed.  As I opened it, I a small sheet of parchment fell out.  I picked it up and read:

            Dear Katya,

This letter is merely to tell you the oranges were a disguise for both you and me.  Besides, I make better money selling fruit.  The scrolls are all there, not the originals, but the translations.  Hopefully you can make sense out of them.  But please, don’t seek my company again, no matter what your problems – it would only endanger the two of us. Also, please destroy this note after reading it. 

                                                                                                            Shalom. 

            I read the note which was written in a queer tight hand, like one who was deliberately trying to disguise his handwriting.  Of course it was important to destroy the note, I thought.  It would be far more dangerous to have this note in my presence than the books themselves.  Suspicion would fall on everyone in the household, if discovered, but the note would lead all inquiry straight to me.

            But I didn’t want to crawl out and risk not being able to get back.  So I tucked the note into my sash and opened the first scroll.  It was a song, or rather many songs.  This scroll was thick and I knew not how many there were.  The word had a lilting sound, and I could almost hear theme being chanted on a market square.  I especially like the songs that started with a despairing note and then grew brighter.  It made me hope that there was a brighter life beyond me than the one that I led now.

            ________________________________________________________

            Over the next few days, I eagerly read all the pamphlets and scrolls which the Jew had copied out for me.  I was intrigued by some, comforted by them, and extremely puzzled by the rest.  Who was the Promised One?  At first, I thought it was the Roman Empire. Come to define peace and keep protection over the vast world.  But that theory didn’t always live up with everything I read.  Like, “He was wounded for our transgressions, he bruised for our iniquities.”  It didn’t make sense that anyone would suffer for anyone of those Jews.  But I was still curious.

            I wished greatly that I could talk to the Jew again. Now that I had some knowledge, I had many questions.  But he had asked me never to return, and I had to honor his request.

            Another scroll called the Torah, also greatly interested me.  It was a simple account of the world, and then the history of the Jews themselves, and then ended with a heap of instructions about this or that.  Some of the rules seemed to make sense to me, ones about rest days and cleanliness.  Others, however, like the lists about clean and unclean animals just didn't seem to make any sense.  Why forbid the use of certain animals?  Questions swirled in my head, and I wished I could have someone to tell me the answers.  But I didn't, and so just had to keep reading, hoping all would be revealed later on.   
          What I loved best about the scrolls, especially the ones with the songs, was that no matter how many I times read them, something new always came to light.  It was almost as if they were magical, revealing only one truth at a time.  

                                                                                                     ...to be continued....