Katya - part 3

 To read  Katya: Part 1

                          Part 2

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Disaster! I cannot believe what my uncle just told me.  I don’t want to, is there a way out? Anywhere?

            I was reading in my room, not my Torah, so I was on a lounge, when a message came from Uncle, summoning me to go down to him directly.  I was puzzled, never having been summoned by him before.  Immediately, I thought he had worked out my secret, although I didn’t know how he could have, I had been so careful.  Not even my slaves who knew I read and wrote knew about the Torah.  Nervously, I called a slave to touch up my hair and put on a fresh robe.

            Fifteen minutes later, I glided downstairs, ready to face anything my uncle threw at me.  I practiced glib lies in my head, denying any charge of having forbidden scrolls in my room.  When I reached the double doors that led into his private study, I felt I was ready to meet any accusation he threw.  Or so I thought.

            He was sitting on the couch, or rather, recline along it.  He gestured to a similar couch, where I perched nervously on the edge, ready to flee.  My uncle looked at me for several minutes before saying,

            “Katya, you are now fourteen.  Most girls have already married by your age.  You can’t expect me and your aunt to support you all your days.  Hence, we have arranged a marriage between you and Marx.  It is a good match, and you’ll have everything you ever need.  I’ll summon you again within a week, once I’ve got the details set out.  Marx will be here then, and I can settle the marriage as soon as possible.”  There he ended, waving his hand at me, dismissing me from his presence. 

            I was trying to be calm, by the utter dread and terror filled my heart, and I couldn’t help exclaiming, “Sir! Please reconsider.  Mu life would not be worth living if I was wedded to that…that…pig!”

            “Don’t insult Marx in that fashion,” My uncle ignored my other pleas, neither angered nor moved by my speech, “You’ll get used to each other after a while.  Besides, he is rich, and can easily supply you with everything you will ever need.”

            “But I don’t want to simply marry to be rich.  And I will not marry Marx!”  I stomped my foot.  I was not satisfied to leave it at that, with my Uncle as yet unmoved, but just then there was the sound of visitors in the foyer.  My uncle rose, and left, presumably to greet them.  I knew instinctively that the interview was over, and that the guests would presumably come in here with uncle.  I had no desire to be seen.  I turned and fled up the stairs into my own room.       

            I locked the door, flung myself onto my bed, and cried uncontrollably. It was so horrible, I thought, enacting the moment in my head when I’d be standing beside my husband.  His fat, greasy little face looked out of their folds of fat to peer at me.  My stomach churned.

            And I realized I just couldn’t it.  And I made up my mind here and then that I’d run away.

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            Now my days are full of planning, secret planning.  I have to make sure my attempt at escaping doesn’t fail, because I’ll only have one chance.  So I cannot hurry the process of planning. 

            And yet, Uncle said he’d be in contact with Marx soon and even indicated the wedding would be in a week’s time.  I‘d have to be ready to go before then.  Ready I will be, but I have to leave before he shows up, going while he is arriving would never work.

            I pretended to be sulky, locking myself up in my room, either seeing any one or ever opening up.  My aunt and uncle wisely agreed to ignore me for a few days, reasoning I’d get over it in time.  Thus uninterrupted, I got on with making my plans.  I planned on leaving in the third day, at night, but early enough to be out of the city before the curfew closed the main gates.  If I was trapped, I would be all too easy to find.

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            The great night came only a few days after my meeting with my Uncle.  I packed a small bag with a change of clothes, and another, smaller still, which I filled with gold.  The gold was easy to come by.  I had quite a lot of it in stock under my bedroom previous allowances.  My clothes felt heavier than usual, for I had sewn, rather badly, I’m afraid, jewel into the hems.  They rattled slightly, but I didn’t think anyone would notice.  The jewels idea didn’t quite follow through with changes of clothes, but I thought every detail would take care of itself in time.  And I took, of course, my beloved scrolls. 

            Creeping out of the house was easy.  I left just as Aunt and Uncle were sitting down to dinner, before the doors were lock, and crouched in the gardens until it was darker. While I was hiding there, a thrill ran down my spine. It was finally happening!  I suddenly had so much in balance, and so much more to live for.  I felt no sadness at leaving Aunt and Uncle, for they had never showed any affection for me, and so I had never grown fond of them either.  I was all excitement for traveling to the Jew’s Land, where my mother came from, and where the home of my scroll originated.

            I really had no idea how far it was from Rome to Jerusalem, but I figured I should be there in no more than a few weeks.

I forced myself to wait until it was really quite dark, counting to one hundred before I ventured to move. 

            Stepping quickly, but perhaps not quietly, I made my way to the edge of the city.  Several times I got lost, but kept my eyes fixed to the gates that rose several feet above everything else. 

            I stepped through with the last of the crowds, only just making it before the brusque guards close the gates, splitting the crowd in half.  Some families, who had just been separated by the gates, consoled each other through the bars, promising to reunite first thing in the morning.  I didn’t stop to see where everyone else was going.  I simply walked on.  All my instincts were urging me to run to get away from the city as quickly as possible.  But I knew running would not only draw attention and suspicion to myself, but it would also tire me out quickly, and all my jewellery sewn into my garment would clink hideously, inviting all to come and steal.

            The thought of thieves jolted me.  I had never really thought or considered the danger of a lone, rich girl journeying through the country side at night.  But now, all sorts of fear crept into my mind, and until I was on edge so that every rustle, bird call and crackle in the woods convinced me that there were hundreds of thieves, all staring at me with their beady eyes all fixing to jump out and steal my cloak at any moment.  This terrified me so much that when the first house came into view, I turned in at the gate without even thinking.  I knocked smartly on the door, and it opened a crack, revealing a cautious middle aged man.

            “What do you want,” he asked.

            “I’m traveling to Rome,” I said, thinking furiously, “But I’m later than I’d expected and I heard the curfew call awhile back.  May I stay the night?"  I jingled my purse “I can pay my own keep.”

            His head disappeared for a moment, and I heard voices, presumably he was consulting his wife.  Then the door opened further, and he beckoned me in.  The peasants’ cottage was small, and the smell was rather thick and old.  The peasant’s wife seemed a kindly person, and she bustled around, fixing some food for my supper.  The plate she handed me was full of strange, coarse food.  I could barely swallow it, it was so strange, but I made myself not only eat every mouthful, but also smile after each bite.

            As soon as I had finished, the couple settled down across from, ready to interrogate my life’s story, and provide them with gossip for the next few days.  So I immediately yawned and said, “I am very tired.  I have been traveling all day.  If it is no trouble, can I bed down now?”

            A phrase from my Torah flashed through my mind as I said this, ‘Thou shall not bear false witness against thy neighbor.’  But I couldn’t tell them the truth, could I?  I couldn’t waltz up and say, “My name is Katya.  I’m the senator’s niece and I’m running away because I don’t want to be married.”  They would never allow me to stay, and probably carry me back to my Uncles, hoping for a reward.  This way, they would be safer knowing nothing about me, only being able to answer they housed a traveler going to Rome, if they were ever questioned.

            The housewife bustled about and prepared a small bed next to the fire on the floor.  She and her husband went to bed on the other side of the room and soon were both snoring loudly.  I wiggled and tossed about but couldn’t get comfortable on the floor for a long time. Finally, when I did sleep, it was punctuated with nightmares of being dragged back to my Uncle’s house, and forced to marry Marx.  Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well that night and awoke very early. 

                                                                                                        ...to be continued....