At first, however, there was no spirit in the rabbi’s words, for thirst for that liquid whose fragrance scented the night air dried up the words in his mouth. While the owner of the winery was still trying to decide whether to serve the speaker a single glass or whether to open a cask for the whole company, Master Levitas, with the generosity of a guest who was also in some sense a host, decided for him: a cask. But a small one. It then transpired that the wine deemed most appropriate to the time and place was contained in the small barrel on which the child was seated, so that apparently it was no accident that he had been led to seat himself upon it. At once young Elbaz was made to stand up, and the barrel was rolled into the center of the hall and arranged so that it was possible to pour wine for all the sacred congregation without spilling a single drop wastefully on the ground. The first to be served was the rabbi, who pronounced aloud the blessing over the fruit of the vine, and he was followed by the judges and the disputants. While the first wife drank discreetly behind her veil, the second rolled hers back as though she had made up her mind to do without it, and with a new smile that lit up her finely sculpted features she drained her glass and waited for another.
Then it was, and only then, without any warning and still clutching his goblet that the rabbi began to speak in hope that the pink wine slipping down their throats would soften the thoughts of the Jews of Villa Le Juif and even stretch them to new and hitherto unknown horizons. For if the rabbi were to speak only in simple terms, using well-known and accepted notions, he need not multiply words but would merely state directly, Frankish Jews, distant and strange, why are you so amazed? Why are you so alarmed? With all due respect, read in the rolled Scripture to whose holiness we are all in thrall and you will discover that the great patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, each had two, three, or even four wives. Continue reading, and here is Elkanah with his two wives, and this is before we reach the kings with their numerous wives, and who was as great as Solomon? But if you object that these ancients were greater and mightier men than we, and able to discern between good and evil, then open the book of Deuteronomy, and there, not long before the end of the book,you will find the verse “If a man have two wives …” Anyman. Everyman. Not a patriarch, a hero, a king, or an ancient.
While Abulafia was endeavoring to translate this last sentence, the rabbi deftly drained his goblet, not so that he could put it down but so as to fill it again with the same blushing wine and continue without undue delay, in order not to give rise to any suspicion that he was evading the continuation of the quoted verse, “one beloved, and another hated,” for all the confusion and terror that echoed in these words, to which he would come in due course. In the meantime he would merely express his anger that anyone should be so brazen, and in a faraway town like Paris at that, as to pass upon fellow Jews a verdict of repudiation and dissociation, which implied not only pride but ignorance, casting dishonor on men and women of old.
From the corner of his eye, Rabbi Elbaz now observed the anxiety in Ben Attar’s face receding somewhat, and a short row of white teeth gleaming in the smile of a merchant who finally sees the hope of securing some return for his outlay. But was Ben Attar nothing more than a merchant? The rabbi suddenly put this fresh question to himself, and on the spur of the moment he repeated it out loud, enthralling his audience. No, he replied decisively to his own question, Ben Attar had not come from so far away simply to demand satisfaction for loss of business. Nor would it have entered the rabbi’s own head to undertake such a long and terrible journey for the sake of a mere merchant’s dispute. If this man had just been motivated by love of money and the partnership, would it have occurred to him to undertake such a difficult and hazardous journey in pursuit of a defaulting partner, when he could easily have replaced him, for the same cost, with three new partners who would spread the news of the North African wares not only among the Franks and Burgundians but even among the Flemings and Saxons? No, Rabbi Elbaz saw Ben Attar not as a merchant but simply as a man disguised as a merchant. During the long days and nights at sea, he had not ceased to study this wonderful man, but only now, in Villa Le Juif, had he discovered the nub of his being: he was a loving man, a philosopher and sage of love, who had come from far away to declare publicly that it is possible to have two wives and to love them equally.
While Abulafia was translating the last sentence, he glanced toward his two aunts, and he was not the only one to do so. Everyone turned their gaze toward the shadowy figures of the two women, one of whom was still standing. Ben Attar, who had been very confused by the rabbi’s last words, touched the standing woman on the arm to tell her to return to her place and sit down. But she remained standing, and although all looks were frozen for a moment on her disobedient refusal, she seemed unable to abandon the sight of the rabbi’s small, lithe body as he paced up and down with short steps before the large torch, unable to content herself with his deep voice alone, which was now beginning to deal with Mistress Esther-Minna’s last words.
For the second wife, the rabbi went on to declare confidently, always exists. If she does not exist in reality, she exists in the imagination. Thereforeno rabbinical edict is able to eradicate her. But because she exists only in the man’s imagination, she is good, fair, submissive, wise, and pleasant, according to his fancy, and however hard his only real wife tries, she can never truly rival the imaginary one, and therefore she will always know anger and disappointment. However, when the second wife is not imaginary but exists in flesh and blood, the first wife can measure herself against her, and outdo her, and sometimes she can make her peace with her and, if she wishes, even love her.
A faint, mocking smile now tightened Abulafia’s wife’s face. Her blue eyes never ceased earnestly scrutinizing the face of the interpreter, her young husband, to discover whether he was merely a passive translator or a secret accomplice to the crime. But the rabbi was not alarmed by this clever woman’s smile. On the contrary, taking a small, confidential step toward her, he smiled straight into her blushing face, which suddenly looked childlike because of a stray golden lock that had escaped from her snood, and obdurately repeated his last words: Yes, even love her. For only the second wife is able to alleviate the man’s infinite, tormenting desire and transform it from reproof into pleasure.
But now the faithful interpreter, suddenly alarmed, stretched his arms out desperately toward the speaker, whose ornate Arabic had begun to carry him away. Rabbi Elbaz stopped, gazing at Mistress Esther-Minna, whose tempestuous emotions reddened her face and made her more and more attractive. Out of the corner of his eye he could glimpse a strange look on the face of his son, who like everybody else was straining toward him so as not to miss a single word he was saying. Suddenly Elbaz was sorry that his son could hear and understand his words. If he were to remain faithful to the oath he had sworn that morning on the deck of the ship, to defend to the utmost the delicate double marriage that had sailed at his side for nearly sixty days at sea, he would have to change languages and ask the two disqualified scribes, who at present were unemployed, to come forward, take the place of the desperate interpreter, and translate straight from the holy tongue into the local language. For the rabbi felt that if he couched his speech in the beloved, forgotten ancient tongue from now on, he would not merely double his own authority in the mind of the impassioned little crowd, but he would also be able, like Mistress Esther-Minna, to make a confession that his son would not be able to understand.