Suitable for what? She turned in surprise to face her young, tousled husband, and, weary from her sleepless night, she scanned with a pained look the three gaunt scribes, who, confused by the repudiation that had suddenly attacked them, clung to one another, rolling their eyes in umbrage. Suitable for what? Mistress Esther-Minna asked again angrily, joined by her brother and the disappointed proprietor of the winery, who since yesterday had been doing the rounds of the neighboring villages and estates to assemble the three scribes. But while Abulafia was insisting on explaining to his wife how it might be possible to find true judges, scholars of outstanding wisdom, who would satisfy the visitors, who sought even in this out-of-the-way place the spirit of the wisdom of Andalus, Rabbi Elbaz hastened to pacify the ruffled participants by explaining that it would be proper to make do with the spirit of the ancient sages, which was the true spirit that could transform, say, the whole congregation of simple, goodhearted Jews into a public tribunal that might judge and save either the plaintiff or the defendant, as was stated in so many words in the book of Exodus: to incline after the multitude.
Even Master Levitas, who was a judicious and farsighted man, was confused by the rabbi’s surprising suggestion, but first he tried to read in his sister’s eyes her view about abandoning a dispute that he had seen as settled and sealed in favor of a motley assemblage of grape stampers, barrel rollers, and wine vendors. Before he had managed to catch her eye, he was startled by a softly yet clearly whispered question she put to the little rabbi. All of them? Including the women? And before he could contemplate toning down his sister’s outrageous question, Rabbi Elbaz had astonishingly replied in an enthusiastic whisper, The women? Why not? After all, they too were created in God’s image.
Is this rabbi’s mind completely addled, or will he really lead us on the right path? The North African merchant sank deep in thought, watching closely as his nephew’s beaming face approached his wives’ fine silk veils to whisper into their delicate, gold-ringed ears a translation of the surprising words spoken by a clever woman and a poetic rabbi. The news seemed to arouse neither fear nor panic in Ben Attar’s wives, but only such a great curiosity that they could restrain themselves no longer, and the second wife, closely followed by the first, stripped off her veil, the better to contemplate with kohl-darkened eyes the men and women of Villa Le Juif, who gazed back at them with smiling faces, little suspecting that the place where they were standing was soon to become the judgment seat.
All of them? How is that possible? It will be total chaos, groaned Master Levitas to his sister and the rabbi, suddenly united. The refined Parisian was joined by the proprietor of the winery, who was alarmed at the plan of converting his retainers into judges. And so, after a brief exchange of words, it was agreed by both sides that in accordance with the ancient spirit of the law, it would be sufficient to select seven judges, corresponding to “trial by seven good men of the city.” But since this was not a city and the foreign travelers had no idea who were the best folk among them, the judges would have to be selected by lot. To this end young Elbaz, who had sat himself down in a corner on a small barrel to inhale the fragrance of the wine maturing inside it, was brought forward, blindfolded, and sent out into the sunlight dancing on the treetops to choose seven people by means of a game of blind-man’s buff. A deep silence fell on one and all as the blindfolded child hesitated, then shuffled cautiously toward the tall woman with the sickly face, the wife of the proprietor, and slowly laid his little hands on her soft belly, as though he had decided even before his eyes were bound to make her his first choice. At once, recoiling from this overbold gesture, he collided as he stepped backward with one of the scribes, who had positioned himself deliberately in his path to compel the boy to choose him. Only then did the world beyond his blindfold seem finally to become clear to the child, and discerning within the deep silence the bated breath of the crowd, he turned resolutely toward it. But for some reason the Jews recoiled from this blindfolded boy who advanced fatefully toward them, all but a fair-faced young woman, one of the wine stampers, who stood rooted to the spot as though inviting the young stranger to touch her. He did indeed touch her face gently with his little hand, until another woman, apparently jealous, took a few paces toward him, and the boy turned toward her, and his fingers fluttered on her bosom. Unperturbed by this contact, he turned to his right, where a third woman was waiting for him, and he held her too for a moment, and while Master Levitas’s sardonic laughter and his father the rabbi’s rebuke rang out, yet a fourth woman, a toothless hag, hurried to his side, yearning also to be touched. But the child, startled by the feel of her wizened face, instantly buried his hands in the folds of his little robe and refused to stir. His father was obliged now to come forward and remove him from the women who were converging upon him. He turned him around and led him back toward the small dais, and it seemed for a moment as though he would once more approach the tall woman with the sickly face and touch her belly again, but his father steered him gently toward the Radhanite merchant from the Land of Israel, who was sitting immobile, his thick black beard lying calmly on his chest, seemingly taking great pleasure in the scene that was unfolding around him. Slowly the boy drew forth a single hand from the folds of his little robe and very cautiously held it out in front of him, until he encountered the large beard.
Now that the seventh judge had been chosen, the blindfold was removed and a new worry gripped Master Levitas’s heart. Indicating the sunlight fading on the trees, he suggested that they should all, plaintiffs and defendants, witnesses and judges, join together in the afternoon prayer, which might also serve as a discreet hint to the Christian visitors that their presence was no longer appropriate.
2.
Then they all went to the well to draw water for the hand-washing. After that they stood for the afternoon prayer. It soon became evident that Abulafia’s heart was so inflamed by the occasion that he yearned to lead the service with his pleasant voice. At first the proprietor of the winery and Master Levitas tried to undermine his precedence by chanting faster or slower, but eventually they desisted, not because Abulafia’s singing was louder than theirs, but because concealed within it was a delightful, unique cadence that attracted the worshippers in Villa Le Juif to follow his lead. His wife too, her mind confused by the ease with which the panel of judges had been filled with women, gave a silent signal to her younger brother to abandon the contest and let Abulafia surrender himself to his chant, which she found instantly appealing, although she could not imagine where it came from. But Ben Attar, who had never before stood in prayer so close to his two wives and could sense their overwhelmed souls, immediately identified the source of his nephew’s tune as the muezzin’s call in the mosque in Tangier. How amazing, he thought, that after all these years he still tries to preserve in his chant the Muslim cadence of that seashore, although he has also blended it with another melody, which to judge by its rhythm and tune must be taken from some local peasant song.
It may have been for this reason that the three Christians who had mingled with the Jews so as to enjoy the spectacle of two pretty, veiled women who belonged legally and naturally to a single man did not depart when the Jews began to pray, but lingered to wonder at the familiar melody, blending the Jews’ Latin with an additional curling cadence. When Levitas saw that the three of them insisted on staying, he abbreviated the interval between the afternoon and evening prayers and gave a sign for the evening prayer to commence even before the first star appeared, in the hope that when they reached the Hear O Israel and the silent darkness filled with the profiles of motionless Jews standing in total separateness, with eyes closed and hands in front of their faces, looking like curious woodcocks, some vague dread might finally cause the uninvited guests to leave. Indeed, by the time torches were lit at the end of the service and the bunches of grapes suspended from hooks all around cast fantastic shadows on the walls, not a single stranger remained in the hall to seek entertainment from the Jews.