But Abulafia immediately reined himself in. He knew only too well that fainting on his own doorstep would be considered an escape not only by his guest but also by his wife and her brother, who would come running at once, and so he changed his plan and hastened to embrace Ben Attar, not with that strong, natural embrace of the summer meetings in the woods near Barcelona, but with a soft, desperate hug tinged with guilt and pain, and also with a new repudiation, a hug that repelled even as it clasped the North African traveler. Ben Attar had covered such a vast, impossible distance to come here that he had earned a high status in the eyes of the master of the house, a status that instantly relieved Abulafia of any scruples concerning the nature of the reply that he must give his twice-wed uncle when the latter made his request for hospitality. My house is your house, he said clearly, repeating the words in Hebrew so as to avoid any possible misunderstanding, whether on the part of the business partner who had returned or on that of his new wife, whose gown now rustled at his side.
The generous host did not yet know that behind the solitary uncle stood an old guardship lying at anchor not far away. But it was clear from the flash that lit his eyes and the blush that suffused his cheeks that he would not have modified his generous invitation if he had known that hospitality was being requested not just for a young, ill-defined child but for an entire household. For it became more evident by the minute that he was animated by joy at the sight of this guest who had descended upon him with almost magical suddenness, and his excitement caused him to bend down affectionately once again toward the unknown, suntanned child and hoist him tenderly in the air, this child who for many days had swayed at the masthead of a doughty ship. And the new wife, Mistress Esther-Minna, realizing that she had been bested in the first, lightning-quick engagement of the present campaign, smiled too at the uplifted child, who lay gripped in the arms of the master of the house, perhaps in hopes of receiving, once he was back on the ground, something to eat.
Not once but many times in the course of the voyage Ben Attar had asked himself, when the ship was becalmed at night, creaking to herself upon the darkling sea beneath a heaven pregnant with stars, which of Satan’s brood had tempted him into abandoning his home and his children and endangering both his two beloved wives and his merchandise on such a ghastly escapade. Why should he insist on winning back the heart of his partner Abulafia, when he might have found a replacement for him, or even two replacements, who, even if they might not have traded with the same talent or reliability as his dear nephew, could have dealt with the old markets of Provence and Toulouse and made him a decent profit, which would preserve his good and honored name and the prosperity of both his houses? And each time he had reminded himself once again that in truth it was not Abulafia’s heart that he was trying to win back by means of this crazy journey, but that his new wife, who, though he had never beheld her face nor heard her voice, was extremely important to him, particularly from the moment she had reached out so surely from a distance to impugn his honor.
It was because of the importance of this unknown, distant woman, which had only increased as the journey dragged on and its tribulations became more severe, that he had not only held firm to his purpose but even managed to instill confidence and faith in the other travelers and the crew. So when he finally stood in the entrance of the house, clad in the multicolored robe that his two wives had made for him and inspecting his new kinswoman, who had come up from the Rhine Valley and united herself with his nephew, he knew clearly that this daring adventure had not been in vain. It was indeed right for him to have come from so far away to pit himself against such a woman, who, even though she was ten years older than her young husband, even though fine wrinkles showed on her face, still retained in her high cheekbones and her bright pearl-like eyes traces of a peculiar, exotic beauty, like that of a fine white hound or a fox. Who could say, he reflected with an inward chuckle, whether some savage Viking or Saxon blood might not be coursing in her pious veins, or glimmering in the deep blue stare with which her eyes were now fixing his own?
7.
Supper was laid for them in a large, overfurnished room with woolen rugs on the floor. So astonished was the North African traveler, however, at the rapidity and ease with which he had been accepted into this dreamed-of house that he was incapable of tasting the food that was set before him in heavy dull copper dishes. Instead, he watched the boy from Seville attack the chunks of cock served in a large pot and slake his thirst eagerly from a large crystal goblet that Mistress Esther-Minna casually refilled for him as though she were pouring water rather than wine. Was it the savor of roast pork in the street that had given the lad such a lusty appetite? Ben Attar asked himself as he smiled with embarrassment at his hosts, as though he himself were somehow guilty of this imported hunger. As he watched and wondered, the good wine gradually overcame the young diner, the fork slipped from his hand, his eyelids drooped, and the little pigtail that he had grown on the voyage began to nod, until full-blown slumber unceremoniously overtook him as he was, at table, converting the promised hospitality from a pious gesture to a necessity.
Mistress Esther-Minna, not having been vouchsafed any fruit of her own womb, was moved by any child who fell into her hands, especially such a dusky lad as this, whose locks were as curly as those of her husband, and who was also a half-orphan, according to his companion. Consequently, it was not surprising that she forgot, or at any rate deferred, the repudiation she had imposed upon her guest and called the two old Christian maids to pick up the boy and carefully remove his trousers, not realizing that children’s sleep is made of cast iron and not spun from cobwebs like her own—particularly because in this house they were accustomed to dealing with a girl whose slumber deserted her at the slightest sudden movement, to be replaced by raucous, tormented grunts. Even though it was forbidden in this house to call Abulafia’s daughter bewitched or accursed, her fundamental nature had still not changed.
Even Ben Attar minded his language when he caught sight of the child standing in the doorway, conjuring up a flickering image of a baby crawling in the bottom of the boat on the first trip to Barcelona, trying to dig her little fingers into his eyes. His heart warmed toward her, and he surreptitiously signaled to the girl, in whose face her late mother’s beauty struggled with the blankness of her deformed soul, to come closer to him. Perhaps something really did sparkle in the foggy rage of her memory, since she did not flee in haste as usual from the strange visitor but stood fixed in the doorway, retreating before the master of the house. The moment he learned of the alarming appearance of the rejected business partner, Master Yehiel Levitas, Mistress Esther-Minna’s younger brother, shrewdly grasped not only that the first round was lost but that the second too was in jeopardy, and so he hastened to introduce himself politely, if somewhat coolly, to this distant, strange kinsman, who now gave a shallow bow of greeting. The brother did not delay but at once addressed the North African in clear, simple, and very slow Hebrew, as though the worry was not only about some difference in accent, dialect, or vocabulary but about a mental gap dividing north from south. Since, unlike his brother-in-law, he felt no guilt toward the visitor, he was not afraid to ask, after some brief courtesies, a direct question aimed at elucidating the purpose of his visit. Abulafia’s face reddened in embarrassment at the coarse question posed by his brother-in-law, who was short and fair-haired like his sister but lacked the jewel-like quality of her eyes, and before Ben Attar managed to reply, Abulafia was attempting to soften the question in trilingual speech. First, in Frankish, he indicated to his precipitate brother-in-law the boundaries of correct comportment. Then, in Arabic, he addressed the dear man who had come from so far away and restored his faith in the expanse of friendship that had been spread out before him here. Finally, in the holy tongue that they could all understand, he urged the weary uncle to sit down at last and taste the food that was growing cold on the table.