But the second wife resisted, and with arms still tanned a deep brown from the long sunny days at sea, she clung to his pulpit with all her strength, until the judge, realizing that his arbitration had not been completed, was forced to his embarrassment to unclench her hands by force. Seeing that she still persisted in kneeling and holding on to his knees, he bent over, trembling and blushing, and attempted vainly to free himself. Then, feeling how tightly the southern woman was holding him, he knew that he must take her out of his prayer house, and very firmly he began to walk outside, dragging the young woman into the back yard of an old stable. Only there, under an overcast sky, in the pungent manure, did he manage to free himself at last from the grasp of her hands and from her struggling legs, which were now scratched from the synagogue’s rough wooden floor. In stammered Hebrew he asked forgiveness from God and also from her, not for dragging her but for daring to touch her at all. Since terms of pardon and forgiveness were so familiar from the prayers for the New Year that had just passed, the second wife guessed the meaning of this man who was speaking to her so distractedly. He was demanding forgiveness only, with no regret or understanding, as he left her alone in the morning mist laden with cold drops of fresh rain.
Exhausted and abandoned, her hands and knees grazed by the roughness of the black wooden floor, the second wife began to make her way back between the small wooden houses, whose crookedness gave them a dizzy air. Although the black cloak protected her from the lashing rain, it could not allay the indignation of the little fetus that had been dragged along with her, and was not prepared to accept pardon from anyone, so for a moment she felt that it was demanding to be spewed forth instantly. Assailed by weakness, she turned aside between the piles that supported one of the houses, and there, in the shadow of the long grass and bushes that grew from the lush, marshy soil, beside a stream whose cold water gurgled among discarded household utensils, she began to vomit up everything that was within her—determined, however, not to lose the new little soul that had been conceived by the dutiful desire of a man making his way at night between the bow and the hold of an ancient guardship.
That man, who did not yet know what he had or had not brought forth, was still sunk in deep sleep, which dimmed, even if it could not wholly cancel, the interdict that lay upon him. The first wife, who had woken and taken stock of the other’s disappearance, hesitated to wake the husband whose face was buried in the fresh dry straw of the pallet. Although more than twenty years had passed since their first night together and she had often watched while he slept, she had never felt so tender toward him, seeing him for the first time bury his face in the bedding to hide it as he slept. She stared through the open doorway, cocking an ear to catch the returning footsteps of the second wife, so that on her return she could waken their husband to a single trouble rather than two.
But the footsteps of the second wife did not come, and the first wife began to understand that she must be stopped before she reached a point from which there was no return. Yet still she pitied Ben Attar, and granted him a few more moments of blessed ignorance before reaching out and carefully removing the blades of straw that clung to his beard and hair. For a moment the waking North African’s eyes were as bloodshot as those of the arbiter who had pronounced judgment against him. But it seemed that he remembered well where he was, and why he was here. As he rose from his bed, his sharp eyes noticed the second wife’s absence. She has gone, the first wife said very quietly. I have waited for her, but she has not come back.
The merchant of Tangier, who remembered only too well the rapid loss of one young woman, knew that they must hasten to stop her before she reached the riverbank. Since today was the Fast of Gedaliah, he did not need to consider whether the black bread brought by the gentile landlady was fit for eating, but inclined his head politely and thrust it away, and donning a local black cloak over his bright robes he hurried in search of the missing woman. He did not have to go far before he met Jews hurrying to prayer, who had not expected to come across the banned visitor so early in the morning. Despite the distress and embarrassment that urged them to avoid him, they could not disregard the real panic that marked his countenance as he appealed in broken Hebrew and with frantic gestures for help.
Since they feared to enter into a conversation that would shatter the newly pronounced ban, the Jews retreated in confusion, but instead of fleeing they hastened to summon Rabbi Elbaz, so that with his Andalusian virtue and learning he might cushion the Rhenish ban and explain what was troubling the peace of the southern Jew, for whom they had come to feel a strong affection. When the Jews of Worms learned of the disappearance of the second wife, panic spread through the community, and a demand arose that the morning prayers might be shortened so they could gather a large company to search for her and restore her to her husband, even if she was the cause of the ban and the interdict. News of her disappearance soon reached the synagogue and crept up to the reading desk, causing Joseph son of Kalonymos to cut short his chanting and boldly confess to his comrades what had happened beside the holy ark a short time before.
The Jews drew some comfort from his words, which seemed to rule out abduction, a thought that pierced every Jewish heart with double dread, leaving only the fear that she might have become lost or fled. So little time had elapsed since the woman’s dawn meeting with the judge that there was some hope that she had not managed to go too far. But before the search began, some punctilious Jews still demurred, wishing to assure themselves that the ban pronounced the previous night had referred to the husband alone and not to his wives; otherwise they might run the risk of seeking a forbidden object, and it would be better to invite the participation of gentiles, even the Ishmaelite guests, who had not yet risen for their own morning prayers. For added security, they too were summoned. First the two burly wagoners, Abd el-Shafi and his mate, were brought from their respective billets, and then they fetched the young pagan, who at once and without hesitation set off in pursuit of the missing woman, whose scent he had absorbed deep within himself during the long journey. Before much time had passed he found the secluded spot where she had collapsed, in a dark space choked with long grass and discarded household objects, framed by the piles that supported one of the houses.
She was brought forth at once, very weak but safe and sound, apart from some bleeding scratches on her hands and legs. Even though the Fast of Gedaliah had commenced, the Jews tried to make her drink something as they dressed her wounds, and the women of Worms desired to take her into the house beneath whose piles she had hidden herself, to help and strengthen her before sending her on her way. But Ben Attar allowed nobody to touch his second wife, and since the interdict forbade anyone to speak to him, it was impossible to persuade him otherwise. Sternly and proudly, he stood and ordered his Ishmaelites to ready the wagons and harness up the horses. For an instant it seemed as though it were he who had placed the local Jews under a ban and not the other way around, for he seemed to avoid meeting the gaze of those around him, even the blue eyes of Master Levitas, whose habitual thin smile was wiped off his face the moment he was summoned.
But where were Abulafia and his new wife? Had they been forbidden to come, or were they trying to spare themselves the pain of the final parting from the grim-faced, discomfited uncle, who was resolved to set out at once on the return journey?