What sorrow? What suffering? the boy whispered to his father in astonishment. That’s just the Point, his father replied immediately with a smile. This was exactly how he must explain it to Abulafia’s new wife, so that she would rescind her repudiation of the partnership. That was why Ben Attar had ventured upon the ocean waves and, not content with coming himself, had brought both his wives with him, so they too might testify in his favor. And that was why he himself had been hired for the journey, to bear witness that in the eyes of God too this double bond was pleasing. This new wife set great store by the will of God. And if—here the father winked at his son—the child too would testify to the easy and affectionate relations prevailing between the two wives … But the boy, alarmed at his father’s intention of involving him, was seized by a vague terror, and with a new stubbornness he ducked out from under his father’s caressing hand. No, he wouldn’t say a word. He didn’t know a thing. He would say nothing. The father’s smile froze now on his face, not only because of his son’s dogged refusal but at the sight of a line of black-clad, singing monks processing calmly down the narrow street, waving billowing censers, either to atone for the sins of the day that was past or to send abroad a fragrant enticement for the day that was to come. The sudden sight of two strangers sitting beside the door of the Jews’ house in the middle of the night startled the monks so much that for a moment they stood rooted to the spot, before hurriedly crossing themselves and departing.
The child trembled at the sight of the monks vanishing toward the nearby monastery of Saint Germain, whose bell rang to greet them, and he entreated his father to go indoors. The father, however, was troubled by a new thought on account of the boy’s firm refusal to support him in his testimony in favor of Ben Attar’s double marriage. Is it possible that the boy can see what I am not willing to see? he thought to himself, and he decided to take another look at the texts that Ben Attar had brought from Tangier in the name of the sage Ben Ghiyyat, in the hope of finding an apposite verse or a telling parable from the words of the sages and ancients to strengthen their case. Before the day dawned, he resolved to return to the ship and rummage in the ivory casket that had been left behind, and at the same time to relieve the hunger occasioned by his long sleep.
But the child refused to return alone to the strange dark house and insisted on going with his father, saying that he remembered the way back very well. Because he did not know that the ship he had left two days earlier had meanwhile been brought closer to the island, at first he denied it was the same one and insisted that it was a different one that simply resembled their own, which was moored farther away. Elbaz had difficulty in getting the boy to admit his mistake, perhaps because the old guardship really had changed and seemed to have shrunk in the intervening hours. The large triangular sail had completely disappeared, and the old shields and ornaments that had adorned the ship’s sides had been removed. But when Abu Lutfi, hearing the sounds of argument breaking the still of the night, called to them from the deck, the boy was forced to admit that it really was the selfsame ship whose mast had slid between his skinny legs for so many days that it had become like a part of his body.
At once the black slave was sent ashore in a dinghy to fetch the returning passengers. Despite the short time that had elapsed since their last leavetaking, Abu Lutfi was glad to have the rabbi back on board, hoping that his holy presence might restore some order to the ship—for from the moment she had reached her final berth and been tied up on the northern shore of the Seine a certain licentiousness had begun to proliferate on board, not only because her owner was away but because of the absence of his two wives, whose quiet, courtly presence had held the winds in check. When the rabbi and his son climbed on board, they were confronted by a mess of dirty plates and a group of sleeping drunkards sprawled before Abd el-Shafi, who was seated aloft on the old bridge, wrapped in a leopard skin that he had helped himself to from the hold and humming an old tune that had probably been sung by the Vikings when they had attacked this town a hundred years before. Seeing the rabbi walking across the deck, the captain let fly a vulgar expression that he would never have used during the long journey. But the rabbi ignored it, hesitating as he was between looking for the ivory casket and quelling his hunger pangs. Fearing that immoderate eating might shed reproach on the hospitality of Abulafia and his wife, he decided to descend into the hold and slake his craving with dried figs and carobs. But Abu Lutfi, observing how hungry he was, gave orders for a meal of fish from the new river to be prepared for the two visitors.
While awaiting this meal of the third watch, which was already introducing a fine sliver of light into the sky over the darkened city, the rabbi went in search of the ivory casket. When the muse had taken hold of him off the rugged coast of Brittany, the casket had vanished, and he had completely forgotten about it. He could not locate it amid the jumble of clothes and objects in his cabin, nor was it in Ben Attar’s. Climbing back up to the old bridge, he sought the little casket among the bundles and under the leopard skin that adorned Abd el-Shafi, who stared at him drunkenly, but there was no trace of it. Had Abu Lutfi included it among the merchandise to be offered for sale? Cautiously he questioned the Ishmaelite partner, who instantly swore that he would never dare to touch a casket containing holy words. Had one of the women taken it, then? the rabbi wondered. But they could not read. Out of respect, the rabbi considered sending his son to search their cabins, but eventually he mustered the determination to go himself, in case the search brought him some further helpful understanding. Entering first the first wife’s cabin in the bow, he saw at once that it had been completely cleared, leaving behind nothing but a faint lingering hint of her fragrance in the air. Had she taken her clothes and possessions with her for fear of losing them, or was she preparing herself for a long stay ashore? Either way, most of her belongings had gone, and what little remained was neatly bundled and tied with a red cord and stowed beside her carefully folded bedclothes. The rabbi headed for the hold, where the young camel stood all alone, staring sadly between his front legs at a new Parisian mouse. Before the rabbi found the little cell draped with a curtain, he lost his bearings among the large sacks, but eventually with trembling hands he moved aside the rope mat, and with a lighted candle he stooped and entered and excitedly encountered the second wife’s bed, which had been left covered in a mess of her clothes and other belongings, as though she had fled in a panic with the intention of returning at once. And here, among the smooth silk robes that perfumed his hands, he found the ivory casket, which might have been casually abandoned here or carefully concealed for the purpose of some secret ritual.
Elbaz had not been so close to a woman’s clothes and objects since his wife’s death, and for a moment he was shaken by desire. So he hastily departed, clutching the casket inside his robe and stroking the camel’s delicate narrow head as he passed, out of compassion, and perhaps by way of atoning for the sinful thoughts that had flitted through his mind a moment earlier. On deck he found Abd el-Shafi, who had come down from his seat on the bridge to show the boy how to fillet a fish without damaging it. So well had the rabbi’s son learned his lesson that without being asked he filleted the rabbi’s fish too, and the rabbi, unable to contain himself any longer, threw himself upon the tender white flesh.
Only as dawn was breaking did the rabbi, sated and a little tipsy, manage to reexamine the parchments that Ben Ghiyyat had sent him and understand why he had so neglected them during the last days of the journey that he had almost lost them. The verses from the stories of the patriarchs, judges, and kings that the North African sage had selected and copied in his large, fair hand seemed childish and irksome, far removed from the nobility of the three-cornered love that had sailed beside the rabbi for so many days. Thus he asked Abu Lutfi, who had not taken his eyes off him, to replace the parchments in the ivory casket and keep it under his protection, hidden in a safe place beside his couch. While the Arab reverentially picked up the pieces of parchment, smoothed them, and arranged them in order of size, the rabbi screwed up his eyes in the brightening light and sensed the traces of the couplings that had taken place on the ship now riding quietly on the river. Suddenly he was assailed by a vague excitement, and he swore to himself by the beloved memory of his wife to devote all his power and wisdom to the defence of the integrity of his employer’s family.