This is what the young local couple did at first; even though their little boat was almost crushed by the prow of an alien ship, they did not seem surprised by the sudden encounter in the river, as though it was entirely unremarkable that a strange potbellied ship should suddenly appear, with a huge triangle of canvas for a sail and half-naked Ishmaelites scurrying up and down its ropes. Thus they did not flee but merely stood gaping and smiling, as though this were not a real ship but a picture floating against the background of a dream that projected its wild fantasies for its own entertainment. But when Ben Attar hailed the young lovers from the deck they were panic-stricken, as though his voice had shattered the dream and a terrifying reality had come bursting out of it. First they tried to escape, but their way was blocked by the large ship. Then they hurriedly doffed their hats and fell to their knees, pleading for their lives in a strange, lilting tongue. But since no one on board knew how to reply so as to calm their spirits, the two women were told to stand on deck and wave peaceably in greeting, so the local couple would realize that the fear and panic were inside them and had nothing to do with the peaceful reality of those on board. However, the spectacle of two barefoot women in brightly colored robes waving to them did nothing to allay the young couple’s fears but if anything aggravated them, and Rabbi Elbaz had to be summoned to scatter over them a few verses in Latin that he recalled from the prayers of Christian friends in the little church in Seville, to let the terrified couple know that even if this was no Christian ship, it was not an anti-Christian ship either. The fears of the young lovers were gradually calmed. The smiles returned to their faces, and they rose to their feet, crossed themselves gracefully, and chanted a Latin prayer to a captivating tune, so endearing themselves to Ben Attar that he could not resist inviting them on board. They were very hesitant at first, afraid that the strangers might seize them and, who could tell, perhaps cook them alive and eat them, but their curiosity got the better of their reluctance, and they clambered on deck, careful not to be separated from each other. Seeing them close up, the people on board were astonished at their youth, and Rabbi Elbaz attempted to ask them in sign language if in these lands love was habitually so precocious, but the pair did not appear to comprehend the meaning of the question, or perhaps they did not see any connection between a person’s age and his capacity to love. Eventually they were seated on the old bridge and given a greenish herbal brew to drink, which they sipped politely despite its unfamiliar taste. Then they were offered dried Andalusian figs and lemons preserved in sugar, which they ate with evident delight, while the crew and passengers surrounded them, enjoying their enjoyment. Rabbi Elbaz was particularly attracted to them, partly because he still hoped that they might react to a word or sentence in Latin, and partly because their evident love for each other captivated his heart and reminded him of the lost days of his own love. In an effort to extend their stay he suggested they should be taken down into the hold, to enjoy the spectacle of the pair of young camels. But Ben Attar refused. He was afraid that they might spread the news of the rich cargo to customs officers who would lie in wait for them farther up the river. So as not to let the charming young pair depart empty-handed, he spread before them some embroidered cloths, to judge their reaction as potential purchasers. And so the voyagers amused themselves with the couple for a while, and then they gave them a little salt wrapped in a twist of paper and asked them how far Rouen was and what the city was like. To judge by their reply and their gestures, the distance was not great. Abu Lutfi, who had stood apart scowling all the while, approached and told Elbaz to ask them how far it was to Paris. Although the rabbi hesitated at first to ask such young people about such a faraway place, he did put the question. The young couple’s faces at once lit up. Paris: they repeated the name over and over again in a smiling cadence and a charming accent, pointing reverentially toward the east, as to a Jerusalem or Mecca of their own. Not only did they know how far it was, even though they had never been there, but their joy was evident at this opportunity to pronounce the name of a place whose enchantment extended even to those who would never behold it. But while Ben Attar and the rabbi smiled at the couple, delighted with their answer, Abu Lutfi continued to glower at them skeptically, as though notwithstanding the many wearisome days and nights that he had invested in the voyage to that distant city, he still nursed a hope that it would finally emerge that it had never existed.
In truth, even Ben Attar at first had not understood what his nephew had been getting at when he pronounced the name of Paris so enthusiastically, even before he had been there. This Paris had been first named at the second summer meeting in the Spanish March, the year after the bewitched child was returned to the care of her blood father. The Moroccans had reached the Bay of Barcelona on the first day of the month of Ab, and after leaving their merchandise at Benveniste’s tavern, loading their two boats with timber, and sending them back to North Africa, they took three horses and rode up to the old Roman inn, faithful to the promise they had given the previous year to take the nurse back to her home. But to their surprise, Abulafia came alone. The nurse had consented to remain a further year in Toulouse, since every effort to replace her by a local woman, whether Jewish or gentile, had met with frantic opposition from the wretched child herself, who in the darkness of her soul had probably assimilated the tattooed face of her nurse to the spirit of the mother who had abandoned her.
At first Abulafia had had difficulty persuading the elderly nurse to exchange the sighing of the waves and the scent of citrus orchards steeped in the limpid copper-hued light of the North African coast for a pent-up existence in an alien Christian town with a creature whose inscrutable wishes could be compensated for only by sorrow and pity. Indeed, whenever the Ishmaelite woman took the child out into the narrow streets around the castle of Toulouse, dressed in the white robe that Abu Lutfi had brought her and a fine veil of bluish silk that half concealed the large ring in her nose, the local inhabitants would screw up their eyes and mumble suitable phrases of advice and reproof from the Gospels to reinforce their human toleration in the face of the strange sight. To persuade the nurse not to abandon her charge, Abulafia was obliged to raise her wages and make her into a sort of supernumerary junior partner, paying her a large coin every time the moon was full and a small coin each Sabbath and agreeing to move from the foot of the castle to the street of the Jews in the heart of the city, not only because Toulouse had no street of Ishmaelites, but because the nurse herself opined that the Jews, who from their early childhood consorted with Asmodeus and delved into his lore, would be bound to find within themselves some sympathy for one who was caught in his thrall.
In the end, the special effort that Abulafia made to keep her paid off, not only in terms of his own peace of mind but in terms of the partnership as well. It was only this that made possible his long absences from home, which he needed because it was hard for him to put up with his daughter’s hopeless presence and also because his rich imagination and his restless nature pushed him on to find new and ever more sophisticated customers, demanding refined goods, light in weight but of great value, such as little daggers studded with precious stones, snakes’ skins, or shiny necklaces made from elephants’ teeth. His soul was weary of the carts sinking into the mud under the weight of the great sacks and jars that Abu Lutfi brought from the desert. Therefore, after winning over the nurse and attaching her to the community of the Jews, he started to travel to the north, at first heading east, toward the Burgundian kingdom, on the road leading from Rodez to Lyons, turning off to Viviers and joining the trade route of the Rhone Valley. But he realized that he would not make his fortune here, for there was too much traffic, and quick-witted merchants from Byzantium who came up from Italy via Toulon offered treasures for sale that originated in the real, Asiatic East, brilliant merchandise compared to which his African wares seemed shoddy and dull. And so he changed direction and headed northwest, toward out-of-the-way places in the heart of Aquitaine, to the duchy of Guienne and the townships of Agen, Angoulême, and Périgueux, via Poitiers and Bourges, and from there to Lusignan and as far as Limoges, and there he was shown a way through to the Loire Valley and the border of the Capetian kingdom, where new towns such as Tours, Orléans, Chartres, and Paris were springing up and beginning to attract him.