Abulafia was aflame with excitement, not at the thought of seeing the young male camel or the sacks of condiments but at meeting his two aunts, the elder one from whom he had parted years before, and the new one whom he had never seen, even though she had been living since her marriage in his old home, the house of his great lost love. But as he drew near to the big-bellied, tawny ship, well hidden by her captain in the vegetation overhanging the river, he forgot the women for a moment, and a great cry of wonder burst from him at the resourcefulness of blending the military with the civilian in order to undertake an adventure of which even now only God knew what the outcome might be.
Once again he embraced the brave uncle who had not given him up, and he fell into the arms of Abu Lutfi, who had recognized him from afar and hurried down from the deck to greet him with a loud exclamation, shaking his long-lost partner so angrily and affectionately that he almost strangled him. Then he was taken up the rope ladder to the deck, where the captain bowed ceremoniously before him, ordering a sailor to wave a small blue flag in honor of the guest who would soon become their host. They told the black slave to summon the rabbi, who emerged from his cabin all threadbare and confused, and Abulafia’s eyes widened at the sight of the Andalusian sage, and he kissed his hand and asked his blessing and gave him greetings from his little boy, who was resting under the reliable care of Abulafia’s wife. Then he was led down into the hold, where he was assailed by the powerful Moroccan smells of his childhood, and he felt as though this scarred Arab guardship were a real and precious part of himself, and his eyes filled with tears of sorrow at the parting he had had to undergo and the other parting that was to come.
Then the women came up on deck. First the first wife, in whom, although she had put on weight and her face had grown rounder in the years since he had last seen her, he recognized an affection that radiated toward the whole world. Even though as a child he had sometimes been hugged to her bosom, he was careful not to approach her now, but bowed before her time and again, his hand describing a threefold movement of respect from his forehead to his mouth to his heart, and he greeted her repeatedly, asking after her children in a confused mumble, because his other aunt was now approaching, shyly, fearfully, smiling with her brilliant, perfect teeth. Reddening, he hastily lowered his eyes, for her youth clutched at his heart, not only because he thought about himself but also because of the anticipated pain and anger of his wife, who would not agree to submit to Ben Attar. Yes, he knew this for certain now. His wife would on no account agree to abrogate her repudiation, even if the Andalusian rabbi floored them all with his texts.
But he knew he could not retract his offer of hospitality, even if it had been exacted somewhat deviously. Even if the thought of his uncle staying in his home with his two wives made him shudder, he knew that he would never forgive himself if he allowed his own flesh and blood, whom the good Lord himself had wafted hither from his native land, to lodge in some strange hostelry. That was ruled out from the start for the five Jews by reason of its questionable food, and even for Abu Lutfi, who dogged his heels, eager as ever to show his northern partner the wonderful goods he had collected in the folds of the Atlas Mountains.
For a while things went back to being as they had been in the past, except that the half-darkness of the ship’s hold had been exchanged for that of Benveniste’s stable, and the low groans of a lonely camel replaced the neighing and braying of the horses and donkeys. Once again the pungent smells of the spices burst from the opened sacks, and the golden honeycombs displayed their delicate tracery, while graceful little daggers inlaid with tiny jewels were extracted from their hiding places, and Abulafia was carried away by the sight of the new merchandise exposed to his gaze and hastened to appraise its quality and calculate how much it would fetch. All the time he spoke to the Arab, the floorboards undulated beneath his feet and the wooden walls swayed gently around him, for the order had covertly been given to Abd el-Shafi to weigh anchor and carry the travelers forward to the house where the new wife awaited them.
Even though the wife in question was incapable of imagining the two women sailing toward the hospitality of her roof, already an arrow of anxiety had lodged in her heart on account of the North African who had crossed her threshold, and finding no rest for her soul she went into the yard to detain her brother, who was saddling his horse so as to ride south, a distance of three hours’ journey, to the place named Villa Le Juif, where a couple of days previously a merchant from the Land of Israel had arrived with a precious pearl. This young man, who always knew how to keep precise track of what occurred in his sister’s soul, was amazed to find her pleading with him not to leave before Abulafia returned with Ben Attar and the rabbi. Who was she afraid of, asked the brother, Ben Attar or the rabbi? But she made no reply and said nothing, for even though she was not able to visualize on this bright morning the menace that was sailing lazily into the heart of the Île de France, she could sense it, which is why she mumbled confusedly, The rabbi …, and wondered at her own reply. The brother’s explosion of laughter startled even the horse. What could an Andalusian rabbi say that could frighten her, the daughter and widow of famous scholars? Surely no exegetical sophistry, no well-known biblical tale, no ancient parchment could deflect a clear, new, right decree that was demanded by the circumstances and endorsed by great luminaries. In any case—and here the brother lightly touched his sister’s slight shoulder—no debate should be entertained with anyone before he had set up a special court, which might convert their vague repudiation into a definite ban.
With these clear words he mounted his horse and set off, but the sister he left behind was not calmed, for she was too clever to believe that the twice-wed partner who had traveled all the way from North Africa would release them from the affront he had suffered merely with a court hearing. She had already understood last night, from his slow, determined movements and his gentle gaze, which had not left her, that this man, whose resemblance to her husband could not be denied, and who had demanded divine justice, was only too well acquainted with human justice, which was why he had penetrated her home—to reveal to her some secret about human nature, although she refused to guess at what it was, unless the child awoke and revealed it to her. But the wine that had been poured like water into the boy’s cup had turned to lead in his veins during the night, and when she attempted to rouse and question him, he only sank deeper into slumber. Even the mute girl, who all morning had followed her like a shadow, now broke into the persistent loud howl of lamentation that she had first uttered two years before, when her Ishmaelite nurse was sent away.
Into this howl, which had continued since morning and now pierced the noonday silence, entered the two wives, carrying their bundles and following close behind Abulafia, who had decided to accompany them into his home himself, with a presentiment of imminent disaster but also with the confident belief that the right thing was being done here, even if it was temporary. Ben Attar had remained on board to help Abu Lutfi and Abd el-Shafi allay the suspicions of the royal guardsmen who had boarded the ship, which was anchored by the little bridge. Now, left alone, Abulafia’s manner to his wife became all the more bold, and she was not only angry with him but also excited and fascinated by his new commanding tone, as he ordered her to make ready three rooms, two for the two women and a third for the rabbi, who entered with a light, shy step and greeted in poetic and musical language the graceful housewife, whose blue eyes already made him miss the river he had just left.