The three young women who stamped grapes also talked of the spell cast by the man from the Land of Israel, but they knew only too well that behind the “spell” were his warm eyes and the masculine smell of his big strong body, which drew you to put your confidence in him and obey his voice, perhaps out of a strange feeling that anyone who went to such lengths to protect the husband of two wives would also feel strong enough to defend a third. But since they were unable to admit this even to each other, let alone to the curious men of the winery, who demanded an explanation for a verdict that harmed the proprietor and his friend, they tried to justify what had happened by saying that their minds had been addled by the muddle of different languages.
Even the scribe, who was being driven with his two colleagues back to the small estate of Chartres in an old cart, tried, in the silence of the desolate landscape of the Île de France, which was suddenly filled with animated exchanges between hungry jackals and clever foxes, to explain to himself, before explaining to the others, how and why he had changed his mind. He had known perfectly well what verdict the people who had brought him to Villa Le Juif expected from him, and what fee he had been promised for his troubles, though that had vanished into thin air because of his disgraceful betrayal. Yet miraculous though it might seem, even though he knew he had let the others down, and himself too, he felt not dejected but excited, as though another authority, true or imagined, coming from the oriental merchant, had acquired a foothold within him and in an instant toppled old loyalties. But he was afraid to admit this to his two colleagues lest they began to repudiate him, as Mistress Esther-Minna had repudiated Ben Attar. And so, as the decrepit cart that the proprietor had given them made its way amid grim mist-swathed meadows and ruined castles and the gentile driver talked to his horse to see if it remembered the way, the judge who had erred tried to excuse himself to his fellows and embarked on a gentle discourse full of longing for men of yore and their wives and numerous progeny, trying by doing so to change the distance Ben Attar had covered into a distance of time rather than space, so as to place him among the giants of Scripture.
Only the old widowed vintner was not asked to explain what she had done. Yet she, in her heart of hearts, had been convinced that the whole assembly secretly wanted the partnership between north and south to be restored. So excited and pleased was she by what had taken place that she decided to spend the night in the dark winery instead of returning to her tiny hovel. Removing the fox skins from the casks, she improvised a soft bed for herself on the little dais. There, like someone who has acquired proprietary rights, she lay down to sleep, inhaling the remains of the scents of the parties to the case, the judges and the interpreters, and wishing that her late husband had left her a second wife, so that they could lie side by side and warm themselves with shared memories. She closed her eyes and relit in her mind’s eye the great torch that had been planted in front of the dais, and passed in review face after face, translation after homily, until her eyes were caught by the large eyes of the interpreter Abulafia.
Who was now sitting very quietly, full of terrors yet also of hopes, in the large wagon on the way back to Paris. Although he was squeezed between his wife and his brother-in-law and facing his uncle and aunts, his eyes, eluding the gaze of anyone close to him, were fixed on the gaunt back of Rabbi Elbaz, who had sat down beside his son, next to the wagoner, so as to crown his joy at his victory with the sight of the unfamiliar stars and be free to mumble to himself the lines of the new poem he was composing, to brand it deep on his memory. All were now silent, but while the successful party was feeling very hungry, their discomfited hosts not only felt no hunger pangs but seemed to have forgotten the existence of the second hamper tied to the side of the wagon. Abulafia did not feel hungry either, not because he felt defeated and dejected but because he could not put out of his mind the moment when he would have to stand alone facing his wife and comfort her for her failure, and at the same time admonish her gently on account of the unnecessary suffering that her strange repudiation had caused. Gently, he repeatedly promised himself, for the formal public annulment of the repudiation invited him to go back next summer to the frontier between the two worlds, to the azure Bay of Barcelona, which here, in the dank darkness of the wagon, seemed to him illumined by a thousand enchantments. Since he wanted to clarify his own thoughts and the thoughts of those about him, he assumed the authority of the head of the household and ordered the wagoner to halt the horses at the same wood and by the same stream where they had eaten by day, so that they might eat by night.
It transpired that all the travelers, on either side of the dispute, whether they were hungry or not, were very happy at the halt that Abulafia had imposed on them, even though they had not yet traveled very far and Paris was not far away. After the hubbub of the verdict, they all wanted to be by themselves for a while, hidden from their companions by the darkness but exposed to the dome of the sky. As soon as the wagon stopped, the rabbi dragged his son into the bushes to stretch their legs and attend to some bodily functions that had been postponed out of the respect due to the religious court. Nor did Ben Attar hesitate to lead his two wives deep among the trees, although in the opposite direction, to enable them to do whatever they had been prevented from doing before. Before they returned, Master Levitas went to the stream to fill a pot with clear water, while Abulafia helped the wagoner untie the hamper from the side of the wagon and went off to gather wood for the small fire he planned to light for his guests. Mistress Esther-Minna was left standing on her own beside one of the horses, holding on to the bridle with one hand while with the other she absently stroked the broad, rough brow of the horse, who waited patiently for the woman’s pleasant small hand to leave him so that he could join his partner in cropping the fresh grass.
Abulafia, accustomed to traveling, soon had a good fire going, and the sound of its crackling was soon joined by the rustling of the robe of Ben Attar’s first wife, who had returned alone, without her husband. When she saw that Mistress Esther-Minna was still deep in thought beside the well-mannered horse, she offered to help Abulafia spread the cloth and slice bread and cheese and hard-boiled eggs. It was just as well that Jews give thanks after the meal, not before it, so there was no reason to restrain the famished child until Ben Attar and the second wife returned. It was sufficient for him to wash his hands in the water that Master Levitas poured over them and recite two short blessings before he received a large slice of black bread from the first wife. And although it was not fitting that Mistress Esther-Minna should continue to stand to one side like a sulky guest rather than a responsible hostess, she did not stir from the horse until she heard the rustle of the second wife and Ben Attar emerging from the undergrowth. Now the reason for their delay became clear, for the young woman had exchanged her silk robe for a simple but warmer garment of cloth. Mistress Esther-Minna, still without uttering a word, gave them a sad, absent-minded smile and joined the pair as they strolled slowly across the dark field toward the fire, which was growing stronger by the minute.